Train Ride Day

Just one more note on Shantivanum Ashram: According to the guidebook, the river flowing past it is the sacred river Cauvery, and the village next to it is named Thanneepalli.

We left Shantivanum on Thursday morning after enjoying a mass celebrated by our own Father Nelson. We had a full day. I think the idea was to wear us out before the overnight train ride from Trichy to Cochin. That worked pretty well.

First we stopped to see another temple, Ranganathaswamy Temple at Srirangam, a temple dedicated to Vishnu. Everywhere in the temple, on signs, in sculptures, and on the foreheads of brahmin devotees, we saw the sign of Vishnu, a white V shape with a red vertical line in the middle. Some of this temple has evidently been here since the fifth century, but most of it dates from the fourteenth. Close to the entrance is a shrine to the goddess Ranganyaki, whom we could see (but not photograph), which is nice since non-Hindus are not allowed into the innermost temple where Vishnu’s shrine is, and where according to the guidebook he reclines the coil of the snake Adisesha, “who in legend formed an island for the god, resting on the primordial Ocean of Chaos.”

Such similarities among motifs that developed in Hinduism and the western religions inspire much historical curiosity, at least for me. The devotion of Hindu worshippers to the shrines looks similar to some Catholic and Orthodox devotion to holy places: approaching, touching, kissing, and using flowers, water, and fire. For me as a Protestant such physicality is foreign, though I can imagine how comforting it would be to use the senses to reach out to God in such immediate and personal ways. The feelings that seem to accompany such devotion only sneak up on me, such as on Christmas eve in church, or when I am in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre pondering the rock Christian tradition calls Golgotha, and the spot where the edicule sits, where his tomb once was. Protestants say God is everywhere, no less in one place than in another. Such theology leaves the door open to seeing God in unexpected places, and especially in the beauty of the created world (including humans). But to enact such a devotion in individual physical gestures takes some thought and creativity, since we aren’t taught this.

After the temple, we drove to the home of a cousin of Father Nelson and her family. There we met Nelson’s parents, sister, niece and nephew. A couple of dozen fine silk saris were pulled out and we were dressed up. The men were dressed in the male counterparts, lunghis (cloths wrapped around the waist that when down are ankle-length, but are often doubled back up to knee-length). Many pictures were taken. Unfortunately, my camera battery had died in the temple, so I will have to add pictures of this and the rest of the day later. Just imagine a bunch of mostly middle-aged white people trying to look good in what the Indian people wear so gracefully and grandly. After this we were fed a delicious and many-coursed lunch. Most of it was home cooking, but just as at any church function, KFC also appeared.

Thoroughly fed and feted, we were then taken shopping at a clothing department store. It was overwhelming, but some managed to buy nice shirts, shawls, and scarfs. We ended up doing what the Indians do when they have had enough shopping—women surrounded by 10 or 12 big shopping bags simply sat down on the floor in one corner or another to await help. It worked—soon the store personel were passing out bottles of Fanta to energize us to pick up our bags and walk.

Then we drove to a nearby village where other members of Father Nelson’s family live, including an aunt and uncle, who fed us a light supper sitting on straw mats around their large but mostly bare living area. They were very understanding when most of us protested being still full from lunch. We walked the short distance to see Nelson’s 90+ year old grandmother and some other family members, extracated ourselves from the 50 or so children who had showed up to ask us our names and to have their pictures taken, and then boarded the vans for the train station.

We had first class tickets, “3-Tier AC.” In our compartments (once we found them, which took some doing), the seats folded down to create berths, with berths above as well, each equipped with sheets, blanket, and pillow. It took awhile to situate and lock up luggage with small chains, to make our beds (some had a porter’s help), and get settled.

I closed my eyes thinking, this is so nice, being rocked to sleep like a baby. But within five minutes I was screaming. It was just a little rustle on my pillow—and I opened my eyes face to face with a mouse. Or as Father Michael back at Shantivanum would have said, a four-legged human. It scurried away and I sat hugging my knees, imagining spending the night upright while all India slept. My seatmate Pat gently said, “Let’s just put our heads on the other end of the bed,” and held my hand across the aisle for a little while. Whatever else enjoyed my berth with me the rest of the night didn’t wake me.

In the morning we struggled our baggage off the train. My suitcase was taken by a nice man I thought at first was just another helpful Indian traveler. But he turned out to be Father Junesh, come to conduct us to our next home in Cochin, in the state of Kerala on the Arabian Sea.