CHENNAI : My brief surfing of the television channels abruptly stopped at a station airing the Thyagaraja Utsavam. This culmination of the month-long Margazhi festival has musicians, resplendent in their silks, converging at saint Thyagaraja’s samadhi in Thiruvayaru, a small town in Thanjavur district, to render the pancharatna kritis, or the five gems of his composition.It brought back memories of my visit to Thanjavur, of the Big Temple built by the Cholas, the lush green paddy fields, the aroma of podi idlis and the shrine of Saint Thyagaraja. I had mapped the visit to the shrine in my itinerary to be able to visit the place, where lovers of music get to sing along with their favourite artistes every January.
Having set the destination in the phone, I sat in the cab, treating my eyes to the picture-postcard paddy fields dancing to the gentle breeze, with a few huts dotting the stunning landscape. The Google Maps lady struggled to pronounce the names of the small villages that passed by. Finally, when she said “the destination is on your right”, both I, and I am sure, the Maps lady, heaved a sigh of relief.
The tall iron gates with motifs of Saint Thyagaraja ushered me in. The vibrant yet wise Cauvery was flowing a few metres away, a few boulders near the banks of the river pretending to occasionally block the free-flowing river, as if setting a few rules in place. It was off-season, and the place was quiet, the gushing of the river adding a beat to the rhythm of the breeze. The shrine of the saint was a few metres away.
But my short stroll up to the shrine made me close my eyes and my nose. The insensitivity of the authorities in the upkeep of the place, set in the seemingly idyllic village, appalled me. What is spruced up every year for the January music carnival was a picture of neglect, with two little girls defecating inside the compound and trash strewn all over the unkempt lawn. After I braved the stretch and the stench to reach the few steps that led to the shrine, the purohit spotted me and immediately chanted some mantras and showed camphor. He then completed the process by bringing the archana plate, and said I could donate for a puja where they would bathe the saint’s idol with sandalwood paste, milk and honey.
I almost asked him could the smell of sandalwood douse the stink of the faeces? The compound could really do with a toilet and trash bin first. Keeping the precinct clean could be the best tribute to the maestro, who has enriched the classical music tradition.
The collective rendition of swaras for the first kriti, Jagadanandakaraka, brought me back to the present. The images of the shrine and the place, now all decked up for the carnival, splashed across the screen. I rued the fact that this facade, this grandeur, this music will soon give way to the unkempt lawn, the open toilet. This mecca of music will have to wait another year for the fragrance of flowers and sandalwood to overpower the stench of the apathy.