Sree Muth Temple

The Kannur temple where the Keralan's re-enact Shiva's two reincarnations hustles with the Hindu faithful every dawn and dusk.
The descent to the temple leads down a myriad shaded walkways. Bedecked on both sides of the walk are arrays of garish stalls. Under neon strip lighting; lurid bangles and plastic inflatables are sold alongside framed deities, gurus and Bollywood heroes. The sweet aroma of popcorn permeates the air.
Inside the temple, crowds gather to witness the second reincarnation of Shiva. Young men; dressed in white robes tied at the waist, climb ladders to light cotton rags dipped in mustard oil. The flames illuminate an elven wooden house at the far end of the temple. Three golden lamps illuminate the back doorway. They dominate the space with flickering gold and yellow extending far above the tallest heads. Worshippers hold their hands aloft the flames; gathering heat energy and charging their eyes.
It is the moment for Shiva's dance. The men and women are segregated from the centre of the temple. Ushers motion for the crowd to step back; to make room for the dance. Akin to teenagers hoping to glimpse their hero; the crowd members grudgingly shuffle back into the shadows.
The air is sweltering. Moisture densely packs the space despite the heavy fans pumping air above us. I close my eyes and steady myself. The drums begin; wrapping themselves into my fizzing scalp. A primal pounding infiltrates the attention of the temple's consciousness. Four bare chested men beat sticks on stretched hide, They circle the personification of Shiva. Yellow body paint explodes like sunlight across his torso. His face is adorned with a feather head dress. Trunk arms sweep cold silver blades in circle around his protagonist; dizzying the humid space. The watchers reverently drop their heads each time Shiva's shadow passes over them.
Across the temple floor; the twit and Francois laugh and clap hands on the backs of the gathered men. They travel from the furthest flung corners of Kerala to be blessed at the Theyam. They come for prosperity, health, successful harvests and divine providence for exam results.
On the left hand side of the temple; among silken shawls of sunburst colours, under the wide eyed gazes of young children, Bada and I soak in the curios stares. We smile and wave at our gender kind. Some smile, some wave, most deferentially lower their eyes. Children straying too close to our path are scolded. Despite the silence, it feels as if they would like to reach across the gulf to us. They desire to cross the chasm of our cultures but lack the tools to approach it.
The energy of belief is awe inspiring. The genuine faith in the blessing is as innocent as the Christian depictions of baby Jesus. I can't help but wonder; if I had been born into a religious institution of such vigour - would I not be the atheist that I have found myself as today? It seems that the rituals of Hindu religiosity affirms life; finds that the love for the gods requires celebration conducted in joy and fervour. In England, as a child, I sat in stone grey churches; miming to dreary hymns; taking lessons on the piety of life and the other worldly salvation. What is this if not life denying? Where is the colour, the love, the jubilance in knowing that god loves us and walks among us? Sealed outside perhaps; banished to the natural wonders that lie outside our grey stone walls.