The
planet Jupiter called Brhaspati or Guru in Sanskrit and Vyaazhan in Tamil,
revolves around the Sun, traversing one zodiacal constellation every year. In
twelve years it completes a revolution of the Sun. The day it enters the
constellation Leo, called Simha in Sanskrit and Simham in Tamil, and aligns
with Alpha Leonis, the primary star of Leo, is considered particularly
auspicious in the Tamil country. Alpha Leonis is called Magha in Sanskrit and
Magham in Tamil. This is commemorated by a ceremony involving the large temple
tank in Kumbakonam, one of the holiest cities, in a country full of sacred
cities. Both the town and its tank have a history shrouded in the mists of
time. A great legend surrounds this twelve year cycle, similar to the Maha
Kumbha Mela that is celebrated every twelve years at Prayaaga, the confluence
of the rivers, Ganga and Yamuna. The Maha Kumbha Mela witnesses the largest
congregation of Hindus for any ceremonial event; perhaps the Mahamagham is the
second largest such congregation. Both are logistical nightmares for
governments, especially in the age of cheap rail and bus travel.
My
friend Siva suggested that we attend the Mahamagham festival of February 2016,
a few months earlier. I agreed, though with deep hesitation, because I suspected
it would be an unpleasant experience. I am not particularly religious, I doubt
the Gods stick to a timetable to shower their blessings, crowds can be
unpleasant, my parents had a terrible time when they attended the Mahamagham in
1968 before I was born.. the list of negatives was long. An author once said of
writing, “I don’t like writing, I like having written.” I didn’t want to regret
not going to Mahamagham. There is a long list of things I regret not having
done. So Siva booked train tickets and a
hotel room in Swamimalai, a town near Kumbakonam.
Another
friend, Rajaram, overheard my Mahamagham plan, said he was also going, but
staying with a friend, and offered to help make my trip better. Arriving at his
friend Sowmyan’s ancestral house two days before I did, he extended Sowmyan’s
offer of hospitality - that Siva and I stay at this ancestral house.
Remarkable?! Yes and no!
Before
James Watt and George Stephenson changed the logistics cost and speed of travel
altogether with their steam engines, and therefore the world’s culture with it,
this offer would have seemed unremarkable. Travel was expensive, lodging cost
nothing. Trains made travel cheap, and in decades, lodging became expensive.
There is evidence that Mahamagham has been celebrated in Kumbakonam for a few
hundred years – there are inscriptions that state that, Govinda Deekshita a
minister of the Nayak period, repaired the tank. But pilgrimage in India is far
older than that, and legends of hospitality to strangers are legion. The
thinnai porches on the outside of most traditional houses, a few thousand of
which still survive, are the great-grandmother of AirBnB and so are the
sumptuous meals total strangers, especially travellers and pilgrims are treated
to, with a spirit of hospitality.
Let me
add that our host, Sowmyan, lives in New Jersey, and was himself visiting
Kumbakonam. And a vast set of his family was coming to stay in this house, as
guests for this festival.
For a
brief background, Kumbakonam, is historically very significant and important in
Tamilnadu history, but its importance is insanely out of proportion to its
size. It is the hometown most famously of the 20th century
mathematical genius Ramanujan, but has produced a tremendous number of
scholars, administrators, and musicians over several centuries. From one end of
the town to another is a maximum of five km in any direction, and the current
population of the town is around 140,000 (Wikipedia). But Mahamagham brings a
million visitors on that day perhaps and several thousands for several weeks
preceding it. An earlier Mahamagham in 1992 was marred by a tragedy, a stampede
in which about fifty people died and the government took extreme precautions to
avoid a calamity during this one. All public and almost all private transport
was stopped outside the city. Only the police and emergency services, and
bicycles and occasional two wheelers were allowed in the city. Several mutts
(Hindu monasteries), business organizations, charities, and individuals organized
free meals and snacks, coffee and tea, water sachets and other minor
conveniences to pilgrims.
We
arrived around 4.30am, on the morning of the February 21, the day before
Mahamagham; and Rajaram, who is an early morning exercise fanatic, accompanied
by Ramki, Sowmyan’s brother, walked all the way from our hosts’ residence to
receive us at the Kumbakonam railway station, and walked all the way back to
his house on Bhaktapuri street, very close to the Kaveri river, not far from
the Sankara Mutt. This must have been at least three km. The residents were in
varying stages of wakefulness, except the cooks who were already making coffee
and breakfast.
We had
coffee, met some of those who were awake, had a coffee, chatted a bit and then
we were off to the Mahamagham tank. Feb 21st was Ayilam, one day
prior to Magham, but an Ayilyam Bath in the tank ranks almost as high as the
Magham bath, and there wasn’t much else to do, so off we went, the five men
army – Rajaram, Sowmyan, Ramki, Siva and me.
The
sacred Mahamagham water tank is an artificial lake, with steps laid of granite,
and pavilions called mandapas, most of which are at least five hundred years
old, since they have inscriptions etched by the rulers of the early sixteenth
century. But most likely these inscriptions are of repairs and modifications,
not the original ceremonies, which are now lost to history, a sadly typical
story in India. The roads to these tanks were made one way by the police, even
for the pedestrians. All pilgrims entered the tank from the eastern steps,
waded through to the western steps, guided by policemen and women in knee deep
water. The implementation was somewhat more chaotic than the description.
People
were streaming into the city from all directions, bag and baggage, having got
off buses or other vehicles from towns all around. Quite a few thousands simply
walked all the way from their native towns, as part of their pilgrimage. Some
went to find lodgings, to freshen up and then come to the tank. Others simply
joined the queues bag and baggage. We reached the end of one of the mile long
queues. I think all five of us were in T shirts and shorts. Most of the men wore
veshtis or lungis, most of the women wore sarees, and girls wore paavadais
(half-sarees is the Indian English word for these). A few females of different
ages wore salwar kameez, which have replaced sarees and half-sarees in almost
all schools, but haven’t yet outnumbered sarees in rural south India. Most men
had bare upper bodies.
The
Mahamagham tank was filled with rainwater in the past. But modern
infrastructure - pipes, sumps, electric pumps, rooftop water tanks, tar roads
with no channels, and such have killed off all such natural inflows. And
massive dams like Mettur and Mysore, have shut off natural supply to almost all
cities in Tamilnadu along the Kaveri. For this festival, the dams were partly
open, and the narrow strip of the Kaveri that flowed in Kumbakonam had some
water, greenish and uninviting. Water was pumped into the Mahamagham tank via
long pipes and motors from the river (ironically close to Sowmyan’s house), and
constantly being pumped out to keep it fresh and at least somewhat hygienic.
The water level was kept around knee level; which could still drown infants, if
their parents didn’t have vise like grips on them. Several thousand people
standing in the tank probably doubled the water level.
There
are 21 sacred “wells” in the tank, named after various Gods, like Agni Indra
Yama Varuna and so on. The belief is that the water in the tank is celestially
filled with the water of the Ganga itself. And the water in these wells are
blessed by the Gods they are named after. None of these are real wells, just
circular walls holding some water, filled by the same Kaveri water pumped in by
motors. Some people try to get a chombu (mug) full of water from each of these
“wells”. Some people, perhaps 1%, brought chombus made of copper or brass or
bronze, but most of us used plastic mugs. Rajaram and Ramki waded into the
crowds surrounding these wells, plunged their mugs and dowsed Siva and me
before pouring water onto themselves. We went from well to well, in some
designated order, and about forty minutes later, slowly climbed out of the
western end of the Mahamagham tank, our legs reminding us that we had been in
water quite a while. The whole thing sounds somewhat dull, but is full of
action. There was plenty of sand and other things in the tank and in the wells,
so our hair and bodies got sandy after the bath. But, hey, how often do you get
physically dirtier while spiritually and mythologically cleaner, while bathing
fully clothed with twenty thousand strangers?
It was
sight to see some people dipping themselves in the tank while holding their
luggage over their heads, to not get wet; some dunking their kids, most of whom
were delighted, some of whom were whiny, and perhaps a few, frightened;
policemen and women in uniforms, pants pulled up to the knees, soaking in the
water for hours, forming long human chains, guiding people to go in one
direction only; announcers over loudspeakers, cheerful in spirit and positive
in language, tirelessly advising people of simple safety procedures, and where
to re-connect with lost friends or relatives; women trying to order each other
around while ignoring other women’s orders; some taking selfies with
cellphones, mostly boys, careful not to bless their cellphones too, with a holy
dip.
We
stepped out, and headed to the Porramarai kulam – the Golden Lotus Pond, a
different one nearby – but gave it up; it was a much smaller tank, but had a
much longer queue, and we weren’t that desperate for extra blessings.
Wet but
happy, we walked backed to the house for a sumptuous lunch. Rajaram had arrived
in Kumbakonam a couple of days before us, and was posting item wise Facebook
updates of the magnificent cuisine churned out by the cooks, under the
supervision of Sri Ganesan of Kattuputhur, a village near Trichy. The kitchen was
pretty much running most of the time, with breakfast, lunch and dinner served
to all the guests, in batches of six to ten at a time. Plus the occasional
coffee. Food was served on plantain leaves, both by the cooking staff and the ladies
of the host family, as is the tradition. Diners sat on the floor, cross legged.
Small portions were transferred from the large vessels in the kitchen, into
aptly smaller buckets for sambar rasam etc, trays for rice, and other vessels
for vegetables. Madi, for those who know what it means.
 |
| Left to right: Mine host Sowmyan, Rajaram, Siva, Ramki |
 |
| Lunch! |
Only
some orthodox families continue this tradition nowadays, but this reminded me
of my how my grandmother used to serve us. The last time I ate like this at home
was perhaps Deepavali day in 2003 in Bangalore at my Saroja patti’s house with three
aunts, half a dozen cousins and a nephew and a niece. Nowadays meals are often simply
piled up on dining tables, and we serve ourselves. We also visited the
Nagesvaran temple, but it had huge crowds and we couldn't see our favorite
sculptures on its walls. We met Shashwath and his family at the temple, and Facebookananda
Rajagopal Venkatraman on the streets. The afternoon was spent in siesta,
conversation and coffee.
We walked
to Ramaswamy temple around dusk, past the yaanaiyadi Pillaiyar, the Sarangapani
temple and its chariot, on the people filled streets with no fear of vehicular
traffic. Rarely does one experience traffic free roads in a city unless there
is a nationwide or statewide bandh. Kumbakonam is a small town with a
disproportionate level of traffic because of its geographical and cultural
centrality.
 |
A street in Kumbakonam
Mahamagham eve |
The
second day was almost a repeat of the first, except THIS Was the Mahamagham Day.
We all showered before sunrise, and headed to the Mahamagham tank by 7.30. The
actual Mahamagham would be around noon, when the Gods of almost every temple in
town would assemble around the tank, but that
event is for people with a level of devotion far beyond mine. Our group this
time included several of the senior ladies of the Sowmyan family, and we had to
wait in hour long lines snaking half a mile away from the tank, even at this
early hour. The senior most of them, Mangalam mami was the most enthusiastic.
There were
far more policemen and women, standing in series, khaki trousers folded upto
their knees, holding hands, and guiding people to move slowly but surely from
east to west, and not wander in all directions unmanageably. The public address system continued their job with
not the slightest hint of boredom or apathy. Kudos to the Tamilnadu police. In
fact, they were there in strength all over the streets of the city, ensuring
peace and discipline, especially queuing. Never in India I have seen queues
regulated so well. If this festival goes smoothly, Rajaram said for the
umpteenth time, Jayalalitha will win the Tamilnadu elections in a landslide. I
was skeptical, but he was right, her party won a majority later that year.
 |
The kulam (tank) on Mahamagham day.
Photo by TR Shashwath |
We made
our way across the Mahamagham kulam, in knee deep water, and ducked under a few
times, slowly wading to the other side. Mangalam mami got several more dips and
ducks than the others, much to the amusement of some of the policewomen, some
of whom half heartedly tried to get her to speed up. About half an hour later,
we emerged on the other side, our legs quite heavy but hearts very light and
walked over to a coffee shop, where everyone ordered coffee, to warm their
chilled bodies. The most memorable conversation of the year followed. I
declined the coffee. Why asked Mangalam mami. Oh I just don’t need it, I
remarked casually. Are you very orthodox,
she anxiously followed up. Imagine this 80 year old lady in a madisar saree
asking that question, of me, of all people. I guffawed uncontrollably. Please
have coffee also, or I’ll feel too guilty that you are left out she continued.
Nothing can stale such inherent kindness. So I had coffee.
We then
walked back to the house. Not content with bathing in the waters of the Mahamagham
kulam, some of us men also walked down to the Kaveri with its greenish water
and waddled around in it, dissolving the grime and dust of walking back the
streets. I have wanted to swim in the Kaveri ever since I read Vandiya Thevan’s
aquatic adventures in Kalki’s historical novel Ponniyin Selvan. My 2011 first
trip to Kumbakonam featured a sad dirty Kaveri, Sowmyan’s house is very close to the river, so after
about half an hour of floating, diving under, feeling the river’s bottom, we ravenously
devoured the luncheon whiles savoring the many flavors. We watched the actual Mahamagham
festival on television, all the Gods assembling on the banks and steps, a
centuries old ritual capturing the eyes of millions.
 |
| Returning from the Mahamagham kulam |
 |
Selfie with the bathers -
Mangalam mami front and center |
In the afternoon,
Rajaram walked with us about four km to the bus stand and came with us to
Tiruvarur. Our return tickets were booked from Tiruvarur, this was Siva’s plan.
We reached the Tiruvarur temple almost sunset, Siva couldn’t resist bathing in the
Kamalalayam kulam, then we toured the temple and headed home to Madras.
Other travel stories
 |
| Mahamagham during the British period |
