Under the Sacred Light

ARUNACHALA, THE SACRED hill, was bathed in cloud that winter night. Millions had descended into the small South Indian town of Tiruvannamalai but the hill and the lamp ablaze on top of it were shrouded. I stood only a few kilometres away and could barely see its silhouette. Every full moon night, Tiruvannamalai sees a few lakh devotees but in the Tamil month of Karthigai, on the night of the Maha Deepam, numbers touch 50 lakh. Bowing down to this great mountain bathed in cloud, I started my pilgrimage walk around the hill.

A few hours earlier, I had driven down from Bengaluru and got stuck in a traffic jam of vehicles wanting to enter the town. A couple of hours passed by, and I had barely moved a few inches forward. Good Samaritans were out sorting the sit­uation. Finally, with their help, I parked my car in a roadside ditch and hoped it would remain safe. “Why are you here on your own?” asked one of them. “It is a sacred pilgrimage place, it is fine for women to be solo here amidst so many people,” I insisted. India is a juxtaposi­tion of contradictions. In some ways, the religious social structure is restricting for women. At the same time, religious gatherings like the Kumbh Mela are mostly safe and powerful experiences to be had even for a solo woman. I was wondering if this would be like a South Indian Kumbh Mela.

The road for the girivalam—the pilgrimage of perambulation around the Arunachala hill—is a 14-km long stretch around the Arunachala hill. It was there that I encountered the actual mass of devotees that night, chanting, chatting or silently moving forward. There was barely an empty spot to stand or walk. I needed a breather before I could enter that serpentine flow. Providence had placed a perfectly quaint dosa stand nearby and that was to be my dinner. “We keep this stall every night during the Karthigai Dee­pam festival to serve devotees,” said the grandmother serving piping hot dosas into the plates of pilgrims like me. Nourished, I started my giripradakshina, or the circumambulation, around the hill.

The road was at its liveliest best. There were foodstalls serving fruits, juices, tea, potato fries and other favou­rites. Many temples and shrines dotted the road brimming with bustling devotees busy lighting lamps and conducting rituals. Saffron-clad sadhus sat on the left side of the road. Police crew on elevated platforms kept a watchful eye. The silhouette of the hill was often visible on the right side through trees and buildings.

Gasps went through devotees near me and I followed their gaze to get my first glimpse of the deepam. The clouds had parted and the orange fire raged strong on the hilltop. It was smaller than what my overactive imagination could conjure up, but the distance did not diminish the joy and warmth I felt. If you have been at a campfire, you would know that even a small fire can cheer up a cold wintery night. Here it was more, much more. Arunachala was the beacon, and this fire was its cue.

From Karthigai Deepam, this fire is lit up for another 10 days. At the same time, there is another deepam that is kept lit perpetually for all those days at Ramanasramam, the ashram of Ramana Maharshi, who made this sacred hill his home until he passed away in 1950. He is considered one of the greatest yogis of recent times. My friend Ravi Sridhar spent his child­hood years in Matunga, a suburb of Mumbai. He is one of the many devo­tees whose love for Ramana Maharshi brought him to Tiruvannamalai, where he has lived for the past 30 years. To him, the main highlight was the moment the deepam is lit on the hill. “It affords a deep spiritual experience. It is lit for 10 days and the sublime at­mosphere of quiet weekdays with the deepam to guide your spiritual sadhana must be experienced to be believed,” he had told me.

The vibe surrounding Ramanasra­mam is different with swanky eateries, upscale shops and lovely homestays. During the winter months, there is an uptick in the number of cafés, cultural programmes, kirtans, local classes, and more. Over the years, many foreigners have called this corner of Tamil Nadu their home. In the cafés there, you will find freshly made burgers, salad bowls, sandwiches, pasta, and other dishes being served, the only difference being they are usually vegetarian, with the possible exception of egg.

I discovered Nandini on the Giri­valam road the days after Karthigai Deepam. With lattes, cold brews and freshly baked pies, it transported me to a street-side European café. My favourite café was however Dreaming Tree, whose burger and falafel were the best I have ever had. It helps that their location had windows looking out onto a lush green canopy with Arunachala towering behind. “The hill is a storehouse of energy and girivalam can benefit in all ways,” the Maharshi had once said. “Once on a giriprada­kshina, we were caught in the rain and we stayed the whole night in the [Adi Annamalai] temple there. It was then I heard the Sama Veda chant [by celestial beings].”

The Adi Annamalai temple is considered one of the oldest there. I reached it around midnight. It was closed but devotees were lighting lamps and chanting outside. Neigh­bouring houses with open doors offered meals to devotees. There were quaint shops serving coffee and tea from traditional Tamil copper boil­ers. One of my most powerful experiences that night was at the Manickvasagar temple. Manickvasagar was a 9th-century devotee, considered one of the four great influ­ences that reignited Saivite Bhakti in Tamil Nadu. He wrote his poem Tiruvempavai at this spot. A group of devotees were intensely singing his verses for Shiva at this temple. I found a corner to sit and merge into that sing­ing. All too soon, I was shaken up from my trance as a group of traditional drummers approached. They said their invocation at the temple doors and started their offerings drowning out the singing. I missed it for a moment and then immersed myself in this new wave of sounds. This was what I was here for. To be surrounded by devotion that would raise my own pitch. Fire is a repeating theme here. Arunachala is an ancient, dormant volcanic mountain. The main temple of Arunachaleshwarar is one of the pancha bhoota (five elements) Shiva temples, representing fire. The deepam on the hilltop with so much fanfare felt strangely right.

Prior to Karthigai Deepam, there are chariot processions, flag ceremonies and other rituals at Arunachalesh­warar temple which also sees a big crowd. Since the Covid-19 pandemic, only about 1,500 devotees are allowed to climb up the hill during this festival. Earlier, pilgrims could easily trek up to be at the sacred spot where the lamp is lit. Now, without a government pass, the hill cannot be accessed on these days. But this does have its advantages because Arunachala is a fragile ecosystem, and uncontrolled human presence can have repercussions.

My padayatra around the hill brought me to the Ramanasramam gates at around 4.30AM. I was grateful that I had permission to stay in the ashram for the next three days. I was too exhausted to explore anymore but I loved waiting for the deepam to light up every evening. I sat amidst fellow Ramanasramam devotees chanting or meditating. It was different from the bustle of the girivalam night, but both experiences enrich in their own way, leading to what my friend Prakash Raja, a software engineer, who had settled in Tiruvannamalai a decade ago, once said to me: “When the holy beacon is lit, usually I feel emptied, still at peace and fully content.”

Arunachala hilldevoteesKarthigai Deepam festivalspiritualityTiruvannamalaiTravel Issue 2024