Offtrack: Chennai: Firm Conviction

Each morning, students and other locals offer puja at the Aidsamma temple besides updating themselves on information about the disease.

Each morning, students and other locals offer puja at the Aidsamma temple besides updating themselves on information about the disease.

"Aidsamma Temple, 2 km". It's more than just another milestone along the Mandya-Mysore highway. Okay, there's Bhagwatiamma and Kamakshiamma, but Aidsamma? Curious? Take the detour to the right at the 30-km point on the highway. Even before you reach the shrine at the heart of Mensikethanahalli in Bannur taluk, the villagers would have educated you about how this is no ordinary temple, but a symbolic propitiation to what they believe is the goddess or "amma" of AIDS, the four letters that spell death.

There is eagerness -- and pride -- as the villagers speak. A pride that comes from being self-taught. As recently as two years ago, they knew nothing of the Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS). They had never heard of the killer. But today they not only know about the scourge, they also want to spread that awareness to as many people as they can.

It's a compulsion born out of the loss of dear ones to the disease. In May 1997, Kalegowda, a 37-year-old farmer, succumbed to AIDS after an excruciating battle. Ten months later his wife Marisidamma, three years younger to him, followed suit. Their cruel deaths shocked the villagers -- Mensikethanahalli has a population of 1,300 -- more so since they could not fathom the cause. Village elder Ramegowda recalls how perplexed they had been at Kalegowda's cremation when they were not allowed to go near the body. "Our brother was treated like a pariah on his last journey," he says sadly.

But two men from Mysore -- Surya Kumar and Ningegowda Girish -- changed all that. Posted as teachers at the local government high school, the two of them would travel to and from Mysore by bus everyday. On the way, they would discuss at length the way in which the villagers had taken the deaths of the two villagers to heart. And about how they could ill-afford to remain ignorant about AIDS.

Kumar, Girish and the school headmaster, Ilyas Ahmed, soon hit upon an idea. They began writing simple Kannada slogans about the malaise on the walls of the school building. The response was overwhelming. In no time, the villagers were motivated enough to learn more about the killer disease. They began asking questions on their own and arming themselves with the "invaluable" information. They even went from house to house to share what they knew.

As the self-education campaign gained momentum, the idea of a shrine was floated by the schoolteachers. A contractor who was building a library block for the gram panchayat readily offered to provide material for the a temple. Within weeks, the villagers, under the leadership of Madegowda, an "influential" elder, pooled in the money -- Rs 4,000 -- and the temple was erected. Even students chipped in.

Propitiating the gods to fight physical ailments like plague and small pox is an old practice in Karnataka. It is believed that prayer serves as an effective deterrent and hence many such temples have come up. Though many of these do not have deities, the Aidsamma shrine has a painting of a boy and a girl with a red "virus" marked on it. It's a strange mix of science and religion. Each morning, the locals come here, light incense sticks or camphor and offer puja. They also make sure they are up to date with the information inscribed on the temple pillars. In chaste Kannada, everything from what is AIDS to how it is caused and how it can be prevented is there.

K.S. Nanjunda Dixit, a temple priest, feels the Karnataka Government should take the initiative and build Aidsamma temples in all districts to help spread awareness. He points to how even school-going children in Mensikethanahalli are now aware of the disease, thanks to this medium of education. "We have to be careful in our interaction with people," offers K.C. Vanitha, 14. "One wrong move and we are finished." The words are tinged with one regret though: that it took the deaths of Kalegowda and Marisidamma for that realisation to dawn on her and the rest of the village.