My Dad, Our Motorcycle, and the Songs of the Nayanmars

The Nayanmars, 63 Tamil saints, ignited the Bhakti movement with their fervent devotion to Shiva, shaping South Indian Shaivism through timeless hymns and inspiring lives. Their legacy of love and unwavering faith continues to resonate, enriching temple traditions and spiritual practices across generations.

I still remember the sound of my father revving up his old motorcycle outside our flat in Wangsa Maju. It was early Sunday morning, and KL was just beginning to stir. My brother and I would hop on behind him, clinging tightly to his shirt, as we zoomed through the city toward the Brickfield Kantha Samy Temple — rain or shine, no matter how tired we were.

We didn’t own a car back then, but somehow, every week without fail, my dad made that journey happen. And neither did we miss a single class. Those early mornings weren’t just about temple visits — they were about learning Thevaram , the sacred hymns composed over a thousand years ago by the Nayanmars , 63 passionate devotees of Lord Shiva who changed the course of South Indian spirituality forever.

Back then, I had no idea how deep their stories ran, or how much influence they’d have on my life. All I knew was that these songs sounded like home.

Who Were the Nayanmars?

The Nayanmars lived between the 6th and 8th centuries CE, mostly in what is now Tamil Nadu. They weren’t priests or kings. Some were farmers, hunters, even outcasts. But they all shared one thing: an unshakable love for Shiva.

At a time when religion often felt exclusive — dominated by rituals and caste — the Nayanmars broke the mold. They sang in Tamil, the language of the people. They traveled from temple to temple, chanting devotional songs that welcomed everyone — men, women, children, the poor, the powerful. Theirs was a movement of the heart, not hierarchy.

And those songs? They were later compiled into the Tirumurai , with the first seven books forming the Tevaram — the very same hymns I used to sing in that small temple in Brickfield.

From “Hounds of Shiva” to Spiritual Teachers

The word Nayanmar originally meant something pretty wild — “hounds of Shiva,” loyal beyond reason. But as their spiritual wisdom grew, so did their reputation. They became revered as teachers — guides whose lives and words shaped generations.

What fascinates me most is how human they were. They struggled, doubted, faced hardships — but always came back to devotion. Like Kannappa Nayanar, a hunter who offered his own eyes to protect the deity he loved. Or Karaikkal Ammaiyar, a woman who gave up everything to live fully in her devotion.

They taught me that being close to God doesn’t require perfection — just sincerity.

Learning the Hymns

I was only three when I started Thevaram classes. Every Sunday, we’d sit cross-legged on the floor of the temple hall, surrounded by other kids, elders, and that one strict teacher who made us repeat each line until we got it right.

We learned to chant before we could read. We memorized verses without knowing what they meant. But something about them stuck — maybe it was the rhythm, or maybe it was the energy in the room. Looking back, I realize it was the spirit of the Nayanmars themselves, alive in every syllable.

It wasn’t until I was older that I truly understood the depth of their lives. My father would tell me their stories during our long rides back home — how Appar once left Shaivism for Jainism, only to return after a divine vision; how Sambandar began singing praises of Shiva at just three years old — the same age my brother started learning Thevaram.

And Sundarar — oh, how I loved his style. He spoke to Shiva like a friend, not just a god. He even wrote a list of the Nayanmars, which later helped shape the final count of 63.

The Periya Puranam – Our Devotional Bible

But the full glory of their lives came alive for me through the Periya Puranam , written by Sekkizhar in the 12th century. It’s more than just a book — it’s an epic. Each chapter tells the story of a saint, filled with miracles, sacrifices, and moments of surrender.

Reading it felt like meeting old friends — ones who had walked paths I could only imagine, yet whose hearts beat with the same love for Shiva that I carry inside me.

Temples That Still Sing Their Names

Today, if you visit any major Shiva temple in Tamil Nadu, you’ll see images of the Nayanmars carved into stone. Many temples are known as Paadal Petra Sthalangal — places praised in the songs of the Nayanmars. These aren’t just ancient monuments; they’re pilgrimage sites where their voices still echo.

Even though the Brickfield Kantha Samy Temple isn’t one of them, it feels connected somehow — like a modern-day echo of that ancient tradition.

Every year, during festivals like Arupathu Moovar Thiruvila , thousands gather to honor these saints. Their hymns are sung, their stories retold, and their legacy passed on — just like mine began, on the back of a motorcycle, with two little boys and a loving father who believed in the power of devotion.

My dad also made sure we joined the annual Thevaram contest organized by the Malaysian Hindu Sangam . Even as we grew older, he never let us stop participating. Those contests were nerve-wracking, yes — standing on stage in front of hundreds, trying not to forget the verses — but they kept us grounded. They reminded us that this wasn’t just a childhood memory. It was a living, breathing tradition.

And guess what? Those contests still go on today.

Why Their Story Still Matters

The Nayanmars taught me that devotion isn’t about perfection. It’s about passion. It’s about showing up, again and again, with your whole heart, even when life is messy.

And thanks to my father, I’ve been singing Thevaram since I was five. And I’m still singing.

Because the Nayanmars gave us more than just songs — they gave us a way to connect with the divine, one verse at a time.

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