‘Jai Shri Krishna,’ calls out the pundit from the tiny alcove that houses the Radha-Krishna idols. I frown at the cheerful greeting that sounds like an intrusion to my crowded mind. I walked down to the temple this morning looking to spend a few quiet moments undisturbed by human company. And as I sit on a solitary bench a little distance away I have no desire for conversation.
Despite my initial frown, my lips turn up in a polite involuntary smile as I return the greeting. The Pundit isn’t really looking for a chat and so I linger on to watch as he gets busy cleaning that small ‘temple within the temple’, the one that houses Lord Krishna and his consort Radha. The idols are arresting in their beauty, made of blue and white marble respectively with large eyes, delicate features and peaceful smiles. I realise this is the very first time I have noticed how very pretty they are.
The priest shakes off bits of incense ash from Radha’s sari then settles it making sure it falls perfectly down to her feet. He reaches out for her diaphanous pallu pleating it just so, tucking one end at her back so that the pleats open up in a graceful fan. He sits back to admire his handiwork and then moves onto Krishna. He adjusts the folds of his dhoti, untangles and sorts his multiple necklaces, straightens the blue-green peacock feather that rests in his crown. He then bathes their feet with water carefully collecting it in a pan to be distributed among devotees during the course of the day as charanamrit. He puts a scarlet vermillion teeka on the idols’ foreheads then loops garlands of fresh golden marigolds around their necks. Finally, he tucks in a bright red Hibiscus at their feet.
I find a certain peace in watching him as he goes about his daily chores with devotion and dedication and a quiet happiness I haven’t seen in a while.
Elsewhere in the temple other priests are at work too.
I am not a religious person but this is exactly why I love this sprawling temple complex, for the sense of space and peace. And this is perhaps why I headed this way today morning without really intending to. Tucked away in a number of nooks are idols dedicated to various gods and goddesses. One corner has been turned into a gaushala, a cowshed, where a few cows sit drowsing, their mouths moving relentlessly in an unceasing rhythm. Their gentle mooing and the smell of dung asserts their presence. Would you be terribly surprised if I say I don’t mind the smell at all? It reminds me of long lazy summer vacations spent in the village, which was my mom’s childhood home. As it wafts over to me merging with the perfume of marigold, incense and fresh grass there really is no unpleasantness.
Far above my head, the trees are dotted with pigeons which is a rather strange sight used to as I am, of seeing these city birds only on balconies and rooftops. But here they sit along the branches, rising up in unison at the slightest disturbance.
At my feet the ground is covered with yellowed leaves from the trees. In just a little while the cleaning man will come by and sweep them all away. But for now I enjoy the splash of colour, undisturbed. And in the silence I find what I came here looking for.
