Chapter Eleven
Waist deep in water,
we remember Purusha’s story.
In three strides he measured the world
Tiruppavai 3
Andal’s temple entrance was awash with water and milky disinfectant, a sure sign a festival was imminent. In the stables by the first mandapam hall, old women stooped back and forth with brooms and buckets, slushing the stones until water the colour of cow dung spilled onto the thoroughfare. I left my sandals at the entrance and followed the line of pilgrims, tip-toeing through the puddles wondering what strength of bleach had been used while everyone else sloshed through, oblivious to all but the goddess awaiting them. Perhaps they thought, as they entered her temple, everything here is transformed into the sacred.
‘You are entering god,’ a voice said. It sounded an o
