All Hindus have the right to freely enter a temple. But Nandanar, a Dalit saint in 8th century Tamil Nadu, was not allowed this basic right until extraordinary events enabled it. Though India is home to the Vedas and the Upanishads, caste was and is a cancer in society. Nandanar’s fervent love for Lord Shiva was thus chastised by both the priests and by members of his own community as inappropriate. But what about an individual’s right to lay his heart where he chooses? As the 17th century French mathematician Blaise Pascal said about faith, “The heart has its reasons which reason does not know.”
Nandanar is the eighteenth of the 63 Nayanars or saints of the Tamil Shaiva canon. His statue is present with theirs in all major Shaiva temples in Tamil Nadu. He is revered by people of all castes, and his image is taken out with honour in temple processions. His journey from being the outsider to becoming iconic is a beloved tale told and retold even today.
Sources say that Nandanar was mentioned in the 8th century by the Shaiva saint Sundarar, and in an 11th century verse by scholar Nambiyandar Nambi. He has a chapter in the 12th century Periya Puranam by the Chola minister Sekkizhar, which is a hagiography of the 63 Nayanars.
In the 19th century, poet Gopalakrishna Bharati wrote Nandanar Charitram, a full-fledged religious biography. Based on his work, a powerful operatic Tamil film called Nandanar rocked the Tamil world in 1942 with the famous singer M M Dandapani Desigar playing the saint. A colourised version of the film was uploaded on YouTube as recently as January 2022.
To understand Nandanar’s stubborn love for Shiva, we must recall the importance of temples in the everyday life and geography of South India. There may be many things to love or look up to today but back in the 8th century in Nandanar’s rural world, it was the tall, magnificent temple gopuram that dominated the landscape, visible for miles around.
Nandanar belonged to Adanur, a village in the Chola country. He was an agricultural labourer on the farm of a rich landlord. His heart burned to be part of something bigger and grander than ordinary life with its mundane realities, its hardship and lack of hope. And who, in his world, was a bigger, grander and more liberating figure than Lord Shiva, whose fascinating lore abounded in the land? No one can fault Nandanar for his love. He spoke of it to everyone for his heart could not contain his feelings. But the villagers protested that Shiva was not for them. Nandanar tried to persuade them that it was otherwise.
“Shiva is the father of us all,” he said earnestly. “Our god is fond of teasing us. He is happy with so little and is very slow to anger. But if someone crosses a line, his fury can erupt as fire from his third eye. Yet everyone loves him for he is so reachable. Was there ever such a god?”
“How do we find him though?” asked a villager.
“Chant his name and wear his sacred ash on your forehead. Come, let us go to his temple at Tirupunkur.”
Carried away by his fervour, a group of villagers left with him. It took them a day of steady walking to get to Tirupunkur. But they could not enter the temple and when they looked in from outside, they found their vision of the sanctum blocked. A gigantic stone Nandi stood in the way. The legend goes that Nandanar lifted his voice to sing an appeal to Lord Shiva about their plight. The huge statue suddenly moved aside, in which position it still stands. They were overjoyed to see the Shivling in the sanctum, lit by the glory of oil lamps.
A new wish was born in Nandanar’s heart. He longed to go on pilgrimage to holy Chidamabaram. This ancient temple was where the Chola kings paid personal obeisance. It was the only temple to Shiva as Nataraja, the Lord of Dance. Chidambaram was also called ‘Thillai’ after the marshy thillai or mangrove trees that grew thickly around it.
It became Nandanar’s most ardent wish to see Chidambaram for himself. He daringly ventured to ask the landlord for permission but was laughed at and sent away.
But the longing did not leave Nandanar. He stuck to his resolve and told everyone that he would go to Chidambaram “tomorrow”, which earned him the name ‘Naalai povar’ or ‘One who will go tomorrow’. This repeated avowal first amused and then irritated people, including the landlord.
Finally, to make Nandanar stop, the landlord said that if Nandanar could harvest all the fields overnight, he could go.
This was an impossible task and Nandanar broke into tears. “Only you can help me now, Lord,” he prayed. The legend says that neat sheaves lay heaped in rows next morning. The landlord was dumbfounded at this miracle. He begged Nandanar’s pardon and sent him on his way. Nandanar sang all the way to Chidambaram. But having got there, he was told by the priests that he could enter the temple if he passed a trial by fire. We have no means of knowing if this really happened or whether it was a story made up to admit Nandanar into the fold through a tale of so-called ‘purification’ like Sita’s ordeal. Did he commit the impossible—which was to enter a blazing firepit—or did he walk across coals, as people do even now on religious occasions, and emerge unscathed? He obviously did something for the story goes that the entire priestly community of Chidambaram was abashed and escorted him with honour to the sanctum.
We do not know what became of Nandanar after that for the story ends here. But the central point passed down the centuries to us is that here was a valiant, saintly person who was forbidden to love but did so nevertheless, and was splendidly proven right.
Renuka Narayanan