I love south India because it embodies ancient India. Yes, it’s big, hot, dry and dusty, and, often quite rustic; yet some of these towns date back before the Common Era. Unlike the North, the South has not suffered the major ravages by the world’s greatest conquerors, for the Vindya Mountain Range and Narmada River formed a barrier that protected the region. The Muslims and British were the only ones who managed to penetrate here. Fortunately, the Muslim conquerors arrived here late in their Empire era. By then they had lost their enthusiasm for destroying temples (although there are exceptions, including Hampi). Consequently, we find many awesome Indian temples still in a decent state of preservation in the South.

Notice that I said Indian, not Hindu, for south India is the repository of Dravidian culture. Over the centuries, the culture has developed in five distinct areas, each with its own language, writing script, dress and social customs. These regions are the four states of Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Kerala, although they were lumped together as Madras under the British Raj. At the present time, the archaeologists and scholars are hotly debating the Dravidian origins. There are two prevalent theories, one that the native people migrated here when the Aryans overran the Indu Valley civilization. The other is that Tamil Nadu is the north section of a much larger continent that existed long before the Aryans arrived; the southern part now lies under the Indian Ocean. In either case, Dravidian roots date back several thousand years before the Common Era. Regardless of the origins, one thing is certain, the Dravidians had their own unique culture: scriptures, scholars, deities, temples, priests and holy sages.

By the time histories were being written of the area, the Aryan Hindus and native Dravidians had mixed and matched in an immitatable manner. For example, in the great temple building period from 600 to 1600 AD, most of the large Hindu temples were build in the Dravidian style, or in some cases were built around earlier Dravidian structures. The indigenous rituals and deities remained the same, except they were awarded an additional Sanskrit appellation. Actually, the name Shiva, the Dravidian deity, gradually replaced Rudra of the Aryans as the most common masculine deity. The common theory is that the Aryan invaders gradually moved south, absorbing the native cultures, both Dravidian and a variety of other clans. Again this assumption is being so hotly debated among the scholars that to even venture an opinion is to invite certain censure. The main object of the Indian scholars is to prove that Hinduism had no outside influence from foreign Aryans, who have been credited with writing at least a portion of the Vedas. Actually, the word "arya" is a Sanskrit word meaning "noble."

Taking pilgrimages to holy places is the great national pastime in Bharata, and it appears to have been so for centuries. The two major temple groups, definitely worth viewing for their wonderful architecture, are in Orissa and Karnataka. Three towns in Orissa, on the east coast, comprise one group. Bhuvaneswara was adorned with over 1,000 temples at its peak; you can still find over 500 fine examples that date from the 7th to the 11th century. Puri, with its awesome Jagannath, an ancient complex that supported 5,000 priests and staff, is said to be one of the monasteries where Christ studied during his "lost years." However, the temple was not built until the 12th century and is not accessible to foreigners. Like Puri, Konark, the site of the famous Sun Temple, is by the sea. This temple is second only to Khajuraho for its erotic art, as well as other fine carvings. Khajuraho is a favorite of foreigners for its lavish and explicit erotic art, as well as its dance festival in early March.

Traveling southwest to Karnataka, the temples at Belur and Halebid that date from 500 to 1300 AD are outstanding examples of stone sculpture at its most inspired. Nearby in Sravanabelagola, you will find Jain temples and monasteries, including the monolithic 50-foot "sky-clad" statue of a Jain saint. The remainder of the group from the Chalukaya and Hoysala Dynasties are farther north in Badami and nearby villages. While in that area, you can also visit Bijapur to view fine examples of Islam architecture, including a mausoleum second only to the Taj Mahal.

Since I have already seen most of these temples, I am going to limit my travels to Tamil Nadu, visiting the two eminent temple towns of Kanchipuram and Madurai. In general, although there are volumes of the chronicles of the gods and their incarnations, the Indians were not inclined to write mundane history. However, because the Tamilians traded with the Greeks and Romans, we do have some scraps of history of Tamil Nadu for the past 2,000 years. Throughout the centuries, a series of family dynasties ruled in a feudal-type system. Although the kings fought among themselves for power over land and populace, they also seemed to have contested among themselves as to who could build the greatest monuments to the deities.

The early dynasty of the Pallavas (500-900 AD) chose a tiny town near the east coast for the capital of their empire that endured for over four centuries. By the 7th century, Kanchipuram had developed into a major cultural center attracting artists, dancers, musicians, scholars and weavers of the famous Kanchi silk. The kings and wealthy merchants were grateful to the deities for their prosperity and built some 1,000 temples to venerate them. Many of the temples are worth seeing, for they are some of the oldest in India.

Kanchi, along with the temples of Orissa, were the principal centers of the devadasi phenomenon. The main temple had some 100 “servants of the deities” who attended the icon with fanning, dressing and honoring with lights. They also sang and danced for the deities’ amusement. Just like the priesthood, the occupation was caste-bound, so the access to the gods was inherited from generation to generation. Undoubtedly, the caste had its heavenly beginnings.

Urvashi, a heavenly courtesan in Lord Indra’s court, became infatuated with his handsome son, causing her to miss a step during a performance. Thereby the couple was banished from heaven to live on earth. Their offspring generated the devadasi community. In the mid-nineteenth century, one anthropologist wrote that at that time the devadasis were the only Hindu women who could read and write. Depending on the wealth of the patron kings, many of the women were endowed with large estates. In addition, devotees paid their respects to them, for they were considered living embodiments of Urvasi, the courtesan to the gods.

No doubt as the cultural milieu changed to foreign administrations these women fell on hard times to be exploited by the rich and powerful, so the tradition gradually declined. When the Indian government took over the Jagannath temple in Puri in 1955, a group of devadasis who were still performing there lost the last of their patronage. Many petitioned the government for a pension, but to no avail. The prevalent reports that many of them practiced what we label prostitution seems to be correct from what little information I can gather. However, there appears that there were no negative connotations in this society where anything goes. After all, they were consorts of the gods. Anyway, the Hindu sees everyone as god. . . so the devadasis served god in human form also. There are advantages to having an all-encompassing mind—and it’s not puritanism.

When the Pallava Dynasty fell in the 9th century, Kanchi and its temples were left to languish without benefactors. Today, it is a very Indian town; however, the nearby town of Mahaballipuram, which served as a port since the first century, also has some excellent examples of the Kanchi era.


I head farther south for my next stop in Tanjavore [Tanjore], the capital of the Chola Dynasty, which ruled south India for three centuries (900-1300 AD). During that time, Tanjavore was the political, literary and religious center of the South. The principal temple holds a 206-foot Shiva lingam made from a single 80-ton slab of granite. Foreigners are not allowed in the inner temple, but can observe the fine examples of Chola architecture in the entrance towers and pavilions.
The museums in the old palace of the Cholas make the trip to Tanjavore unique. The palace itself would hardly be worth the time, for it is in a bad state of disrepair. However, it holds some fine examples of the Tanjavore bronze sculptures, particularly of Nataraja, although you can also see fine examples in the Madras Government Museum. Nataraja, who is Shiva as the cosmic dancer, is only found in Tamil Nadu, suggesting an influence from the ecstatic priests here. Or maybe they became ecstatic in order to imitate him.

For me, the real wonder here is an old library, with over 35,000 volumes, all in Sanskrit or Indian languages. They were collected by the Nayak and Maratha kings from 1600 to 1900 AD. The majority are handwritten; many are illustrated with delicate ink and watercolor drawings. Fortunately, a few are on display, so I can get a suggestion of the treasures this library holds.
The Cholas built exquisite temples in this region. Later while in Kumbakonam, I find the best examples to explore, for, like the temples in Hampi, they are no longer used for worship. The Dharasuram temple is only 4 km. from Kumbakonam, so it is easily accessible by auto rickshaw. On the road between Vadalur and Kumbakonam is the real gem—GangaKondamCholaPuram. (That must be the record! These long words are usually compounds, so they break down into something manageable: Ganga-Water-Chola-Place). The huge tank was used to empty vessels of water from the Ganga brought to the Chola court by their vassal kings.

Still heading south, I reach Madurai, the example par excellence of Tamil Nadu’s Dravidian temples. In my opinion, if you only have time for one temple, it should be Madurai, the temple dedicated to the Goddess Meenakshi. During the period from 600-1300 AD, Madurai, capital of the Pandya Dynasty was the true center of Dravidian culture, having supported three distinct literary sangams, academies. All the scholars and poets would gather for a convention to confer and exchange ideas. Of course, they were only concerned with spiritual matters, as were all scholarly works and creative endeavors. If any scholar had a treatise or a sage had an inspired poem, it had to be submitted to the test of merit. The method of judging was to throw the palm leaf tablets into the temple tank. Those that sank were considered worthless; those that floated were considered worthy compositions.

Along with their religious and literary patronage, the Pandya kings did not neglect worldly wealth. They were known to have traded with the Greeks and Romans, via the Arabian Sea. Madurai flourished under several dynasties until the early 1300’s when the Muslim rulers penetrated the barriers of the Vindyas and Nilgiris to loot the prosperous towns in the South, including Madurai. Soon afterwards, Madurai was incorporated into the Delhi Sultanate.

Although the temple was built in modern times, its origins claim ancient connections to the deities. Even the history of Madurai has a mythological beginning. Once Lord Indra, the King of the heavenly hosts, had to do penance for the sin of killing a Brahman in an accident. While traveling in a forest near the Vaigai River, he suddenly felt a purifying energy field. Upon investigation, he discovered a natural “self-born” lingam, a symbol for Shiva, under a Kadamba tree. He bathed in a near-by pond, then worshipped the deity with golden lotus flowers. Thus, he was released to return to his heavenly abode, but not before he erected a small chapel over the holy spot.

Sometime in the 7th century, a merchant passed that way and happened upon the old chapel. He reported the unusual phenomena to the ruling Pandya king. At the first opportunity, the king traveled to the place to worship, for the kings relished all the deity power they would muster. Evidently, Shiva was pleased with the worship and offerings because he let nectar fall from his flowing locks onto the devotee. The king promptly decided to build a suitable temple and to establish his capital in this place. But the old chapel was an abode of Shiva, how did Meenakshi succeed in replacing him as the principal deity of the temple?

The next generation of the Pandya Dynasty had not been blessed with an heir to the throne. For the purpose of having a child, the royal couple performed an elaborate ritual, according to the Vedic instructions. You can imagine their surprise when a three-year-old girl emerged from the sacrificial fire. They had their heir, who they named Meenakshi—an incarnation of Devi, the female power. However, there was one slight abnormality: Their divine daughter had three breasts. At the moment of this discovery, a voice was heard, telling the parents that the extra breast would disappear when the child met her husband.

Since the princess was destined to rule a large empire, her education included all the skills of warfare. Eventually she became a very successful warrior, conquering many neighboring territories. Triumphant, she pushed forward until she reached Mt. Kailasa, the abode of Lord Shiva. On the battlefield when her eyes met those of Shiva, her third breast disappeared; therefore, she knew that he was to be her husband. After they were wed, they moved to Madurai where they ruled for some time. Their marriage is still celebrated in late April with a ceremony in the temple, followed by a procession of the divine couple around the town. After successfully producing a competent heir, an incarnation of their divine son, Subramanya, they were free to return to their heavenly abode.

It was several centuries later, approximately in the 12th century, that the shrine commemorating Meenakshi was built, supposedly by her own son. The custom remains that one first worships Meenakshi, then her consort, Shiva. By the way, to make it easy, I have used their Sanskrit names, but they also have Dravidian names: Thadathagai (Meenakshi) and Sundareshwara (Shiva) and their son, Muruga.


The Vedas do not mention the deities who are worshipped in the temples today, but speak in an abstract manner of the Infinite playing through various powers: fire, wind, water. Later Sri Veda Vyasa personified these abstractions into the deities portrayed in the Puranas, the Hindu epics. Then in one of those strange quirks of history, Buddhist monks visiting Greece in the early years of the Common Era saw the great sculptures there and brought back the idea of making sculpted images of the Buddha. At that time, Buddhism flourished in India, so statues of Buddha had been installed in places of Buddhist worship. Later, the Hindus began to copy the idea and build permanent shrines for their own deities, instead of continuing to use the open-air venue of the Vedic rituals.

Legend continued to grow around the various deities as their devotees had unique experiences in direct encounters with them. It would be more accurate to say the thought energy of the worshippers reinforced the power of the gods. Hindu temples are alchemical laboratories to turn thought into matter, the objects needed for success in the material world.

While the modern Western physicists are working on measuring energy fields, the Hindus have been consciously creating energy fields for centuries. But not creating energy itself, the energy they focus into these spheres is the energy in and through all creation. So if a group of persons, such as priests get together, they can maintain the energy by using certain mantras that even make the energy field expand and become stronger. Then the energy field can be invoked for human use.

The foundation of the energy field is a set procedure. All of the great temples were built on a samadhi of a great sage to preserve and take advantage of the purified vibration created through his austerities. I understand that this custom was also practiced in Catholic Europe, at least through the Middle Ages.

Over the samadhi is placed a yantra, or a geometric diagram, that represents the deity of the temple. It is capable of focusing the energy field created by the sage. Then the stone idol, or transmitter, is placed above the yantra. Afterwards, a living saint installs the image with an "enlivening" ceremony. Then the idol is ready to radiate the energy in a concentrated dose to the worshippers, according to the worshipers capacity to receive.

The energy field will dissipate if it is not regularly energized with offerings, that is, the chanting of the mantras, holy incantations, by the priests. The offerings of people are for the priests whose duty it is to sustain the energy field. In addition, it is their duty to assure that there are no disturbances in the energy field. That’s why foreigners and untouchables—who could not possibly have the right mental attitudes—are not allowed in most of the heavy-duty temples. One temple guard told me, with a club in hand, that they did not want scoffers in the temple. I doubt even he understood the importance of his job. Then too, the looting of the riches of the temples by barbarians continued through the 1900’s, so that habit would not invite hospitality.

The possibility of dissipation of the energy fields is not my conjecture, it is verified by an interesting historical fact. Realizing that the populace were not ready for the philosophy of the incomprehensible Brahman, Adi Sankarcharya, the great philosopher of Hindu thought, did as much to renew temple worship, as he did to debate the nihilist Buddhist philosophers to bring them into the Hindu fold. When he traveled around Bharata in the 7th century, he found that many of the Hindu places of worship had fallen into disuse; therefore, he re-enlivened the idols by invoking the deity to return and reside in the stone image or lingam. Then the deity had to be “fed” and kept alive by the mantras of the Vedas. So it seems likely that if the Ark of the Covenant were discovered today, it would no longer have the power to destroy anyone who looked upon it.

Several American authors have described Hinduism as a renunciate religion. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Good lord, even the gods are married! The temples here were built specifically for getting and begetting. The scriptures ascribe four stages of life: 1) brahmacharya, student, 2) grahastha, householder, 3) vanaprastha, withdrawal for contemplation to the forest, 4) sannyasa, renunciation. So renunciation is the fourth stage of life, coming after one has studied, then had a good life of artha, kama and dharma: wealth, passion and duty. Kama definitely includes sex. The Brahadranyaka Upanishad gives explicit instructions on pleasing a woman; the Kama Sutra was written by a sage for the purpose of assisting the populace in experiencing “en total” their sexual nature.

In other words, after a person has experienced all that life has to offer, he can then let it go by renouncing—otherwise, there would be nothing to abandon. True, there are exceptions; a few young people decide to dedicate their lives to spiritual pursuits early in life. On these rare occasions, the parents are often adamantly against such an action. Even Adi Sankaracharya, who renounced the world at the age of eight, had to trick his mother into thinking he was dying before she would give her permission for his taking of the renunciation vows.

There is no judgment that the experience of one stage of life is better than another; all four contribute to an experience of wholeness. For example, the daily rituals that the householder performs have the subsidiary effect of focusing the mind to develop the power of concentration. This training is useful later in life, for a concentrated mind aids in spiritual goals.

So the success is insured with the power of positive thinking with an extra boost from an energy field of the deity. Whether you call it positive thinking, mind control, or devotion, the petitioners do have to tune their minds to the right station. The station is broadcasting Chopin, but the radio must be tuned to that frequency to hear the music. The Indians must be doing something right. Let’s face it, most of India is a desert, yet it is supporting one billion human bodies—and uncountable billions of creeping and crawling and buzzing things.

Not all worshipers come to the deity to get material things. The peak experience is to have darshan, the vision, of the deity. Once the connection is made, the deities can bestow any type of boon the seeker desires. For example, the recent Acharya of the Sringeri Matha, monastery, told me that he had received enlightenment through the intercession of the Goddess Lalita, the deity of the monastery. Of course, he was a very advanced and pure soul in every respect, and I assume he had done reams and reams of the mantras for invoking her grace.

I shall always remember my short visit to Sringeri in 1978. I truly admired the Acharya and I feel that he was an influence on my returning to India. I am sure that observing his way of life was a prime factor in my desire to settle in one place with a good teacher for meditation and study. Had he been alive, I would have spent the majority of time with him in Sringeri. However, fate gives us strange challenges. Just prior to this trip, I received the news that the Acharya had died of a heart attack.

Since I arrived in Madurai early in the morning, I am considering just visiting the temple and leaving that evening. But I encounter the strangest situation, one I have never confronted before in all of my travels. There was only one rest room open in the train station—the men’s. I am in the South where in many households men and women even eat segregated! I do find a ladies’ restroom, but it is padlocked. Obviously, I have to bathe and change clothes to go to the temple. Even if I wanted to shower in the man’s restroom, it would be impossible to dress in the tiny stalls. The women always shower, throw on their petticoats, then exit to the waiting room to wrap their saris, or the 8-yards of cloth would get wet from the shower floor.

So I take off to find the station manager. He tells me that there is a platform officer who has the key; he may open the ladies’ restroom later. So off I go to find the platform manager, but his door is closed and I see through the crack that the light is out. While I am wondering what to do next, the flock of little white-haired ladies in starched cotton saris, who are following me up and down the train platform, is increasing in number. They are in the same plight and are cheering on my efforts in their quiet way. After almost an hour, I return to the platform manager’s office to leave a note on his desk. Lo and behold, he was asleep in his office all the time—that’s why the light was out. So after a refreshing bath in the ladies’ restroom, I check my suitcase and walk over to the nearby temple.

The high walls of the Meenakshi Temple envelop fifteen acres of elaborately carved pavilions, chapels, a huge bathing tank (where they used to test manuscripts) and even an art gallery. The elegant and elaborate carvings include scenes from the epics, hundreds of heavenly deities—voluptuous and robust—as well as many renditions of historical scholars and even the rulers who built, or added onto, this temple.

The temple is a holy maze; the separate chapels and decorated hallways are so plentiful that is no space left for the open-air patios I have seen in other temples. The four gopurams, entrance towers, typical of Dravidian style, are intended to protect the sacred site from intrusions, physical or mental. Each tower was built by various rulers in a different century from 1250 to 1650 AD.

Foreigners are not allowed in the principal shrines of Shiva or Meenakshi. In many cases I have find that the rules are flexible, if one approaches the temple manager with the correct attitude and in the traditional dress of white dhoti, with bare chest, for the men, and saris for the women. To partake of the puja, worship service, a small fee is charged, so one can easily reach the proper authority through the priests who are selling the tickets. For a big puja, normally done only by Indians, the prices are quite high, up to 1,000 rupees.

I end up deciding to stay a couple of days so that I can spend more time soaking in the vibes of this place that breathes tradition and sanctity. To me, it’s as if the temple is an old medieval town within itself. Exploring its passageways, I truly feel in another time and space. I feel connected to a beautiful past, envisioned and created by architects and stone-carvers, yet sanctified by the devotion and faith of thousands of worshipers who have passed here through the centuries.