Ganesh

Ganesha, the god of knowledge and joy, the eternal witness, the great remover of obstacles, the patron of letters and learning, the destroyer of vanity and pride, He that opens all doors, is the pure manifestation of happiness, the enforcer of dharma and the joyous, dancing, potbellied gobbler of sweets.

He was born of sandalwood paste scraped from his mother, Parvati's body when she needed someone to guard the door to her baths. Shiva, her husband, the dancing destroyer did what vexed dancing destroyers are wont to do and cut off Ganesh's head to get into the room. Parvati, however, was inconsolable at the loss of her son. She demanded that Shiva restore him, and so he took the head of a sacred elephant and restored the boy to life.

Ganesha's elephant head is the Atman: the soul self, while his body is the Maya: the earthly self combined by the universal AUM, formed by his trunk. He rides a tiny mouse, or rat, which is impossible small for his big body.

August 20th this year began the festival known as Chaturthi Ganesh, or Ganeshpuja. It came the day after we were at Murali and Suganya's for dinner. All over the country Hindus were building Ganpatis big and small: statues of lord Ganesh, made for the special puja, or worship of the festival. Made of clay or chalk or other materials that dissintegrate in water, the Ganeshpuja ganpatis are given worship every day of the festival, exalted in 108 invocations, and given gifts: fruits, flowers, sweets, and sacred substances. For 1, 3, 5, 7, 9 or 11 days the worship goes on before in a chariot procession, the ganpati is carried to the nearest body of water whether that be the Bay of Bengal, the river Coom, the village well. There, with songs to sing him on his way and invitations to return, Ganesh is dissolved into the universe.



We hadn't been able to see any of the events of Janmashtami (Lord Krishna's Birthday) except for on TV, we also hadn't been able to see much of Chennai, and I have a particular fondness for Ganesh, and so I was extremely excited about getting out into the streets and seeing Chaturthi Ganesh out in the world as part of people's lives. We took a tuk tuk to Triplicane and Mount Road where we were told there would be two giant ganpatis within a block of each other, and where the first day of the festival would be underway.

The street was dark, and hot and damp, and it was the first time I'd got to experience what Brand had been telling me about, that once you leave the main streets and business centres of Chennai, the English fades off into the sea of Tamil. People looked at us like we might be lost, a little wary at first, but when it became apparent that we were just interested in quietly and respectfully observing, no one seemed to mind that we were there.



There were two ganpatis, each twenty feet tall under big tent covers, two blocks apart painted in brilliant garish colours and bedecked in beautiful garlands of flowers. Floodlights ringed the tents, pouring light over Ganesh, and at each site, chairs had been set up for people to sit in. At one, beautiful little girls in traditional dress and bells on, did Abhinaya dances to tell the story of, and praise Lord Ganesha, and at the other, there was some kind of sermon going on. We couldn't of course, understand what was being said, but the tone of it seemed to be didactic... how Ganesh teaches us to move through the world.



Between the two, down a little side street there was a temple with a tall, coloured temple gate which would have been difficult to see in the darkness if it were not for the huge neon Tamil sign that (probably) declared the name of the temple. This kind of thing is married in my head to what India is: this land of juxtaposed opposites: the old and the new, the high and low tech, the rich and the poor, the holy and the secular.



Out of the temple, to the sound of winding horns and tabla drums, came a procession bringing a third ganpati out to a cart. It was markedly different than the first two, seeming to be a much smaller, more traditional version made of clay with a little ganesh and a giant rat vehicle that he rode on, garlanded with flowers. The ganpati was mounted onto a cart and a large golden array was mounted behind it, and a ceremonial elephant umbrella mounted high above. As we watched, this all happened in a flurry of movement. People did not gather, they watched or they did not. A little girl behind us, with a notebook on the seat of a motorbike finished her homework... English letters on a page.

After a while a little boy with a terrible hunched back, who had real trouble walking but was bubbling over with sheer joy, came to the chariot cart and was lifted up to sit beside Ganesh. His joy was brilliant as he strapped a pair of cymbals to his hands and played along with the music as the big, bulky chariot was slowly rolled through the street, the remover of obstacles pausing briefly at every pitted pothole in the road. We paused in a moment at the pothole to buy some flowers, a garland of lotus blossoms, some for my hair and some for Ganesh. Everywhere we have stopped to buy jasmine, or anything else at all before this, we have been quoted a foreigner's price, an outlandish sum that begins the haggling, but here, in the puja of the streets, the flower seller smiled at us and gave us the price that she gave everyone else. When we turned back, the chariot cart, the musicians and the little boy had dissappeared into the night.

I have read that in Hinduism the first important gifts that one gives God are the Pathram (a betel leaf that symbolizes the temporary quality of the body), the Pushpam (a flower which symbolizes the spiritual heart, the centre of the self), the Phalam (a fruit that symbolizes the devotional application of the mind) and the Thoyam (water, which symbolizes tears of joy). That night I saw all of these given in puja by the faithful.

Without even really meaning to, I myself gave Thoyam that night. For standing amidst the music, amidst the smell of flowers, the smiles of people and the presence of Ganesh surrounding us, I became suddenly, wonderfully overwhelmed with gratitude at the vast and beautiful opportunity that Brand and I have been presented with in this trip, and was struck with sudden, happy tears. For in that dark evening, in the heart of the vast city of Chennai, in the ancient land of India I was subject to the mercy and hospitality of this strange and beautiful land and of its people, and I was humbled by the grace of it all.