The Sadhus along the Girivalam Road
In Hindu mythology, Vishwamitra is an ancient rishi king, or seer-king. A royal sage of deep insight. His name means friend of the universe, denoting his absolute benevolence toward all beings. When I met this gentleman on the Girivalam Road, he was lightheartedly laughing and talking with 3 or 4 friends sitting together on the sidewalk. As soon as I asked to take his photo, his demeanor changed. He called forth such a commanding posture and knowing regard that I thought at once of Vishwamitra. He really had quite a presence and knew how to work the camera, making me wonder what kind of life he’d led before leaving home and family behind for the road.
I shot this photo with a Nikon D5100 SLR camera in the town of Tiruvannamalai, an ancient pilgrimage site in Tamil Nadu, India.
A friend had taken me down to the Annamalaiyar temple on the back of his motorcycle. I climbed off his bike and walked to the temple entrance but was distracted by the rows and rows of vendors’ stalls ringing the periphery of the massive temple complex. It was in front of one of these stalls that I came across this tall, slender and colorful sadhu sitting in the shade of a temple wall. I asked if I could take his photo. He stood, bobbled his head, and smiled agreeably. He then called to the jeweler in front of whose stall we stood. The vendor explained to me that the sadhu said I could have his photo on the condition that I buy him a rudraksha mala, a rosary of 108 elaeocarpus seeds. Already aware that these rosaries cost less than $5, I said that was fine and informed the vendor that the sadhu could choose whichever mala he liked. The sadhu, despite his imposing appearance, pored over the various strands of beaded rosaries like a middle-school aged girl at the mall, delightedly trying on this one and that one and asking the vendor for his opinion. Finally settling on the mala of his choice, the sadhu indicated to me that he was ready. I paid the vendor. The sadhu faced me and straightened his shoulders as I raised the camera to my eye. Just as I was about to shoot, the sadhu raised his hand in the universal gesture of “Wait, wait, wait!!” He took off the mala and handed it back to the vendor. He wanted another mala. He chose a much more ornate and expensive mala this time and gestured for me to pay for it. Seeing this, the vendor balked and raised his arm in the universal gesture of “Are you crazy!?” The sadhu decided not to push it. He placed the original mala back around his neck and we shot this photo.
Camera: Nikon D5100 SLR
Tiruvannamalai, Tamil Nadu – India.
I first encountered ‘Ramakrishna’ on the Girivalam Road, in the Shantimalai District at the foot of Mt. Arunachala. When my eyes fell on him I was arrested by his calm and timeless expression. It was not just the gray storm cloud of a mane and beard, but more compelling for me was the still, expansive gaze from his dark eyes. It was as if he had just appeared there from another time and place. Or as if he’d been sitting there like that for millenia. I approached him shyly and asked if I could take his photo. He said nothing, just cocked his head to the left and looked at me curiously. I then lifted my camera before him, making my intention plain. Closing his eyes, he nodded slightly. Taking that as consent, I shot this photo. I put my camera down, looked into his eyes and thanked him. He didn’t acknowledge my gratitude in any way, just turned and looked away.
When I studied his expression on my laptop that evening, I determined that I should try to see him again. His eyes stirred some sublime feeling in my chest. In fact, it was this feeling that ultimately inspired me to shoot a series of portraits of the sadhus along the Girivalam Road.
Next day I found Ramakrishna sitting with legs outstretched under the broad canopy of a large tree. He was just as otherworldly as the day before. When I knelt at his feet, he cocked his head again, cutting his eyes my way like a cockatoo. I placed a coconut at his heels and respectfully lifted my camera again. He nodded like a regent granting an audience. I shot 3 or 4 more portraits. I could have shot 20.
Finally I asked his name. You would think I had asked him for the circumference of the sun. His eyes looked pained by my question. For several seconds he visibly struggled to utter something. When finally his silence broke, in a barely audible voice he offered a single word.
“Ramakrishna,” he whispered, his voice softly arising from the depth of his being.
Ramakrishna. A name of God. Whether this was his own name, a mantra he repeated in silence, or the state in which he was steeped, I’d never forget it.
The photo was taken with a Nikon D5100 SLR camera in the town of Tiruvannamalai, a sacred pilgrimage site in Tamil Nadu, South India.