Nanjangud was a small town about thirteen miles from Mysore city and situated on a river called Kapila which is a tributary of the great river, Kaveri, a big river of our Mysore State. My father had now moved to this place, thinking that it was better for his civil law practice, the clients being mostly small farmers and small businessmen of Nanjangud taluk (county).
I was about five years old, and my younger sister Seetha was about a year old. We lived in a small brick and mortor house with tiled roof and a big garden which was well maintained. My father had rented this house from Mr. Pandit who was a very well known practioner of Ayurvedic medicine (Indian indigenious system of medicine). He had already bought a plot on the same road and had started building a little bigger house , with the help of a few workmen. In the evenings and on holidays, he used to take me to the site and show me how the construction was proceeding. He used to explain to me all the processes involved, like laying the red clay bricks in the proper manner, grinding the mortar mixed with a little cement in a circular groove of about ten feet in diameter. The grinding stone was pulled by a bullock, going round and round many times around the circular groove.
Nanjangud had a very big old Hindu temple built of granite stones, the main diety being Shiva (local name Nanjundeswara), and minor dieties being Shiva's consort Parvathi, Vishnu, Ganesha (Shiva's elephant-headed son), and Saraswathi (Sharada, goddess of learning). The temple is about fifteen hundred years old (though the main tall pyramidal entrance is about eight hundred years old ). The whole tall pyramidal structure is intricately carved, and delicate figures of gods and goddesses of terracota are embossed on it. It is a beautiful structure, and can be seen from more than a mile away, as we enter Nanjangud town. The architectural style of the temple building is called the Chola style, the Cholas being a powerful dynasty ruling a large part of South India more than a thousand years ago.
My mother used to take me and my little sister Seetha,
sometimes in the evenings, to the temple for worship. We used to walk
slowly on the broad road , about a mile in length, leading
to the temple. In the temple, she offered a coconut, a few bananas, some
betel leaves, and a garland of jasmine flowers interwoven with chrysanthums
(which she had woven her self). The priest used to take her offerings,
recited the Hindu scriptures in Sanskrit in praise of the diety, broke
the coconut in half on a stone slab, and offered the offerings to the diety,
garlanding the diety with flowers. Then he blessed us with the flames of
burning camphor, over which we put our palms ( at a distance so that it
did not burn our palms ), and then touched our eyes with the palms. This
is a symbol of our being blessed by our diety. Then before we left, the
priest gave us back a half of the coconut we had offered, one or two bananas,
and some flowers. My mother put a few flowers in her hair and a few in
my hair, my sister being too small and did not have enough hair. As we
came out of the temple, we sat on the entrance stone steps and ate small
pieces of coconut and small pieces of bananas.
My father very rarely accompanied us to the temple. He used to say that God is everywhere and we can pray to him any where, and need not do so in a temple, church or mosque.
I remember one incident during this period of my stay in Nanjangud, when I was a really a naughty little girl. I had learnt both the English and Kannada alphabets very well and could read and write simple words in both the languages. One day my father had gone to Mysore city and brought me a nice present, a beautiful present, a beautiful book of stories for children in English with coloured pictures, published in England. He sat with me and made me read it, helping me every now and then and explaining to me. I enjoyed the stories very much, especially the story of "Little Red Riding Hood ." Next day when he went to work, I got into a bad temper, God alone knows what for, and tore the book into pieces, and threw the pieces in the garden. My mother saw it and scolded me. But when my father came home and saw it,he really spanked me very well. As long as I remember , I do not think I have ever again thrown away a book in my life. I have preserved all of them, and if I did not need them, I have given them away to somebody who could read them and benefit from them.