Published in the Hindu, dated July 26, 2018
Even as I feel relieved that the Prime Minister is
all for photographing monuments, I’m aware that there is a conflicting view. I
have my differences with the latter, but I have learnt the hard way to respect
and not dismiss it.
“Try what you will; You won’t be able to capture our
God in your camera”, used to be an occasional, unsolicited stricture thrown at
me as I went around documenting the rich diversity of Tamil Nadu.
Those were the days when camera mobile phones did
not exist and SLR (Single-lens reflex) cameras were few and far between. As a
young heritage enthusiast, keen on documentation, I never photographed without
the consent of concerned authorities and hence refused to be deterred by some
strangers’ warning. Annoyed, they would often move away with a parting shot,
“Our God is so powerful, the image will just not register.” I respected their
beliefs, but felt just as strongly about the need to document rituals and
interesting aspects of our culture for the sake of future generations.
I thought Padma Akka, thin and frail, was just
another of these difficult people when she brusquely told me that I can’t
photograph her God. How wrong I was. However Padma Akka’s ‘no’ was something I
was unwilling to accept. For Padma Akka’s temple was a rarity. It was a Tamil
Jain temple. More used to equating Jains with Marwaris, I was surprised, when I
first came to know of the existence of the Tamil Jain community. Surprise
turned into fascination when I learnt that their history dates back to more than
two millennia.
Ever since I became aware of the significant Jain
contribution to ancient Tamil literature, I was eager to meet them and visit
their Pallis or Jinalayas. In those days (early 1990s) when Google did not
exist, after considerable effort, I figured out that there was a Jain temple in
Kanchipuram. I decided to check it out with a friend during an assignment.
Not many in Kanchipuram in those days were aware of
the ancient Tamil Jain temple; at least the people with whom we enquired had no
clue. Finally, to our delight, a textile trader said: “Ah, you are referring to
the temple that Jacqueline Kennedy visited”. That was news to us. Did she visit
the temple? We had no idea, but it whetted our curiosity further, and we were
more determined to see it.
Following the trader’s directions, we landed at
Thiruparuthikundram, a sleepy village on the outskirts of Kanchipuram. A
signboard confirmed that it was indeed the Jain temple.
It was a little past noon, and seeing the temple
closed, we decided to find out how to have it opened. That’s how I first met
Padma Akka, who lived in a tile-roofed house right opposite the temple.
She came, bringing the temple key, and cursed the
driver for bringing people after worship time. Nevertheless, she opened the
huge wooden doors for us. We gingerly stepped in, curious to see what a Tamil
Jain temple looked like. It had the same Dravidian architectural style as other
temples in the State. The mandapamhad fading paintings dating back to the
Vijayanagar period. Even as we craned our necks to view the paintings on the
ceiling, Padma Akka moved further inside and opened another door, leading to
yet another hall. In the light seeping through the door, we could make out that
the granite pillars belonged to an earlier era.
As we were wondering what was so different about a
Tamil Jain temple, Padma Akka switched on the light, and right in front of our
eyes there appeared out of the darkness a stunning image of a golden-hued Jaina
Tirthankara with a beatific smile, radiating peace.
It was a surreal moment, with the golden hue being
accentuated by the yellow incandescent light above. It was a magical moment I
was completely unprepared for. I was seeing a deity of Mahavira for the first
time, and what a mesmerising sight it was!
It is moments like these that inspire in a
photographer the desire to capture and freeze them forever. But Padma Akka’s
face took on a stern look of disapproval as I pulled out my camera. No amount
of pleading would convince her to let me photograph the deity. I could do
nothing other than leave, disappointed, hoping I might get lucky the next time.
There were many more next times. However, the ever-vigilant Padma Akka was
unrelenting.
After years of futile pleading with Padma Akka, I
found myself lucky, being part of a government project that required
photographing some of the Jain monuments in the State. With the permission
letter in hand, I triumphantly walked into the Thrilokya Nathar temple at
Kanchipuram. Akka was watching the restoration work being done on the
paintings. She quickly went through the permission papers, and, after a few
agonising moments and arguments, it dawned on her that she could not stop me
any more. She reluctantly waved me in but turned her face away.
After photographing the temple to my heart’s
content, I walked back to Padma Akka to bid her goodbye. I was surprised to see
that during the more than half an hour I had spent photographing her Gods, she
had not moved an inch from the spot from where she had waved me in. Her eyes
looked distant and vague, and she herself appeared distraught, as if the world
around her had crumbled all of a sudden.
I still remember her parting words when I thanked
her — rather, her lament. She said very feebly, and with deep anguish, “I have
carefully safeguarded these Gods for so long. Now that you have taken their
(Tirthankaras) photos (and will publish it), how will I protect them
henceforth?”
I was stunned. This idea of considering obscurity as
safety for her Gods was something that had never occurred to me. Was she
worried about the idols being stolen? But then the Tirthankara in the sanctum,
Mahavira, was made of terracotta. Or was it the bitter memories of the bloody
religious wars the Tamil country was witness to more than a millennium ago? I
did not ask her for her reasons. It hit me that my idea of documentation of
monuments, so that the world knows about them may not always be right.
P.S: Later, I came to know that, in Jain cosmology,
Padmavathy is the attendant deity of Parshvanatha, the 23rd Tirthankara.
Coincidence?
Pc Courtesy: D Gopalakrishnan
