It is hard not to remember Asoka the Great in Kalinga Desa. This is the land where he underwent a cataclysmic change of heart, pro peace and tolerance, in the third century BCE. Listen to what his 12th rock edict says: Whoever honours his own sect and disparages that of another man, whether from blind loyalty or with the intention of showing his sect in a favourable light, does his own sect the greatest possible harm. Cooperation, concord, is best, with each hearing and respecting the other's teaching.Can you wonder that our founding fathers set him up as a shining hook on which to hang modern Indian identity? If only unkind, unloving old men like the Puri Shankaracharya or the insistent pandas at Jagannath's great temple at Puri would hearken! For, by logical extension, whoever sets his own caste or gender above others, is also a sinner in the eyes of God.But another point of heartbreaking importance needs stating here. The Puri temple is such a forcefield of faith that it our own loss if we let these men of mud deter us from experiencing it. There are ways for modern believers to deal with such irritants. Denounce the Shankaracharya of Puri as a defiler of Shiva Tattva. Don't listen to him! Don't let people like him sully your relationship with God. And the pandas will disappear after two minutes if you politely but firmly decline their services. They are more like tourist guides at Puri than anything else, so indulge them only if you have the time and inclination. Because otherwise, there's so much to see and feel at the shrine of the Lord of the World.Shimmering beneath the grime of paradox is the truth that India is the motherland of the spiritual quest. In Puri, indeed, through Orissa, you feel keenly aware of this. This is a state deluged just seven months ago by a thirty foot high tidal wave. They say 90 per cent of the trees between Bhu-baneswar and the coast were destroyed. You can still see fine old banyans lying uprooted in the towns and along National Highway Five, coconut palms permanently skewed and twisted, kaccha jhuggis in place of pukka homes. And yet. every tulasi stand has been repainted, even if homes are temporary shelters. The little ghats that lead to the canals by the road are fringed by red hibiscus. The women, even the poor loliya or fisherfolk, walk jauntily in bright sarees with flowers in their hair.The haats or village markets overflow with fish, vegetables, pineapples, mangoes, coconuts, bananas. In the midst of sodden paddy fields, stands a shed that proclaims itself a `Computer Centre'. These may be superficial impressions gathered on the road. But by God, you have to admire both the richness of our land and the insouciance of our people!The growing wonderment of the road culminates in strange joy at Puri. The great temple's flag flies aloft like a pataaka, the open palm mudra that straightens into abhaya (`fear not'). Jagannath is personalised so intensely here that currently the three deities (Krishna, Balram and Subhadra) are `ill' after their dip during Snaan Purnima. Meanwhile the three great chariots are being built for their Rath Yatra to their garden home at Gundicha Bari. The journey will celebrate Krishna's advent from Gokul to Mathura. The main rath of Jagannath, on 16 wheels and 14 metres high, will be hauled 3 km, an inch at a time, by 4,000 temple employees (kalebetiyas). At the temple gates at night, around a tall diya, sit singers, some of them disabled. Their raw emotion unlocks and empties the heart's dungeons of grieving thoughts. You remember that it is the Muslim poet Salbeg's verses that are sung to welcome Jagannath! And so it is in Puri, that land and people, past and present, outer and inner lives mesh in a field of grace.
