Patita Pavana

Patita Pavana 
By: John McCane

                The heat from the midmorning sun burned my bare feet as I walked quickly through the dusty streets of the city of Puri. Famous for being home to the ancient temple of Jagannath, translating to mean the lord of the universe, it seemed the city was busy at all times. Traffic consisting of car, bullock carts, rickshaws, and immense crowds were continuously on the move. The city would become even more crowded during the festival of Ratha Yatra when the deities of the temple, Jagannath, Baladeva, and their sister Subhadra were brought out and placed on giant and beautifully decorated raths or carts to greet all the devotees and to survey their realm. The crowds were due partly because of the mass of people who are not allowed to visit Jagannath in his temple getting the chance to meet him outside on his cart. Crossing several side streets, ducking between hawker stands filled with tiny versions of the deities that sat resplendent in the temple for tourists, I finally emerged onto a massive thoroughfare. Wide and open, the road stretched like a sword thrust through the city starting from the tall towers and thick walls of Puri temple.  

                The smell of the salty ocean penetrated my nostrils as I pushed into the open area. Buildings of all types and sizes lined the thoroughfare, ancient mutts or monasteries sat next to fashionable restaurants and hotels. The temple itself sat framed against the open sky of the seashore, a massive stone sanctum that rose high above a collection of smaller temples, all surrounded by a formidable stone wall that had seen countless centuries. The walls and temple door's details moved into focus; great lions sat carved at the front gate, a tall stone pillar, standard outside most temples call the Garuda Stambha rose forty feet into the air, thematically painted murals and images decorated every inch of the brightly colored façade. The doorway into the temple stood with its massive doors opened wide with a line of people stretched out waiting to see the lord while guards and temple workers patrolled the lines keeping order. High above the queue, a sign in bold red letters that read in English NO NON-HINDUS ALLOWED was hung against the wall.    

                The sign is, of course, what would keep me from seeing my lord. The warning meant that entrance was barred to anyone, not of Hindu or Indian descent. The rule came about due to the atrocities of the middle ages and of the Muslim invasions of Puri, where hundreds were killed, and the temple sacked. I knew where the rule came from, but it still did not make it feel right. With my pasty white skin, I might as well have been an albino whale trying to walk into the temple. It did not matter that I followed the rites and rituals associated with being a "Hindu". It was an irony, I almost chuckled audibly; throughout history, those of my skin color had taken advantage of people of color, often restricting entrance to "white only" institutions. Now, so many years later, I could not visit my god, whose skin is black, because of the whiteness of my skin. 

                I approached the great doorway, ever wary of the guards and temple servants who were eyeing me with suspicion; from here, I could see Patita Pavana or the uplifter of the most fallen. Patita Pavana was an old deity of Jagannath preserved several hundred years ago and sat at the threshold of the temple for all those who could not enter.  Great round eyes greeted me from the doorway as my lord's welcoming face appeared between the crowds. Jagannath was so merciful he would come to the doorway for us even if we could not enter. His abstract, wooden form always seemed to be smiling with great arms outstretched as if reaching to embrace me. Tears began to fill my eyes as I wished, ever so much, that I could step beyond the stone doorway and greet him properly.   


                A guard in a brown shirt began pushing me back as I had wandered too near the entrance. I fell back, and my lord's eyes drifted again behind the throngs of people visiting the temple. I felt defeated; this one look did not feel like enough to sate my thirst for the lord. I wished so dearly I could go inside the temple and see him seated grandly on his throne with his brother and sister. I decided to come back when the crowd was less and see if I could get just one more glance of those loving eyes.

  
                I walked down a side street connected to the temple and found myself on the beach, looking out to the endless sea. I breathed deep the refreshing smell of salt and sat down near the rolling waves, still feeling disconcerted. "Oh, Jagannath, I wish you would come to me. Since I am not allowed to come to you," I thought while tossing pebbles into the foam of the coming waves. I noticed something sticking up from the wet sand, it seemed oblong and wooden, so I curiously pulled on it. The tiny black face of Jagannath, along with the yellow face of his sister Subhadra sat staring at me. The white face of his brother Balarama was missing from the set, but I almost hugged the small carved wooden images. It felt as if, just as I had wished, Jagannath himself had come to greet me since I was unable to see him. I stared into those loving eyes and outstretched arms for long minutes, almost not realizing the dropping of the sun below the horizon.

                The sky now set ablaze with the setting sun slowly revealed stars twinkling as blackness filled the sky. I moved from my perch, aching from sitting for so long, and I moved back around the temple carrying the two small icons close to my chest. Harsh halogen streetlamps illuminated everything in a bright glow, the hawkers and crowds still filled the massive thoroughfare in a never-ending wave of chaos, but I somehow was apart from it. I felt whole somehow. I stopped again at the entrance to the great temple to see the smiling face of Patita Pavana. This time, his gaze seemed different, as if knowing that he was coming along with me. I stood for as long as I was allowed before mixing back into the crowd and the darkness back to my hotel. 

Note: To save time and space this is a slightly dramatized version of the actual events. I have not included my husbands involvement.