In 1985 my father died. Shortly afterward, immersed in the kinds of thoughts that follow a parent’s death, I went to India as a tourist. Before I left I asked my girlfriend for advice about which places to visit, since she had been to India\u00a0a few years earlier. Without hesitation she replied, “Meenakshi Temple in Madurai.”<\/p>\n
“Why?” I asked.<\/p>\n
“Because it will be one of the most remarkable things you\u2019ll ever see.” She chuckled at her non-answer — she had an endearing way of being amused by ordinary things — and went on to explain\u00a0that the temple was old and huge and filled with thousands of people. \u201cYou\u2019ll see\u00a0the kind of deep religious feeling that existed in Europe during the Middle Ages. That kind of conviction\u00a0vanished from the West hundreds of years ago, but you can still see it in India. Trust me, it will be one of the most\u00a0amazing things you’ll ever experience.”<\/p>\n
Neither my girlfriend or I were interested in Hinduism. In retrospect\u00a0it seems strange that she herself had gone to Meenakshi Temple. It wasn\u2019t\u00a0a common destination for Western tourists at that time.<\/p>\n
A few weeks later a rickshaw driver dropped me off outside the gate of Meenakshi Temple.\u00a0I walked inside and quickly slipped\u00a0into an unusual state of consciousness. I later told friends that I felt like I was on drugs.<\/p>\n
My memory of the next six hours is distorted and patchy. As I look now at photos\u00a0and maps of the temple I see that it has outdoor terraces and a pond\u00a0but I don’t remember them. In my memory the entire temple was enclosed and\u00a0dark like an artificial cave of ancient stone. Throngs of people moved slowly through the shadowy halls, their eyes flashing\u00a0white in the darkness.<\/p>\n
Shrines and alcoves opened off the main corridors, their entrances protected by metal grates and signs that\u00a0said “Hindus only past this point” or words to that effect.\u00a0At one shrine\u00a0a long line of people waited to enter. \u00a0\u00a0I was taller than almost everyone else and could\u00a0look over their heads through the doorway. \u00a0Inside was a group of priests,\u00a0naked to the waist and glistening with sweat, performing a ceremony. Light from their fires,\u00a0shining on their gold utensils and red and orange flowers, was visible through the doorway. Disregarding the sign,\u00a0I joined the line.<\/p>\n
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This was out of character for me. I usually respect people’s customs when I travel in foreign countries, especially religious customs. Moreover I\u2019m shy and fearful of being embarrassed, and\u00a0I avoid situations where I\u2019m likely\u00a0to be socially awkward. Everyone could see or at least presume that I wasn\u2019t a Hindu; I looked very\u00a0different from everybody else there.<\/p>\n
I didn’t think about any of this. \u00a0My body seemed to be acting on its own.<\/p>\n
Nobody said a word to me. I thought that nobody even looked at me, although now as I examine\u00a0the photos I took that day, I see people staring at me.<\/p>\n
The line moved forward until I found myself in front of a priest who was, I think, pouring\u00a0something over a lingam. The priests treated me like everyone else but I don\u2019t remember\u00a0what they did. I think one of them put vibhuti on my forehead, and I think I was conscious of it being there for hours afterward while I walked around the dark cavernous spaces, but my memory of that day is so fragmented and distorted that I don’t really know.<\/p>\n
After that I wandered around the temple for hours. My memories are fragmentary. I remember standing in a room with many small sculptures. Today I know that this was the room with statues of 63 Tamil saints that Ramana mentions. Of course I had never heard of Ramana then. \u00a0I also remember\u00a0climbing the south gopuram or gate tower of the temple. \u00a0This gopuram is the one that’s visible from Ramana’s house. \u00a0A tiny stairway, so small that it seemed more like a\u00a0tunnel than a stairway, zigzagged up to the roof 170 feet above the ground. I\u2019ve been\u00a0told that visitors are no longer allowed up there because it\u2019s too dangerous. There was\u00a0no guard rail, the roof was very narrow, and the surface sloped so rain and possibly tourists\u00a0would slide off easily. There were so many foolhardy young men up there, including me,\u00a0that we were in danger of accidentally knocking each other off.<\/p>\n
About a year after I wrote this article, I remembered that after I got back to the hotel, I cancelled my flight out of Madurai so I could remain in town a second day and return to the temple. It was on that second day that I climbed to the roof. Therefore I’ve renamed this article, “My <\/em>Two Days at Meenakshi Amman Temple.”<\/em><\/p>\n
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