“Let's
go to the rat temple.”
That's
what Paul said.
We all looked up from our postcard writing and guidebook reading,
“What? The what temple?”
“Rat!
The rat temple! The Karni Mata! It's only an hour out of our way!”
He was enthusiastic.
By now we all had acquired more than a passing familiarity with the
range of animal gods in the Hindu pantheon from the monkey-headed and
the ever popular elephant-headed through to Vishnu's eclectic
assortment of avatars. I assumed that the rat temple was to honor
Ganesha's vehicle, Kroncha the rat. How a rat could possibly be a
“vehicle” for an elephant is another story but in any case I was
wrong. Kroncha is in fact a mouse, not a rat, and the Karni Mata was
built to honor Laxman, stepson of the goddess Karni Mata. Laxman died
accidentally and Karni Mata begged Yama, the god of death, to bring
him back to life. He did so, but as a rat. The 20,000 rats that
inhabit the temple today are descendents of Laxman.
So, lacking anything better to do and, to be honest, somewhat brain
addled by heat, poor nutrition and dysentry, we agreed with Paul and
off we went. To the rat temple. Now a thing that you should know
about Hindu temples if you don't already is that you have to take
your shoes off before going in. Another thing you should know about
Hindu temples is that even the famous ones can actually be quite
small and cramped inside. And finally, one more thing you should
know, this time about rats, is that rats poop a lot. Bare feet, small
space, 20,000 rats pooping. It well may be that the temple was
beautifully carved and decorated inside, but I will freely admit that
the entirety of my attention was directed towards foot placement. I
stood on my toes and scanned the tiled floor, calibrating each step
with great care. But still it was nasty. And I like rats. I can only
imagine what kind of a state a rat-o-phobe would be in. The poop
wasn't the only thing to be on alert for. The mortality rate among
the rats seemed to be quite high, despite the lavish attention and
care accorded them by the priests, so while the live ones would
scatter with each step, sometimes running right over your feet in
their panic, the dead naturally did not and thus presented additional
obstacles. And should you accidentally be the cause of a rat's
demise, say a slow witted, slow moving one, you will be obliged to
donate a gold rat to the temple. I'm absolutely serious.
This funhouse atmosphere kept us amused for, oh, perhaps a minute or
two before we began trying to make our way to the exit. On the way
out I saw a pilgrim bend down and pick up a gnawed upon piece of rat
food (amusingly called “bhog”). He made a prayer motion and
popped it in his mouth. Eating food the rats have chewed on is
apparently a high honour. I was, however, completely satisfied with
my state of dishonour and moved on, thinking only about clean water,
a bucket and a towel.
