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| M. Gopala Krishnan |
This is an English translation of Shakti Yogam, a Tamil short story written by M. Gopala Krishnan. Translated into Tamil by Saravanan Karmegam. His other stories Iravu (The Night), Vaal Velli (My flowers are not fragrant), Oothanira viralgal (The hue that my fingers hated), Rasigan (Subbuni and his femaledeities), and Thunbakani (The fruits of misery) are also available in this blog. The translation of Paarkudangal (Milk pots) will be published soon.
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Mathanki called out to her father, Chithambaram, the moment
his head showed up at the backyard of the house when she was busy cleaning up
the puddles of rainwater at the kitchen entrance with an old cloth and
squeezing it into a thin-bodied bucket. “Appa, if the rain continues like this,
we will be left with nothing. Look at this wall! It is standing as if it is
waiting to crumble.”
Chithambaram looked up as he was drying his hair with a
towel. The black palm tree trunk beams holding up the flat tiles cuddling one
another in a disorderly manner were found partially bent inward. He bent over
to avoid his eyes from facing the bar of glaring sunlight falling into the
house and touched the red mud wall that had already begun losing its lime
layer. He felt a chillness in his palm.
Kamaladevi was trying to chase a frog away hiding in the wet,
mossy crevice between the corner stone and the wall with the twig of a broom,
laughed, and said, “It was a nuisance all through the night. Incessantly
croaking! Didn’t allow me to sleep. Look at its impudence…after doing all
these, it doesn’t even budge an inch to move away from here, rolling its eyes.”
Thirubura Sundari, who was chopping lemons, asked him loudly,
“You will have your lunch here. Will you?” The hall was filled with the sour
odour of lemons.
Putting his wet towel on the clothesline, he was looking
intently at a wet, green Peepal leaf shoot swaying in the air, sprouted from
the crevice on the wall above the backyard door.
“The court adjournment is in two days. You remember when it
is. Don’t you? Do speak in finite terms with that useless lawyer to bring this
case to an end at least this time. Both the lawyer and the litigation have
become as old as the case, which is unduly stretched longer.”
“Akka! Today’s Hindi tuition in the evening will be conducted
in the temple prayer hall. Won’t it be?” asked Kamaladevi, throwing off the
twig aside, bit the frazzled tip of her shirt collar once and spat out its
stitch, picked one lemon from the basket, and started rolling it on the floor
under her palm.
‘I have used all the rug sacks to squeeze the water out.
Where else can we go now other than that place?”
Chithambaram stood in front of the puja almirah on the left
of the kitchen and saw the flower basket empty. He peeked out and asked,
“Hasn’t anyone picked the flowers today?”
Without lifting her head, Kamaladevi laughed and replied,
“The rain has washed away all the hibiscus flowers grown in the plant meant for
Ambal1 ”
Unavailability of hibiscus flowers didn’t bother him much
anyway, and he stood in front of the Goddess Ambal with his eyes closed. His
hands reflexively groped in search of the Kunkumam2 vial, took out
some amount of it with the tips of his fingers, chanted some slokas,
and offered his prayers to Ambal. As though his lips were mumbling his usual slokas,
his mind remained unfocussed. The sweat was rolling down, and the tip of his
nose was shining with droplets of sweat.
Kamaladevi was laughing at something so feverishly. She was
fond of laughing at everything that she came across. At the moment he opened
his eyes, a drop of sweat fell down from his nose tip. She laughed once again,
this time louder. “Bhagavatheeee….” Chithambaram stood for a while as
if in a trance and then relaxed his hands, took out a good amount of Kunkumam—saffron
vermillion powder—in his hands, and smeared it on his forehead liberally. He
then came out, bent over a bit so as to avoid hitting his head with the beam
above the door.
As he was about to leave the house with an umbrella, he
paused a second, glancing at the tender foot of the baby sleeping in his
cradle, moving his limbs in discomfiture. “Look at this boy Mathu…seemed to
have wet himself”—the baby’s whining grew stronger as he was talking to her.
Kamaladevi came running, excited. “O! My small doll! Got wet?
Come to me.” She scooped him from the swinging cradle into her arms and removed
its drape aside, sticking to his body.
“Why did you scoop him up now? He will point at my breast now
and hit it with his head in demand of milk. I can give it to him if only I have
it. Right?” She glanced at him standing near the door for a moment and then
entered the kitchen with a snort. “Tend to him for a second. I will be ready
with some boiled milk.”
He folded his towel and wrapped it around his neck, unzipped
his bag, and examined its contents once. He put on his rubber sandals, torn at
its heel with due care, and glanced back once before venturing out.
The sunlight was harsher, as if it had descended with a
purpose of drying out the wetness of morning rain. A heavy voice stopped as he
was busy walking, holding the tip of his dhoti—“I “thought of meeting you well
before leaving the house on your routines.” Chithambaram looked up at him. It
was Chinnamaruthu. He was standing at the side of a meat stall; on seeing
Chithambaram, he dropped his dhoti down and threw off his bidi.
Chithambaram stopped, absorbedly gazing at the sharp edge of the butcher knife
chopping the meat into tiny pieces.
“Only a couple of hands would be enough to lift it above for
giving support below so that the tiles can be arranged in order. But we can’t
touch it now as it is very wet. Let the rain stop before we decide anything
about it. It will cost nearly ten thousand rupees. You get it ready, and we can
replace those old palm tree planks with new ones. We can start the work once
the rain stops.”
He nodded his head, said, “It is alright,” spread the hood of
his umbrella, and resumed his walk, grasping the tip of his dhoti.
Pidari pond was brimming with water that the bathing steps were found submerged
under water. Crows were flying around the old lady sitting with her ‘Appam3’
on the porch of the Ganesh temple on the western side of the bank. The Kumbeswaran
temple bell clanged once. When he was carefully trotting along the edge of the
boggy track that had become unsuitable even to put one’s leg in, a cycle that
had just paced past him stopped at a short distance, almost tottering. The
rider, with a dirty Poonool4 running across his torso, turned back,
got down from his bicycle, and came to Chithmabaram with a broad grin on his
face.
“There is a purpose why the road gets boggy in rain. It is to
ask men not to be bold enough to walk on it with clean dresses on them. Isn’t
it? If then, how dare you walk on it?” the rider told him teasingly and came
near, pushing his bicycle, with his frontal incisors strongly sitting upon his
lower lip. Chithamabaram folded up his umbrella, tucked it, and sharply looked
at the drops of sweat shining on the rider’s bony back.
“Fortunate are you! You have a bicycle to go without having
to risk your hands and legs getting dirty. Aren’t you?”
The street dogs were tearing the leaves thrown away with
leftover foodstuff littered outside the garbage bin. They raised their heads at
regular intervals and gave out some random barks as a sign of warning,
reminding the snorting pigs roaming in groups in the vicinity along the gutter
not to venture into their area. Covering their nose to avoid inhaling the stale
odour of damp garbage in the air, both of them reached the corner of North Mada
Street, stopped there, and looked around as if getting perplexed about the path
they needed to select for walking further. Pigeons were found perching on the
peripheral wall of Kumbeswaran temple. A stray horse crossed their way, running
fast as if being chased by someone.
“Can we have coffee?” asked the bicycle rider, stopping his
bicycle and tightly tying his dhoti against his waist. Chithambaram’s eyes were
fixed on the folds of his dhoti.
“Don’t worry. It is there in safe custody. Let’s have coffee
first”—the” bicycle man’s frontal incisors sat upon his lower lips again, this
time strongly.
A lady standing at the entrance of Mangalambika Hotel
with a basket full of crossandra flowers waved her hands at him and called him
out. “Ask your younger daughter to meet me. I have an order for a garland to
complete by this evening.”
Chithabaram nodded his head. The bicycle man parked his
bicycle outside and went in, bending his head down. Chithambaram followed him.
As they sat on the three-legged chairs, they could feel the air filled with the
aroma of snacks sparking their hunger pangs.
“I was thinking of meeting you for the last two days to have
a word with you. But I couldn’t do…” the bicycle man said, looking at
Chithambaram fixedly, as he fondly massaged his Poonool.
“Our Sundari is often seen talking closely with that
insecticide seller. What sort of an important talk might she be having with
him?”
He looked into Chithambaram’s eyes penetratingly, paused
hesitantly till the latter encouraged him with an expressionless face to go
ahead. “Mm…carry on…then?”
Coffee arrived along with the aroma of its decoction. “Hot vadas
are also available. Can I bring two for you?” the hotel attendant asked them.
They both bobbed their heads, said no to Vadas, and
poured the coffee onto saucers. With the proper mix of ingredients, the aroma
of coffee portended its taste on their tongues well before they could taste it.
“She might be a child. Her anger precedes in everything, even
if it is her ‘thali5’ that she hasn’t even changed since her marriage.
She should have been a little more mature. On the other hand, the boy is also
equally adamant. Now see…everyone has been dragged to the court. The problem
won’t get over if you prefer to turn your blind eyes to it. Will it?”
Chithambaram drank coffee in slow sips, enjoyed it fully, and
shook his head.
“Every bugger here is trying his hand on her knowing that she
doesn’t have anyone to stand by her. Isn’t it your responsibility to advise
her?” the bicycle man told.
Chithambaram again nodded his head agreeably, as if giving
him a sign that he knew everything he had told, touched the water, kept the
tumbler with his fingertip, and wiped his lips. Clearing his throat, he said in
a low tone, “Advice? You are right. She needs to be advised. But it is not I
but the Goddess Ambal that has to advise her. SHE knows everything. Doesn’t
she?”
He took out one rupee coin, placed it on the table, and
wrinkled his face as he had kept the balance in the pouch tightly tied around
his waist.
“You would find everything ending only with Goddess Ambal.
Wouldn’t you?” His friend dusted the green colour seat of the bicycle with a
forceful slap of his palm, released the bicycle from its stand, and said, “Your
younger daughter is also now grown up. I will be happy if your Ambal shows her
some way for her better life.” He jumped onto his bicycle and left without
waiting for Chithambaram’s reply. Chithambaram stood there watching him leave.
The sunlight outside was harsher. The crossandra
flower-selling woman was also not found. Baskets of chrysanthemum flowers were
being unloaded from the trucks. Chithambaram was walking past the Motta
Gopuram—the incomplete tower—with his umbrella unfolded. The water in the
Golden Lotus6 pond was gleaming in the sunlight. He noticed a man carrying
sweet lemons stuffed into a net bag. At once Chithambaram’s eyes fell on the
image of a rose tattooed on his dark arm; his lips started mumbling
reflexively, “Eswareeee…”
He went to Vaithyanathan’s house and peeked in. There was an
easy chair lying on the veranda with a grill enclosure. Near to it was a small
dirty stool with a copy of The Hindu newspaper kept folded on it. A
casket of betel leaves nearby.
“Please come in…why do you stand outside? A silvery voice
called him out from inside.
In seconds, the image of the face owning that voice rose up
in him as he had a glance of it when she turned to his side for a moment,
throwing her wet tresses with a bun at its end behind her back. Her nose ring
emitted a flash of shine when the sunlight fell on it.
He sat on the easy chair and closed his eyes. The crimson
lips of that smiling face still carried the shiny wetness. Fully bloomed
hibiscus swayed gently in the air. His lips shivered as he murmured, “Shambaveeeee.”
“kkkriiiing…kkkriiing…”—the sound of a bicycle bell woke him
up. A small bicycle painted in attractive yellow and red colour came out
ringing its bell. A boy wearing half pants was riding the bicycle, holding its
bar suavely. His milk teeth were holding up his lower lips, and his eyes were
radiating with the sense of enthusiasm and adventure. He rang the bell again,
faster this time.
“You are going to run over this grandpa. Aren’t you?’ The
bicycle stopped suddenly as Chithambaram asked him this question. He looked at
him sharply once. His lower lips were released from the clutches of his teeth,
he smiled at him brightly, and he started ringing the bell again. He turned his
bicycles with his tender hands and disappeared into the house. A moment later,
his face with those shiny eyes peeked out. The bell sounded,
““kkkriiiing…kkkriiing” again.
“You love playing with this grandpa. Don’t you?”
Vaithyanathan entered the house with the fresh odour of sweat as he was taking
off his canvas shoes.
“I am just coming from the ground. It is already late. I have
made you wait for long. Haven’t I?” He wiped his face with a towel and sank his
body into the easy chair.
“It isn’t too early. I just came a while ago,” Chithambaram
tried to smile at him.
“Has she offered coffee? He asked him and called out inside
without waiting for his reply. “Can we get some coffee?”
Chithamabaram raised his head, waiting for her voice. “Just
a second…I will bring it,” he heard her voice. The same visual in his
mind. The same flash of nose ring and the dance of hibiscus flower!
“Mathanki’s mother-in-law has become a gross nuisance. To be
right, she has every right to this property. Her name occurs under the nominee
clause. I think it must have been entered long ago before the marriage. It
hasn’t yet been changed. Also, the copy of the insurance policy is actually
with her. She has done everything possible and somehow managed to get the money
herself. Now it is only her mercy that matters in this case, if at all we need
some money from it.”
The aroma of coffee distracted Chithambaram’s attention. He
raised his head and looked up at the entrance. Seeing the servant maid bringing
the coffee cups on a tray, he hung his head down in disappointment.
“Mathanki’s mother-in-law strongly believes that her son died
in the accident because of her. Her anger and angst haven’t come down yet. She
even refuses to accept the fact that she has a grandson. She is yelling that
the boy is not her grandson. I am standing so clueless.”
Vaithyanathan drank the coffee in slow sips, swaying the
saucer gently.
“The coffee tastes extremely horrible. Doesn’t it?”
Cithambaram shook his head. ‘Yes… the coffee was not
tasty.’
“Isn’t there any solution to this problem?” Chithambaram rose
as he asked him; his voice sounded hopeless.
Drinking the last sip of coffee, Vaithayanathan clucked his
tongue upon his lips. He got up from the chair, wiping his face with the towel.
“We can examine it further. The legal heir certificate mentions the names of
these two. So we can lay claim to our share on anything like a house and land
that stands uncovered under the policy. It will take some time. You don’t worry
about all these. We can do our best in this matter.”
Again the clanking of the bicycle bell was heard from the
hall. Vaithyanathan paced fast and enthusiastically.
Chaithambaram unfolded his umbrella as he stepped out onto
the street. He stood hesitantly in the empty street as if being confused as to
which direction he wanted to go. He then decided to walk towards the east. A
buffalo came running from a lane on the right; on seeing him, it changed its
legs and started galloping in the opposite direction. The woman who was chasing
it stopped running, stood, gasping, and was helplessly watching the buffalo
disappear as her hands were resting on her hips.
When he crossed the Sanku Bridge, he could see the
magnificent façade of that hotel. Chithambaram hastened his steps. His body was
bathing in profuse sweat. Some dirty sparrows were taking a dip in stagnant
rainwater on the road and flapping their feathers. Yellow colour cassia flowers
fallen from the trees were found crushed under vehicle tyres in pulp sticking
to the asphalt.
The gatekeeper standing at the entrance of the hotel stopped
him. At the very moment he thought of going back, he mentioned the name of the
person he intended to meet there. Not fully convinced with his words, the
gatekeeper opened the door and let him in half-heartedly. The cool air slapped
his face. He dropped the fold of his dhoti down and walked in. The hall was
decked with beautiful ornamental lamps and foot-sinking carpet. The
receptionist, standing with the ever-fresh-looking makeup like a toy girl,
without parting her lips, contacted the guest through the telephone and
informed him about his visitor. She pointed to a broad, luxurious sofa and
asked Chithambaram to wait there for some time.
Chezhiyan came running to him at once when the doors of the
lift opened, grasped his hands tightly, and shook it softly.
“Please come… Let’s go to the room. Friends are waiting there.”
Chithambaram removed his spectacles and kept them in his
pocket. He drew his breath in, paused it for a while, and observed it slowly
closing his eyes. The lift was moving up without making noise. Chezhiyan gave
him the way and stood aside submissively as they entered the corridor.
It was a long corridor illuminated with dim light, decked
with a soundproof carpet. Chezhiyan knocked at the room door softly. The door
opened immediately. As they entered in, all the persons sitting there, at once,
got up from their seats on seeing him.
“This is Chithambaram” ayya”—Chezhiyan fell flat on his feet
and paid his regards as he introduced him to everyone. Chithambaram stood
erect; his finger was on his glabella, and his eyes were closed. He then had
Chezhiyan rise from his prostrate and blessed him with a tinge of kunkumam
on his forehead.
Chezhiyan introduced all five. As all of them introduced
themselves to Chithambaram in a submissive tone, Chezhiyan bent over to him and
requested whether he needed anything for his refreshment.
“I have heard that Nannari Sharbath in this hotel
tastes good. Could you please order one?” he asked.
As Chezhiyan signalled, one of those five persons pressed the
calling button.
“I was just talking about you with them.” Chezhiyan sat near
him. He was baldheaded, with a broader jawline. His body looked frail; that
readily explained his sufferings from diabetes and high blood pressure.
One of them spoke, hesitantly, “We never thought that he
would be this simple in his appearance.” The heavy frame of his body couldn’t
fit properly in his pale yellow full-sleeve shirt, and it was swelling out of
it. The glow on his cheek folds proved his daily intake of high-quality liquor.
“I too thought that he would come with a saffron kurta,
neck full of rudraksha beads, and long hair.” The one who pressed the
calling button to order Nannari Sharbath told us as he picked up a
pillow, keeping it on his lap.
Chezhiyan glanced at Chithambaram and chuckled loudly.
“It is true that people believe in such people only if they
carry such attire. I am unable to do that. All I could do is nothing other than
what Ambal obliges me to do.” Chithambaram said.
Chithambaram unfolded his palm and examined it once. He
closed his eyes and opened them after a while as if wanting to tell them
something and said, “Switch on the television.”
Chezhiyan turned his face, with a question, “What happened,
Ayya?”
“One important news is awaited now. It must be telecast now.
I just wanted to watch it"—his eyes were still fixed somewhere.
“Actress Parkavi’s death is the only important news today.”
Hearing these words, he closed his eyes and said,” Have they
announced it?”
“Yes, ayya. They announced it in the morning. Do you know
her?” asked Chezhiyan.
All of their eyes were transfixed on his face, sharply. “Why
does he think about the death of an actress this deep?
Chezhiyan was waiting for his words.
“She must have left acting some ten years ago. Mustn’t she
have?” His question carried no tone worthy of anything.
“Must be. She has acted in a petty role in one Tamil movie
recently. It has been long, maybe more than eight years, since she last acted
in a Hindi movie.”
“How old is she now?
“She is fifty-eight years old if the news reports are right.”
No immediate response from him. The door opened, and chilled Nannari
sharbath in thin, elongated tumblers was brought in. Chezhiyan gave him
one tumbler. Chithambaram drank a sip from it and took the second sip after
some interval. Keeping it aside, he cleared his throat once as he wiped his
lips.
“When I met her, she was just fourteen years old. No bigger
than a child. I still remember the way she used to laugh graciously, rolling
her big eyes. It was the time when most of the people in the cinema industry
were known to me. Many famous actors and actresses used to meet me in private
and ask for conducting ‘it.’ Everything should be done in utter
secrecy. The nature of the work I was doing did command such a need for it. No
one would openly be vocal about it. It was during that time that she had
appeared in a couple of movies. Her mother came to know about me from some
sources and requested me to come to their house. She wanted to know about the
future of her daughter. I explained the nature of Puja, its conduct, and its
mandatory requirements. As she was already aware of its requirements, she
readily accepted all my terms. I told her that I would return to her to conduct
the puja after fixing an auspicious day, and she should be ready with all the
requirements of puja. Most of the people who are initially enthusiastic about
the puja usually evade conducting it at the eleventh hour. Only a handful of
people, say, two in a hundred, will have the courage to see through what it is.
It is again nothing but the blessings of Ambal. Without HER consent, nothing
would move here. No one should be in the room during the puja other than the
person the puja is conducted upon. She should be completely nude. Those who are
the followers of Shakthi worship must know what a woman’s body means
to the worshippers of Shakthi. I went to their house on the fixed
date. She had kept all the arrangements perfectly. I wasn’t sure about her
skills in briefing her daughter about the puja. I understood she did her part
well when I was that girl coming to me with no cringes at all. The puja was
conducted for about one and a half hours. She was fortunate enough to have the
complete blessings of Ambal. That child was gifted with enviable luck, and she
manifested all the signs of it. As I completed the puja, I told her mother that
her daughter would rule over the entire film industry for another thirty years.
Not only in Tamil, but in the Telugu and Hindi film industries too, she would
become an uncrowned princess, bringing everyone under her spell. Her mother
couldn’t stop crying. She lay prostrate at my feet and gave me ten thousand
rupees. It was a very big amount at that time. It wasn’t even one year fully
completed since the conduct of puja; she started acting as a heroine in movies.
She became an unstoppable phenomenon after that. In less than ten years, she
became a superstar. Carrying this fame along with her, she went to the Hindi
film industry and acted there in just two movies. She became a very big star in
the Hindi film industry too. She earned name, fame, and money on par with
Amitabh Bachchan. It was her luck that she had a clean chit for everything.
Whenever she comes either to Chennai or here, they will send me a message
unfailingly to meet them. Never failed in giving me due respect. After the
death of her mother, I didn’t meet her. I wasn’t sure if she had no time to
meet or simply had forgotten me. To be very right, I have never seen such a
display of goddess Shakthi’s blessings. She was simply an embodiment
of the blessing of the goddess Shakthi with all its magnificent
demonstrations.
When he completed his talk, other than the steady blowing
sound of the room air conditioner, no sound was heard. He started drinking Nannari
Sharbath in slow sips. Everyone remained silent as if they had been
completely possessed by the story he narrated.
Chithambaram resumed his talk again. “You might be thinking
that this old man is simply bluffing that he had seen the actress Parkavi nude.
It is how we, humans, tend to conclude. I don’t find it wrong. Shakthi
Yogam is just a miracle. Many have waited for that opportune moment and
even given away their lives for its sake. It ought to happen in one’s life at
the right moment. If not, we can’t do anything about it. Oftentimes, even if
such a Yogam—the blessed moment—coincides in one’s life process, it will last
only for a shorter period of time. A woman like her, having its blessings for a
great span of thirty years, is very rare, and maybe one in a lakh.
Everyone remained frozen, almost unable to speak.
Chezhiyan asked him as if attempting to break that dead
silence, “From whom did you learn this?”
Chithambaram smiled at him. “Can you bring one more Nannari
Sharbath? he asked gently, running his fingers across Kunkumam on
his forehead.
“No one can teach this to anyone. You must have the sanctions
of goddess Shakthi. It will happen on its own once you have it. It is
SHE who tells me what to do. I just execute it. It is as simple as that. I am
not sure whether Chezhiyan has told you about its real facet. It is like
grasping the tail of a tiger. Neither I nor the tiger could leave each other.”
This time, he drank the whole glass of Nannari Sharbath
in one go.
“It is getting late. May I take leave now?”
Chezhiyan got up; the pale yellow colour shirt man also moved
forward. “Ayya, it is just to remind you of the matter I discussed earlier. He
is the one who wanted to meet you. An important matter is to be resolved with
your help. He will have your audience in private whenever you find yourself
comfortable.”
Chithambaram looked up at both. The yellow-shirted man was
standing so submissively, wiping his sweat on his forehead.
“I have told you earlier. Haven’t I? It is Ambal who could
say when and where. I can’t say anything on my own.”
As he rose from the seat, all five fell at his feet readily
as if they had planned it earlier. Mumbling some slokas, he blessed
everyone with kunkumam. He slung his bag on his shoulder as everyone
paved him the way; standing aside, he clutched his umbrella in his armpit and
said, “I take leave now.”
“I will arrange for someone to take you to your home.”
He waved his hands dismissively, “No… I have some other
works. I can walk home. Don’t trouble yourself for my sake.”
“Ayya, please wait a second.”
Chezhiyan stretched out his hand, handed over to him a brown
colour cover, and beseechingly requested, “I beg you not to take this offer as
presumptuous on my part. It is just a small token of respect. You mustn’t deny
it.
Chithambaram put his hands on Chezhiyan’s shoulder, laughed,
and said, “I had just told you about ten thousand rupees that Parkavi’s mother
gave me. Hadn’t I? There is a Shakthi Peetam in Guwahati. Its name is
Kamakhya. It is a very important temple. I had already given the amount to that
temple.”
The harsh sunlight outside got in his eyes and glared when he
came out of the hotel. He took out his umbrella, unfolded it, wore his black
sunglasses, and started walking. It was extremely hot out there.
***Ended***
Note:
1.
Ambal – Goddess Shakti. Incarnation of Goddess Parvati.
2.
Kunkmam- saffron colour vermilion powder.
3.
Appam- a kind of South Indian dish similar to dosa.
4.
Poonool- A sacred thread worn by a section of people on the upper body.
5.
Thali- A yellow colour thread worn around a woman’s neck as a sign of being
a married woman.
6.
Golden Lotus- A brass or gold lotus left floating in ponds in some temple
complexes in South India.
