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Article Published in THE TIMES OF INDIA
A Legend At Twilight
Navtej Sarna
THE waters of Lake Renuka were a dark, deep
green a few moments ago. Now, the descending twilight has charged
them with a steely grey. As we row across the lake, the submerged,
ghostly forms of the fallen palms near the shores are no longer
visible. The moonlight is yet to gather strength.
Sleeping Woman
We manage to guide the boat between two
clumps of reeds, pull it in, tie it up. The darkness is now
tugging at the shores of the lake, gingerly at first, then more
confidently.
Sleeping they lie
in a narrow, heavily wooded
valley of Himachal Pradesh. A few kilometers away flows the Giri
river, but it is the lake, which attracts tourist and pilgrim
alike. The tourist comes to see the lake-, which according to the
brochures, is shaped like a sleeping woman-the wildlife sanctuary,
the zoo, the temples.
The pilgrim comes to worship at the shrines
of Renuka and Parasu Ram, and for a dip in the holy waters at the
bathing ghat where the well fed fish swivel and swirl. And the
legend throbbing all along the valley is old, much older than the
surrounding hills.
Twilight is the time for the legend to come
alive. It is heralded by the sound of drums, the beat rising
rhythmically over the silent waters and spreading like a
conquering army over the valley. Drawn and fascinated, we watch an
old man bent over the drums.
Ageless Grace
Inside the temple, a pujari performs the
aarti in the incense-laden, candle-lit atmosphere. The birds, the
cheetal, the pair of lions and their three cubs in the zoo are
silent in respect. A sadhu leans with ageless grace against a
wooden post, one hand raised to a bell, chiming it in time with
the drums. The moment is magical, filled with deep sounds and
deeper silences.
The silences give way to the recounting of
the legend. As many versions as there are raconteurs the pujari,
the itinerant sadhu, a young master of the shastras. But something
common emerges.
Cheetal’s call
The tale is of the goddess Renuka, wife of
the sage, jamadagni and mother of Parasu Ram. She is killed by the
latter under orders from his father, and later restored to life as
a reward for the son’s unflinching obedience. Her body is said to
have finally taken the shape of the lake.
Every November, the crowds gather at the
annual mela when the palki of Parasu Ram is brought for a meeting
with his mother.
The moonlight is shimmering over the waters
now. A shadowy luminescence is touching up the palm fringes. The
cheetal begins to call. |
