Cosmic Finger

 By P. Surendran

It was below the three hundred and sixty-fifth step that Natarajan met Edwina. She was nervous while standing in front of the she elephant that blessed the devotees. One by one the pilgrims placed coins on the trunk of the elephant and made obeisance with folded hands, received the elephant's blessings and went past her. Edwina asked something to the mahout who knew little English. So he, clapping his hands, called out to Natarajan who was about to ascend the steps.

Natarajan asked Edwina what she had said to the mahout.

She wanted the elephant to touch her head with its trunk, she said. But she was frightened.

"Will you please stand by me?" She asked Natarajan.

As he stood closer to Edwina, he accidentally touched a part of her body which was not covered by her scanty summer wear. He moved away from her as if he had an electric shock. By then the elephant had already blessed her.

"There are 365 steps," Natarajan said to Edwina while giving her chappals for safekeeping.

"Really?! I like steps very much. The sky that emerges high above as one climbs a flight of stairs has an ethereal beauty."

"But for us this is not merely a ladder to watch the sky from. Each step is a hymn, and once we climb these steps we are absolved of the sins of a whole year. Hence we come here year after year."

"Sins? What kind of sins?" Edwina enquired.

"The minor cheating and lies that we are forced to indulge just to eke out a living. You see, after all we are from The Third World."

Edwina could see the misery writ large on his face as he spoke.

"So what? Spiritually you have achieved dizzy heights. See, all your pilgrim centres are atop hills."

"You Europeans can't comprehend our misery. The time when we really need to cry before the gods old age won't allow us to climb these steps." Natarajan pointed to a group of people standing at the bottom of the flight of steps bewailing their fate with folded hands.

"Let's climb the steps."

She ran up some steps and stopped.

"D'you have any mantra to chant  while ascending each step?"

"I told you, for us each stone step itself is a prayer and a mantra?"

As they climbed the step Edwina asked his name.

"Natarajan," he said.

"Natarajan?!" All of a sudden a strange expression lit her face. Then she began to talk about the cosmic dance. Her curiosity to fathom the depths of Indianness astounded Natarajan.

He had never paid any attention to the profoundity of his name. But for Edwina he was Lord Shiva himself. And Natarajan became nervous when she began to ask questions as if he were Lord Shiva.

"I merely bear the name of Nataraja. I can't dance even a single step. Let's talk about something else," he said.

Then she became a river that flows paying obeisance to the great temples.

"While standing before your sculptures I feel ashamed of our own culture. It is a sham."

"Oh no! There is no need to feel inferior. You too have temples built on hill tops." He said.

Based on the knowledge he had acquired from reading, he told her about Acropolis, the city goddess of Athens, Baroque, the beauty of Bennini's Daphen and the like. But there was little twinkle in Edwina's eyes while Natarajan went in with this explanation.

"I've not been to Greece  but I know that the stones of Europe have been erected without any meditation. But  your sculptures and temples seem to have been resurrected through meditation."

She discarded Baroque also.

"Everything is built in marble. All that glossiness soon seems disgusting. The eyes slip away from it. D'you realise what is lost when a statue is very smooth? I don't like such whiteness either."

Suddenly, placing a finger on Natarajan's cheek Edwina asked, "Can I become tanned like this? Won't I become dark if I wander in your land for a long time?"

Once again he got nervous. But hiding his feelings, he asked, "What will you do after becoming dark complexioned?"

"I'll wear a silk sari, put on bindi..."

Natarajan completed it, "Then you will marry a Tamilian and live in a hut on the banks of Kaveri, won't you?"

Edwina smiled. That  smile fascinated him. These white folk  are sometimes driven to frenzy, he thought. He remembered the French girl who lived with the leper Krishna  on the dry banks of the river Vaigai. She was Krishna's Radha, she believed.

The girl had seen droplets of blood  on his gnawed fingers and felt that his fingers were blossoming. When she visited  Rameshwaram with her boyfriend Krishna had been their guide, a person with some knowledge of yoga and who spoke awkward English. Now that Radha is in search of a land where she could create a Vrindavan for her Lord.

This too is another of the many enigmas of the whites, "It's typical of you crazy whites," Natarajan said.

"You can't understand the beauty of black," Edwina retorted angrily.

The steps ended. Upon the vastness of the flat rock stood the roofless temple.

"We're completely purged of a year's sins," said Natarajan.

Edwina stood  deep in meditation looking  up at the blue sky.

"Is there an idol inside?" She asked.

"Nothing. Only a Shivalingam."

"Why there is no roof?"

"There is the blue sky for a roof."

"Then he told her about going round the temple. This had always amazed him.

Passing the tower with its huge sculptures, going round it once, again passing the entrance, going round the silent stone pillars, one finally reaches  the sanctum-sanctorum.

Looking through the open door one saw a Shivalingam glowing in the light of a lamp. A meditative journey from the concrete to the  abstract!

"Everything has a philosophical significance for you."

Sunlight gleamed on her face.

They sat under the tree in the temple courtyard to rest. A short  distance away a village family was having its repast. She watched them for a  while. Intermittently she sighed.

"This is a dream that cannot  be fulfilled in my soil."

After that whatever she said was like a plea. Love devoid  of spirituality, children who fly away from their mothers soon after they are weaned. Old  destined to watch the heavy snowfall on the window panes of old age homes. While talking about  the nomadic existence ,bearing the curse of civilisation where in life has become an overloaded dining table, tears welled up in Edwina's eyes. When he felt she would burst into tears Natarajan got up.

"Come on. Let's go round the Shivalingam.

When the sun falling on top become scorching hot they went down the steps. Edwina complained  that she still hadn't had her fill of the sky.

While descending the steps  Edwina started talking about the cosmic dance. Natarajan fell silent.

"Have you read The Dance of Shiva?"

Suddenly Natarajan felt  dizzy. Moving to the side he pressed his forehead against the cold stone wall.

Edwina put a hand on his shoulders.

"What's the matter, Natarajan?"

She began chanting his name like a mantra. He flew into rage.

"Don't talk about the dance of Shiva. If you do, I'll faint down on this step.

After sitting for a while on the step they climbed down. The elephant was down there deep in a slumber. Instead of the aroma of the sky, the stench of horse dung and decayed Jamanti flowers filled their nostrils.

When they reached the last step, it was parting time for them. As he stood looking at the steps leading upwards not knowing what to say, Edwina asked him, "Shall I come with you?"

"No, I have a wife and children. This soul and body is to be shared with only one in a lifetime. This too is our philosophy."

Natarajan pointed  his forefinger skyward. Edwina stood looking  at the sky. He went  down to the street filled with horse dung.

As she stood looking at the blue sky a little boy touched her. He had some handicrafts with him mainly images of Natarajan and Shivalingas. Miniatures made of cheap granite.

Edwina bought a Shivalingam. Without asking the price, she gave him some money and climbed down the steps.

(Translated from the original in Malayalam by Sudhakaran)