THE PURUSHAMRIGA’S CHASE
Visitors to temples and palaces in India sometimes notice a fierce, sphinx like stone statue guarding the entrance. The statue, which depicts a rishi with a human face and the body of a lion, is of a mythical creature called the purushamriga. This magical creature is believed to take away the sins of devotees when they enter a temple, and also ward off evil in general. Most people marvel at the purushamriga statue, but not many know that there is a very interesting story in the Mahabharata about this unique creature.
The five Pandava brothers, called the Pancha Pandavas once ruled a mighty kingdom from their capital Indraprastha. One day, Narada a divine saint, visited Indraprastha. The Pandavas received him with honour, and fell at his feet respectfully. After this greeting, Narada suggested to the Pandavas that if they wanted to get the blessings of their ancestors, and ensure the continued prosperity of their kingdom, they should perform an important Vedic ritual called the ‘rajasuya yajna.’
After some thought, the Pandavas decided that it would be beneficial if they conducted a rajasuya yajna. However, this ritual was a lengthy and expensive one that required an enormous amount of money. So, the five Pandavas set out in different directions to seek divine support from other kings, and gather wealth. One of the Pandavas, Bhima, went to the North where the kingdom of Kubera, the fabulously wealthy king of the yakshas was situated. Bhima asked Kubera for some money, and Kubera, whose wealth never diminished, magnanimously agreed to donate a large amount of money for the rajasuya yagna. As Bhima was leaving, he noticed the magnificent, divine purushamriga, half man and half lion, strolling around in Kubera’s garden. The dignified purushamriga existed only in Kubera's world, so mortal men could not see it. But anyone who had the good fortune to set eyes on it, became deeply pious. Bhima was so impressed by this majestic creature with its thick, flowing mane, that he invited it to attend and guard the rajasuya yagna of the Pandavas. He believed that taking the dignified purushamriga to Indraprastha would enable the Pandavas to perform the great rajasuya yajna with more beneficial results.
"I will come with you,” the purushamriga answered. “But only on one condition. You must go ahead of me and direct me, taking care that you always stay in front of me, and do not become an obstacle to my pace and speed. In short, you have to run ahead of me all the time, and not halt even once! If I manage to catch up with you, I will kill you, and eat you up immediately! This is because I am a great devotee of Lord Shiva, and thoughts of my lord are always in my mind. If I find that a person whom I’m following, falls back alongside me, and blocks my way, it will greatly disturb my concentration and meditation.”
Now, Bhima was an enormously strong man, and a superb athlete too, so he readily agreed to this unusual condition. He was certain that he could easily out run the stocky, short legged purushamriga. Moreover, Lord Krishna had given Bhima twelve magical shivalings, which, when tossed over Bhima’s shoulder, would turn into Shiva temples.
The devout purushamriga worshipped Shiva, and then began to run after Bhima who had already sprinted away after getting a head start. But even though Bhima ran, with all his might, at top speed, he found that the purushamriga gained on him effortlessly. This was because the purushamriga was ‘manovega’ - as fast as ‘manas’ or thought - and in spite of Bhima’s strength, it caught up with him quickly. When this happened, Bhima tossed one of his magical shivlings over his shoulder. As soon as the stone hit the ground, it was transformed into a lovely Shiva temple with its own pond. When he saw this miracle, the purushamriga, an ardent devotee of Lord Shiva was stopped in his tracks. He took a bath in the holy water of the temple pond, then climbed to its banks, collected flowers from there, and worshipped Lord Shiva. Bhima, in the meanwhile, continued to run furiously, and pushed ahead. But as soon as it finished worshipping Lord Shiva, the purushamriga broke into a run too, and set off in hot pursuit of Bhima again. Within an instant, the purushamriga had closed in on Bhima. When he saw this, a nervous Bhima tossed a second shivling over his shoulder. It too, turned into a Shiva temple, and the purushamriga immediately stopped running and sincerely worshipped his favourite god in the temple as he had done before. But as soon as it finished this ritual, the sphinx like creature dashed after Bhima again. This sequence of events was repeated again and again, till Bhima used up his last, and twelfth shivling. By this time, Bhima was very close to his own capital, Indraprastha. But just as he was sprinting breathlessly across the border of his kingdom, the purushamriga lunged forward with a burst of energy, and grabbed one of Bhima’s legs. Then the purushamriga said to Bhima, "Son of the Wind, one of your legs is in your territory, but since I have seized one, it belongs to me!” Then he held Bhima’s leg in a vice like grip, so that mighty Bhima was unable to move. When Yudhistira, the eldest Pandava brother who was also called Dharmaraja, the just king, heard the commotion outside his kingdom, he hurried to the spot.
“Oh Dharmaraja, am I doing an injustice? You tell me!” The purushamriga exclaimed, after he had told Yudhistira all that had happened. After thinking about the matter for a while, Dharmaraja declared, “According to your agreement, the foot that is in Indraprastha belongs to Bhima, but the other one, that you are holding, belongs to you." The purushamriga was overcome with emotion when he heard this honest verdict, and he smiled.
"Dharmaraja, your name befits you. You truly are a wise and just king! May you live long! May your reign increase! Bhima does not have to give his leg to me! He made it possible for me to worship Lord Shiva continuously. I only used this argument to test you!” Then the mighty beast praised and prostrated before Lord Krishna, who had arrived in Indraprastha.
"Purushamriga, the Pandavas are performing an important rajasuya. Give them all the help you can so that it is performed auspiciously,” Krishna commanded.
The purushamriga helped the Pandavas right from the time the yagna began, till it was over. After the completion of the rajasuya yagna, the purushamriga told Dharmaraja “my task is over, where I should go now?” Dharmaraja’s replied, “Go to Tillai-Chidambaram, where Shiva will soon be coming to perform his cosmic dance, and wait there. Your job is to guard the entrance to the temple, and ward off negative influence.” The obedient purushamriga did as he was told, and he can be seen at this spot to this very day, guarding the entrance to his beloved Lord Shiva’s temple.
The five Pandava brothers, called the Pancha Pandavas once ruled a mighty kingdom from their capital Indraprastha. One day, Narada a divine saint, visited Indraprastha. The Pandavas received him with honour, and fell at his feet respectfully. After this greeting, Narada suggested to the Pandavas that if they wanted to get the blessings of their ancestors, and ensure the continued prosperity of their kingdom, they should perform an important Vedic ritual called the ‘rajasuya yajna.’
After some thought, the Pandavas decided that it would be beneficial if they conducted a rajasuya yajna. However, this ritual was a lengthy and expensive one that required an enormous amount of money. So, the five Pandavas set out in different directions to seek divine support from other kings, and gather wealth. One of the Pandavas, Bhima, went to the North where the kingdom of Kubera, the fabulously wealthy king of the yakshas was situated. Bhima asked Kubera for some money, and Kubera, whose wealth never diminished, magnanimously agreed to donate a large amount of money for the rajasuya yagna. As Bhima was leaving, he noticed the magnificent, divine purushamriga, half man and half lion, strolling around in Kubera’s garden. The dignified purushamriga existed only in Kubera's world, so mortal men could not see it. But anyone who had the good fortune to set eyes on it, became deeply pious. Bhima was so impressed by this majestic creature with its thick, flowing mane, that he invited it to attend and guard the rajasuya yagna of the Pandavas. He believed that taking the dignified purushamriga to Indraprastha would enable the Pandavas to perform the great rajasuya yajna with more beneficial results.
"I will come with you,” the purushamriga answered. “But only on one condition. You must go ahead of me and direct me, taking care that you always stay in front of me, and do not become an obstacle to my pace and speed. In short, you have to run ahead of me all the time, and not halt even once! If I manage to catch up with you, I will kill you, and eat you up immediately! This is because I am a great devotee of Lord Shiva, and thoughts of my lord are always in my mind. If I find that a person whom I’m following, falls back alongside me, and blocks my way, it will greatly disturb my concentration and meditation.”
Now, Bhima was an enormously strong man, and a superb athlete too, so he readily agreed to this unusual condition. He was certain that he could easily out run the stocky, short legged purushamriga. Moreover, Lord Krishna had given Bhima twelve magical shivalings, which, when tossed over Bhima’s shoulder, would turn into Shiva temples.
The devout purushamriga worshipped Shiva, and then began to run after Bhima who had already sprinted away after getting a head start. But even though Bhima ran, with all his might, at top speed, he found that the purushamriga gained on him effortlessly. This was because the purushamriga was ‘manovega’ - as fast as ‘manas’ or thought - and in spite of Bhima’s strength, it caught up with him quickly. When this happened, Bhima tossed one of his magical shivlings over his shoulder. As soon as the stone hit the ground, it was transformed into a lovely Shiva temple with its own pond. When he saw this miracle, the purushamriga, an ardent devotee of Lord Shiva was stopped in his tracks. He took a bath in the holy water of the temple pond, then climbed to its banks, collected flowers from there, and worshipped Lord Shiva. Bhima, in the meanwhile, continued to run furiously, and pushed ahead. But as soon as it finished worshipping Lord Shiva, the purushamriga broke into a run too, and set off in hot pursuit of Bhima again. Within an instant, the purushamriga had closed in on Bhima. When he saw this, a nervous Bhima tossed a second shivling over his shoulder. It too, turned into a Shiva temple, and the purushamriga immediately stopped running and sincerely worshipped his favourite god in the temple as he had done before. But as soon as it finished this ritual, the sphinx like creature dashed after Bhima again. This sequence of events was repeated again and again, till Bhima used up his last, and twelfth shivling. By this time, Bhima was very close to his own capital, Indraprastha. But just as he was sprinting breathlessly across the border of his kingdom, the purushamriga lunged forward with a burst of energy, and grabbed one of Bhima’s legs. Then the purushamriga said to Bhima, "Son of the Wind, one of your legs is in your territory, but since I have seized one, it belongs to me!” Then he held Bhima’s leg in a vice like grip, so that mighty Bhima was unable to move. When Yudhistira, the eldest Pandava brother who was also called Dharmaraja, the just king, heard the commotion outside his kingdom, he hurried to the spot.
“Oh Dharmaraja, am I doing an injustice? You tell me!” The purushamriga exclaimed, after he had told Yudhistira all that had happened. After thinking about the matter for a while, Dharmaraja declared, “According to your agreement, the foot that is in Indraprastha belongs to Bhima, but the other one, that you are holding, belongs to you." The purushamriga was overcome with emotion when he heard this honest verdict, and he smiled.
"Dharmaraja, your name befits you. You truly are a wise and just king! May you live long! May your reign increase! Bhima does not have to give his leg to me! He made it possible for me to worship Lord Shiva continuously. I only used this argument to test you!” Then the mighty beast praised and prostrated before Lord Krishna, who had arrived in Indraprastha.
"Purushamriga, the Pandavas are performing an important rajasuya. Give them all the help you can so that it is performed auspiciously,” Krishna commanded.
The purushamriga helped the Pandavas right from the time the yagna began, till it was over. After the completion of the rajasuya yagna, the purushamriga told Dharmaraja “my task is over, where I should go now?” Dharmaraja’s replied, “Go to Tillai-Chidambaram, where Shiva will soon be coming to perform his cosmic dance, and wait there. Your job is to guard the entrance to the temple, and ward off negative influence.” The obedient purushamriga did as he was told, and he can be seen at this spot to this very day, guarding the entrance to his beloved Lord Shiva’s temple.
ASTAVAKRA’S STORY
Many centuries ago, there lived a sage called Uddalaka who was so knowledgeable about Hindu scriptures and Vedas that students flocked to his hermitage to learn from him. One such student was a young man named Kahoda who was completely devoted to his teacher. Kahoda pleased Uddalaka so much with his sincerity and dedication, that when Kahoda’s studies were over, he got his daughter Sujatha married to him. After their wedding, Kahoda and Sujatha continued to live in Uddalaka’s hermitage, and Kahoda helped his father-in-law to teach students.
As time went by, Sujatha became pregnant. She wanted her child to become a learned person, so she would sit near her father daily as he lectured to his students, and listen carefully. Thus, the unborn child in Sujatha’s womb heard the Vedas being expounded by a master.
One day, however, Sujatha sat in when Kahoda was teaching the students. Kahoda didn’t have the same mastery over the scriptures that Uddalaka had, and he made a mistake while chanting the Vedas. Immediately, the tiny, unborn baby in Sujatha’s belly squirmed in distress, and kicked her hard. A surprised Sujatha immediately placed her hand soothingly on her belly. But after sometime, Kahoda made another mistake, and the unborn baby squirmed vigorously again. This went on, again and again, but when Kahoda had made a mistake for the eighth time, Sujatha’s unborn baby called out to him angrily from inside his mother’s womb. “Father,” he cried, “you have made eight mistakes in your recitation today! Let me tell you the words that you have mispronounced…”
Kahoda was shocked and angry when this happened, especially since some of his students began to giggle. “How dare you, an unborn child, insult your father by correcting him, even before you are born?” he shouted, glaring at Sujatha’s belly. “You have pointed out eight mistakes I’ve made. I curse you to be born with eight deformities!” A horrified Sujatha trembled in fear when she heard her husband’s cruel words. But after a while, Sujatha calmed herself. Se reassured herself by thinking that Kahoda had merely spoken in anger – she was certain that a child could never be hurt by a curse from its own father.
But alas! When Sujatha gave birth to a baby boy some weeks later, she was filled with despair. The little one had crooked limbs with eight deformities in them. As Sujatha wept bitterly, Uddalaka consoled his daughter. “Don’t grieve about your son’s external appearance,” he advised, “but look at what’s inside him. He is an enlightened being.”
Though Sujatha refused to accept her father’s words initially, she eventually realized how wise they were, and she named her son Ashtavakra (one with eight crooked bends).
As the days passed, Ashtavakra grew up. But every time Kahoda looked at Ashtavakra, he felt enormous guilt. His son was deformed because he had cursed him in a fit of anger, even before he was born. So, when he heard one day, that King Janaka of Mithila was organizing a yagna, he decided that he would attend it too, so that he could earn a little extra money to provide Astavakra with a few more comforts.
Kahoda soon set off to Janaka’s court, but when he reached there, he found to his surprise, that no preparations were being made for the yagna. When he questioned Janaka about this, the king said sadly, “A great sage called Bandhi has stipulated that the yagna be started only after he has been defeated in a debate with the other sages participating in the yagna. Bandhi is such a brilliant sage that no one has ever been able to defeat him in an argument. To make matters worse, Bandhi has decreed that anyone defeated by him, has to be drowned to death! Heartless Bandhi has killed so many of my brilliant sages,” King Janaka finished mournfully. Kahoda was terrified when he heard this, but he knew that there was no going back. He just had to try and do something special to make amends to his revered teacher Uddalaka, and his precious wife Sujatha for his cruel and thoughtless action. Kahoda agreed to debate with Bandhi.
The debate between Kahoda and Bandhi took place soon after, but sadly; Kahoda just couldn’t match Bandhi’s razor sharp intelligence. Kahoda was easily defeated in the verbal duel with Bandhi, and he was drowned soon after.
When Sujatha heard about her husband’s fate, she was prostrate with grief.
But her wise father consoled her once again. “I think it is best that we never tell Ashtavakra how his father died, for then, he will be filled with a burning desire to avenge his death,” Uddalaka advised Sujatha quietly. “So, I’ll bring up Ashtavakra as my son, along with your brother Shvetaketu.”
Sujatha eventually agreed to this, and Ashtavakra grew to boyhood believing that Uddalaka was his father. Ashtavakra, with his sharp intellect and excellent memory, was a much better student than Shvetaketu. This made Shvetaketu quite jealous, and he resented the fact that Ashtavakra, with his mis-shapen body was his father’s favourite. So, one day, when twelve year old Ashtavakra was sitting beside Uddalaka, Shvetaketu hurled himself on his father and shouted at Ashtavakra, “Get away from my father! I won’t let you claim him as yours – he is only my father!” Ashtavakra looked at Shvetaketu in utter amazement, but when he saw Uddalaka’s and Sujatha’s horrified faces, he realized that something was terribly wrong.
He looked straight at Uddalaka and said boldly, “from your expression, I can see that what Shvetaketu says is true. So, if you are not my father, then who are you? And where’s my real father?”
Sujatha burst into tears, and as she sobbed, she told Ashtavakra the tragic story of how his own father Kahoda had lost a debate with Bandhi, and been drowned. Ashtavakra listened in silence, and when Sujatha had finished speaking, he said angrily, “So Bandhi took away my father, and caused such suffering in our family. But now, I’ll debate with Bandhi! I’m certain that I won’t be drowned like my father!” A terrified Sujatha begged Ashtavakra not to take on Bandhi, but Ashtavakra refused, and soon set out for King Janaka’s capital Mithila.
When Ashtavakra finally reached Janaka’s palace, he struggled to enter it, because of his twisted, misshapen limbs. As he reached the king’s throne, he folded his deformed hands respectfully in salutation. When the king and his nobles heard that Ashtavakra had come to engage the great sage Bandhi in an intellectual duel, they burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter. They found the thought of Bandhi being challenged by a young, deformed boy, quite hilarious. Ashtavakra wasn’t offended at being laughed at in this insulting way. Instead, he too joined in the raucous laughter. Everyone in the great hall immediately fell silent.
“Why are you laughing, my boy?” King Janaka asked curiously.
“Oh great king, I thought that your learned scholars know the secrets of the scriptures, but now I can see that their eyes cannot see past the bundle of bones and flesh that make the body. I am laughing at all these pretentious men who pretend knowledge of the Vedas, but are only children as far as intellectual maturity is concerned. Tell me dear king; if my body is disfigured, is the soul residing in it deformed too? If a river meanders, is its water misshapen too?”
The king was amazed to hear these words. He immediately agreed to allow Ashtavaktra to debate with Bandhi. Before the debate began, Bandhi repeated his usual condition. Ashtavakra replied that he agreed to it, but stipulated that if Sage Bandhi lost to him, he would have to be drowned too. Those present in King Janaka’s court were astonished to hear this condition, but surprisingly, Sage Bandhi readily agreed, and the debate started. The debate ended quickly because wise Ashtavakra defeated Sage Bandhi easily. Then, Ashtavakra revealed his father’s name, and insisted that Bandhi be drowned to avenge Kahoda’s death.
However, Bandhi then sprang a surprise. He said, “I am the son of Varuna, the god of water. I came to Earth because my father wanted me to get the best sages from here to perform a twelve year yagna. The only way I could get these sages to my father was to challenge them to a debate, and then throw them into the water after defeating them. Now that my father has completed his yagna, let’s go to the riverbank, and watch the sages walk out of the river.”
As a huge crowd watched, the sages who’d been drowned emerged from the river, one by one. When Kahoda appeared, he embraced his wise son Ashtavakra warmly. Bandhi then asked Ashtavakra to take a dip in the river, with the blessings of his father, Lord Varuna. Ashtavakra did as he was told, and when he emerged from the river, his crooked limbs were perfectly straight and normal, and he was a handsome young man.
King Janaka was so pleased with Ashtavakra's wisdom that he decided to engage in a dialogue with him so that he too could get the benefit of Ashtavakra’s knowledge. This dialogue in poetic form forms the masterpiece called the ‘Ashtavakra Gita.’
KAMBAN’S MASTERPIECE
The Ramayana, a great Hindu epic, is a Sanskrit poem of 24,000 verses in seven books, written by the great Sage Valmiki. It tells the story of how Rama, an avatar of Lord Vishnu, rescued his wife Sita, after she was abducted by Ravana, the demon king of Sri Lanka. The Ramayana, considered a monumental literary masterpiece, has had a profound impact on the art, culture, society, and politics of not only the Indian subcontinent, but also parts of South East Asia. The characters and stories in this fascinating epic provide ideals, wisdom, and ethics for daily life. The Ramayana has been widely translated into the major languages of the world, and there are numerous retellings of it in Indian languages. One of the most celebrated versions is the Tamil ‘Ramavataram’ popularly referred to as ‘Kamba Ramayana’. It was written during the Chola era by a brilliant poet called Kamban, and the story of how it came to be written is an interesting tale in itself.
In the 12h century, in the in little village of Therazhundur, in the Tanjavur district of the modern South Indian state of Tamil Nadu, a little boy was born into a family of musicians who played a traditional instrument called the nadaswaram.* This family of musicians worshipped Lord Narasimha, a lion-faced avatar of Lord Vishnu. According to legend, Lord Narasimha emerged from a pillar (kamba) to save his young devotee Prahalad, from his demon father Hiranyakashipu, who hated Lord Vishnu. To honour this divine event, the devout parents named their son Kamban. As Kamban grew up, he proved to be an extremely intelligent boy with a creative bent of mind. His genius was spotted by a wealthy chieftain named Sadaiyappa Vallal, who became Kamban’s chief patron, and educated him. Kamban who was a great devotee of Saraswathi, goddess of learning, mastered both the Sankrit and Tamil languages, and he began to compose exquisite poems. King Kulothunga Chola III, king of the ruling Chola dynasty, heard of Kamban’s brilliance, and invited him to his court. The Chola kings were great patrons of literature, and Kulothunga was so impressed by Kamban’s exceptional literary talent that he made him one of his court poets. Kulothunga was himself a scholarly king, and after he had read Valmiki’s Ramayana in Sanskrit, he decided that this masterpiece should be made available in Tamil so that all his subjects could also read and enjoy it.
King Kulothunga also had another famous Tamil poet in his court called Ottakootar. Ottakootar was knowledgeable and erudite, but this scholarly poet’s language was very formal and he was a great stickler for following the rules of grammar and syntax. Ottakootar, enormously proud of his own talent, was quite arrogant, and usually adopted a condescending and rather patronizing attitude towards the other court poets. He was especially jealous of Kamban, a creative and instinctive poet who had a powerful imagination and a way with words. King Kulothunga commissioned Kamban and Ottakootar to write the Ramayana in Tamil in their own style. He provided the two poets with adequate funds for this project, but stipulated that it be finished within a given time frame.
Ottakootar, a serious and industrious poet, set to work immediately, copiously composing his verses in scholarly and difficult Tamil. But Kamban, who was carefree and high-spirited didn’t think it was necessary to begin working on the project immediately. He procrastinated, and did not so much as put his pen to paper. Ottakootar kept a close watch on his rival’s activities, and soon realised that Kamban, was idling away his time. He was rather pleased that his rival was falling far behind in his work, but did not mention it to anyone, and got on determinedly with his work.
One morning, after some time had passed, King Kulothunga summoned both the poets to his palace to find out how much progress they had made on his pet project. Ottakootar arrived at the king’s court looking very pleased with himself. He had worked sincerely on his composition of the Ramayan, and was certain that his efforts would win him praise from the king. When Kamban arrived, he too was full of smiles, but inwardly, he was quaking in fear. He had not written a single line of the grand epic that he had promised to compose! He realised that he was in very hot waters indeed. In despair, a frightened Kamban sent up a fervent prayer to his beloved goddess Saraswathi, begging her to forgive his laziness, and help him.
King Koluthunga first asked Ottakootar to report how much of the Ramayana he had already composed, and to read out an excerpt from his work. Ottakootar began proudly, “After Ravana kidnapped Sita, and Lord Rama set out to rescue her, the monkey army (vanaras) volunteered to help Rama in his mission. But they had to cross the sea to reach Lanka, the place where Ravana had spirited Sita away to. The vanaras planned to build a bridge spanning the sea, and they decide to do this by throwing rocks into the sea. I have finished composing my Ramayana verses up to the point where the vanaras are going to hurl rocks into the sea.” Then, Ottakootar recited a few exquisite verses from his last canto. He received much applause and praise from the king.
Kamban had listened very attentively when Ottakootar was speaking. When he was called upon him to present his progress report, quick witted Kamban said airily, “Oh, I have completed more of the story than Ottakootar has! In fact, I have come to the part where the vanaras have actually starting throwing rocks into the sea to build a bridge to Lanka.” Ottakootar gasped in disbelief when he heard Kamban’s words. He was certain that Kamban would not get away with uttering such a blatant lie to the king.
“Let me hear you recite a few lines from your verses,” King Kulothunga said.
Kamban closed his eyes, clasped his hands together, prayed to Goddess Saraswathi for inspiration and sang,
“Kumudha the monkey chief,
Dropped a stately hill into the rocky sea.
And the hill, with the rhythmic footwork of a dancer,
Glided over the rocks, and twisted and churned,
Shooting forth a spray of ocean droplets into Heaven.
And the devas of Heaven jumped with joy,
Hoping that the nectar would rise again from the sea.
Ottakootar burned with envy when heard Kamban’s brilliant, extempore performance. He said angrily to Kamban, “You have used a wrong word in your poem. Instead of using the word ‘thuli’ to denote a droplet of water, you have used the word ‘thumi’.
“The word ‘thumi’ is a colloquial expression used by ordinary people in our land,” Kamban replied calmly. “Why, I have heard people in a nearby village using it.” Ottakootar became even angrier when he heard this.
“Prove it to me!” Ottakootar retorted.
“I am ready to do so right now,” Kamban snapped. Then, Kamban and Ottakootar, along with the king, set off to a village nearby. As they walked along, a trembling Kamban prayed to his beloved Goddess Saraswathi again, beseeching her to help him.
As the group walked along, they came across a young milkmaid who was churning milk to get butter. Some children were playing near her pot, and she waved her hands, shooing them away, saying, “Move away from my pot! Otherwise, the drops of curds (thumidham) will splash on you.”
This was the proof that Kamban was looking for! Ottakootar was utterly crestfallen when he heard this, but even more shocked, when after uttering these words, the milkmaid suddenly vanished from sight. Ottakottar realized, with a flash of understanding, that the milkmaid was none other than Goddess Saraswathi herself, come to help her faithful devotee Kamban. Ottakottar was completely shaken by this realization, and was filled with despair. Without uttering another word, he turned around, and went straight home. Then, in a fit of sorrow and disappointment, he made a big fire, and started to throw all the verses he had written into its flames.
Kamban had followed Ottakottar as he stalked off, and he when he arrived at his rivals’ home, he was horrified to see what Ottakottar was doing. Kamban snatched the last few pages that Ottakottar was getting ready to cast into the fire. They were verses from the last chapter that Ottakottar had written.
“Please don’t burn these wonderful verses,” Kamban pleaded. “Give them to me! If you permit, I will use them in my Ramayana.”
Ottakootar shrugged, and his expression was bleak. “You can do what you like with them,” he replied. “I no longer have any interest in them.”
Kamban took Ottakootar’s verses home, and decided that he would incorporate them in his own work. But he had nothing else written, and with Ottakottar opting out of the competition, he knew that the onus was on him to complete and present the Ramayana in Tamil to the king. He had to write almost ten thousand verses in the two weeks left for the deadline that the king had set! Kamban finally woke up to the fact that he was in a truly desperate situation! Without wasting any more time, he retired to the Tiruvottiyur temple, and after praying to Goddess Saraswathi again, he began to compose his Ramayana, working nonstop throughout the day and night. Legend has it that as Kamban composed his lyrical verses, Lord Ganesha himself acted as his divine scribe, writing down the words. When the sunlight faded, and darkness arrived, Bhagavathy herself appeared with a lamp which she held aloft through the night so that Kamban could continue his work uninterrupted.
Kamban finished his Ramayana in time, and the epic was presented to King Koluthunga and the public at the celebrated Srirangam temple at Tiruchirapalli. Kamban’s masterful recitation of the Ramayana held his audience spellbound, and it was hailed as an extraordinary masterpiece. Legend has it that when scholars in the temple objected to Kamban’s imaginative retelling of Valmik’s story, Kamban replied that he would ‘let the Lord be his judge’. People crowding the temple reported that when Kamban uttered these words, the statue of Lord Narasimha shook his mighty head and let out a loud peel of appreciative laughter.
King Koluthunga honoured Kamban with the title of ‘Kavi Chakravarthi’, or emperor of poets – a truly title he was truly worthy of, because more than eight centuries after his death, his poetry still elicits wonder and delight.
* The nadaswaram is a long, wooden wind instrument crowned by a flaring bell.
In the 12h century, in the in little village of Therazhundur, in the Tanjavur district of the modern South Indian state of Tamil Nadu, a little boy was born into a family of musicians who played a traditional instrument called the nadaswaram.* This family of musicians worshipped Lord Narasimha, a lion-faced avatar of Lord Vishnu. According to legend, Lord Narasimha emerged from a pillar (kamba) to save his young devotee Prahalad, from his demon father Hiranyakashipu, who hated Lord Vishnu. To honour this divine event, the devout parents named their son Kamban. As Kamban grew up, he proved to be an extremely intelligent boy with a creative bent of mind. His genius was spotted by a wealthy chieftain named Sadaiyappa Vallal, who became Kamban’s chief patron, and educated him. Kamban who was a great devotee of Saraswathi, goddess of learning, mastered both the Sankrit and Tamil languages, and he began to compose exquisite poems. King Kulothunga Chola III, king of the ruling Chola dynasty, heard of Kamban’s brilliance, and invited him to his court. The Chola kings were great patrons of literature, and Kulothunga was so impressed by Kamban’s exceptional literary talent that he made him one of his court poets. Kulothunga was himself a scholarly king, and after he had read Valmiki’s Ramayana in Sanskrit, he decided that this masterpiece should be made available in Tamil so that all his subjects could also read and enjoy it.
King Kulothunga also had another famous Tamil poet in his court called Ottakootar. Ottakootar was knowledgeable and erudite, but this scholarly poet’s language was very formal and he was a great stickler for following the rules of grammar and syntax. Ottakootar, enormously proud of his own talent, was quite arrogant, and usually adopted a condescending and rather patronizing attitude towards the other court poets. He was especially jealous of Kamban, a creative and instinctive poet who had a powerful imagination and a way with words. King Kulothunga commissioned Kamban and Ottakootar to write the Ramayana in Tamil in their own style. He provided the two poets with adequate funds for this project, but stipulated that it be finished within a given time frame.
Ottakootar, a serious and industrious poet, set to work immediately, copiously composing his verses in scholarly and difficult Tamil. But Kamban, who was carefree and high-spirited didn’t think it was necessary to begin working on the project immediately. He procrastinated, and did not so much as put his pen to paper. Ottakootar kept a close watch on his rival’s activities, and soon realised that Kamban, was idling away his time. He was rather pleased that his rival was falling far behind in his work, but did not mention it to anyone, and got on determinedly with his work.
One morning, after some time had passed, King Kulothunga summoned both the poets to his palace to find out how much progress they had made on his pet project. Ottakootar arrived at the king’s court looking very pleased with himself. He had worked sincerely on his composition of the Ramayan, and was certain that his efforts would win him praise from the king. When Kamban arrived, he too was full of smiles, but inwardly, he was quaking in fear. He had not written a single line of the grand epic that he had promised to compose! He realised that he was in very hot waters indeed. In despair, a frightened Kamban sent up a fervent prayer to his beloved goddess Saraswathi, begging her to forgive his laziness, and help him.
King Koluthunga first asked Ottakootar to report how much of the Ramayana he had already composed, and to read out an excerpt from his work. Ottakootar began proudly, “After Ravana kidnapped Sita, and Lord Rama set out to rescue her, the monkey army (vanaras) volunteered to help Rama in his mission. But they had to cross the sea to reach Lanka, the place where Ravana had spirited Sita away to. The vanaras planned to build a bridge spanning the sea, and they decide to do this by throwing rocks into the sea. I have finished composing my Ramayana verses up to the point where the vanaras are going to hurl rocks into the sea.” Then, Ottakootar recited a few exquisite verses from his last canto. He received much applause and praise from the king.
Kamban had listened very attentively when Ottakootar was speaking. When he was called upon him to present his progress report, quick witted Kamban said airily, “Oh, I have completed more of the story than Ottakootar has! In fact, I have come to the part where the vanaras have actually starting throwing rocks into the sea to build a bridge to Lanka.” Ottakootar gasped in disbelief when he heard Kamban’s words. He was certain that Kamban would not get away with uttering such a blatant lie to the king.
“Let me hear you recite a few lines from your verses,” King Kulothunga said.
Kamban closed his eyes, clasped his hands together, prayed to Goddess Saraswathi for inspiration and sang,
“Kumudha the monkey chief,
Dropped a stately hill into the rocky sea.
And the hill, with the rhythmic footwork of a dancer,
Glided over the rocks, and twisted and churned,
Shooting forth a spray of ocean droplets into Heaven.
And the devas of Heaven jumped with joy,
Hoping that the nectar would rise again from the sea.
Ottakootar burned with envy when heard Kamban’s brilliant, extempore performance. He said angrily to Kamban, “You have used a wrong word in your poem. Instead of using the word ‘thuli’ to denote a droplet of water, you have used the word ‘thumi’.
“The word ‘thumi’ is a colloquial expression used by ordinary people in our land,” Kamban replied calmly. “Why, I have heard people in a nearby village using it.” Ottakootar became even angrier when he heard this.
“Prove it to me!” Ottakootar retorted.
“I am ready to do so right now,” Kamban snapped. Then, Kamban and Ottakootar, along with the king, set off to a village nearby. As they walked along, a trembling Kamban prayed to his beloved Goddess Saraswathi again, beseeching her to help him.
As the group walked along, they came across a young milkmaid who was churning milk to get butter. Some children were playing near her pot, and she waved her hands, shooing them away, saying, “Move away from my pot! Otherwise, the drops of curds (thumidham) will splash on you.”
This was the proof that Kamban was looking for! Ottakootar was utterly crestfallen when he heard this, but even more shocked, when after uttering these words, the milkmaid suddenly vanished from sight. Ottakottar realized, with a flash of understanding, that the milkmaid was none other than Goddess Saraswathi herself, come to help her faithful devotee Kamban. Ottakottar was completely shaken by this realization, and was filled with despair. Without uttering another word, he turned around, and went straight home. Then, in a fit of sorrow and disappointment, he made a big fire, and started to throw all the verses he had written into its flames.
Kamban had followed Ottakottar as he stalked off, and he when he arrived at his rivals’ home, he was horrified to see what Ottakottar was doing. Kamban snatched the last few pages that Ottakottar was getting ready to cast into the fire. They were verses from the last chapter that Ottakottar had written.
“Please don’t burn these wonderful verses,” Kamban pleaded. “Give them to me! If you permit, I will use them in my Ramayana.”
Ottakootar shrugged, and his expression was bleak. “You can do what you like with them,” he replied. “I no longer have any interest in them.”
Kamban took Ottakootar’s verses home, and decided that he would incorporate them in his own work. But he had nothing else written, and with Ottakottar opting out of the competition, he knew that the onus was on him to complete and present the Ramayana in Tamil to the king. He had to write almost ten thousand verses in the two weeks left for the deadline that the king had set! Kamban finally woke up to the fact that he was in a truly desperate situation! Without wasting any more time, he retired to the Tiruvottiyur temple, and after praying to Goddess Saraswathi again, he began to compose his Ramayana, working nonstop throughout the day and night. Legend has it that as Kamban composed his lyrical verses, Lord Ganesha himself acted as his divine scribe, writing down the words. When the sunlight faded, and darkness arrived, Bhagavathy herself appeared with a lamp which she held aloft through the night so that Kamban could continue his work uninterrupted.
Kamban finished his Ramayana in time, and the epic was presented to King Koluthunga and the public at the celebrated Srirangam temple at Tiruchirapalli. Kamban’s masterful recitation of the Ramayana held his audience spellbound, and it was hailed as an extraordinary masterpiece. Legend has it that when scholars in the temple objected to Kamban’s imaginative retelling of Valmik’s story, Kamban replied that he would ‘let the Lord be his judge’. People crowding the temple reported that when Kamban uttered these words, the statue of Lord Narasimha shook his mighty head and let out a loud peel of appreciative laughter.
King Koluthunga honoured Kamban with the title of ‘Kavi Chakravarthi’, or emperor of poets – a truly title he was truly worthy of, because more than eight centuries after his death, his poetry still elicits wonder and delight.
* The nadaswaram is a long, wooden wind instrument crowned by a flaring bell.
POOSALAR’S TEMPLE OF THE HEART
During the 7th century, the South Indian Pallava kingdom was ruled by King Narsimhavarman II, known as Rajasimha. Though Rajasimha was a great soldier and aggressive conqueror, he was also a poet and dramatist who loved art. The king was also a very ardent devotee of Lord Shiva, and his greatest wish was to build a grand temple for his beloved god in his capital city Kanchi, the likes of which the world had never seen before. Rajasimha decided that this temple would be so exquisitely beautiful that it would not only satisfy his spiritual and artistic taste, but would show the world what a mighty king he was. Rajasimha then began to acquire the finest sandstone, and hire the best artists, sculptors and stone cutters to build this fine temple.
Now, it so happened that in the same Pallava kingdom, in the city of Tiruninravur, there lived a pious brahmin named Poosalar who was also a great devotee of Lord Shiva. Poosalar was called thus by the local people because his body was always covered with sacred ash (‘poosal’ means ‘to apply’ in Tamil) However, Poosalar was so poor that he did not even have a hut to call home. He lived under a large mahwa tree in the village, and spent most of his day meditating on Lord Shiva. The local people took pity on him, and sometimes left him some scraps of food, and this was what Poosalar survived on. But despite his utter poverty, Poosalar’s devotion and love for Lord Shiva only deepened as the days passed. Finally, he too was filled with a burning desire to build a temple for his precious lord in Tiruninravur which did not have a Shiva temple. The more he thought about this idea, the more it appealed to Poosalar. So, he decided to ask the villagers for help to collect funds to build the temple. But alas! When Poosalar spoke about this desire to the people, he was greeted with hoots of derisive laughter. He was ridiculed, and asked rudely how he dared to think about building a temple when he did not have enough money to buy himself a square meal! People only chased Poosalar away, and of course, no one gave him any money.
After this had gone on for several weeks, a disappointed Poosalar had to finally accept that he was never going to be able to gather the money needed to build a temple for Lord Shiva. But Poosalar was not ready to give up something that he so ardently desired. After much thought, he finally came up with a solution – since he had no money, he would build a splendid temple for Lord Shiva with his mind, in his heart!
Once he had decided on this agenda, Poosalar wasted no time – he set to work immediately. First, he carefully read the Agamas or Sanskrit scriptures that laid down the rules about how temples were to be constructed. Then, when he had mastered these rules, he began to collect, in his mind, donations from wealthy people for the temple construction. After this was accomplished, he bought stone, metal, and wood from far and near. With his own bare hands he carried bricks to the temple site – all in his mind. He engaged skillful masons and sculptors, and instructed them through his thoughts about what they were to do. And then, at an auspicious hour, Poosalar mentally dug the land where he wanted the temple to come up, and laid the foundation stone. This continued for weeks, and then months. Poosalar became totally absorbed, and devoted to the building of his temple. He spent the whole day, sitting under the Mahwa tree with his eyes shut, chanting the name of Lord Shiva, and visualizing his temple in the minutest detail. He ate little, and slept even less, as he watched his temple grow stone by stone, layer by layer. Poosalar sat motionless under his tree every day, oblivious to the fact that scornful passersby were staring at him, looking puzzled. Everyone thought that Poosalar had taken leave of his senses. Poosalar mentally fashioned beautiful pillars, and made a gateway, tower, and central shrine. As the temple neared completion, he installed a shimmering gold cube over the main dome. He dug a well and a tank for his temple, and even filled up the chinks in the walls.
In the meanwhile, King Rajasimha’s temple was also taking shape. With his untold wealth and resources, the artistic Pallava ruler employed only the finest and most skilled craftsmen, painters, and sculptors in South India to work on his temple. In two short years, they created a glorious shrine of unsurpassed beauty – a stunning example of Pallava architecture that took one’s breath away with its magnificence and splendour. The king was full of pride that he had built a temple for Lord Shiva that had no parallel anywhere in the world. Then Rajasimha summoned his court astrologers and asked them to select an auspicious day on which the temple, called the Kailasanatha temple, would be consecrated. A day was chosen, and the king ordered that preparations be made for the ceremonies connected to the sacred consecration.
Poosalar’s temple, built in his heart, was also complete by this time, and the poor brahmin also decided to choose an auspicious day to consecrate his temple to Lord Shiva. He chose the same day as the one chosen by King Rajasimha, but of course, he had no idea about this at all. He was busy imploring Lord Shiva to grace the temple he had raised for him with his mind and heart.
When the date of the consecration of Kailasanatha Temple was just a day away, King Rajasimha had a dream in which Lord Shiva appeared to him. The king was ecstatic to see his beloved Lord, and he invited him to come and live in the temple he had built. But Lord Shiva shook his head, and expressed his inability to be present during the consecration of Rajasimha’s splendid temple.
“I have to go and be present at the consecration of a temple that another very great devotee, Poosalar, has built for me,” he said. Then Lord Shiva told Rajasimha to put off the date of the consecration of his temple for another day. When he awoke, a startled Rajasimha immediately ordered the preparations being made for his temple’s consecration to be stopped. There was no question of disregarding his dream – he was a completely faithful devotee of Lord Shiva, ready to do whatever his beloved lord commanded.
Then, the mystified king immediately set out with his entourage to Tiruninravur to find out more about Poosalar and the temple he had built for Lord Shiva. The proud king was a little piqued too – he could not understand how Lord Shiva would prefer to go first to a temple built in an obscure hamlet, choosing it over the massive and exquisitely beautiful Kailasanatha temple that he, a supreme emperor had erected. Rajasimha was also determined to find out how an unknown and humble brahmin’s devotion to Lord Shiva was greater than his own.
When the royal party arrived at Tiruninravur, they were surprised to find the common people going about their work as usual. There was no sign that any festivities or celebrations were going on.
“Where is the new Shiva temple in this village located?” the king’s nobles asked the villagers. The puzzled villagers replied that no temple had been built, or was coming up in their vicinity.
Then the king asked the villagers if they knew about a great devotee of Lord Shiva called Poosalar. This query raised much laughter, and the people explained that there was one Poosalar in their village, but he was so poor that he was homeless, and lived under a mahwa tree. The people led the king to Poosalar.
When he got there, the king found Poosalar sitting in deep meditation with his eyes shut. He was oblivious to what was going on in the world around him, as he was so busy with the arrangements for the consecration of his temple. The king stood by patiently till Poosalar opened his eyes. Then he introduced himself and said, “I have built a temple for Lord Shiva in Kanchi. But last night, the Lord himself appeared to me in a dream and he told me that he had already decided to attend the consecration of another temple, built by a great devotee called Poosalar. He asked me to put off the consecration of my temple. I have done so, and I came here so that I could meet you, and attend the consecration of your temple...”
When he heard these words, tears of joy filled the poor brahmin’s eyes. He told the king truthfully, “I wanted desperately to build a temple for my Lord Shiva, but I am so poor that it was an impossible dream. So, I built the temple, stone by stone, in my heart.” The king was so moved when he heard this that he began to weep. Then he placed his ear next to Poosalar’s heart, and he heard the sound of cymbals and conches as Lord Shiva was consecrated into Poosalar’s Hrudaya – Aalaya (heart-temple). King Rajasimha fell at Pooslar’s feet. He recognized that Poosalar’s deep devotion and nobility, devoid of any arrogance or pride, had won him the Almighty’s recognition. The great king then swore to construct a temple for Poosalar. It would be an exact replica of the one the poor brahmin had built in his mind. King Rjasimha did build this temple. He placed a magnificient Shiva linga in its sanctum sanctorum, along with an idol of Poosalar beside it, and called the Lord Hridayaaleeswara (hridaya + aalaya + eswara) meaning the Lord of the Heart Temple.
This temple, over 1500 years old, still stands in Tiruninravur in Tamilnadu. The inner roof of the shrine is heart-shaped, signifying the conception of the temple in Poosalar's heart. Poosalar’s inspiring story is a reminder to us all that no matter what obstacles you face, if you attempt any task with faith and love, and put your whole heart in it, your efforts will be crowned with success!
Now, it so happened that in the same Pallava kingdom, in the city of Tiruninravur, there lived a pious brahmin named Poosalar who was also a great devotee of Lord Shiva. Poosalar was called thus by the local people because his body was always covered with sacred ash (‘poosal’ means ‘to apply’ in Tamil) However, Poosalar was so poor that he did not even have a hut to call home. He lived under a large mahwa tree in the village, and spent most of his day meditating on Lord Shiva. The local people took pity on him, and sometimes left him some scraps of food, and this was what Poosalar survived on. But despite his utter poverty, Poosalar’s devotion and love for Lord Shiva only deepened as the days passed. Finally, he too was filled with a burning desire to build a temple for his precious lord in Tiruninravur which did not have a Shiva temple. The more he thought about this idea, the more it appealed to Poosalar. So, he decided to ask the villagers for help to collect funds to build the temple. But alas! When Poosalar spoke about this desire to the people, he was greeted with hoots of derisive laughter. He was ridiculed, and asked rudely how he dared to think about building a temple when he did not have enough money to buy himself a square meal! People only chased Poosalar away, and of course, no one gave him any money.
After this had gone on for several weeks, a disappointed Poosalar had to finally accept that he was never going to be able to gather the money needed to build a temple for Lord Shiva. But Poosalar was not ready to give up something that he so ardently desired. After much thought, he finally came up with a solution – since he had no money, he would build a splendid temple for Lord Shiva with his mind, in his heart!
Once he had decided on this agenda, Poosalar wasted no time – he set to work immediately. First, he carefully read the Agamas or Sanskrit scriptures that laid down the rules about how temples were to be constructed. Then, when he had mastered these rules, he began to collect, in his mind, donations from wealthy people for the temple construction. After this was accomplished, he bought stone, metal, and wood from far and near. With his own bare hands he carried bricks to the temple site – all in his mind. He engaged skillful masons and sculptors, and instructed them through his thoughts about what they were to do. And then, at an auspicious hour, Poosalar mentally dug the land where he wanted the temple to come up, and laid the foundation stone. This continued for weeks, and then months. Poosalar became totally absorbed, and devoted to the building of his temple. He spent the whole day, sitting under the Mahwa tree with his eyes shut, chanting the name of Lord Shiva, and visualizing his temple in the minutest detail. He ate little, and slept even less, as he watched his temple grow stone by stone, layer by layer. Poosalar sat motionless under his tree every day, oblivious to the fact that scornful passersby were staring at him, looking puzzled. Everyone thought that Poosalar had taken leave of his senses. Poosalar mentally fashioned beautiful pillars, and made a gateway, tower, and central shrine. As the temple neared completion, he installed a shimmering gold cube over the main dome. He dug a well and a tank for his temple, and even filled up the chinks in the walls.
In the meanwhile, King Rajasimha’s temple was also taking shape. With his untold wealth and resources, the artistic Pallava ruler employed only the finest and most skilled craftsmen, painters, and sculptors in South India to work on his temple. In two short years, they created a glorious shrine of unsurpassed beauty – a stunning example of Pallava architecture that took one’s breath away with its magnificence and splendour. The king was full of pride that he had built a temple for Lord Shiva that had no parallel anywhere in the world. Then Rajasimha summoned his court astrologers and asked them to select an auspicious day on which the temple, called the Kailasanatha temple, would be consecrated. A day was chosen, and the king ordered that preparations be made for the ceremonies connected to the sacred consecration.
Poosalar’s temple, built in his heart, was also complete by this time, and the poor brahmin also decided to choose an auspicious day to consecrate his temple to Lord Shiva. He chose the same day as the one chosen by King Rajasimha, but of course, he had no idea about this at all. He was busy imploring Lord Shiva to grace the temple he had raised for him with his mind and heart.
When the date of the consecration of Kailasanatha Temple was just a day away, King Rajasimha had a dream in which Lord Shiva appeared to him. The king was ecstatic to see his beloved Lord, and he invited him to come and live in the temple he had built. But Lord Shiva shook his head, and expressed his inability to be present during the consecration of Rajasimha’s splendid temple.
“I have to go and be present at the consecration of a temple that another very great devotee, Poosalar, has built for me,” he said. Then Lord Shiva told Rajasimha to put off the date of the consecration of his temple for another day. When he awoke, a startled Rajasimha immediately ordered the preparations being made for his temple’s consecration to be stopped. There was no question of disregarding his dream – he was a completely faithful devotee of Lord Shiva, ready to do whatever his beloved lord commanded.
Then, the mystified king immediately set out with his entourage to Tiruninravur to find out more about Poosalar and the temple he had built for Lord Shiva. The proud king was a little piqued too – he could not understand how Lord Shiva would prefer to go first to a temple built in an obscure hamlet, choosing it over the massive and exquisitely beautiful Kailasanatha temple that he, a supreme emperor had erected. Rajasimha was also determined to find out how an unknown and humble brahmin’s devotion to Lord Shiva was greater than his own.
When the royal party arrived at Tiruninravur, they were surprised to find the common people going about their work as usual. There was no sign that any festivities or celebrations were going on.
“Where is the new Shiva temple in this village located?” the king’s nobles asked the villagers. The puzzled villagers replied that no temple had been built, or was coming up in their vicinity.
Then the king asked the villagers if they knew about a great devotee of Lord Shiva called Poosalar. This query raised much laughter, and the people explained that there was one Poosalar in their village, but he was so poor that he was homeless, and lived under a mahwa tree. The people led the king to Poosalar.
When he got there, the king found Poosalar sitting in deep meditation with his eyes shut. He was oblivious to what was going on in the world around him, as he was so busy with the arrangements for the consecration of his temple. The king stood by patiently till Poosalar opened his eyes. Then he introduced himself and said, “I have built a temple for Lord Shiva in Kanchi. But last night, the Lord himself appeared to me in a dream and he told me that he had already decided to attend the consecration of another temple, built by a great devotee called Poosalar. He asked me to put off the consecration of my temple. I have done so, and I came here so that I could meet you, and attend the consecration of your temple...”
When he heard these words, tears of joy filled the poor brahmin’s eyes. He told the king truthfully, “I wanted desperately to build a temple for my Lord Shiva, but I am so poor that it was an impossible dream. So, I built the temple, stone by stone, in my heart.” The king was so moved when he heard this that he began to weep. Then he placed his ear next to Poosalar’s heart, and he heard the sound of cymbals and conches as Lord Shiva was consecrated into Poosalar’s Hrudaya – Aalaya (heart-temple). King Rajasimha fell at Pooslar’s feet. He recognized that Poosalar’s deep devotion and nobility, devoid of any arrogance or pride, had won him the Almighty’s recognition. The great king then swore to construct a temple for Poosalar. It would be an exact replica of the one the poor brahmin had built in his mind. King Rjasimha did build this temple. He placed a magnificient Shiva linga in its sanctum sanctorum, along with an idol of Poosalar beside it, and called the Lord Hridayaaleeswara (hridaya + aalaya + eswara) meaning the Lord of the Heart Temple.
This temple, over 1500 years old, still stands in Tiruninravur in Tamilnadu. The inner roof of the shrine is heart-shaped, signifying the conception of the temple in Poosalar's heart. Poosalar’s inspiring story is a reminder to us all that no matter what obstacles you face, if you attempt any task with faith and love, and put your whole heart in it, your efforts will be crowned with success!
