The Vinnagara Temple

They say that life is a rather unpredictable journey, ready to surprise you at every turn. Sometimes, it is the most trivial of incidents that acts as the catalyst for great, life-altering events—the sort that turn your world entirely upside down. Such an experience was about to befall our young friend, Vandhiyathevan, at that very moment. He had been staring, completely slack-jawed, at the grand procession of Periya Pazhuvettarayar as it wound its way through the festive crowd. His horse had been standing quietly just a little further away.

The stragglers of the Pazhuvoor cavalcade, marching some distance behind their mates, soon caught sight of the solitary beast.

“Adei (hey there),” exclaimed one. “Look at that kurudhai (mule)!”

“That’s a horse, not a mule, you dimwit,” corrected another.

A third voice, dripping with acid, intercepted them. “Will you two scholars kindly set aside your grammar lessons and find out if that animal is actually a horse or an ass?”

“Now, this is a mission much more to my liking,” agreed a fourth fellow. He promptly set off towards the steed and made a clumsy attempt to clamber onto its back. That intelligent animal, realising instinctively that this rough newcomer was certainly not his master, gave a sharp shudder and shook him off. It trotted away, quite obviously distressed.

“Well, well, would you believe the temper on this one!” chuckled the soldier, dusting himself off after taking a tumble to the dusty ground. “The mule won’t let me mount. It’s a highly respectable animal, you see—wants a member of some ancient royal clan for its master.” He paused, appearing to ponder this deeply. “In that case, no one less than a prince of the Thanjavur Mutharayar dynasty would do!” he quipped, and the soldiers gathered around him cackled appreciatively at the joke.

There was, of course, a good historical reason for their derisive laughter: the Mutharayar dynasty of Thanjavur had been thoroughly crushed out of existence a hundred years ago, and the Chozha Empire’s proud tiger flag now fluttered triumphantly in its place.

“Who cares what the horse thinks?” put in one of the men. “I’d say that our Thandavaraayan right here is a thousand times better than some descendant of the long-dead Thanjavur Mutharayars!”

“Thandavaraayaa, you’d better make sure this animal really is a horse and not a false-legged wooden prop for the temple festivities,” mocked another soldier. “After all, it completely refused to let you mount, didn’t it?”

“An excellent idea,” agreed Thandavaraayan, and he proceeded to put the matter to the test. He approached the horse once more, and this time, he caught hold of its tail and gave it a sudden, vicious twist.

That much-afflicted animal decided it had endured quite enough. It kicked its hind legs out three or four times in protest and broke into a frightened gallop.

“Ah, look at it run! It really is a mule, then—how wrong we were!” yelled the soldiers, entirely carried away by what was, to them, a hilarious spectacle. They whistled sharply, screeched “Ui! Ui!” at the tops of their voices, and crashed blindly behind the horse as it stumbled headlong into the festival crowd.

People milling about enjoying the evening tried frantically to get out of the way of the terrified animal as it ploughed through the gathering. Most managed to escape in time, but a few unfortunate souls were caught under its thundering hooves and suffered minor injuries. The horse simply galloped on, driven quite mad out of its senses by the uproar.

All of this had happened in mere moments, well before Vandhiyathevan could gather his wits and take any sensible action. Azhwarkkadiyaan Nambi, who had caught sight of the young man’s stricken expression, correctly guessed that the fleeing stallion was his.

“Saw the antics of those Pazhuvoor oafs, thambi?” The Vaishnavite’s voice was remarkably suave. “Why couldn’t you teach them the grand lesson you were promising me just a while ago?”

The smoothly delivered taunt found its mark perfectly. Vandhiyathevan’s face turned crimson with sudden fury. He gritted his teeth, however, and forced himself to keep calm. The Pazhuvoor men had turned out in their full, imposing force; there was absolutely no point in trying to take on hundreds of them in a street brawl. Besides, they had not stayed behind to look for a quarrel with the horse’s owner; they were already marching away, chuckling to themselves after tormenting the animal.

Vandhiyathevan chose, sensibly, to go after his stallion, which had eventually slowed to a bewildered stop. He had not been overly worried about it getting lost; the horse was well-trained, he knew, and would never wander too far away from him. No, what he was really itching to do was teach those arrogant Pazhuvoor idiots a solid lesson—but now was not the time. He would just have to wait for a better opportunity.

The horse had come to a trembling halt in the cool shade of a tamarind grove, well away from the milling throngs. Sorrow practically dripped from its drooping mien, and it offered a soft, reproachful neigh when Vandhiyathevan finally approached. Why did you leave me all alone, among those awful louts? it seemed to ask. Vandhiyathevan quickly applied himself to the gentle task of soothing its lacerated nerves. He patted its warm, dusty back and murmured to it, eventually managing to calm the creature down enough to walk it back to the main thoroughfare.

The crowd, however, caught sight of him and immediately impaled him with their criticism.

“Why did you bring this unruly animal to the peaceful festivities, boy?” they complained loudly. “Look at the number of innocent people who have suffered from its kicks!”

Others in the crowd were slightly more charitable. “It’s not the poor boy’s fault at all,” they reasoned. “What could he do? What could the poor horse do, for that matter? It was just the mad, vulgar antics of those overbearing Pazhuvoor men.”

Azhwarkkadiyaan stood waiting patiently as Vandhiyathevan returned leading his horse, and the young man’s face narrowed with fresh irritation. Why won’t this quarrelling idiot just leave me alone? he thought miserably.

“What’s your direction, thambi?” asked the Vaishnavite cheerily.

“Er—ah—well, I fully intend to travel to the west, and then turn south, and then, perhaps, take a little stroll to the east, and finally double back to the south-west,” Vandhiyathevan rattled off, hoping to confuse the man.

“That wasn’t quite what I meant. Where do you intend to stay, tonight?”

“Why do you wish to know?”

“Well, if you were, perhaps, intending to lodge at the Kadambur Sambuvaraiyar Palace, I have a small commission for you.”

“Well!” exclaimed the youth. “Are you an expert in the black arts or some sort of magic? How on earth did you know where I was headed?”

“It’s hardly something that warrants the expertise of a magician,” Nambi replied smoothly. “Dozens of important visitors will arrive today from all over the country, and all of them intend to stay at the palace.”

“Is that so?” murmured Vandhiyathevan, genuine surprise colouring his voice.

“Indeed. Don’t tell me you didn’t know this—to whom else could the fine palanquin, the royal umbrellas, the elephants, horses, drums, conches, and trumpets belong, but the Kadambur royal family? They were here specifically to welcome and escort Periya Pazhuvettarayar to their palace. A man of his stature would expect, and settle for, nothing less.”

This was news indeed. Opportunities to stay under the very same roof as Chozha Nadu’s greatest, most feared warrior would not be easy to come by. Who knew? He might even chance upon some God-given excuse to actually meet the great man, and perhaps even introduce himself. All this was highly tempting—though his recent, unpleasant experience with Pazhuvettarayar’s brutes in the street had certainly soured his expectations a little.

Lost in this reverie, Vandhiyathevan only came back to himself at the sound of Azhwarkkadiyaan’s voice.

“Thambi—will you do me a favour?” Azhwarkkadiyaan’s tone was filled with a rather uncharacteristic pleading.

“What sort of favour could I possibly offer you? I’m a complete stranger to these parts myself.”

“I wouldn’t ask you for anything beyond your means. Just take me to the Kadambur palace with you, tonight.”

“Whatever for? Do you expect to meet a stubborn Saivite there? Perhaps you’re eager to corner someone and debate the respective merits of Lord Siva and Lord Thirumaal?”

“Of course not,” Nambi said, looking almost hurt. “Did you really think I picked quarrels for a living? See here, my lad, the palace will resound with grand celebrations tonight. They are absolutely sure to hold an enormous feast, which will be followed by all sorts of lively entertainment—kaliyaattam (a lively folk dance), saamiyattam (a trance dance of the gods), a delightful kuravaikoothu (a traditional gypsy dance), and endless dances and songs. I’ve never seen a proper koothu (street theatre) before, and this would be the perfect chance.”

“Be that as it may—how on earth would I be able to escort you inside?”

“You could simply introduce me as your servant.”

Every suspicion that Vandhiyathevan had entertained about this man some time ago returned in full force, growing stronger by the second.

“Look, you’d better play off your petty tricks on someone else,” he said firmly. “I am not the man to fall for them. The very last thing I want is someone like you parading as my servant—and who do you think would believe such a ridiculous thing? No one would, even if I were stupid enough to take you with me. Besides, judging by everything you say about the crowds, I doubt if even I will find a place to stay there tonight.”

“Then—you are not travelling to Kadambur by a formal invitation?”

“I am, in a way. Sambuvaraiyar’s son, Kandan Maaravel, is a very dear friend of mine, and he has often insisted that I visit him if I am ever wandering in these parts.”

“Is that all?” said Nambi, raising his eyebrows. “You won’t find it an easy circumstance to enter the palace tonight, then, if you are relying merely on an old promise!”

They walked together in silence along the dusty road for a while. The evening air was warm and smelled of crushed leaves and river water.

“Why do you keep following me?” asked Vandhiyathevan finally.

“I could ask you the very same thing. Why don’t you go your own way?”

“Because I don’t know my way around, of course. Nambi, are you going to Kadambur as well?”

“No—you’ve firmly refused to take me along, haven’t you? I am on my way to the Vinnagara temple.”

“To the Veera Narayana Perumal Temple, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I think I would like to visit it, too.”

“Would you, now?” Nambi looked pleased. “I wondered if you might be one of those who object to entering Vishnu temples. This one has an excellent, noble history and is very much worthy of worship. There is a Battar (a temple priest) here, by the name of Eswara Munigal, who serves the deity. He is a truly great man.”

“I’ve heard of him too,” said Vandhiyathevan. “But the shrine looks so terribly crowded today! Is it some sort of auspicious occasion?”

“Of course it is. Today is the birth star of the lady Andal, one of the twelve great Azhwars (the supreme poet-saints of Lord Vishnu), and the chief of Thirumaal’s devotees. And then, it is also Aadi Perukku, which perfectly explains the teeming crowds. Hardly surprising, is it?”

Azhwarkkadiyaan then changed his tack slightly. “Thambi, have you ever listened to any of Andal’s beautiful songs?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Don’t. Never, never make even the attempt!”

“Why this sudden hatred?”

“I cherish neither hatred nor loathing for her pasurams (devotional hymns),” said Nambi. “All I wanted was to warn you about their fatal, overpowering charm. My dear lad, if you ever had the glorious misfortune of listening to her exquisite poems, you would immediately throw away your spear and sword; you would swear off your rugged military lifestyle and simply wander away on a lifelong pilgrimage through all the Vinnagara temples in the land!”

“Do you know any of them? Can you sing them?”

“A few. I have also learnt some of the revered Nammazhwar’s divine verses. I intend to sing them at the temple; you may listen, if you wish,” answered Nambi. “Ah, here we are!”

And, in truth, they had already arrived at the grand entrance of the Veera Narayanapura Temple.

(Now, it is worth pausing a moment to remember the great Paranthaka Chozhar the First, the illustrious grandson of Vijayalaya Chozhar. He carried the magnificent title of “The Kopparakesari Who Conquered Madurai and Eezham”—and it was he who laid the very foundations for the mighty empire that the Chozha kingdom would later become. Paranthakar was the bearer of several other grand titles, too. He was the one who had lovingly fitted the Thillai Chitrambalam, the great Chidambaram temple, with a roof of pure gold. He possessed the titles of Chozha Sigamani and Soora Sigamani, among others—not to mention the name Veera Narayanan, as well.

During his time, the Rashtrakuta kings of the Rettai Mandalam kingdom in the north wielded considerable, threatening power. Paranthakar wisely suspected that they might cherish designs on the Chozha territories, and so he stationed his firstborn, Prince Rajadithyar, in the Thirumunaippaadi country, with a large and restless army at his disposal.

Rajadithyar was a practical young man, loath to let hundreds of thousands of strong warriors simply lounge about with nothing to do. He hit upon an excellent plan: they would work towards something that actually benefited a large swathe of the local population. Being well aware that copious amounts of fresh water simply overflowed the banks of the Vada Kaveri—or the Kollidam, as the river is also known—and drained pointlessly into the sea without being of use to anyone, he made arrangements for his men to dig a massive lake to collect it all.

He named this vast expanse of water the Veera Narayana Eri in honour of his beloved father, and raised a Vinnagara Temple on its shores. (It was quite common, you see, for a Vishnu temple, or a Vishnu Griha, to be known in elegant Thamizh as a ‘Vinnagaram’ in those days.) Lord Thirumaal—or to address Him by another name, Sriman Narayanan Murthy—was the great Protector, the Supreme Guardian of all life as He rested upon His snake-bed in a cosmic sea of milk. It was only appropriate, therefore, that temples built in His name were often raised on the cool, breezy banks of large lakes. And this was the reason for the graceful presence of the Veera Narayana Temple on the banks of this one, too.)

Azhwarkkadiyaan and Vandhiyathevan quietly entered the sacred, stone-paved precincts of this hoary temple. Once they approached the inner sanctum, the Vaishnavite cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and began to sing.

He worked his way through a few of Andal’s divine pasurams, his voice ringing clear and true against the ancient stone, and finally touched upon Nammazhwar’s great work, commonly referred to as the Thamizh Vedham (the Tamil equivalent of the sacred Vedas):

“Poliga poliga poliga Poyitru valluyir chaabam Naliyum naragamum naindha Namanukku ingu yaathonrum illai Kaliyum kedum kandukolmin Kadalvannan boothangal manmel Maliyappugundhu isaipaadi Aadi uzhitharak kandom!

Kandom kandom kandom Kannukkiniyana kandom Thondeer elleerum vaareer Thozhuthu thozhuthu ninraarthum Vandaar thannanthuzhaayaan Maadhavan boothangal manmel Pandaan paadi ninraadip Parandhu thirigindranavae!”

(Behold, behold, the shining grace of the Lord who redeems us of our curses; Behold the light that banishes the darkness of hell; that releases us from the yoke of death. The dark age of Kali is at an end, and those who worship Lord Vishnu will rise again, upon this earth; sing and dance, to glory! Behold, behold, the sight that gladdens our hearts; to see the prayers of His servants rise to reach Him; We, who sing His praises, are lost in the ecstasy of His grace, like bees drunk on the sweet nectar of His thulasi garland!)

As he sang, thick tears gathered in Azhwarkkadiyaan’s eyes, rolling slowly down his cheeks as he gave himself up entirely to the beauty of the divine. Vandhiyathevan listened carefully as well, and though he shed no tears, he felt his own young heart melt at the simple beauty and pure, unadorned emotions that were the very essence of the songs. His sentiments towards Azhwarkkadiyaan underwent a profound change. This man, he thought with quiet respect, is a true, devoted servant of God.

Others besides the young man immersed themselves in the sweet music. The mudhalimaar (the senior temple authorities) lost themselves in the melody, as did the gentle priest, Eswara Battar, who stood by the sanctorum with tears brimming in his own eyes. Right beside him stood a fresh-faced youngster, his rapt attention fixed entirely on the singing Vaishnavite.

Azhwarkkadiyaan sang ten such pasurams with the utmost feeling, and then finished the recital with one more:

“Kali vayal thennan kurugoor Kaari maaran sadagopan Oli pugazh aayirath thuippathum Ullathai maasarukkume!”

(Sing these sweet songs, O devout ones, composed by Kari Mara Sadagopan of Kurugoor in the divine Lord’s honour—and thy heart will be cleansed of every blemish!)

When he had finally finished, the youngster leant towards his father and whispered something softly into his ear. The Battar, who had bent down to listen, straightened up and gently wiped his eyes.

“Ayya,” the priest addressed Nambi. “Hasn’t the revered Nammazhwar, Sadagopan of Kurugoor, sung a thousand songs in praise of our Lord? Do you happen to know them all?”

“This humble servant has not had that great good fortune,” answered Nambi respectfully. “I am acquainted with only a few, I’m afraid.”

“Pray, teach this youngster of mine whatever you know,” requested the Battar.

(It is wonderful to think that Veera Narayanapuram was to be honoured with a great many more accolades in the coming years. This very young boy, the Battar’s son who now stood beside his father listening so intently to the chaste pasurams of Nammazhwar, his face a perfect picture of innocence and the bright radiance of youth, would one day grow up to become the great Naadamunigal. He would be the first and most illustrious of many Vaishnava Acharyas. Later in his life, he would journey to Kurugoor, also known as Azhwar Thirunagari, and painstakingly gather all one thousand of Nammazhwar’s beautiful verses, adding even more lasting acclaim to the great devotee who had composed the Thamizh Vedham.

Naadamunigal’s many dedicated disciples would then carefully catalogue these verses, memorise them by heart, and sing them in temples all over the country. And his noble work would not stop there: Naadamunigal’s own grandson, Alavandhaar, would lead a life rich with destiny and marked by far more miraculous events than even his grandfather.

More praise would pour into this quiet town: the great Udayavar Sri Ramanujar himself would one day visit this place, the birthplace of such greatness. He would stand and stare in astonishment at the vast Veera Narayanapuram Lake and its seventy-four gushing canals. He would ponder deeply upon the endless grace and compassion of Lord Thirumaal, who showered His blessings upon His devotees just as those very canals poured life-giving water into the lake. This vision would lead the saint to conceive the grand idea of setting up seventy-four Acharya peedams (holy Vaishnavite centres) for devotees. These would, in time, lead to the establishment of seventy-four Simmasanadhipathigal (seated religious leaders), who would dispense spiritual knowledge and grace to devotees in their turn, beginning a rich, unbroken tradition that would continue over centuries.

But, of course, such magnificent things belong to the future and do not quite come under the purview of this current tale. We shall leave it to the richly compiled tomes of the Vaishnava Guru Parambarai to recount those saintly lives, and return our attention to young Vandhiyathevan.)

Once they had completed their worship and walked out of the cool shadows of the temple, the Vaanar warrior turned to Azhwarkkadiyaan.

“Nambi, I must beg your forgiveness,” he said, sounding genuinely contrite. “I had no idea that you were such a deeply devout man, or that you were so well learned in these matters. You won’t hold my ignorant, hasty words against me, will you?”

“By all means, you have my forgiveness,” said Nambi lightly. “But tell me—will you do me a small favour?”

“I already told you that I couldn’t do what you wanted—and you agreed to that, didn’t you?”

“Ah, but what I wish you to do now is something else altogether. I shall give you a tiny, folded note. Should you have the lucky opportunity to stay in the Kadambur palace tonight, you must simply deliver it into the hands of a certain person.”

“Oh? And to whom?”

“The woman who followed Periya Pazhuvettarayar, the one travelling in the tightly closed palanquin.”

Vandhiyathevan bristled immediately. “Nambi, what sort of a man do you take me for? Do I really seem like the kind of fellow who sneaks about delivering secret notes to women? Let me tell you, had it been anyone but you who asked this of me—”

“If you are unwilling, thambi, leave it, by all means,” Nambi interrupted smoothly. “There is absolutely no need to fly into a passion about it. The thing is—if you had helped me with this small task, I might have lent you my own valuable assistance at some point in the future. But never mind.”

Vandhiyathevan lingered no more. He leapt onto the back of his horse, dug his heels in, and galloped swiftly away through the evening dust, heading straight towards the fortress of Kadambur.