Tasveer Ghar: A Digital Archive of South Asian Popular Visual Culture

 

When a Language Becomes a Mother/Goddess
An Image Essay on Tamil

This is perhaps most obvious when we consider the official Government of Tamilnadu poster that was printed in 1981 when M. G. Ramachandran (not particularly known for his devotion to the language) was Chief Minister of the state. This poster was also echoed in a stone statue installed in the same year in the city of Madurai, renowned for least two thousand years as the seat of Tamil learning, culture and civilization (Figure 23).

As we see in this contemporary photograph of the image, Tamil Aṉṉai is a two-armed figure, one of her two hands holding a manuscript (as is appropriate for a figure associated with learning), the other held in a gesture of blessing her viewer. She sits on a large lotus, very much like Saraswati would, and is a clothed and adorned in a manner that a Hindu viewer would be familiar with from the female figures housed in numerous temples and shrines across the region. A major Dravidianist poet Bharatidasan had once insisted, “God has neither figure nor name… It is not a Tamil principle to worship stone or copper.”  Many in the Dravidian movement associated officially with this installation too insist that Tamil Aṉṉai is not a religious icon that one worships, but a symbol of the Tamil language that should invite the celebration of all Tamilians. Figure 24She is a mother, and not a goddess, as is evident from the fact that the figure has only two arms.

And yet, it is also clear that this particular image was modeled on another housed in a temple of its own in the town of Karaikkudi (Figure 24). In all regards save one, the two are identical: the Karaikkudi image has four instead of two arms!

The foundation for the temple was laid in April 1975 with the blessings of the DMK government of M. Karunanidhi that also sanctioned 500,000 rupees for the project.  The temple was finally opened to the public in April 1993. Its central sanctum houses, in addition to Tamiḻttāy, the images of her two most venerable sons, the grammarians Agastya and Tolkappiyar. Three subsidiary sanctums carry the images of Ilango, Tiruvalluvar, and Kamban, three of Tamil’s most famous poets. The temple itself is shaped in the form of a triangle, the three corners signifying the ancient dynasts—the Chera, the Chola and the Pandya kings, Tamil literature’s most venerable patrons; alternately, they also represent the three branches of Tamil: literature, music and drama. Although the structure is referred to as a kōvil (the everyday Tamil word for a temple), the sponsors of Kamban Kazhagam are very clear that it is not a “temple” in the religious sense; the image of Tamiḻttāy is not an icon to whom worship is due, nor are Hindu religious rituals performed. This is a temple, they insist, that commemorates in their vision the language that belongs to the entire world; accordingly, it is open to all who revere Tamil and not just to the speakers of the language. 

Yet, the image enshrined in the temple has four arms, a clear marker of Hindu divinity. During the dedication of the temple in 1993, however, all those assembled were careful to distance themselves from all overt signs of religiosity.  In his speech, Karunanidhi, who officially opened the temple to the public, even pointed out that there should be no mistake about his extending his approval to an image that had four arms. Rather than signifying irrationality and religiosity, the Dravidianist leader insisted that the four arms represented the four languages to which Tamil had given birth: Kannada, Malayalam, Telugu and Tulu. Tamiḻttāy was not a goddess to be worshipped, but a guardian who will guide us all, he insisted. Others who spoke at the ceremony hoped that Tamil speakers visiting the temple would renew themselves as Tamilians, and resolve to write, speak and think in Tamil, always.

All the effort over the last few decades to create for her a distinctive visual presence notwithstanding, there is no standardized image of Tamiḻttāy that reigns in the public sphere.  Instead, she is both divine and human; a figure confined to Tamilnadu but also one who reigns over India, indeed the entire world; a queen but also an everyday Tamil woman; a comely maiden but also an ageless matron. That there is no single image that triumphs is not a sign however of visual or pictorial failure: on the contrary, the existence of this multiplicity and fluidity ensures her continued availability, as goddess, queen, mother and maiden all rolled into one, that future devotees can draw upon.

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