The festival of Taypusam is one of the more important among the many religious festivals of the Hindus, and is celebrated with great rejoicings on the night of the first full moon in January each year. In the case of the great temples of Southern India, some of which are so vast that their enclosures are more than a mile in circumference, enormous crowds—sometimes 20,000 people or more—will congregate together to witness the ceremonials, which are elaborately gorgeous. There are a few Hindu temples of smaller size in Ceylon, and into one of these I had the good fortune to be admitted, on the occasion of this year’s festival (1891), and at the time when the proceedings were about to commence.

It was nine o’clock, the full moon was shining in the sky, and already the blaring of trumpets and horns could be heard from within as I stood at the gate seeking admittance. At first this was positively denied; but my companion, who was a person, of some authority in the temple, soon effected an entrance, and we presently stood within the precincts. It must be understood that these temples generally consist of a large oblong enclosure, more or less planted with palms and other trees, within which stands the sanctuary itself, with lesser shrines, priests’ dwellings and other buildings grouped round it. In the present case the enclosure was about one hundred yards long by sixty or seventy wide, with short grass under foot. In the centre stood the temple proper—a building without any pretensions to architectural form, a mere oblong, bounded by a wall ten or twelve feet high; unbroken by any windows, and rudely painted in vertical stripes, red and white. At the far end, under trees, were some low priests’ cottages; and farther on a tank or reservoir, not very large, with a stone balustrade around it. Coming round to the front of the temple, which was more ornamented, and where the main doorway or entrance was, we found there a considerable crowd assembled. We were in fact just in time to witness the beginning of the ceremony; for almost immediately a lot of folk came rushing out through the doorway of the temple in evident excitement; torches were lighted, consisting of long poles, some surmounted with a flaming ring of rags dipped in coco-nut oil, others with a small iron crate in which lumps of broken coco-nut burned merrily. In a few moments there was a brilliant light; the people arranged themselves in two lines from the temple door; sounds of music from within got louder; and a small procession appeared, musicians first, then four nautch girls, and lastly a small platform supported on the shoulders of men, on which was the great god Siva.

At first I could not make out what this last-named object was, but presently distinguished two rude representations of male and female figures, Siva and his consort Sakti, apparently cut out of one block, seated, and about three feet high, but so bedone with jewels and silks that it was difficult to be sure of their anatomy! Over them was held a big ornamental umbrella, and behind followed the priest. We joined the procession, and soon arrived at the edge of the reservoir which I have already mentioned, and on which was floating a strange kind of ship. It was a raft made of bamboos lashed to empty barrels, and on it a most florid and brilliant canopy, covered with cloths of different colors and surmounted by little scarlet pennants. A flight of steps down to the water occupied the whole of one side of the tank, the other three sides were surrounded by the stone balcony, and on these steps and round the balcony the crowd immediately disposed itself, while the procession went on board. When the god was properly arranged under his canopy, and the nautch girls round about him, and when room had been found for the crew, who with long poles were to propel the vessel, and for as many musicians as convenient—about a dozen souls in all—a bell rang, and the priest, a brown-bodied young Brahman with the sacred thread over his shoulders and a white cloth edged with red round his loins, made an offering of flame of camphor in a five-branched lamp. A hush fell upon the crowd, who all held their hands, palms together, as in the attitude of prayer (but also symbol of the desire to be joined together and to the god)—some with their arms high above their heads; a tray was placed on the raft, of coco-nuts and bananas which the priest opening deposited before the image; the band burst forth into renewed uproar, and the ship went gyrating over the water on her queer voyage.

What a scene! I had now time to look around a little. All round the little lake, thronging the steps and the sides in the great glare of the torches, were hundreds of men and boys, barebodied, barehead and barefoot, but with white loin-cloths—all in a state of great excitement—not religious so much as spectacular, as at the commencement of a theatrical performance, myself and companion about the only persons clothed,—except that in a corner and forming a pretty mass of color were a few women and girls, of the poorer class of Tamils, but brightly dressed, with nose-rings and ear-rings profusely ornamented. On the water, brilliant in scarlet and gold and blue, was floating the sacred canopy, surrounded by musicians yelling on their various horns, in the front of which—with the priest standing between them—sat two little naked boys holding small torches; while overhead through the leaves of plentiful coco-nut and banana palms overhanging the tank, in the dim blue sky among gorgeous cloud-outlines just discernible, shone the goddess of night, the cause of all this commotion.

Such a blowing up of trumpets in the full moon! For the first time I gathered some clear idea of what the ancient festivals were like. Here was a boy blowing two pipes at the same time, exactly as in the Greek bas-reliefs. There was a man droning a deep bourdon on a reed instrument, with cheeks puffed into pouches with long-sustained effort of blowing; to him was attached a shrill flageolet player—the two together giving much the effect of Highland bagpipes. Then there were the tomtoms, whose stretched skins produce quite musical and bell-like though monotonous sounds; and lastly two old men jingling cymbals and at the same time blowing their terrible chank-horns or conches. These chanks are much used in Buddhist and Hindu temples. They are large whorled sea-shells of the whelk shape, such as sometimes ornament our mantels. The apex of the spiral is cut away and a mouthpiece cemented in its place, through which the instrument can be blown like a horn. If then the fingers be used to partly cover and vary the mouth of the shell, and at the same time the shell be vibrated to and fro in the air—what with its natural convolutions and these added complications, the most ear-rending and diabolically wavy bewildering and hollow sounds can be produced, such as might surely infect the most callous worshiper with a proper faith in the supernatural.

The temper of the crowd too helped one to understand the old religious attitude. It was thoroughly whole-hearted—I cannot think of any other word. There was no piety—in our sense of the word—or very little, observable. They were just thoroughly enjoying themselves—a little excited no doubt by chanks and divine possibilities generally, but not subdued by awe; talking freely to each other in low tones, or even indulging occasionally—the younger ones—in a little bear-fighting; at the same time proud of the spectacle and the presence of the divinity, heart and soul in the ceremony, and anxious to lend hands as torch-bearers or image-bearers, or in any way, to its successful issue. It is this temper which the wise men say is encouraged and purposely cultivated by the ceremonial institutions of Hinduism. The temple services are made to cover, as far as may be, the whole ground of life, and to provide the pleasures of the theatre, the art-gallery, the music hall and the concert-room in one. People attracted by these spectacles—which are very numerous and very varied in character, according to the different feasts—presently remain to inquire into their meaning. Some like the music, others the bright colors. Many men come at first merely to witness the dancing of the nautch girls, but afterwards and insensibly are drawn into spheres of more spiritual influence. Even the children find plenty to attract them, and the temple becomes their familiar resort from early life.

The theory is that all the ceremonies have inner and mystic meanings—which meanings in due time are declared to those who are fit—and that thus the temple institutions and ceremonies constitute a great ladder by which men can rise at last to those inner truths which lie beyond all formulas and are contained in no creed. Such is the theory, but like all theories it requires large deductions before acceptance. That such theory was one of the formative influences of the Hindu ceremonial, and that the latter embodies here and there important esoteric truths descending from Vedic times, I hardly doubt; but on the other hand, time, custom and neglect, different streams of tradition blending and blurring each other, reforms and a thousand influences have—as in all such cases—produced a total concrete result which no one theory can account for or coordinate.

Such were some of my thoughts as I watched the crowd around me. They too were not uninterested in watching me. The appearance of an Englishman under such circumstances was perhaps a little unusual and scores of black eyes were turned inquiringly in my direction; but covered as I was by the authority of my companion no one seemed to resent my presence. A few I thought looked shocked, but the most seemed rather pleased, as if proud that a spectacle so brilliant and impressive should be witnessed by a stranger—besides there were two or three among the crowd whom I happened to have met before and spoken with, and whose friendly glances made me feel at home.

Meanwhile the gyrating raft had completed two or three voyages round the little piece of water. Each time it returned to the shore fresh offerings were made to the god, the bell was rung again, a moment of hushed adoration followed, and then with fresh strains of mystic music a new start for the deep took place. What the inner signification of these voyages might be I had not and have not the faintest idea; it is possible even that no one present knew. At the same time I do not doubt that the drama was originally instituted in order to commemorate some actual event or to symbolise some doctrine. On each voyage a hymn was sung or recited. On the first voyage the Brahman priest declaimed a hymn from the Vedas—a hymn that may have been written 3,000 years ago—nor was there anything in the whole scene which appeared to me discordant with the notion that the clock had been put back 3,000 years (though of course the actual new departure in the Brahmanical rites which we call Hinduism does not date back anything like so far as that). On the second voyage a Tamil hymn was sung by one of the youths trained in the temples for this purpose; and on the third voyage another Tamil hymn, with interludes of the most ecstatic caterwauling from chanks and bagpipes! The remainder of the voyages I did not witness, as my conductor now took me to visit the interior of the temple.

That is, as far as it was permissible to penetrate. For the Brahman priests who regulate these things, with far-sighted policy make it one of their most stringent rules that the laity shall not have access beyond a short distance into the temple, and heathen like myself are of course confined to the mere forecourts. Thus the people feel more awe and sanctity with regard to the holy place itself and the priests who fearlessly tread within than they do with regard to anything else connected with their religion.

Having passed the porch, we found ourselves in a kind of entrance hall with one or two rows of columns supporting a flat wooden roof—the walls adorned with the usual rude paintings of various events in Siva’s earthly career. On the right was a kind of shrine with a dancing figure of the god in relief—the perpetual dance of creation; but unlike some of the larger temples, in which there is often most elaborate and costly stonework, everything here was of the plainest, and there was hardly anything in the way of sculpture to be seen. Out of this forecourt opened a succession of chambers into which one might not enter; but the dwindling lights placed in each served to show distance after distance. In the extreme chamber farthest removed from the door, by which alone daylight enters—the rest of the interior being illumined night and day with artificial lights—is placed, surrounded by lamps, the most sacred object, the lingam. This of course was too far off to be discerned—and indeed it is, except on occasions, kept covered—but it appears that instead of being a rude image of the male organ (such as is frequently seen in the outer courts of these temples), the thing is a certain white stone, blue-veined and of an egg-shape, which is mysteriously fished up—if the gods so will it—from the depths of the river Nerbudda, and only thence. It stands in the temple in the hollow of another oval-shaped object which represents the female yoni; and the two together, embleming Siva and Sakti, stand for the sexual energy which pervades creation.

Thus the worship of sex is found to lie at the root of the present Hinduism, as it does at the root of nearly all the primitive religions of the world. Yet it would be a mistake to conclude that such worship is a mere deification of material functions. Whenever it may have been that the Vedic prophets descending from Northern lands into India first discovered within themselves that capacity of spiritual ecstasy which has made them even down to to-day one of the greatest religious forces in the world, it is certain that they found (as indeed many of the mediæval Christian seers at a later time also found) that this ecstasy had a certain similarity to the sexual rapture. In their hands therefore the rude, phallic worships, which their predecessors had with true instinct celebrated, came to have a new meaning; and sex itself, the most important of earthly functions, came to derive an even greater importance from its relation to the one supreme and heavenly fact, that of the soul’s union with God.

In the middle line of all Hindu temples, between the lingam and the door, are placed two other very sacred objects—the couchant bull Nandi and an upright ornamented pole, the Kampam, or as it is sometimes called, the flagstaff. In this case the bull was about four feet in length, carved in one block of stone, which from continual anointing by pious worshipers had become quite black and lustrous on the surface. In the great temple at Tanjore there is a bull twenty feet long cut from a single block of syenite, and similar bull-images are to be found in great numbers in these temples, and of all sizes down to a foot in length, and in any accessible situation are sure to be black and shining with oil. In Tamil the word pasu signifies both ox—i.e. the domesticated ox—and the soul. Siva is frequently represented as riding on a bull; and the animal represents the human soul which has become subject and affiliated to the god. As to the flagstaff, it was very plain, and appeared to be merely a wooden pole nine inches or so thick, slightly ornamented, and painted a dull red color. In the well-known temple at Mádura the kampam is made of teak plated with gold, and is encircled with certain rings at intervals, and at the top three horizontal arms project, with little bell-like tassels hanging from them. This curious object has, it is said, a physiological meaning, and represents a nerve which passes up the median line of the body from the genital organs to the brain (? the great sympathetic). Indeed the whole disposition of the parts in these temples is supposed (as of course also in the Christian Churches) to represent the human body, and so also the universe of which the human body is only the miniature. I do not feel myself in a position however to judge how far these correspondences are exact. The inner chambers in this particular temple were, as far as I could see, very plain and unornamented.

On coming out again into the open space in front of the porch, my attention was directed to some low buildings which formed the priests’ quarters. Two priests were attached to the temple, and a separate cottage was intended for any traveling priest or lay benefactor who might want accommodation within the precincts.

And now the second act of the sacred drama was commencing. The god, having performed a sufficient number of excursions on the tank, was being carried back with ceremony to the space in front of the porch—where for some time had been standing, on portable platforms made of poles, three strange animal figures of more than life-size—a bull, a peacock, and a black creature somewhat resembling a hog, but I do not know what it was meant for. On the back of the bull, which was evidently itself in an amatory and excited mood, Siva and Sakti were placed; on the hog-like animal was mounted another bejewelled figure—that of Ganésa, Siva’s son; and on the peacock again the figure of his other son, Soubramánya. Camphor flame was again offered, and then a lot of stalwart and enthusiastic worshipers seized the poles, and mounting the platforms on their shoulders set themselves to form a procession round the temple on the grassy space between it and the outer wall. The musicians as usual went first, then came the dancing girls, and then after an interval of twenty or thirty yards the three animals abreast of each other on their platforms, and bearing their respective gods upon their backs. At this point we mingled with the crowd and were lost among the worshipers. And now again I was reminded of representations of antique religious processions. The people, going in front or following behind, or partly filling the space in front of the gods—though leaving a lane clear in the middle—were evidently getting elated and excited. They swayed their arms, took hands or rested them on each other’s bodies, and danced rather than walked along; sometimes their shouts mixed with the music; the tall torches swayed to and fro, flaring to the sky and distilling burning drops on naked backs in a way which did not lessen the excitement; the smell of hot coco-nut oil mingling with that of humanity made the air sultry; and the great leaves of bananas and other palms leaning over and glistening with the double lights of moon and torch flames gave a weird and tropical beauty to the scene.2 In this rampant way the procession moved for a few yards, the men wrestling and sweating under the weight of the god-images, which according to orthodox ideas are always made of an alloy of the five metals known to the ancients—an alloy called panchaloka—and are certainly immensely heavy; and then it came to a stop. The bearers rested their poles on strong crutches carried for the purpose, and while they took breath the turn of the nautch girls came.

Most people are sufficiently familiar now-a-days, through Oriental exhibitions and the like, with the dress and bearing of these Devadásis, or servants of God. “They sweep the temple,” says the author of Life in an Indian Village, “ornament the floor with quaint figures drawn in rice flour, hold the sacred light before the god, fan him, and dance and sing when required.” “In the village of Kélambakam,” he continues, “there are two dancing girls, Kanakambujam and Minakshi. K. is the concubine of a neighboring Mudelliar, and M. of Appalacharri the Brahman. But their services can be obtained by others.” I will describe the dress of one of the four present on this occasion. She had on a dark velveteen tunic with quite short gold-edged sleeves, the tunic almost concealed from view by a very handsome scarf or sari such as the Indian women wear. This sari, made of crimson silk profusely ornamented with gold thread, was passed over one shoulder, and having been wound twice or thrice round the waist was made to hang down like a petticoat to a little below the knee. Below this appeared silk leggings of an orange color; and heavy silver anklets crowned the naked feet. Handsome gold bangles were on her arms (silver being usually worn below the waist and gold above), jewels and bell-shaped pendants in her nose and ears, and on her head rose-colored flowers pinned with gold brooches and profusely inwoven with the plaited black hair that hung down her back. The others with variations in color had much the same costume.

To describe their faces is difficult. I think I seldom saw any so inanimately sad. It is part of the teaching of Indian women that they should never give way to the expression of feeling, or to any kind of excitement of manner, and this in the case of better types leads to a remarkable dignity and composure of bearing, such as is comparatively rare in the West, but in more stolid and ignorant sorts produces a most apathetic and bovine mien. In the case of these nautch women circumstances are complicated by the prostitution which seems to be the inevitable accompaniment of their profession. One might indeed think that it was distinctly a part of their profession—as women attached to the service of temples whose central idea is that of sex—but some of my Hindu friends assure me that this is not so: that they live where they like, that their dealings with the other sex are entirely their own affair, and are not regulated or recognised in any way by the temple authorities, and that it is only, so to speak, an accident that these girls enter into commercial relations with men—generally, it is admitted, with the wealthier of those who attend the services—an accident of course quite likely to occur, since they are presumably good-looking, and are early forced into publicity and out of the usual routine of domestic life. All the same, though doubtless these things are so now, I think it may fairly be supposed that the sexual services of these nautch girls were at one time a recognised part of their duty to the temple to which they were attached. Seeing indeed that so many of the religions of antiquity are known to have recognised services of this kind, seeing also that Hinduism did at least incorporate in itself primitive sexual worships, and seeing that there is no reason to suppose that such practices involved any slur in primitive times on those concerned in them—rather the reverse—I think we have at any rate a strong primâ-facie case. It is curious too that, even to-day, notwithstanding the obvious drawbacks of their life, these girls are quite recognised and accepted in Hindu families of high standing and respectability. When marriages take place they dress the bride, put on her jewels, and themselves act as bridesmaids; and generally speaking are much referred to as authorities on dress. Whatever, however, may have been the truth about the exact duties and position of the Devadásis in old times, the four figuring away there before their gods that night seemed to me to present but a melancholy and effete appearance. They were small and even stunted in size, nor could it be said that any of them were decently good-looking. The face of the eldest—it was difficult to judge their age, but she might have been twenty—was the most expressive, but it was thin and exceedingly weary; the faces of the others were the faces of children who had ceased to be children, yet to whom experience had brought no added capacity.

These four waifs of womanhood, then, when the procession stopped, wheeled round, and facing the god approached him with movements which bore the remotest resemblance to a dance. Stretching out their right hands and right feet together (in itself an ungraceful movement) they made one step forward and to the right; then doing the same with left hands and feet made a step in advance to the left. After repeating this two or three times they then, having first brought their finger points to their shoulders, extended their arms forward towards the deity, inclining themselves at the same time. This also was repeated, and then they moved back much as they had advanced. After a few similar evolutions, sometimes accompanied by chanting, they wheeled round again, and the procession moved forwards a few yards more. Thus we halted about half a dozen times before we completed the circuit of the temple, and each time had a similar performance.

On coming round to the porch what might be called the third act commenced. The platform of the bull and the god Siva was—not without struggles—lowered to the ground so as to face the porch, the other two gods being kept in the background; and then the four girls, going into the temple and bringing forth little oil-lamps, walked in single file round the image, followed by the musicians also in single file. These latter had all through the performance kept up an almost continuous blowing; and their veined knotted faces and distended cheeks bore witness to the effort, not to mention the state of our own ears! It must however in justice be said that the drone, the flageolet, and the trumpets were tuned to the same key-note, and their combined music alone would not have been bad; but a chank-shell can no more be tuned than a zebra can be tamed, and when two of these instruments together, blown by two wiry old men obdurately swaying their heads, were added to the tumult, it seemed not impossible that one might go giddy and perhaps become theopneustos, at any moment.

The show was now evidently culminating. The entry of the musicians into the temple, where their reverberations were simply appalling, was the signal for an inrush of the populace. We passed in with the crowd, and almost immediately Siva, lifted from the bull, followed borne in state under his parasol. He was placed on a stand in front of the side shrine in the forecourt already mentioned; and a curtain being drawn before him, there was a momentary hush and awe. The priest behind the curtain (whom from our standpoint we could see) now made the final offerings of fruit, flowers and sandalwood, and lighted the five-branched camphor lamp for the last time. This burning of camphor is, like other things in the service, emblematic. The five lights represent the five senses. As camphor consumes itself and leaves no residue behind, so should the five senses, being offered to God, consume themselves and disappear. When this is done, that happens in the soul which was now figured in the temple service; for as the last of the camphor burned itself away the veil was swiftly drawn aside—and there stood the image of Siva revealed in a blaze of light.

The service was now over. The priest distributed the offerings among the people; the torches were put out; and in a few minutes I was walking homeward through the streets and wondering if I was really in the modern world of the 19th century.