Srivelayuthapalayampudur – the name of the village has more syllables than even someone with conversational ease in Tamil can manage. It lies in the shadow of the Palani hills in Tamil Nadu. At first glance it is no different from the myriad other villages that dot the landscape of rural India.
It is a fine mid-morning in January, a week before the pongal harvest. A schoolboy whips a discarded bicycle tire down an alley in the enduring amusement of the hinterland. At the community well, young girls, their hair oiled and braided, skin seasoned with turmeric paste, dexterously balance heavy head-loads of water. A woman flattens spherical cakes of dung onto the walls of her home to dry in the scorching sun. A scared rooster scampers out of the way of an oxcart, returning with its modest harvest. Except for the dish antennae protruding out of a few roofs, this could be the timeless India of the imagination.
To a large extent, it may still be that India – not the modernising country, the nuclear power, which boasts the world's largest pool of scientific talent. There are no scouts here looking for call-centre operatives or software code-writers. The only outsiders in Srivelayuthapalayampudur are those who arrive unannounced, asking simply for "the shrine".
The shrine is unlike the typical temples of southern India with their giant gopurams and intricately sculpted arches. Instead the Muthuswami shrine is built without embellishment, enclosing a simple courtyard over a grave. There is a single-storey structure with idols of local deities, and a complete absence of the major gods of the Hindu pantheon. This is the final resting place of a man who used to live in this village. His name was Muthuswami.