UDUPI: temples, temples, temples..

A town of temples and endless streams of pilgrams in black or orange, barefoot, gold and white markings streaked across their sweating foreheads. The town is a buzz with festival excitement that electrifies the air.

The Shri Khrisna temple founded by Sri Madhwacharya and containing an old, stone statue of Lord Kirshna. According to local stories, Sri Madhwacharya calmed a storm threatening to destroy a ship at sea. In gratitude, the ships captain offerered Sri Madhwacharya any gift from his cargo. Sri Madhwacharya refused all gifts except for a large block of stone... which he split open with his staff to reveal the image of Krishna .

Barefoot we join the thronging crowds slowly shuffling their way around the main temple. Inside, men must remove their shirts before the gods...I think of the religious rules and etiquette of my childhood-cover your hair, cover your skin, dress smart, ...do not display the shame of having a body before the Lord....


Our hot feet give thanks to the cool stone floor, the walls are cave like, the light dim with candles. Inside, our sweating bodies are packed tightly against others, as we shuffle slowly past shining stone gods bethroned in cages. Like a zoo, food is offered through the bars, quickly, as if they may bite...A bell is rung, loudly, to alert the gods to your presence, and disturb the presence of those around you...A man prostrates on the floor. Worship is individual, not communal, or perhaps it is communal in its individuality? It is hard for us to imagine how this is experienced and internalised for a devout Hindu as we will always feel a sense of separation from the events. Throughout all this a man sits on a stone ledge, swinging his legs in time to his flute 'playing', an obscure sound of random notes lost without rhythm and mixed with his sporadic chuckles to himself and no one. But rather than labelled 'mad' or 'different' and shut away from society, here in the temple he finds a home, a role, he is a 'devotee' and if he is a little strange sometimes...well, that is because he is touched by the gods.

I am fascinated by the very physical way in which people engage with the deities in the temple. Pujas often involve making food offerings to the Gods and temples are dotted with very visceral evidence of these processes. Parts of them often resemble kitchens, where strange cococtions are being prepared. Flowers, sweets, cotton, oil, tea cups, sugar, red powder, ghee, candles, melons, rice and nuts surround the sanctum, mixed together and in varying states of decay. The deities, though inanimate, are worshipped as live manifestations of the Gods themselves. The monks sing lullabys to them, 'dress' them each day in new jewels and flower chains. People rub ghee mixed with orange powder onto statues and mark themselves on the forehead with the coloured mixture. It feels as if the Gods come very close to peoples lives and bodies through these processes, unlike other religious traditions, in which the sacred is far removed from the physical. There is not the same sense of 'purity'. That which is messy, live and consumable, that which is ordinary and bodily is also sacred.

At the back a small, inconspicous window is another tale that draws fame for the temple. It is said hundreds of years ago a Dalit (an 'untouchable') not allowed in the temple, was praying ferverantly to the statue of Krisha and begged the Lord to turn to see his face. Suddenly, the statue turned to the wall which broke open and allowed the Dalit to see Kirshna with his forbidden eyes. The temple devotee who had befriended us and was relaying all these old tales, was adamant to give a different version of this story. The man was not outcast because he was a Dalit but because he was praying too estatically and disrupting those around him so he was asked to pray outside.... Whether or not any of this even happened was not important, but we all thought it was interesting the devotee did not want to admit the history of the caste systems influence on his beloved temple...

Our new friend the devotee with his friendly face and large brown eyes, insisted we stay for lunch. The humble rice meal eaten off a banana leaf whilst sitting on the floor was slightly marred by being taken to a more upper class room. Rich and glittering saris and the sprinkling of water clockwise around the food before eating indicated we were amongst the high caste Brahmins.....and I thought of our friend's earnest denial that this temple had never adhered to the caste system...

A stream of old temples visited in one afternoon-blur into one another in a confusing colage of colourful images. Lakshmi slaughters, serenely composed. Monkeys strut fearless round temple corners. A crowd gathers to take blessings from a white robed priest whilst a man in red beats himself with rice plants, shouting sporadicly and pacing up and down. Sometimes he breaks open a coconut. A young priest in a dirty temple performs puja (prayers) for us whilst a bat swoops lows inside the cave like shrine. Yellow fruit hangs from ceilings. Frogs swim lazily in holy waters.

Later we return to our smiling temple friend and watch from the pool side as the icon of Hanuman the monkey god is rowed three times round the waters on a fairy light bedecked boat.

A band dressed in navy style uniform, boom-boom their way around the edges.

As soon as they are finished the crowd surges through the tiny exit, pushing and squeezing their way to join the festival frenzy outside. The icons are now placed inside two massive chariots wheeled around the town square by large groups (including us) pulling on long ropes.

Fireworks explode whilst ten foot paper mache men do battle. It's hot...we sweat. We are cramped and squashed amidst the crowds whilst an elephant, pink and gold, strolls past with plenty of leg room.

Why did it happen? Not sure. What did it mean? Don't really know...But faces were friendly and the excitement infectious, it was worth the sweat to be one of the smiling faces amidst the crowds.