Aham Brahma Asmi

Saat Aasra Manmala Mandir is a place I cross every day. It is a Swayambhu temple.  Swayambhu loosely translated means self manifested. India has lots of temples where a stone or a Linga is worshipped and that form has just come from the earth. Years back, there was a Manmala tank  which was a pond near the temple. Now only a small well remains as a memory of the water body. I visit the temple often on my way back from Yog. The temple is kept very dirty at all times. I have actually had altercations with the priest asking him to keep the premise clean. He doesn't throw anything old from the temple. The cloth on the idols, the coconuts which are offered, old diyas, old rags, brooms, old tins, old pipes. All this is kept inside the main temple facing the Gods including the Pandit's dirty unwashed trousers. The Banyan tree inside the compound has been  half chopped. Every time I visit this temple, I get hassled. I go because I am religious and spiritual. I get upset and tell myself I should not visit it if I come out with a bad feeling. Places and people have their energy. Clean places are usually welcoming. The temple was one of the old run down ones and looked beautiful. When they renovated it, they put these ceramic tiles which one uses in the bathrooms and toilets, all around the temple. The little courtyard which had mud is now concretised. A gate made by a political party MNS  is further encroaching on the road. There is now a permanent stage for Navratri so the courtyard has become smaller.
The other day, I went there in the evening around 7.30 pm. The evening Arti was over. Seven small mitti ke diye ( earthen lamps) were lit in front of the idols in a straight line. There is a man who is there with the priest in the mornings. He rings the bell when the Arti is going on. He and the priest were sitting inside. There was an old lady and her not so young son sitting on the concrete bench in the cemented compound. The flower stall owner who has a proper concrete shop inside this compound was waiting for the last devotees to come in and also slowly putting things away. She keeps her shop clean. The colourful Garba  or the earthen pots used in Navratri were still lying under the Banyan tree in a heap. Four diyas in four directions were lit on the concrete boundary around the tree. The dusty tube lights all over gave diffused light. The wall of the well had a Diya and the idol of the Goddess near the well also had a diya. All were simple small earthen lamps. This idol near the well has only two stones. They use Haldi and Kumkum to make eyes, nose, earrings everyday to give a form to the Goddess. It is really artistic. And we see God in everything even two blocks of stone kept on each other. Thats the beauty of our temples. No rules at all, make it and keep it the way you want and serve the way you feel like. Maharashtra uses haldi ( turmeric) and kumkum ( red colour powder) for the Goddess. South India uses lot of Chandan. In Dhanbad, we saw Kumkum and orange Bihari Sindoor on the Goddess and women.The day's  hustle bustle seems over. Mumbai is becoming dark early in the evenings. We are used to dusk even at seven fifteen pm.  The snowfall in Kashmir and Himachal has had a direct impact on our weather. The air is cooler, the humidity is less and there is breeze. There was this indescribable peace in the temple. Four people sitting and praying and lost in their own world. One man going around the Banyan tree doing Parikrama, while the diyas gave a glow to the Garba lying around. Perfect silence and a perfect place to meditate. All flowers from the idols had been removed. The idols are only blocks of stones not carved to be given any form. The heavy cloth on it was removed. The area where the idols are is a straight platform like the kitchen one and it was clean. For that moment, when I walked up the four steps, rang the bell and bowed my head, I experienced God. I felt God in that silence. I felt God in all those eyes of people, who were lost in prayers. Not lost in sorrow or sadness but in their own internal self, in their own internal God.  Aham Brahma asmi.

Same feeling came at the Satyanarayan Mandir in Jharia. On rare occasions when my Grandmother Gauri Bai has taken me there, just before it would close for the night. I remember the Gods being  draped in their night clothes of simple white cotton with a gold piping. The day wear was always bright colours with a lot of gold embroidery and jewellery. The temple would be washed and wiped clean. Very few people would be there for the last Arti and Darshan before they wind up their day. The temple had a lower floor with trees, rooms and an Aangan. There was a well there. A Shivling and a Shitla Mata mandir. People believed in the night there was a ghost near the Peepul tree and the well behind. We went down to light diyas. It was silent and a little dark, nothing eerie about it. In Jharia, with regular power cuts, we were used to darkness. It never bothered us. Even now, I find Mumbai lights dazzling. I find the houses a bit too lit up by the interior decorators. The wedding venues are a bit too bright. The street lights are too much. In Mumbai we never experience the night. To say the city never sleeps is good as someone is always earning here. But please give me my distinct day and night with the dawn and the dusk thrown in.