Eternity Beneath My Feet

(This is writer's travelogue to the pilgrimage center Mookhambika Temple in Karnataka state)

“The path of spirituality is a knife-edge between abysses”

– Aldous Huxley

Nowadays everyone travels a lot as the world has shrunk territorially due to the inevitable phenomenon of globalisation. Reading a travelogue of someone is quite boredom for the readers of globalised today. Same is the case commenting about cliché subjects like religion, spirituality and mythology in the new millennium of modern lifestyles. Therefore, it takes real ingenuity to write a travelogue linked with spiritualism which now has fairly saturated. Nevertheless, with limited creativeness and travel experience, I thought of chronicling my pilgrimage to Mookambika Temple at Kollur and trekking Kudajadiri Hills in the Western Ghats. For me, it was a sublime discovery of an unknown spiritual soil; was a never forgetting experience on footstep that overlapped the sacred history of Shankaracharya with that of my present. It was a journey remarked as a passageway to realize nirvana. William Blake poetizes my experience aptly in these words:

To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.

It all started on a dawn when I along with my mother went to an astrologer at Ottapalam. Many failures, many apprehensions, many sorrows and dubiousness led us to the astrological anonymity. When medicines become hopeless, we turn to prayers; when our efforts become unrewarded, we turn to faith; and similarly when the materialistic days start befalling in unbearable and abysmal proportion of reality, we look out spiritualistic for our good times in future. Reality becomes intolerably atrocious when the ghost of past failures haunts us relentlessly. How true T.S. Eliot was when he penned that humankind can’t bear very much reality?

In today’s adulterated world where from fake doctors to politicians and fake witches to fake god-men live for sheer survival, people have a misconstrued image of truth and they have lost faith in a bona fide life and its institutions of authenticity. Doubt dominates in everyone. Shadow of fear cloud their mind. Everybody thinks that their life is under the sword of Damocles; their conscience lay dormant. However, the remedy for such blind thoughts is seeking wisdom from the right source. Get enlightenment. Get conscious. Let rationality reigns in all, by evacuating ignorance and misjudgments. These supreme words of Robert Alden could be borrowed for our inspiration: "There is not enough darkness in the entire world to put out the light of even one small candle." Hence, awake your conscience and choose what is morally right and discard that is not.

Astrology is a group of systems, traditions, and beliefs which hold that the relative positions of celestial bodies and related details can provide information about personality, human affairs and other "earthly" matters. Astrologers help us in predicting our future fortunes and terrible times. They calculate what to do when. The how to do is up to us and that has nothing to take with planetary positions and movements. So, when my mother and I consulted the astrologer, he directed us to visit Mookambika Temple at Kollur as that would bring good kismet to my studies. When he asked us whether we know where Mookambika Temple is, we both said, though we have heard about it many times, we don’t know where it’s located. What an embarrassment? How can such a popular deity’s location be out of our knowledge? I felt that we were spiritually illiterate; amateur in religious depth, and divinely miles to go. I confess that I am a toddler in the spiritual earth that is new to me; I confess that my spiritual wisdom is as little as a page in a text of an epic; I confess that I have lot to do spiritually: to learn, to understand, to interpret, to digest and to reproduce my own version of it.

The blame is not mine nor is it of anyone. The blame is the atheistic path that I took so far ignoring the spiritual cosmos including the material manifestations of it, namely, the temples, shrines, worship places and the divinity that revolves around it. I believe that spiritualism has nothing to take with neither religions nor gods. I am still an atheist but I should seek curiously the aesthetics of the Indian heritage, the interpretations of Hindu scriptures, the profundity of our sociological culture, the insight of our timeless tradition, and the wisdom of spirituality unlimited and beyond. That only will cleanse me from my materialistic arrogance, my hedonistic amnesia, my spiritual ignorance and disgrace.

For enlightening myself, I searched in the internet about Mookambika Temple. I collected a cluster of details. In between my sister’s father-in-law, Sukumaran uncle, gave a booklet on Mookambika Temple. As it was in Malayalam which I don’t know to read, my mother narrated loudly most of the pages to me – the history, mythology and mystery of Devi Mookambika having three eyes, four arms, carrying a divine disc and a conch in her hands.

Sharing the mythology of Mookambika feels appropriate here. According to the legends, a saint named Kola Maharshi doing penance was disturbed by a demon called Kamsasuran who was also meditating to please Lord Shiva and to get a boon from him. However, to prevent the demon from fulfilling his evil desire, Parvathi along with Veerabadra, Ganapathi and Shiva initially made him dumb (mooka) so that he could not ask anything and because of which he was later known as Mookasuran. Thereupon he got furious and soon began troubling Kola Maharshi who prayed to Adi Shakti for deliverance. Adi Shakti vanquished demon Mookasura by her Chakra on the midnight of Shukla Astami. She was extolled by the gods as Kollur Devi Mookambika. Because of Kola Maharshi's prayer, the Divine Mother accompanied by all the Gods stayed at the place today known as Kollur to be perpetually worshipped by the devotees. Her divine energy became one with the lingam worshipped by Kola Maharshi. Today, at the Sri Mookambika temple, the Lingam is the main deity and is known as Jyothirlingam.

On 22^nd of September, 2010 morning at 7:30 am, my mother and I boarded Vasco da Gama Superfast Express train from Palakkad Jn. As the train was running with fewer passengers, there were many empty bays. With a smile on our heart we went and sat in an empty bay. The train rolled on the tracks that were laid parallel to the Bharathapuzha River on its left.

The Bharathapuzha River, lifeline of many villages in the cultural map of Kerala is also known as “The Nile of Kerala” and hence it assumes another name, the Nila. It is a culture more than a river; it is a historic heritage more than its geographic gushing. Originating in the Anamallai Hills in the Western Ghats, Nila flow westwards through the Palakkad Gap, drenching long distance and becoming the second largest river in Kerala after Periyar. Like many rivers in Kerala, it also is in the discovery of its oceanic destination. The river empties itself in the Arabian Sea at Ponnani. Though with very little amount of water flowing and a large portion of its basin dried away, with shrub islands and playgrounds on the sandy surface, from Parli to Shoranur, the Bharathapuzha River was a friendly delight for my eyes. The river has gone parched because of its non-perennial nature, the cruel burning seasons and due to the crueler sand mafias mining for monetary motives, ignoring the receding water table and distressing natural eco system.

Stations passed by. Sights of people arriving and departing were common on platforms: some with luggage and others free hand; men, women, kids, middle aged and old, all busy moving on railway platforms with a purpose. Many rushing in and out, others searching for train, and few seated calm on the chairs by sipping a cup of tea and observing the crowd, train and the unknowns. Railway police persons were morally helping and guiding passengers who were inquiring; chai-kappy vendors were shouting to attract consumers; and the Travel Ticket Examiner was nowhere on my observing vista. Glimpses of people and their faces faded as the train moved from every station. And so the journey progressed.

As the train was moving forward fast and I was not in a mood to read anything, I peeped through the window for the visuals with beauty and originality, and realized the lure of Kerala; its godliness in the form of ecological exquisiteness. Greenery, tributaries, backwaters, boats, fishermen, their shanties on coastal line etc. were wonderful observations. Since it was morning, and the train was going through those areas which were dominated by Muslims, I could see many women in black burqa and mafta. Some going to school, others to labor, and here and there I could spot housewife and maids sitting outside their respective residence and cleaning fishes before cooking for their lunch – a typical scene not just there alone, but through out the coastal Kerala.

By 10:30 am, we reached Calicut. This place deserves mention here. It was the headquarters of the erstwhile Malabar district; it was where Zamorins reigned after the collapse of Chera kingdom, where they traded with the merchants of Persia, Arabia and European empires.  It was the land where five centuries back, Vasco da Gama, the Portuguese explorer first landed on Indian soil. It was there where many patriots fought for independence from British hands. Since Indian independence, the city has beautified itself in many aspects. Recently Calicut was on news carving the niche: it was ranked as the first litter-free city and the first hunger-free city in the country. Apart from this, Calicut is the second best urban agglomeration to live in India. What a marvelous place with its aesthetic heritage, historicity and heavenly harmony?

Reaching Calicut railway station itself reminded me of banana chips and halwa that was very popular. No surprise, as soon as the train entered the station, there were vendors hauling chips and halwa, walking and selling with competition among them. While I was watching these interesting scenes, a lady in her late fifties clothed in a white robe and a silver metal cross hanging on her neck came and sat next to my mother. She was a Sister associated with a Christian church. She was going to Kannur. We eventually interacted with her. She informed us many things about Catholics, Christ and Christianity; about the ecclesiastical administration and hierarchy; her power, position and the purpose she was traveling. By that time, it was Kannur and she bid adieu to us. We didn’t notice how time eluded so quickly in our deep discussion.

Following that, before reaching Udupi, we had our lunch from the train itself. At 3:30 pm it was Udupi station. After getting down, I inquired from the Station Master regarding the way to Mookambika Temple. Thereafter, by catching an auto-rickshaw, we went to Udupi Bus Stand. From there, around 4:00 pm, the bus to Mookambika started its routine trip. It plied through the NH17 and then through a lush jungle where we could hardly see a human species. The sun was departing down. Shadows became longer. Darkness gained its dominance. As this was happening, a slight amount of panic sparked inside my mothers mind and mine as well: panic of how to find a room when it was getting murky; panic caused typically from an unfamiliar place; panic owing to unknown strangers there. Because of this apprehension, I repeatedly queried to the Bus Conductor about reaching time at Mookambika. Finally, after a tedious ride of two and a half hours, we reached our destination – The Mookambika!

As soon as we alighted, a man in his mid-forties, wearing a saffron dhothi came to us asking in Malayalam that whether we need a room. I felt him reliable. Then we followed him to the room that he showed us. The room was located directly opposite to Mookambika Temple. We liked it and paid the advance to him. He told us that at 7:30 pm, deeparadhana starts in Mookambika Temple and left. By that time we got fresh and headed towards the temple.

I entered the sacred Saraswathi shrine. I was supposed to take off my cotton shirt. By showing my bare chest, I stepped into the outer space of sanctum sanctorum built in stones. Those stones were carved aesthetically depicting divine forms. Inside of the sanctum sanctorum was the idol of Mookambika Goddess. There was a long queue of devotees waiting for dharshan. As everyone was folding their hands and eagerly giving an eye towards the idol, I was also doing the same. By being a part of such a divine set-up, I prayed. Actually, I tried to pray. I found it difficult to pray as I was not used to it. I was lacking in concentration. My mind flied away in many directions. To be honest, I realized that I don’t know to pray. I have to learn it. A situation that can be compared to the instance in Ramayana: when Valmiki was told to utter “Rama, Rama” by Narada in order to purify himself and attain liberty from his evil deeds, Valmiki was unable to utter it. For that he was told by Narada to start by saying “aa maram ee maram, aa maram ee maram” (that tree this tree, that tree this tree) so that ultimately it becomes “Rama Rama Rama Rama”. In that way, I too need to find a code for praying. Or is it possible to pray selflessly? A fathomless mystery. Isn’t it?

When I asked the same question of ‘how to pray’ to one of my friends, before I commenced this pilgrimage, she answered that one should pray to oneself. That gave some sense. George Orwell once articulated: “I’m fat, but I’m thin inside. Has it ever struck you that there’s a thin man inside every fat man, just as they say there’s a statue inside every block of stone?” Is it that divine thin man I should pray? Should I concentrate that statue inside me? Probably yes! Even Upanishadic axiom in Sanskrit tells us that “God sleeps in the minerals, wakes in the vegetables, walks in the animals and thinks in man.”

Though I had the problem of praying, devotees around me were immersed in profound prayer. Some closing their eyes; some opened and were taking a quick glimpse of the deity enshrined. Each one on the queue were pushed by, and directed by the priests there to move ahead as number of devotees were increasing and everyone should be given a chance of dharshan. Moving out from there, as a common form of Hindu worship practice, a worshipper must circumambulate the outer sanctum in clockwise direction in an odd number of times. Hence, my mother and I circumambulated the outer sanctum of Mookambika Goddess once through the pradikshna path (ambulatory passageway).

In many Hindu temples, the temple structure reflects the symbolism of the Hindu association of spiritual transition from daily life to spiritual perfection as a journey through stages. Ambulatory passageways for circumambulation are present through which worshipers move in a clockwise direction, starting at the sanctuary doorway and moving inward toward the inner sanctum where the deity is enshrined. This is a translation of the spiritual concept of transition through levels in life into bodily movements by the worshipers as they move inwardly through ambulatory halls to the most sacred centre of spiritual energy of the deity.

Later, we went and sat on the resting place erected on the side of the ambulatory passageway exclusive for the devotees. There were hundreds of devotees meditating, chanting slokas, chatting, relaxing etc. Couple of them was taking photographs along with their family members. All those devotees were waiting for the annaprasadham (the free supply of meals for devotees). Meanwhile, I went and took the tokens for Maha Trimadhura, Sahasranama Kumkumarchana, Mookambika Alankara Pooja, Theertha etc. and bought it from the respective counters. Then I came back and sat where I was sitting. I was fascinated about the Mookambika temple and the Goddess. I praised the temple architecture. I pondered profoundly as I was ignorant of all those details.

Later from internet, I came to know that the idol installation at Kollur Mookambika temple was done nearly 1200 years ago. The history of it says that a King named Halugallu Veera Sangayya laid the valuable stone to cover the inside premises and that was done by him under the instructions of Rani Chennamaji. The temple comprise of the sanctorum, a hall and the Lakshmi Mandapam at the rear. This Lakshmi Mandapam has four pillars and it is about 135 feet long. These four pillars are adorned with splendidly carved images of Indian deities. There were beautiful sculptures of figurines of various Gods and Goddesses such as Vinayaka, Subrahmanya, Naga, Mahishasura Mardini and Devi in various forms.

The Garbagriha at this Kollur temple is modern and artistic in value. A huge deepasthambam (lamp post) stand tall with its base like a tortoise’s head which has 21 beautiful concentric circles that appear very divine when all the lamps are lit and viewed from distance. Then there was an image of a serpent that is worshipped by all devotees in order to wade off the evil effects of Sarpodosa (ill effects of snake) and other doshas (ill effects). It is believed that when touched while offering prayers, the devotees are said to be blessed with good fortune.

At outer side of the pradikshna, I saw the idol of Lord Muruga followed by the idol of Saraswathi, Pranalingeswara, Prartheshwar and Mukya Prana. This Mukya Prana is placed just opposite to Veerabadrasamy shrine to strike a balance for its dangerous appearance. This Veerabadrasamy is said to be the presiding deity of Mookambika Temple. By this time, I was wondering about the numerous gods that our country has. Kerala state itself has thirty three million gods for which and for its natural beauty it is known as Gods Own Country. No wonder Krishna Iyer J. in his book ‘Religion and Politics’ eruditely asserts: “Our large country is an enormous library and laboratory of religious pluralism with unbelievable diversity. Indeed, the population of gods is not disproportionate to the human population, although the country is already choked with over-population of both species – godly and human.”

Leaving all these thoughts at the rear, after a while, when the door of annaprasadham hall was opened, in a queue, I along with all the worshippers went inside the dining hall. All were supposed to sit on the floor in a linear fashion. My mother was sitting near to me. Rice and chutney was served by the temple volunteers to all. We had the food. It was good. After finishing off quickly, we went outside the temple.

There were many shops adjacent to each other outside the temple. We did shopping from there. By 9:00 pm again we entered the temple for witnessing the closing ceremony procedures of that day poojas. The distribution of Kashaya Thirtham (divine ayurvedic medicine) was done by one of the temple priests to all the devotees. For that also a disciplinary queue was maintained by the devotees. When it was over, the last procedure was Kavatabandhanam (Door closure). Before that police persons and priests equally were shouting to the crowd of devotees within outer sanctum to go outside the temple. By obeying the orders, everyone found way to the exit. While doing so, the door to inner sanctum was closed and a curtain ringed down. That was Kavatabandhanam!

That night passed by quickly as I was very tired. My mother called to wake me up from the bed at 5:00 am. After taking a bath and getting ready, by 6:00 am, we entered the inner sanctum. The procedure was moreover same as yesterdays: Keralites were in majority, queued in the long procession of pilgrims; devotee men in dhoti with bare chest and most of the women devotee were in white traditional sari with golden embroidery works; the darshan, moving, pushing, praying and all the sundry were one and same as that of the previous day. Today I could pray better. Goddess felt closer; distractions lessened and divinity seemed to develop.

Coming out from the temple, my mother and I planned to go to Souparnika River. Before that, we thought of having our breakfast from a near by hotel. Outside the temple, as seen at many worship places, I saw many beggars begging. Some limbless, others in their old age, diseased, disabled, dressed scruffily and seemed like they have not taken bath since days. Some were anxiously gaining sympathy from the throngs of devotees overriding their sense of personal dignity. They were pleading for charity while exposing handicapped and wretched deformities. Initially, I thought of giving a penny but later decided not to give as in a way that would amount to encourage their helplessness and haplessness. I don’t want to support the cause of beggary which is operated and organized by the so-called beggars making business of alms as their lucrative profession. In this case, Sikhism is on the forefront which forbids begging. That’s why one does not see a Sikh beggar anywhere. The only thing I can do at that time was to pray for them. Shakespeare wrote that “sweet mercy is nobility's true badge”. And hence I can be merciful. I can be compassionate. But I can’t promote their ill fortunes. I am a human and I can’t see humans begging. 

By expecting peace for those brother beggars, I went to the hotel. After having our breakfast we headed to the holy river. It is believed that the river Souparnika absorbs elements of 64 different medicinal plants and roots as it flows, therefore it cures all the diseases and sins of those who bathe in it. Two rivers namely, Agnithirtha & Souparnika that flow in the sanctuary of Mookambika descend from Kudajadiri hills. The wee spring of cool water situated in between the temples of Kalabhairava and Umamaheshwara is the source of the sacred Souparnika. Legend says that a Garuda (eagle) named Suparna did a penance on the banks of this river praying to the Goddess for the abatement of his mother Vinutha's sorrows. When the Goddess turned up before him, he prayed that the river be henceforth known after him, Suparna, and therefore came to be called as Souparnika. At the location where he is said to have sat in penance, there is a small cave even today which is known as "Garuda's Cave". This hallowed river flow westward and proceeds to join the Arabian Sea near the temple of Maharajaswamy (Varahaswamy) at Maravanthe.

When we reached the banks of the river Souparnika, we could spot many devotees taking bath. There was couple of monkeys playing around. In the serene backdrop, hullabaloo of tourists and worshipers were clearly heeded. Chirping of birds, calmness in which the river flowed, crackling of leaves of dense trees on the other side of river, and chilling breeze, made the ecological ambience more pleasant.

I changed my dhoti and wore a towel; stepped into the flowing river with caution as ground beneath my feet was slippery. The persistent flowing has caused pebbles beneath the river to be slick. I could see clearly various colours of pebbles on the bed of the river. Fishes small and tiny were coming, biting my feet and escaping. The water was so pure and pristine; the chillness in water neutralized heat radiating from the sun above. I splashed water, played with it and stayed there itself without going to the deeper portion of the river. My mother also got slight wet with the holy water. I took few snaps from there to immortalize the natural beauty in its purest form. Totally, it was an enjoyable moment.

Passing nearly 20 minutes at Souparnika, we rambled back to Mookambika town. On the way, we spotted Shankaracharya’s Ashram. So went there, prayed and left that place in search of a vehicle to go to Kudajadiri Hill. When inquired about vehicle, I was told that only jeep will go to Kudajadiri as road to there was mountainous and hardly possible for other ordinary and luxury vehicles to climb. Finally, we got one jeep. With eight people including us, the terrain adventure commenced.

Nearly 35 KM was the ride by road through the Mookambika Wild Life Sanctuary. Of that, half the kilometers were on tarred road and to some distance on ballast and crushed stones. Because of constant movements of jeeps through such ruined pathway, and due to water flows from hills, surface of the way had become uneven, swampy and water logging at some point, making our vehicle bumping to all sides and unbalanced. The passengers inside were knocking each other due to the jolting movements.

The width of the road was just ten feet which was not enough for two vehicles to pass simultaneously from opposite direction. On the way, there were fallen trees severed and removed. Steep climbing, sharp turnings and sheer descents made the trekking more adventuresome and caused even vomiting sensation for me. All these were typically new to me. That’s why. However, the thrill was in that newness. Not just in that newness alone, but also in the marriage since ages between scenery and harmony in the forested ecosystem, hilly plains unspoiled by human and the vicinity sans human habitation.

The same uneasy ride went long for nearly half an hour. Eventually, suddenly the path became muddy and flat, which was a big relief for all those who were in the jeep. Within few minutes there was the end of road. Our jeep stopped. Everyone got down. The jeep driver told everyone that whoever was willing to go to Kudajadiri shall walk and scale the terrain on foot. A family who was in the jeep backed off; and few youngsters along with my mother and me made up our mind and set forth the lovely hiking expedition.

The historic spiritual feat on foot commenced at 10:00 am. In the beginning those three youngsters was just in front of us but within five minutes they were not seen as they went far ahead of us. Then my mother and I climbed alone with none along. Very soon, about ten minutes of trekking, the strap of my mother’s right legs sandal gave way. She was bare foot. I consoled her; and never giving up hope we continued our hike. On the way, she found a long and strong stick which she picked up and with the aid of that she climbed further heights. Forgetting her ailing age, her health conditions, and by chanting “Mokambikey Jagadambikey”, and keeping only a single thought of reaching the destination Kudajadiri, she kept on ascending the hallowed terrain.

Howsoever hard the path may be, reaching the pious pinnacle was sole intention in our mind. Sunlight was glimmering through the crystalline trees. A faint murmuring of crickets and cuckoo filled the air. Initial fear of forest faded in few minutes. Our body, mind and soul got mingled and matched with that of forest and its throbbing. We could understand the woods better than earlier as the way forest always understood humans since epochs. In the interim, a blackish brown colored leach was leaching blood from my mother’s left leg hallux. When removed, blood was oozing from the abrasion. Overlooking the twinge, my mother herself applied some mud over the lesion believing that Mother Nature would cure the inflicted wound. With every step, emotions lessened and fear obliterated from my mother and me which enabled us to take further steps with more zeal. Our fourteen kilometers on foot through this Kudajadiri forest seemed painless when I thought of the Ramayana mythological stories where Lord Rama along with his wife Sita and brother Laxman spent long fourteen years in forest and bore bizarre pangs and paroxysms. Endurance is the mode of realizing spirituality; its sheer tolerance and sacrifice that lead us to the domicile of Gods. That was the message which kept us moving as nomadic pilgrims.

The trail through the woody Kudajadiri hills was just having width possible for a single man to walk. It would have formed by the passage of men – divine and peripatetic. Steeps and slopes, Stones and thrones, roots and rocks, broken chappals, plastic bottles, empty bags etc. were on the route. All those left articles were that of devotees who preceded days or months before us through the same way conquering the same divine terrain. That reminded me of one thing: my mother who was walking so far with bare foot, found one right leg sandal suitable for her while walking. It may be a coincidence. However, for my mother, it was a blessing which she interpreted as a divine interference. Whatever, she climbed thereafter with modest relief.

After an hour of walk, the forest cover above us got over; we reached a grassy plain at an altitude of probably 1200MSL. When turned back, it was a million dollar beauty of yawning green gorge that I noticed. Soon I took out my camera and eternalized the artless environmental panorama in snaps. Grey haze was hugging the hills. Whole foliage of Ghats experienced below my elevation. Greenery was soothing my eyes and embalming my aesthetic senses whereas my body was sweltering as the yellow sun was scorching right above. We became sans our shadow. The bright blue sky reflected much sunlight and we were dehydrating like hell. Because of the solar tyranny, our breathing anatomy was feeling tired and the water in our bottle was getting reduced as we consumed little by little on our way.

Whenever my mother gets tired due to this revered mountaineering, she paused for a while. In between a mile or two, there were wooden benches arranged for the tired devotees to rest and respite. By sitting there for a while we had refreshments that we were carrying along with us. After regaining our energy, we again resumed to hiking. My thigh muscles started to twitch. Sweat drops were rolling on my forehead. Head ached and eyes were boiling. Thoughts of Ed Viesturs about mountain climbing seemed portent: “It's a round trip. Getting to the summit is optional, getting down is mandatory.” Withstanding everything, while climbing, though we paused in between, but our mind never said to stop or return back. Instead the enthusiasm was unlimited in my mother and me. Purpose seemed vital to tiredness and tedium. Isn’t that ships are made to sail in deep seas, fight the whirlpools and conquer the tempests rather than to keep safely in harbor? Similarly, we were there for a spiritual odyssey – that was our purpose, and not for lethargy or for forlorn ceding.

Hours of monotonous climbing with many thoughts running in me, with dry throat, and perspiration stained shirt, neared the climax when I saw a concrete block just couple of feet above. Soon, with high relief, my mother and I reached the top of Kudajadiri peak. It was an overwhelming ecstasy. Helen Keller was absolutely correct in saying this: “The marvelous richness of human experience would lose something of rewarding joy if there were no limitations to overcome. The hilltop hour would not be half so wonderful if there were no dark valleys to traverse.”

On the surface above, I found the Kudajadiri village cradled incredibly silent between majestic mountains. It comprised of four to five antique deteriorating small temples of probably six feet height, few rooftops, two or three stray dogs and one medium sized pond. One noticing fact there was an iron pillar of about 40 feet tall which was planted erect in front of Moola Mookambika Temple. Devotees believe that it was the trishul (trident) used by Goddess Mookambika to slay the demon but the verity is different. It was an iron pillar perhaps planted by British Geologists before Independence during the regime of Mysore Maharaja, to mark that place as mining area. Several such pillars are seen all along Western Ghats, where there are good Iron or Manganese deposits. Though mining in large scale did not take place at Kudajadiri, there are efforts to lease out the surrounding hills to mining companies to mine manganese and iron. Environmentalists and agriculturists of surrounding hamlet are strongly opposing such efforts which may also severely damage the evergreen forest and water sources.

It is believed that "Moola Mookambika" temple at this Kudajadiri village is the moola sthana (the origin) of Goddess Mookambika. It is supposed that Sri Adi Shankaracharya had a vision of Sri Mookambika Devi and he installed the deity here at Kudajadiri village. Adi Shankaracharya meditated at Kudajadiri hills and Devi was incarnated before him asking for his wish. He revealed his wish to incorporate Devi to a place in Kerala to worship where he wanted. Devi agreed and put forward a challenge that she will follow Shankara and he should not look back until he reaches his destination. But to test Shankara, Devi deliberately paused and when he couldn't hear Devi's anklets, Shankara suddenly turned around. Devi then stopped following him and asked Shankara to install her vigraha (statue) as he sees her. That place was Kollur which was a part of ancient Kerala which stretched from Gokarna to Kanyakumari. That was the story of Moola Mookambika Temple.

Before heading directly into the temples, I spotted a tap on the ground. I wiped my face, hands and legs with that tap water; drank the same; and filled our empty bottle with it. The water was pretty cool and very pure as it was flowing down through streams coming from the top of hills. I sensed a feeling of freshness in me after cleansing. More to that was the awesome feeling when I looked the wonderful scenic beauty below: dark green coverage of forest was shying when the lowering cinereal clouds caressed over. Meanwhile, sun was hiding behind those ashy billows somewhere far away. It was an overwhelming feeling altogether. Enchanting nature was seducing me badly with its beauty.

With curvy lips, I approached towards the temple. Interrupting that, a priest standing on the temple platform from far yelled on us to remove our slippers there itself where we cleaned ourselves. We obeyed unquestionably. Thereafter, with bare foot we entered the Mookambika Shrine. I prayed deeply. And then offered coins on the plate kept for that use. The priest after chanting slokas and mantras tied a sacred thread in yellow hue on my right hand. He also gave us crimson coloured kumkum to apply on my forehead.

Applying kumkum, I left to a nearby hotel for refreshment. From there I was told by the owner of that hotel that there are further sacred destinations to visit from Kudajadiri hilltop. He said that there is Ganapathi’s cave and Shankarapeedam nearby. Besides, just below the peak, almost vertical path leads to a small cave called Chitramoola where the deity of Lord Shiva and Goddess Parvathi is enshrined. From there, Mookambika Temple of Kollur is visible. But to reach Chitamoola was difficult to tread since it involves tremendous effort to climb and which was not advisable for women. Therefore, I decided that visiting Ganapathi’s cave and Shankarapeedam would be the last destination for us in this pilgrimage. Nelson Mandela expressed rightly that "After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb."

Never waiting for anyone, our climbing progressed. A distance of 2KM was there to cross from Kudajadiri village to Shankaracharya’s Sarvajna Peetam. Sarvajna Peetam is the place where Shankaracharya meditated. The road up was rock-strewn, holding broader beaten track than we so far came trekking, and sparsely had shadow of trees. Footprints were numerous there since many devotees as well as vacationers visited Ganapathi’s Cave and Sarvajna Peetam often. Within couple of minutes walk, there came a Y-junction where one road goes straight up and the other one to right. There was a signboard in ebony nailed on a tree, capable of understanding, showing right direction to Ganpathy’s Cave. We then took right. Almost immediately, there was the rock cave. Inside of which was a small Ganapathy’s idol enshrined.

We paid respect and prayed from depths. There were three Tamilian youngsters also at the consecrated cave. In minutes they left moving on the same right direction. As there was neither signpost nor any pointers, I was apprehensive of following them. I was doubtful about descending downhill. I told my mother that we are suppose to take the left from where we came and go way up. In return she resolutely replied that its better we follow those youngsters. Thus, we followed those Tamilians. After a twenty minutes walk, to everyone’s shock, we reached the same spot from we started – the Kudajadiri village! We were lead astray! It was so far a mistaken vagrancy. There was compunction in everyone. Those youngsters apologized to us for taking off course. By uttering that, they ran climbing again. I told my mother that we should not follow anyone as all are unfamiliar to such places. One should find his own way and not imitate the ignorant. How true was Jesus who preached that “If the blind follow the blind, they will both fall into a pit”?

Our footsteps went wrong; hopes became bleak and efforts barren in minutes. We both were let down. My mother’s eyes got moist and her voice turned poignant. She said in melancholy that her heart throbs faster. I could see from her body language that her blood pressure has risen. She admitted that she can’t climb an inch more. Sadly, she also added that the time has not come for me to reach Sarvajna Peetam and I need to wait more for that destiny. Those words really hurt me. My heart aggrieved acutely. Shakespeare’s lexis dripped in my mind: “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings.” Though I was upset, by never giving hope I pleaded to my mother that we are here for a spiritual mission and we won’t go back without accomplishing it. Further, I alleged that it is all about our mind and not about our bodily fatigue; if there is a will we could overcome our physical edginess. I was strong in my commitments. Agreeing to it my mother said yes. Thus, we trekked again from Kudajadiri village in search of our ultimate aim of offering our footprints at Sarvajna Peetam.

While we were climbing, a huddle of devotees was descending down after visiting Chitramoola. Most of them were Malayalis. As the shortest distance between two strangers is a smile, I smiled at each one of them. I asked one gentleman that how much time it would take from there to reach Sarvajna Peetam. He answered that there is not much to climb. We kept on tramping in that optimism. What that man said was true. Within thirty minutes there was Sarvajna Peetam.

From far away, on the smoggy draped sky near the hilly horizon, I could perceive a grey rock mandapam. As we neared, the visual became clearer. The Sarvajna Peetam of ten ft height was built of rock cut stones, sited on a square plinth having a height of two ft. The surface of the stoned walls was mossy due to constant climatic moisture. One or two polished dark green Common Skinks was running in and out of the sanctum. The view from such an altitude was staggering. It felt like I was there in heaven and earth down below. That breathtaking image won’t lose color from my memory in this lifetime. As the battery charge of my Olympus FE 20 digital camera was getting reduced, I hurriedly took the snaps from possible angles. The splendor was captured eternally in order to cherish even when decades pass by.

Later, the priest, slim built, ragged in saffron, applied sandal paste on forehead, adorned rudraksha beads (utrasum beads) on his neck; from inside the mandapam asked us to get in. Since the entry door to it was just four ft, any one entering shall lower their head and make a way in. My mother and I entered the four walled rocky roof topped cubicle with high humility and devout esteem. Inside was a garlanded grey-colored sculpture of Shankaracharya. I could smell chandanam (sandal) and vibhuti (ash). Initially the priest, though he was a Kannadiga, described in Malayalam the history of Shankaracharya’s Sarvajna Peetam and the relation to Mookambika Goddess. Then he asked us my nakshatra (star). In return, I told him that it was ‘Triketta’. After doing pooja on a divine thread in red colour, he tied it on my right hand. Followed by, we offered dakshina (offering) to him, and then we left the Sarvajna Peetam.

It was an immense feeling of satisfaction after we accomplished our mission mounting. If it wouldn’t have completed, regret incalculable would be haunting us until next spiritual attempt to the same saintly ground. Instead contentment was bubbling over. To enhance our feel, nature was romancing with us: cool breeze was blowing and encompassing; aroma of freshness in it revitalized our tired torso; blurring fogs and disintegrating clouds whirled around us and by that time sun was little merciful as its rays were moderate.

While descending, my mother told me that she experienced like touching paradise. I took a deep breath and replied in accord that it’s the same with me. Heaven is the ultimate destination in the attainment of nirvana according to Hindu doctrines. Why search it elsewhere? It’s near here on earth. Perhaps that’s why anchorites, philosophers, saints, sages, gods and goddesses are fond of choosing hermitage, meditating, mystifying, commissioning and calling their spiritual pursuit in altitudinal landscape and preferring their abode in Himalayan glacial summits, Deccan rigorous ranges, arboreous shadows and tropical meadows. From Lord Ayyappa at Sabarimala to Lord Muruga at Palani; from the pious troika of Amarnath, Kedarnath and Badrinath to various hilly Hindu pantheons and tribal deities, altitude remain a favorite in opting tapobhoomi (land of spiritual practice) for sacred and sublime souls. Not the least, Tibetan plateau for Buddhists and Lamas, Mount Sinai for the Christians, Mount Hira for Mohammedans, Mount Olympus of Greece, Mount Fuji of Japan and so forth are revered not because they are fabled but they are alpine.

In twenty minutes, we climbed down and reached Kudajadiri village. From a hotel, we had a not-so-good lunch to satisfy our appetite and to retrieve our adrenaline to walk downward. At 3:00 pm, the journey downhill commenced. We climbed down as soon as possible for us as were getting late. I was just calculating in my mind about the time it would take to reach the Mangalore railway station. My mother and I were little worried about missing our train. Our train time was 9:30 pm. Despite, devoid of abandoning hope, we descended down apace without mislaying our each giant leap and without pausing for a moment. Three youngsters who were there with us initially while we were climbing were also joined with us when dismounting.

Same trail, same turnings, same stones and thrones were there when sliding down. Nothing novel I found. We felt least awkward but the hastiness and agility in our walk was more than whilst climbing. My mother shared her point that in life also same is the case: going upward is intricate while coming down the hierarchy would be like a blue streak. Hence, be cautious! It took four hours to climb whereas in an hour we were back to square one. When we were about to reach, the Rain God Varuna hailed us in the form of a drizzle. We were drenched somewhat. With that, we straight away went and sat in the jeep that we came. The driver was playing cards with his counterparts. Through my compulsion, the driver started the jeep hurriedly. When the vehicle was moving, a dark black coloured snake – the king cobra – was crossing the road. By considering it, our driver slowed down the vehicle and was bumping the horn. Poor driver don’t know that snakes are deaf. I smiled inside me seeing that. The snake luckily managed to reach the other side and disappeared in the bushes. This made me to think that I didn’t even see an insect or a vertebra in Kudajadiri while traversing up and down. It was while in jeep we found one on the road. By Gods grace, my mother and I reached safely meandering through opaque forest. In half an hour, approximately by 4:30 pm, we were at the base of Kudajadiri – the Mookambika.

Soon we rushed to our room, packed our luggage and checked out. Carrying our belongings we were at Mookambika Bus Stand at 4:50 pm. One bus was ready to start to Udupi. Hastily, we went and sat in it. I inquired the Bus Conductor about the time it takes to reach Udupi. He replied that it would be 8:00 pm. In that same bus, the gentleman to whom I asked the time it would take to reach Sarvajna Peetam from the top of Kudajadiri hill was there. He was a Keralite and was along with his friend. They both were back from Chitramoola. They were also to Mangalore railway station for catching the same train that we were about to. Eventually hours passed by. The bus plied not so rapidly. That made my mother and me more vexed. When it reached Kundapura Bus Stand, the Conductor came to me and told me that their bus would stop for ten minutes at Kundapura and hence he would help us in finding the first bus that would go to Udupi. He shared a word with the Bus Conductor of another bus that was ready to run routinely to Udupi. We went and sat in that bus. With no time, it started; and as told by the Conductor, we were there at Udupi at 8:00 pm.

Without wasting any time, I along with my mother got down from the bus and caught another one that was ready to head towards Mangalore. After finding a seat in that, I made query with the Conductor regarding the reaching time at Mangalore. He said that it would be 9:00 pm. Those two young men were also in the same bus. Every minute was valuable for us. I realized the relevance of every second at that point. Nostalgically, I told my mother that I had ran for catching trains for six long years while I was commuting to and fro from Palakkad to Law College at Thrissur regularly between 2001 and 2007, but never had I felt so tensed like that of from afternoon on the top of Kudajadiri hill till that evening of reaching at Mangalore. The main reason was that our ticket was booked already and missing the train would cause troubles of spending the night somewhere that was not in our plan, more than loosing money.

It was incessantly raining outside. Roads were deluged. Potholes were rarely visible. When the bus entered the city limits of Mangalore, it was 9:00 pm already. Due to traffic and more to the torrential cloudburst, bus was belated to reach Mangalore railway station. My heart was throbbing in absolute pace. Countdown had by now started. Few more minutes were there to go. And now days, since the Indian Railways have computerized, trains running late has significantly reduced. Another reason causing more panic in us was that our train West-coast Express starts from Mangalore Jn. Since Mangalore was the starting station, there was very less chance of holding up the train and hence it would undoubtedly set out at sharp 9:30 pm. In the end, by 9:20 pm it was Mangalore.

Straight away as I stepped down from the bus, I opened the umbrella. My mother and I, along with those two stranger Keralites, waited for an auto-rickshaw. But none was seen. Incidentally, one auto-rickshaw was coming towards us from a distance of roughly 100 meters. As it came near, we all stopped it by gesturing and shouting. I told the driver to take us to the Mangalore railway station. He charged extra fare from us for going at speed. As necessity knows no value of money, I paid the said amount and along with my mother ran towards the Platform Number 1. Those two men rushed to ticket counters for taking their tickets as they haven’t booked it. The West-coast Express was ready to go. It was 9:25 pm. We looked for S-6 coach and made our way to our respective berths. In five minutes, at sharp 9:30 pm, the train rolled from Mangalore station. After being seated, I ecstatically declare to my mother: Yes! We made it! It was a tremendous sigh of relief. My mother and I can’t believe even now how we did that. I thank every coincidence that struck and streamlined us to make it to our destination. That night passed by without sleep – may be because of our accomplishment or due to the jerking of the train compartment. No matter what, the next cockcrow, at 5:00 a.m. it was Palakkad Jn.

With reflective opinions, electrifying experiences, mythological tracings, spiritual shibboleths, erudite lessons, memories and messages, here I penned down so far my travelogue before it achromatize from my reminiscence. Let me quote General Omar Bradley as a desideratum – a message of my travelogue: “We have too many men of science, too few men of God; we have grasped the mystery of the atom and rejected the Sermon on the Mount. The world has achieved brilliance without wisdom, power without conscience. Ours is a world of nuclear giants and ethical infants. We know more about war than we do about peace, more about killing than we do about living.” It is obviously stylish that men of science in this information age see no rationality in the sermons or in spirituality. They make things salmagundi instead of interpreting religion separated from god and god from spirituality. Today’s 21^st century generation, resultantly, throw Shankaracharya’s cosmic vision of advaita Vedanta philosophy beneath oblivion and cast off compassionate teachings of Buddha to junkyard. Neither Satyagraha ethics of Gandhi nor the colossal messages of Bible or Bagvat Gita is brought into their high-speed life style. Quranic verses are misquoted often by the Occidental world and the Upanishadic elixir never imbibed by anyone. Theresa’s clemency has been forgotten, Mandela’s sacrifice overlooked and Dalai Lama being exiled unjustifiably. Can’t we find an answer to this prevailing chaos in the cosmos? Is there a way out from this Kaliyug? I ask: Quo vadis India? Quo vadis Humanity?