Thirunelly temple – the embodiment of a myth
As observed by Eliade, living a myth is the unique experience of a human being – one
ceases to exist in the everyday world
and enters a transfigurated world- the abode of the supernaturals. In that very
moment one is not living in chronological time but in primodial ,sacred time .
Living a myth is an act of immersing
oneself into the ocean of dream- the eternal dream.
A guest was walking alone . Green, wind-swept
expanses of a grassy plateau closed around him. He looked around evidently
afraid of someone or something. The
path took him into a windy valley sheltered by whispering trees. He continued his stroll passing a rockery
made of old , wrought stones inlaid
with auspicious mantras. Finally he
found himself standing in front of a temple. The old building of ancient,
wooden walls was sitting plumply on a secluded
hilltop. Main massive doors
hissed opened and an aged brahmin appeared clad in snow-white dhoti. He greeted
the guest and welcomed him to the Thirunelly temple.
Thirunelly kavu is one of most important Vishnu temples in Kerala. Called also
‘Sahyamala Kshetra’ is situated amids
the Wayanad expanses in a serene, forested area. According to the legends, it
was built more than three thousand years ago and the main idol of Vishnu was
installed in its ‘garbha griha’(sanctum
sanctorum) by Brahma himself. This sacred place is said to be visited and
sanctified by many seers and gods including the heroes of the Ramayana .
The temple,sitting proudly among windy
vales, charmed the guest. He greeted the Brahmin with a short nod. It was
almost 4pm and the preparations for daily puja were about to start. It was a
duty of young Brahmins to light up dozen oil lamps in front of the temple and
to pray for the devotees gathered in front of them. The lamps’ glows
danced on surfaces of stone deities, petrified near the main
doors. Some pale ascetics performing elegently their pradakshina, carefully
moving step by step from one shrine to another. The whole structure of the
temple astonished the guest:the massive, ornamented stairs leading to the
blackness of sacred interior projected elegant technical finish.
The place
seemed unreal. The gentle wind. The warm ground under his feet. Wooden
embelishments of the temple resembling cows’ heads ablaze with the sun heat.
The sun was lazily bliking on a smooth,
clouded canvas of the sky when a group of devotees stepped inside the sacred
complex.
The guest was standing silently, looking
at lamps being lighted, flowers and fruits carried to the main deity.The
tourists took few snaps of Namboothiris placing ghee on the reliefs of the
smaller shrine. There was something special, thought the guest, about mantras
being reciting among serene expanses of Wynad park. Old Vedic and Vaishnava
mantras repeated in a low voice. One after another. ‘Mathurya’- thought the
guest, recollecting what he has read about an Indian thinker Abhinavagupta and
his theory of literature. According to the Abhinavagupta’s thought the real poetry is the one that is charming
to listen although being heard thousands of times over. The famous philosopher
called that unique feature of poetry – “mathurya” – the sweetness.
In the dim light of oil lamps gods were invited like noble guests. When a pujari(sacrificer)
was performing his duties invoking deities and blessing the devotees, few
youngsters strolled down the path leading out of the temple. In a lavish beauty spot they suddenly found
a small but charming stream embelished by a fragile,stony dam. In a shade of Brahmagiri slopes the whispering brook
reflected all the colours of its natural surroundings – grey rocks, old,
reddish tree trunks covered with mud,
the greenery, the yelowish sun. A screeching wind combed a field of reed
situated beyond the holy spot, where tribal communities gather to collect
medicinal herbs. Herbal medicne and ayurvedic treatment was known to those tribal people for many generations. However, seemingly afraid
of civilized world, they kept their knowledge to themselves.
The waters of the brook were said to clean every kind of
impurity - they were a remedy for
diseased but they also purified the sinners granting them an eternal bliss.
The guest walked through thickets ,passed the half-rotten trees and strolled near hatched
boulders resembling faces of minor gods worshipped in the Wayand district from
the times immemorial. He immersed his hand in the waters to feel its sancticy.
The sudden gust of wind thrilled the guest. The clean blue colour of the brook and navy of the sky were
welded together without a joint.
The sun was
sinking slowly below the horizon. The melody of mantras was still echoing in
the wild forest.
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