Back in the 1970s, I was a resident of Sundarapandiapuram. Yes, the same village that featured in the famous Tamil film Roja. It was a picturesque hamlet nestled in a sylvan setting. For the most part, it was an old world agraharam, untouched by modernity. The houses were palatial, but packed with very little space between them. Its inhabitants were mostly innocent and staunch devotees of Lord Krishna. Each house had its own alter for basil. The holy feet of baby Krishna, aesthetically drawn and decorated, adorned the exterior of every one of them.
The women of the village, clothed in madisar, were masters in the art of making rangolis. Every dawn, it was a pleasure to see a vast array of patti kolams drawn in kaleidoscopic patterns. One will not find the same design or the same configuration repeated. For such was the mastery that the women of Sundarapandiapuram had at their fingertips.
Come December, the village would wear a festive look. There would be singing and dancing. It used to be a month of stories. Stories from Bagavatham like Gajendra moksham, Prahalatha charithiram and Ajamila upakayanam would be narrated by Nambi Iyengar, quoting profusely the words of Andal, Meera, Chaitanya and Purandara Dasa.
Iyengar was well versed in Sanskrit and Tamil. His delivery was so exquisite that it often drew tears of joy from the eyes of his audience. Whenever he was about to conclude the story with a phala shruthi, he would say in a high pitch: Gopika jeevana smaranam and the audience would chant Govinda, Govinda in chorus.
So many years have passed since I left the beautiful village for Bangalore to pursue higher studies. Later, I settled in Belgaum. However, thanks to the internet, I was able to reconnect with some of my old friends from the village. But the news from Sundarapandiapuram is not all that rosy.
Iyengar has passed away. His daughters and sons have left the village in quest for cosy urban jobs. In the process, they sold off their properties at a throwaway price to some millionaire. A part of the street has become a commercial complex. No more bhajans or dancing. Whatever happens in reality, Sundarapandiapuram would always be the same in my memory— a miniature Gokulam.
G Nataraja Perumal
Email: natarajgreen@gmail.com