Seshadri Swami moved about Tiruvannamalai for forty years, an ascetic with a total disregard for either name or form. He had no home, dependents, property or any fixed habit or system. He would often conduct himself like a mad man and roam around in the heat of the day and stare up at the hot midday sun and, at night, rest in some nook or deserted hall. He would be delighted when it rained and play in the streams on the street, sit in the water and only go indoors when the rain had stopped. His acts were dramatic and deeply impressive. He would avoid rich food from wealthy persons but beg for cold gruel at a poor man’s house or share food with beggars or left overs on a banana leaf with a dog. Sometimes he would take no food at all and on other occasions consume enough for ten people. He would eat and drink like one swallowing medicine or one being forcibly fed. Although he did not accept money he would sometimes receive expensive clothes but immediately transfer them to a poor person or tear the clothes into pieces and garland the tail and horns of a calf. If he was given plain new clothes, within a couple of hours, they would reach the state of his original clothes. He wore only a dhoti which would cover his toes and another piece of cloth swathed over his back and shoulders. He would squat anywhere regardless whether it was slush, dirt or refuse. When sitting, it was always in his favourite swastika asana. Swamiji was handsome of medium height and fair countenance. His hair hung in short ringlets to the nape of his neck. His voice was soft and his smile was as sweet and sunny as a child. His body would not be at rest for a moment. Even, when sitting he would catch something, put it down, lift it and then repeat it all over again a hundred times. He walked fast and those following had to run to keep up with him. No sound emanated from his walking or running, it was as if his body was light like a ball. He would seldom bathe, but occasionally pour a pint of oil on himself and roam in the streets with oil still glistening on his head. If he allowed himself to be shaved he would often stop it abruptly, with half of his face or head unshaved and appear in public with equanimity and total disregard for public opinion. He discarded rules and observances of caste, sanctity, prudence and decency but always avoided animal food and intoxicants. He loved music, delighting his devotees with songs. If one asked, he would break forth into melodious song often drumming rhythms on nearby surfaces. Sometimes he would place his hands on his hips and dance. He was often taken to be a lunatic and at times purposely simulated madness. It was difficult to explain his general behaviour and impossible to account for the course of his conduct. He was always original and free, an ascetic who maintained a thorough control of his mind and senses up to the end of his life. He was always playing pranks. Suddenly he would laugh without stopping and those who witnessed his fun would be reduced to hilarity. Swamiji utilised a strange manner of speech to ward off crowds building up around him. He would go on speaking very fast, without any respite and with no end or meaning. Sometimes if someone spoke to him, he would reply in Sanskrit, not caring if he was understood or not. He was a tapaswi of a very high order. One result of the mantras and sadhanas he practiced from his earliest years was the development of various siddhis and psychic powers. He could tell about the past and the future and read minds with ease. With this power, he fulfilled the desires of people by showing visions they wanted to see, both in dreams and while being awake. His miraculous touch is said to have cured many of those who came to him with devotion. Often when people saw him in the streets they would prostrate before him and he would get near to enable them to touch his feet. But, he would never allow bad characters to touch his feet. He would run away and if they forced themselves on him, he would abuse them or even pelt them with stones. Seeing this, many people did not go near him. But when he knew about the good qualities of a person, he would himself catch their hands and play. He would joke and run with young children. He never distinguished between males and females and sometimes would put his arms around the neck of a girl and walk along with her, and lie down in the street with his head in her lap. Swamiji’s interaction with the world was very strange. A person couldn’t take advantage of previous proximity – every moment was a new moment. People loved him, but some fearing they might be beaten, were frightened to come close. Generally, he would not call people by name, ask them how they were doing, suggest they come or question why a person did not come. He would neither talk sarcastically nor show intimacy on account of a past connection. Sri Seshadri Swami had deep devotion to God especially in the form of the Goddess Kamakshi, Lord Ram and Arunachala. In the practice of concentration (for days in his boyhood at Tindivanam and at Tiruvannamalai), he sat steeped in samadhi, oblivious of his body. He loved service and by his own example showed it as a noble ideal to live up to. He was regarded with great respect and he was thought to be a sage not a mad man. People would say, ‘He is a talking God,’ ‘A divine incarnation, a great yogi, a great siddha’. Others would say there were three lingas in Tiruvannamalai: One, Lord Arunachala, another Ramana Maharshi and the third Seshadri Swamiga
Legend has it that, before joining the sea, the Ganga watered the mortal remains of King Sagar’s 60000 sons liberating their souls once and forever. It was standing on the Sagar Island that the mythical Kapil Muni condoned th sins of the sons of King Sagar who had dared to stop the horse blessed at Lord Indra’s Aswamedha Yagna and tied it to a post near his temple. It is this legend that attracts people to this little island in a remote southern corner of West Bengal. The Ganga Sagar mela (fair) is the largest annual assemblage of devotees in India. The greatness of the mela can be assessed from the fact that over a million pilgrims come from far-flung corners of India and beyond, speaking different languages and belonging to diverse castes and creeds, for a sacred dip at this holy confluence. For this, no invitation is given. No propaganda is carried out and overall no authority exists for carrying out the mela. It is indeed a tough journey. A few days in packed buses and trains bring the pilgrims to Calcutta. From there, again a long bus journey to ferry ghats or jetty in Sunderbans area, followed by crossing the tidal river stretching for miles across. The last leg involves either walking or traveling by a local bus upto 30 kilometres depending on the location of embarkation point. The journey can be tiring but religious fervour of the pilgrims overcomes all hardships. Kapil Muni ki jai, Kapil Muni ki jai, (Hail Kapil Muni), the din rises above the grinding motors of the launches ferrying the pilgrims across the Ganga and the countless buses plying between Calcutta and Namkhana. The problem of traveling doesn’t deter even the weak and vulnerable. Old people in their eighties, and village women carrying babies and little children in tow are a common sight. The never ending stream of pilgrims keeps pouring in throughout the day and night before the auspicious day and occupies any available space on the sandy beach. They move about the place in groups, many displaying saffron and red flags, identifying the religious Akhara (group) they belong to as well as acting as beacon to the members who stray out of the group. People walks to the sound of the bells, blowing conch shells and chanting prayers. Strains of devotional songs can be heard from far and near. And, the ceaseless din of loudspeakers. An array of shops, stacked with heaps of vermilion, rudraksha, colourful beads, conch shells line the pathways. Many a visitor stands wide-eyed before the shops selling everything from food stuff, household utensils to remote controlled toys. People crowd around the naga sadhus (naked ascetics) without whom the Ganga Sagar mela is incomplete. Sitting naked in little huts near the temple and enjoying a chillum of ganja, (cannabis) they are also the target of tourists’ camera. While devotees jostle in front of numerous temporary shrines of Hindu deities to pay homage, Kapil Muni’s temple remains the chief attraction. The temple of Kapil Muni, as we see it today, is by no means the spot where the sage meditated. It went under the sea millennium ago followed by the many others built in its place, which subsequently was also swallowed, by the advancing sea. The present one was built only a few decades ago, quite a bit away from the sea. The tall dome of the temple is visible from a distance. In the temple, three images engraved in stone are displayed, the one in the middle is that of Kapil Muni. The sage is seen in a jogasana; his eyes wide open, looking towards the sea with millions of devotees before him. The idols of Ganga and King Sagar flank Kapil Muni and the horse of the sacrificial yagna stands at a distance. The typical Ganga Sagar pilgrim is a country rustic, generally elderly, hardy, remarkably disciplined and fervent in his devotion. His dhoti seldom going below his knees, a cloth bound packet, containing everything needed for survival, on his head. And, of course, his women – heavily tattooed and clad in colourful saris. As the night, pregnant with the auspicious moment, descends, all wait for the precise hour to take the dip. The sandy track to the water’s edge is crowded with people who sit around fires before proceeding for the bath, chanting devotional songs and prayers. The seaside presents a spectacle in the darkness before dawn with the large bonfire lit by the bathers to keep off the cold. At midnight, the high tide drives the pilgrims back. The biting cold wind of mid – January from across the sea lashes the bare body. But there is a confidence on their faces and a kind of fire in their eyes. The confidence in God and the fire of earnest faith makes them brave the chill. The stars in the sky have quite a long time to fade when the moment of truth comes. As soon as the priest announces, the auspicious pre-dawn hour, the crowds surge forward to meet the tide with a loud chorus Kapil Muni ki jai and plunge into the sea. Suddenly the place is charged with the extraordinary power of the believers. After taking their holy dips, the shivering devotees trudge the one kilometre expanse leading to the brightly lit temple of Kapil Muni, where prayers were performed. Coconuts, flowers, vermilion, sweets, and money are offered to the image of the ancient sage. The bustle of activity continues for quite sometime in the morning as the pilgrims perform a series of rituals including the symbolic godan to Brahmins. A calf is symbolically handed over to the Brahmin priest by the devotee. Many perform the symbolic crossing of the river of blood, baitarani to attain moksha or transcendation. It is interesting to observe the people, clutching the tail of a cow and wading through a puddle a few paces. Many people shave their heads and perform the last rites of departed relatives. A number of marriages are solemnized on the beach during the day. Also, many local girls get married to the sea. This will ensure that theoretically they never become widows, even if their menfolk, braving the rough sea and tiger infested jungle for a living, die. It is no wonder that for many tourists from abroad, like though French couple I met, Sagar mela is something more than a mammoth religious congregation. They have visited the mela twice and found “something which has disappeared from France and Europe at least half a century ago”. Naturally this large an affair leads to some confusion. People get lost. The public address system works overtime as relatives try to trace those they have lost. But the majority of the pilgrims take it easy. After the rituals are complete, they dry their clothes and hair, cook their food on open fires, eat and rest. Happy, contented and smiling, having made the pilgrimage. The Ganga Sagar mela continues to throb with life, with the energy of millions of pilgrims. The pilgrimage may be extremely tough, but the pilgrims know that the visit will purify their souls. The visit fulfils their lifelong desire and often one can see tears of joy rolling down their cheeks. That is the magic of religion. A solar month is divided into 30 or 31 days and each is known as gate. A solar year has two halves of six months each known as ayana. The Northern declination of the sun when it appears to move between the constellations Capricorn and Gemini is called Uttarayan. This corresponds to the movement of the sun from the Tropic of Capricorn northwards towards the Tropic of Cancer. Uttarayan starts on the day of Makar Sankrant (14 Jan). The Southern declination of the sun when it appears to move between the constellations Cancer and Sagittarus is called Dakshinayan. This corresponds to the movement of the sun from the Tropic of Cancer southwards towards the Tropic of Capricorn. Dakshinayan starts on the day of Kark Sankrant (16 July).
