Matrimandir

They called her 'The Mother'. I find her intriguing, Mirra Alfassa: this intense Frenchwoman of Sephardic origin who ends up running an ashram in southern India.

It was Alfassa who oversaw the establishment of Auroville in 1968 – a settlement which, according to its charter, 'belongs to humanity as a whole', is dedicated to 'unending education' and 'constant progress' and is a 'site of material and spiritual researches for a living embodiment of an actual human unity'. I am sceptical of utopian endeavours in general, but find myself sympathising with the ideals behind the foundation of Auroville. In 1954, Alfassa wrote:

There should be somewhere on earth a place which no nation could claim as its own, where all human beings of goodwill who have a sincere aspiration could live freely as citizens of the world and obey one single authority, that of the supreme truth; a place of peace, concord and harmony where all the fighting instincts of man would be used exclusively to conquer the causes of his sufferings and miseries, to surmount his weaknesses and ignorance, to triumph over his limitations and incapacities; a place where the needs of the spirit and the concern for progress would take precedence over the satisfaction of desires and passions, the search for pleasure and material enjoyment.

One of the key focal points in Auroville is the Matrimandir (pictured above). I had assumed this was a shrine to Alfassa, and in a way I am not wrong: the Matrimandir is a shrine to the Mahashakti – the universal Mother – of which Alfassa was regarded as an incarnation.

I have missed the shuttle to the Matrimandir, so will have to walk.
'Just as well it's a nice day for it,' quips the Aussie chap who hands me my free pass for an 'outer view'. (Access to the inner chamber is restricted and requires a prior booking which I have not made.)

Alfassa was 93 at the time of the groundbreaking in 1971 and never lived to see the Matrimandir completed. What would she have made of it, I wonder? It is certainly imposing, but when I get there all my irreverent mind can see is an oversized pineapple.

I suspect I am not quite ready to join the community of Aurovilleans!

Pallava Architecture

In a niche in a colonnade full of lions and yalis is a shrine to the elephant-headed god Ganesh.
We pause for a moment before the remover of obstacles.
'Say, "Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha",' murmurs my guide.
'Om Ganesha Namiye,' I recite, fumbling the words.

The little cells and shrines that dot the ambulatory of the Kailasanathar would once have thrummed to the chants and mantras of ascetics and priests. Dedicated to Lord Shiva, Kailasanathar is the oldest temple in Kanchipuram, the ancient capital of the Pallavas, and its barrel vaulted gateway and pyramidal roof would serve as the prototype for the elaborate gopurams and soaring vimanams that now jostle the skyline in this city of a thousand temples.

The Pallavas were Tamil Nadu's first great dynasty, and their empire stretched across a swath of southern India. Their seaport at Mamallapuram, seventy kilometres to the east, thronged with trade from distant kingdoms: Srivijaya, Kambuja, Champa, Annam...

We head to the ancient port city in the early afternoon. My little guidebook, not normally given to poetry, describes it as a place where 'waves dance to the symphony of stones'. Among the monuments here is a shore temple (pictured above) which, like Kailasanathar, was built in the early eighth century AD by Narasimhavarman II. Facing east, towards the sea, this is where the first rays of the sun lit his domain each morning.

Tomb of St Thomas

At the far end of the crypt, in a glass case, lies St Thomas. Or rather, a waxen likeness, laid out under a scarlet sheet next to a silver lance – presumably a replica of the lance that martyred him in Mylapore in AD 72, a long way from Galilee.

Lingering in the air-conditioned darkness at the back, next to a small and subdued group of tourists cooling themselves, I find myself in good company: Marco Polo, it seems, had visited the tomb in 1293, as had St Francis Xavier in 1545.

My guidebook has this account of St Thomas's martyrdom:

"Unbroken tradition maintains that while the Apostle was praying before the cross carved by him on a stone, an assassin suborned by King Mahadevin's priests and ministers crept up stealthily and pierced him with a lance from behind. Thereupon the Apostle is reported to have fallen on the stone cross and embraced it; his blood crimsoned the stone cross and the space around. Thus did he seal his Apostolate with his blood, even as the other Apostles, save St John."
- Rt Rev Herman d’Souza
In the Steps of St Thomas

Outside the crypt is a gift stand where you can find postcards for sale. Some of these bear reproductions of the Incredulity of St Thomas by Caravaggio, in which St Thomas (depicted much older than his waxwork double) has his finger in a cleanly-incised cavity of risen Lord's side. St Thomas's brow is furrowed with wonder and, perhaps, just a little hint of distaste.