From Adam's Peak to Elephanta

by Edward Carpenter

Such were some of my thoughts as I watched the crowd around me. They too were not uninterested in watching me. The appearance of an Englishman under such circumstances was perhaps a little unusual and scores of black eyes were turned inquiringly in my direction; but covered as I was by the authority of my companion no one seemed to resent my presence. A few I thought looked shocked, but the most seemed rather pleased, as if proud that a spectacle so brilliant and impressive should be witnessed by a stranger—besides there were two or three among the crowd whom I happened to have met before and spoken with, and whose friendly glances made me feel at home.

Meanwhile the gyrating raft had completed two or three voyages round the little piece of water. Each time it returned to the shore fresh offerings were made to the god, the bell was rung again, a moment of hushed adoration followed, and then with fresh strains of mystic music a new start for the deep took place. What the inner signification of these voyages might be I had not and have not the faintest idea; it is possible even that no one present knew. At the same time I do not doubt that the drama was originally instituted in order to commemorate some actual event or to symbolise some doctrine. On each voyage a hymn was sung or recited. On the first voyage the Brahman priest declaimed a hymn from the Vedas—a hymn that may have been written 3,000 years ago—nor was there anything in the whole scene which appeared to me discordant with the notion that the clock had been put back 3,000 years (though of course the actual new departure in the Brahmanical rites which we call Hinduism does not date back anything like so far as that). On the second voyage a Tamil hymn was sung by one of the youths trained in the temples for this purpose; and on the third voyage another Tamil hymn, with interludes of the most ecstatic caterwauling from chanks and bagpipes! The remainder of the voyages I did not witness, as my conductor now took me to visit the interior of the temple.

That is, as far as it was permissible to penetrate. For the Brahman priests who regulate these things, with far-sighted policy make it one of their most stringent rules that the laity shall not have access beyond a short distance into the temple, and heathen like myself are of course confined to the mere forecourts. Thus the people feel more awe and sanctity with regard to the holy place itself and the priests who fearlessly tread within than they do with regard to anything else connected with their religion.

Having passed the porch, we found ourselves in a kind of entrance hall with one or two rows of columns supporting a flat wooden roof—the walls adorned with the usual rude paintings of various events in Siva’s earthly career. On the right was a kind of shrine with a dancing figure of the god in relief—the perpetual dance of creation; but unlike some of the larger temples, in which there is often most elaborate and costly stonework, everything here was of the plainest, and there was hardly anything in the way of sculpture to be seen. Out of this forecourt opened a succession of chambers into which one might not enter; but the dwindling lights placed in each served to show distance after distance. In the extreme chamber farthest removed from the door, by which alone daylight enters—the rest of the interior being illumined night and day with artificial lights—is placed, surrounded by lamps, the most sacred object, the lingam. This of course was too far off to be discerned—and indeed it is, except on occasions, kept covered—but it appears that instead of being a rude image of the male organ (such as is frequently seen in the outer courts of these temples), the thing is a certain white stone, blue-veined and of an egg-shape, which is mysteriously fished up—if the gods so will it—from the depths of the river Nerbudda, and only thence. It stands in the temple in the hollow of another oval-shaped object which represents the female yoni; and the two together, embleming Siva and Sakti, stand for the sexual energy which pervades creation.

Thus the worship of sex is found to lie at the root of the present Hinduism, as it does at the root of nearly all the primitive religions of the world. Yet it would be a mistake to conclude that such worship is a mere deification of material functions. Whenever it may have been that the Vedic prophets descending from Northern lands into India first discovered within themselves that capacity of spiritual ecstasy which has made them even down to to-day one of the greatest religious forces in the world, it is certain that they found (as indeed many of the mediæval Christian seers at a later time also found) that this ecstasy had a certain similarity to the sexual rapture. In their hands therefore the rude, phallic worships, which their predecessors had with true instinct celebrated, came to have a new meaning; and sex itself, the most important of earthly functions, came to derive an even greater importance from its relation to the one supreme and heavenly fact, that of the soul’s union with God.

In the middle line of all Hindu temples, between the lingam and the door, are placed two other very sacred objects—the couchant bull Nandi and an upright ornamented pole, the Kampam, or as it is sometimes called, the flagstaff. In this case the bull was about four feet in length, carved in one block of stone, which from continual anointing by pious worshipers had become quite black and lustrous on the surface. In the great temple at Tanjore there is a bull twenty feet long cut from a single block of syenite, and similar bull-images are to be found in great numbers in these temples, and of all sizes down to a foot in length, and in any accessible situation are sure to be black and shining with oil. In Tamil the word pasu signifies both ox—i.e. the domesticated ox—and the soul. Siva is frequently represented as riding on a bull; and the animal represents the human soul which has become subject and affiliated to the god. As to the flagstaff, it was very plain, and appeared to be merely a wooden pole nine inches or so thick, slightly ornamented, and painted a dull red color. In the well-known temple at Mádura the kampam is made of teak plated with gold, and is encircled with certain rings at intervals, and at the top three horizontal arms project, with little bell-like tassels hanging from them. This curious object has, it is said, a physiological meaning, and represents a nerve which passes up the median line of the body from the genital organs to the brain (? the great sympathetic). Indeed the whole disposition of the parts in these temples is supposed (as of course also in the Christian Churches) to represent the human body, and so also the universe of which the human body is only the miniature. I do not feel myself in a position however to judge how far these correspondences are exact. The inner chambers in this particular temple were, as far as I could see, very plain and unornamented.

On coming out again into the open space in front of the porch, my attention was directed to some low buildings which formed the priests’ quarters. Two priests were attached to the temple, and a separate cottage was intended for any traveling priest or lay benefactor who might want accommodation within the precincts.

And now the second act of the sacred drama was commencing. The god, having performed a sufficient number of excursions on the tank, was being carried back with ceremony to the space in front of the porch—where for some time had been standing, on portable platforms made of poles, three strange animal figures of more than life-size—a bull, a peacock, and a black creature somewhat resembling a hog, but I do not know what it was meant for. On the back of the bull, which was evidently itself in an amatory and excited mood, Siva and Sakti were placed; on the hog-like animal was mounted another bejewelled figure—that of Ganésa, Siva’s son; and on the peacock again the figure of his other son, Soubramánya. Camphor flame was again offered, and then a lot of stalwart and enthusiastic worshipers seized the poles, and mounting the platforms on their shoulders set themselves to form a procession round the temple on the grassy space between it and the outer wall. The musicians as usual went first, then came the dancing girls, and then after an interval of twenty or thirty yards the three animals abreast of each other on their platforms, and bearing their respective gods upon their backs. At this point we mingled with the crowd and were lost among the worshipers. And now again I was reminded of representations of antique religious processions. The people, going in front or following behind, or partly filling the space in front of the gods—though leaving a lane clear in the middle—were evidently getting elated and excited. They swayed their arms, took hands or rested them on each other’s bodies, and danced rather than walked along; sometimes their shouts mixed with the music; the tall torches swayed to and fro, flaring to the sky and distilling burning drops on naked backs in a way which did not lessen the excitement; the smell of hot coco-nut oil mingling with that of humanity made the air sultry; and the great leaves of bananas and other palms leaning over and glistening with the double lights of moon and torch flames gave a weird and tropical beauty to the scene.[2] In this rampant way the procession moved for a few yards, the men wrestling and sweating under the weight of the god-images, which according to orthodox ideas are always made of an alloy of the five metals known to the ancients—an alloy called panchaloka—and are certainly immensely heavy; and then it came to a stop. The bearers rested their poles on strong crutches carried for the purpose, and while they took breath the turn of the nautch girls came.

[2] Mrs. Speir, in her Life in Ancient India, p. 374, says that we first hear of Siva worship about B.C. 300, and that it is described by Megasthenes as “celebrated in tumultuous festivals, the worshippers anointing their bodies, wearing crowns of flowers, and sounding bells and cymbals. From which,” she adds, “the Greeks conjectured that Siva worship was derived from Bacchus or Dionysos, and carried to the East in the traditionary expedition which Bacchus made in company with Hercules.”