The Gods of Nallur
- Hasarel Gallage
- May 24, 2019
- 5 min read
Updated: Oct 27, 2020
Day 4 | Tuesday, November 20, 2018
The rain had not stopped. Even though the cyclone Gaja had already left Jaffna, the down pour it had brought along had chosen to stay, frowning upon the city once in a while. But we had a journey which could not be postponed at least for a slightest drizzle. We prepared to visit the Nallur, the infamous Hindu kovil in the heart of Jaffna.
Shalini akka, our host who had acted as our de facto mother for the last few days gave us identical manipuri saris in scarlet red with a filigree in gold thread. We got ready while helping each other to tackle the cumbersome six yards into a modest and charming look. Shalini akka completed the look with jhumkas to ornate our ears and tiny red velvet dots for our foreheads. With all four of us dressed alike, like siblings of one mother, it moved me immensely. The heart-warmingly red fabric had made our ethnic identities redundant, there was absolutely no space left for discrimination.
I have passed by Nallur when I came to Jaffna back in 2014, but did not have the chance to go inside this giant kovil.This time, for the very first time in my life, I was fortunate to explore its insides, clad like a Hindu, looking like any other Hindu devotee in the kovil premises (or perhaps even more!), and specifically sharing their passion and faith on the whoever deity residing inside, our thoughts, beliefs, secrets and our desperate prayers synchronized into one single vibration.
Before entering the Kovil, Nirasha told me to confide my grievance to the Gods of Nallur and ask for help. As a Buddhist having a very different notion about life and its woes, I had not often let Gods decide my life. But this time, like it always happens when you are lost and utterly helpless, I decided to seek the refuge of the almighty.
My jaws dropped when I stepped inside the kovil. It was so very massive, mysteriously spacious contrary to how it looked from the outside, like having its own discreet world within. It was gigantic to the point of intimidation. Inside that massive gloomy temple, I felt minuscule, almost insignificant. The dark passageways faintly illuminated by occasional lamps reminded me of the Notre Dame in Paris which I had visited just two months back. More than nine centuries old, Notre Dame, had the same effect on me as I walked through its alleys, observing its intricate carvings, lighting candles at the feet of saints totally alien to me. I think above every other religious, archaeological reason, why religious places like Nallur, Notre Dame or even Ruwanweliseya are built so gigantic is to create a sense of respect, intimidation in their devotees. These massive temples curiously make you feel so small and your worries insignificant to matter as they welcome you inside like a mother snuggling an infant to her warmth and security.
I walked the entire perimeter of Nallur, observing its drawings, the heavy looking brass lamps hanging from the arches, the giant stepped pond inside, an array of unknown deities in their mini shrines, eager to give an ear to the sufferings of the mortals. The wind chimes dangling from the ceilings produced a soft yet sharp chime. In the courtyard was a Bo tree with miniature wooden cradles hanging from every branch indicating some woman's desire to bear a child. Once I completed the perimeter I sat in front of the main shrine, the inside of which was dazzling with brass carvings. I fixed my gaze at the God inside, registered that image on my mind, shut my eyes shut tightly to the world and started my prayer, from the deepest bottoms of my heart. I made a life defining plea.
Despite not being a Hindu, nor knowing anything of Hinduism, I confided on this nameless, faceless God, all what I had undergone in the past few months. And I prayed for a quick response, which would settle and silence the chaos forever. I had gone through too much for too long I did not deserve to be kept in the darkness for any longer. I prayed for a long time. By the time I opened my eyes it was the time for the evening pooja. The Hindu priests lighted multi-tiered brass lamps its flames dangling in the soft wind inside. After a couple of prayers the devotees rushed from the front door of the central altar to the left and we joined them without a single clue of what was happening. A curtain was opened for a brief moment unveiling the image of a Goddess and the devotees bent their heads in prayer, their hands clasped in respect and faith. And then the curtain was down again between the desperate devotees and the confident goddess who had taken hold of the stories she was being told a moment ago.
And then from behind, a procession emerged, with an intricately decorated cart with an elevated stage on which resided another God. People gathered around as the priests gently drove the cart to the rear end of the central altar where a row of smaller shrines were found. As we observed these rituals in wide eyed wonder the priest took the statue in the cart and placed it inside one of the smaller shrines. And then they did something strange, they lulled the statue inside, I wondered what that meant. After a short while, like it happened the other time, the priests shut the shrine door before we could even complete a prayer. It was just like a God appeared in real before us and vanished like a mist. While we were staring at the shut door in surprise as if we had watched an open ended movie, the other Hindu devotees for whom the abrupt disappearances of Gods were not at all a surprise, scattered away. One elderly devotee, walked to each one of us and offered something to eat which strangely appeared like wood scraps with desiccated coconut. It didn't look inviting at all to a picky eater like myself so I politely refused. But upon Indu's insisting, I tried it, also reminding myself that by coming here I had already taken a big leap out of my comfort zone. To my pleasant surprise it tasted so good that I was grateful to Indu for insisting me to try it.
We stayed in the kovil for some more time. I sat in front of the shrine not taking my eyes off at least for a second. We stayed until the priests said that they are going to close the kovil and kindly asked everyone to take leave. Before leaving I bowed once again at the door with a sense of respect and also of hope. Finally the priests shut the massive door of the Nallur with all its deities inside, probably devising ways, reworking on the designs of the fate of each and every one of us, which they themselves allegedly crafted.
Note: An excerpt from my travelogue or the ‘memory diary’ kept during my monitoring visit to Jaffna in November, 2018 with MediaCorps Fellows Indunil Usgodarachchi, Nirasha Piyawadani and Mohamed Hazil as they explored Jaffna community in search of stories of post-war revival and of marginalized communities with their hosting Fellow Shalini Charles. The visit was a part of the MediaCorps Fellowship Program implemented by the Sri Lanka Development Journalist Forum in partnership with International Research and Exchanges Board and USAID that I was working on from 2018 to 2020.
Cannot agree more! Well written Hasarel!!