Magic Strikes in Chettinadu

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The magic just kept happening.

Some travel days are like that.

My driver took me from Munnar, high in the Western Ghats, to Kothamangalam, a small village in the dusty flatlands of the Chettinadu area in Tamil Nadu. I wanted to visit a specific temple recommended by the Tamil Nadu tourism website, a bit out of the way but near my destination.

Thousands of temples dot the countryside in Tamil Nadu. I’ve seen many of the large ones, but this year I’m attracted to the smaller temples—the ones that house the “folk” deities—village gods—deities who pre-date the entry of Hinduism to south India. These are the deities that originated in Dravidian times, but they often assumed characteristics of deities of mainstream Hinduism.

The Sonnaiyan temple, according to the website, houses a deity who was supposedly a Muslim, but came to that area, got magical powers, and became a guardian deity for the people. Two other major guardian deities are there, Ayyanar and Karuppa Swami, but the temple is devoted to Sonnaiyan.

With GPS activated, we traveled the backroads, pockmarked by holes and flanked by random cows, goats, and people on bicycles. A shiny snake slithered across the road, and the driver stopped to allow him to cross. I dashed from the car to take a photo.

“It’s very dangerous!” he yelled.

That snake was fast, and disappeared in the bushes before I reached him.

Around a bend I spotted a rearing horse statue.

“Ayyanar!” I said. “Turn around.” Not the temple I wanted to see, but it was on the way, and I’ve always been attracted to these temples situated on the outskirts of villages. Ayyanar, a fair-skinned vegetarian with two consorts, mounts his steed at night and rides around the villages guarding them from evil.

But at 3:00 pm the gates were closed. I poked my camera through the gaps to photograph what I could. I could barely see a line of terracotta horses beyond the large rearing horse.

As I was getting in the car, my driver said, “There is a man there now, the gate is open.” I dashed inside and explored the place, snapping all the photos I wanted. After paying my respects to Ayyanar I exited. My driver had been charged with closing the gate behind me.

Fifteen minutes later we pulled up to the Sonnaiyan Temple. No one was around, and the gate was locked.

“Oh nuts,” I said. I could see very little, just the colorful exterior.

Three minutes later a priest wearing a saffron colored dhoti pulled up on a motor bike. My driver chatted with him, and said the priest would allow me inside, even though it would not open until 4:00 pm.

The website said women were not allowed in the inner shrine, but he invited me inside, unlocked the gate in front of the deity and pulled it back so I had a good view. Small and unremarkable. The priest did a puja, lighting some camphor, passing it in front of the deity, and bringing the blessed ash to me. I had remembered to bring a few rupees, so I tossed the bill on the tray and took some ash for my forehead.

How the priest felt about me milling about taking photos seemed a mystery. He stared at me, wide-eyed, mouth open. I asked a few questions in Tamil and he answered, but his expression didn’t change. I followed him outside the small enclosure to the rear where Karuppa Swami rested in an outdoor area.

Karuppa Swami speaks to me more loudly, maybe because I’ve read a lot more about this powerful deity. His weapon is the aruval, a curved metal sword, and he’s often depicted with a big bun on the side of his head. This dark colored guardian deity is non-vegetarian, unlike Ayyanar, and appreciates offerings of goats.

The priest placed fresh garlands on the deity, and I said thanks to Karuppa Swami before retreating.

Ayyanar is also in this temple, but I didn’t have the wits to ask the priest which statue was Ayyanar.

Other deities line a nook, and I only know who they are because of the information on the website. I asked the priest specifically for permission to photograph all of them. When I finished viewing everything, the priest followed me outside and locked the gate.

My driver and I both remarked about my good fortune in having someone appear to allow me to see these two places.

But the magic didn’t stop.

When I reached my destination in Kothamangalam, I walked the streets saying hello in Tamil to everyone. The group of women under the porch seemed quite amused when I started speaking with them. I hadn’t used my Tamil to any extent until right then, but one non-English speaking woman in particular was very adept at understanding me and filling in the words for me. I love laughing with women on the street, and that’s how that conversation went.

Along came the woman owner of the mansion across the street, and we chatted in English about the burden of maintaining such a huge building. There are few skilled craftsmen to do the repairs. She wants to retain the family home built by her grandfather and hopes to die there, she said. These Chettiar mansions are from an era when overseas business yielded substantial profits, which they plowed into humongous homes of imported teak, mirrors, tiles, chandeliers, and marble.

Then the woman who knew how to interpret my poor Tamil invited me to her home for Maadu Pongal, the third day of the upcoming festival. Magic strikes again! I came to this region specifically to experience Pongal in a village setting, and now I’m about to join a family in their observance of the day for honoring the farm animals. My favorite Pongal day!

Magic magic, life is steeped in magic, I’m happy to say, magic is everywhere! I just have to get out of the way and allow it to happen.

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