Tirupati: More Than Laddus, It's The Story Of Us

As the Tirupati laddu controversy was in the air, I was confronted with a rather strange situation. Many people I spoke to were convinced that this was all a Hindutvic Right–wing controversy to create an issue where none existed. Others were angry about desecration. When I probed into the matter, I found that hardly anyone knew much about Tirupati.

At least the believers had the convincing argument that their faith mattered more than anything else. One would have expected that the Leftist non-believers, who have been speaking of laddus in a mocking vein, would have their strong Marxist and post-modernist arguments grounded in facts, or at least some factoids. I was disappointed. No such luck.

Many readers may find this essay boring, but some may find it useful—at least one hopes so! Non-statutory warning: it requires some patience while dealing with South Indian history and puranic traditions.

We know Tirupati as Thiru-Venkadam, which translates to “holy Venkatam”. For the associated legends and myths, we start with the Aditya Purana. The word “vem” is cognate with the English “vomit”. Legend has it that at the foot of the hills of Tirupati, before one starts the physical and spiritual ascent, one vomits out sins and bad thoughts, both literally and metaphorically. Hence the name “vem-kata”, which later became Venkata.

The seven hills above the plains of Tirupati are collectively known as Tirumala or, quite simply, “the sacred hills”. On a plateau in the hills is a small spring-fed pool. This is called “Swami Pushkarini” or “the Lord’s Pool”. The Puranic myth tells us that Venkateswara settled on the shores of this pool, disillusioned with his heavenly abode.

Every day, believers chant, “Sri Vaikunta Viraktaya Swami Pushkarini Tatey.” The word “virakta” captures Venkateswara getting tired of heaven and choosing Tirumala instead. This explains why pilgrims choose to visit the Lord in his dwelling place. The pilgrims, too, are perhaps tired of their everyday lives and seek solace in the hills.

Venkateswara Is Vishnu, Shiva, Durga

My sister once explained to me that the Puranic portrait of Venkateswara in Tirupati is that of a young man. He goes hunting and falls in love. He pursues his beloved and weds her. His bride is said to have been born from the earth—she was found in a field by her parents. (This is a repeated metaphor in many of our traditions.) Her father is Akasha Raja or the King of the Skies. Thus, she symbolises the intertwining of the earth and the sky.

Akasha Raja was apparently a Chola king. The princess is frequently referred to as “Cholaputri” or “the Daughter of a Chola”. The bride’s name is Padmavati and she represents the lotus, a recurring motif in our literature and art. In South India, we fondly refer to her as “Alarmel Manga” or even simply as “Alamelu”.

In the ancient days of legend and myth, two temples were set up: one for Venkateswara on top of the hills and one for his divine consort in the plains below. And people have visited these shrines for centuries—if not for millennia.

In the south, we always remember that there is a peculiarity associated with Venkateswara’s presence in Tirupati. Daily prayers to him point out that he is “Sarva Loka Nivasaya (omnipresent in the entire universe)” and “Sarvantaratmana (the indwelling spirit within everyone)”. We can visit him everywhere, even inside ourselves. Why go to Tirupati? Ay, there’s the rub.

Just like the people of Odisha will tell you that Jagannath, the Lord of the Universe, has a liking for Puri, people from different parts of India are aware that Venkateswara, the Supreme Lord of the Universe, quite simply loves the seven hills of Tirupati. The intertwining of the local and the universal is a recurring theme in all our poetry and visual art.

The fact that the original statue of Venkateswara is not sculpted with Vishnu’s symbols, the shankha (conch) and chakra (discus), has led many to conclude that in Tirumala, we have an integrated deity. He is Harihara—half Vishnu and half Shiva. He is Subramanya, whose temples dot the hilltops of South India. He is also Durga, as the inner courtyard of the temple is defended by statues of lions that are sacred to her. Many of the temple rituals are taken from multiple sampradayas (traditions): Vaishnava, Shaiva, Kaumara, and Shakta. It is perhaps this integrated vision of the supreme Lord that has made Tirupati the most popular temple of our time.

Tirupati Under Cholas

And now to move on to history. The earliest recorded inscriptions clarify that the Chola dynasty was a great patron of the temple, thus linking the mythical Cholaputri with historical fact. The festive “utsava murti” bronze statues, which are still in worship, were almost certainly donated by a Chola queen or princess. Around the same time, about 1,500 years ago, Tamil literature was reaching its apogee as the Bhakti poets were churning out devotional poetry.

Almost all the “Alwars”, the “Evolved/Immersed Souls”, have written about Thiru-Venkadam. Some of their early compositions suggest that the Lord’s statue was visible from all sides. Perhaps there was only a mandap before the temple was built. For believers, the last step in the sanctum of the temple is important. It is known as “Kulashekhara Padi” or the “Step of Kulashekhara Alwar”. A distinguished chieftain and a brilliant poet, he is supposed to be eternally resting on this step in the presence of his Lord.

A persistent idea that percolates our culture is that the Lord and his devotees are intertwined. The more the number of devotees and the holier they are, the greater the glory of the temple. In Tirupati, we have traditions that suggest that several Alwars, acharyas, and others have been ardent visitors and residents of the place.

It is believed that Adi Shankara visited Tirumala and installed a “Dhana-Akarshana Chakra”, a mystic symbol that attracts wealth. Hence the great wealth of the temple. A thousand years ago, Ramanujacharya visited the temple and established its ritual traditions, which continue to be followed today. The relatively rare practices of the Vaikhanasa Agama (a Vaishnava practice) are central to the temple’s traditions. Vyasa Tirtha, the Madhva Vaishnava acharya, performed the deity’s puja for 12 years in the 1500s. And then there are the two special persons who actually had a direct darshan—they literally saw Venkateswara.

Tirumala Nambi, who grew flowers for the deity, saw him day after day in the form of a young boy. Hathiram, who came all the way from contemporary Uttar Pradesh in the 1500s, was so fortunate that he played pachisi/chaupat (our very own ancient Indian board game) with Venkateswara. It is believed that it was Hathiram who first started to refer to the Lord as Balaji. The fact that acharyas of all three sectarian traditions—Smarta, Sri Vaishnava, and Vaishnava—visited Tirupati flatly contradicts the mischievous claims of Marxist historians that there were repeated sectarian clashes.

Dynasties come and go. Each dynasty has left inscriptions on the temple walls at Tirupati. Kings, queens, princes, princesses, chieftains, and ministers have given endowments to the temple. So have common people, merchants, dancers, and scholars. After a break of a few hundred years from the grand Chola period, we arrive at the second glorious period when the temple drew the attention of the emperors of various Vijayanagara dynasties.

Krishnadevaraya, Nawabs, EIC

The temple features more than two hundred inscriptions referring to just one emperor—Krishnadevaraya. Clearly, Tirupati became the sacred and spiritual capital of the Vijayanagara empire even as its material capital, Hampi, was hundreds of miles away. English historian AL Basham refers to the bronze statues of Krishnadevaraya and his two queens, which are still located in the outer enclosure of the Tirumala temple.

The great king standing with his hands pressed together in devotion, according to Basham, represents the highest ideals of ancient Indian civilisation—a devotion to the sacred. As an aside, Basham has been studiously excluded by the Marxist history professors of today. These charlatans also keep talking of linguistic rivalries associated with Tirupati even when we know that the Vijayanagara emperors patronised Telugu, Kannada, Tamil, and Sanskrit writers and poets, who themselves tended to be multilingual.

Moreover, there has always been a Marathi association with Tirupati. To this day, an ancient connect remains between the Kolhapur Mahalakshmi temple and Tirupati. Balaji is a fairly common Maharashtrian name, as evidenced in the name of some Peshwas. One can find families in Tirunelveli, Coimbatore, Shivamogga, Dharwad, Pune, and Marwar whose first and overwhelming allegiance is to Tirupati. There is no evidence of regional feuds which the Leftists are forced to invent and propagate.

According to a well-known legend, the bronze utsava murti was brought to Tirumala from Srirangam in the Kaveri delta for safety during Malik Kafur’s depredations in the deep south. In the 16th century, Vijayanagara disintegrated, followed by many Nayaka and Malla chiefdoms. For some reason, all of them continued to patronise the temple. Their inscriptions and statues remind us of their unending devotion.

Over time, almost organically, the EIC became the guardian and administrator of the temple. In the 19th century, a strong Christian evangelical movement arose in England. They wanted to convert the natives of India en masse and speeches were made in the House of Commons that it was abhorrent for the EIC to patronise a pagan, idolatrous, devilish place.

Very reluctantly, the laid-back and down-to-earth EIC officials decided to hand over the temple administration to the North Indian descendants of Hathiram, who had been running a math in Tirumala for some centuries. The EIC was quite conscious of its obligations. There is an apocryphal story that the Company had a rule barring British officers from climbing the sacred hills. When one official did just that while ostensibly pursuing a thief, he was sacked.

TTD Board

In the 1920s, the Montagu-Chelmsford Reforms arrived in India. Madras Presidency was blessed with dyarchy and some government activities were handed over to  Indians. The Justice Party, which came to power, did not feel any pressure from British evangelicals. They decided that it was in order for the state to intervene in temple administration. They removed the mahant of the Hathiramji Mutt and brought Tirupati under a new government body known as the Tirumala Tirupati Devasthanams (TTD) Board. They appointed a distinguished person, Sir A Ranganatha Mudaliar, as the first chairperson of the board.

Over time, the TTD board acquired control over several other temples in the neighbourhood: Kapilleswarar, Govindaraja Perumal, Kodanda Rama, Srinivasa Mangapuram, Narayanavanam Kalyana Venkateswara, and more. The board was also given control over the area encompassing the seven hills. As has been the case for centuries, even as dynasties changed, the ancient Vaikhanasa rituals have continued uninterrupted.

I have argued elsewhere that the TTD is a rare example of positive state intervention in India. There are now two roads: one to ascend the hills and the other one to descend. The facilities for pilgrims are constantly improving. Excess temple funds have been used to set up colleges, universities, and high-quality hospitals where the charges are nominal. Sri Venkateswara University has done impressive research in Sanskrit, archaeology, and other fields.

The hills have been densely reforested with native species. A beautiful mandap has been built outside the main temple where music and dance festivals are held. The temple has its own TV channel. Watching pujas on this channel is a divine experience in and of itself. 

It is true that the earlier Madras government and the present Andhra Pradesh government have been tempted to politicise board appointments. But even someone like me, who is not a fan of the IAS, must concede that by and large the IAS Executive Officers have been competent achievers. Certainly, a case can be made for greater accountability and transparency. But I would be very hesitant to hand it over to a body wildly different from the TTD.

Incidentally, in South India,  dynasties have routinely exercised monarchical/state control over temples. The Muzrai Department of Mysore and the Devaswom Boards of Travancore and Cochin come to mind. The EIC also exercised control. I don’t think control by today’s so-called secular governments is bad as long as we insist on responsible and accountable management. The recent scandals only highlight the need for greater watchfulness. There is no case for radical change.

A Poetic Coda

No essay on Tirupati can end without a musical and poetic coda. First, we have the Alwars. To this day, their Divya Prabandhams and Andal’s Tiruppavai are recited in the temple. For those who don’t know Tamil, AK Ramanujan’s translations of Alwar poems about the Venkata hill are highly recommended.

The Suprabhatam is relatively recent—just a few hundred years old. But it has gained an immense national and global following, thanks to MS Subbulakshmi. It is only fitting that at a crossing in Tirupati town, we now have a beautiful statue of the singer. The eponymous Srinivasa Gadyam is even more recent than the Suprabhatam.

The first great musical name is Annamacharya or Annamayya, whose music and lyrics are touched by genius. He managed to make even the risqué parts of the romance between Alarmel Manga and Venkateswara into an enchanting expedition of the spirit.

And then there is Purandara Dasa. He was, and is, right at the heart of the Vijayanagara efflorescence. Open YouTube and listen to Aruna Sairam or Yesudas singing Venkatachala Nilayam and you will get a taste of Purandara Dasa’s magic.

How can we talk of music without talking of Thyagaraja? The saint-poet never forgot that his beloved Rama and the Lord of the Seven Hills were one and the same. In the 20th century, a certain Chakravarti Rajagopalachari wrote an exquisite lyric, Kurai Ondrum Illai, about “Malayappa”, the “lord of the Hills”. More recently, Ghantasala and PB Srinivas, among others, have paid homage to the deity.

After many trackless centuries, our tryst with the sacred shrine continues. Tirupati is more than just a story about laddus. It is a story about its devotees, for the Lord of Tirupati is the indwelling spirit within all of us.

Update From The Author

This article on Tirupati has received extensive feedback, mostly on a positive note. I got an interesting message from my old friend Jairam Ramesh, a doughty Mysorean history scholar of the Sri Vaishnava persuasion. I said to myself: “It takes one Mysorean, one of the erstwhile Wodeyar subjects to recognise and appreciate another.”

Ramesh drew my attention to a legal case in Chittoor in the Madras Presidency in December 1925. The reliable archives of the venerable Hindu proved helpful for him to track matters down. One Murugesan, alias Ethiraja Dasari, who was in today’s vocabulary a Dalit, had entered the Padmavati temple in Tiruchanoor on the plains below Tirumala. The lower court convicted him of a crime. The appeal was heard by one V Ramaswami Iyer, the Sub-Divisional Magistrate, Chittoor.

The defence lawyer was one Munisami Naidu, who obtained permission from the court to allow an interventionist lawyer to argue parts of the case. The magistrate very graciously agreed to let a certain C Rajagopalachari, who was dressed in khaddar, to argue the case despite the absence of the required formal attire. The said Rajagopalachari (known to future generations as Rajaji) argued extensively. His arguments focused on the legal issues, the changing social climate, and other wide-ranging matters. The crux of it was around whether the defendant had “insulted” anyone. Rajaji made a powerful argument that no insult was intended and that in fact no insult was endured by anyone. In an elegant and succinct judgment, the magistrate set aside the lower court’s conviction.

I believe it is important to add this anecdote to the records of Tirupati’s history. Caste/jati issues are never absent in our annals and the mysterious ways in which they keep cropping up testifies to their endurance and persistence. And matters are never simple. The defence lawyer, the special counsel, and the presiding magistrate were all upper-caste persons who collectively endorsed the entry of a Dalit person into the temple. It would have been difficult to dismiss Rajaji’s arguments as he was known to be a devotee of Tirupati. In later years, he composed a beautiful poem in praise of the Lord at Tirupati. The complex ways in which our country moves sideward and forward are worth paying attention to.

As students of history, we should also be struck by an extraordinary coincidence. Around the same time that Rajaji was arguing in the Madras Presidency in British India, far away in the princely Indian state of Travancore, a satyagraha was being conducted in a town called Vaikom. The satyagraha was also about a demand for Dalit rights and also involved a famous temple at Vaikom. The sheer synchronicity involved in the parallels between Chittoor and Vaikom cannot and should not be missed. Clearly, in the 1920s, all of southern India was febrile with change. Some of the readers may know that EV Ramaswami Naicker was active in the Vaikom satyagraha. The strange irony of history is that Naicker and Rajaji were simultaneously friends and opponents throughout their political careers. In the 1920s, on the issue of Dalit entry into temples, they were on the same side, as indeed they were on many other matters.

I am delighted to add this story to my essay on Tirupati and am grateful to Jairam Ramesh for the reference. It is also good to know that what starts as a disagreeable anecdote ends on a happy note with the magistrate’s pleasing verdict.

This article was originally published by ThePrint and has been republished with permission.