Rameshwar — Set by Rama

The eleventh Jyotirlinga is Rameshwaram — “the lord of Rama” — on the island of Rameshwaram at the southern tip of Tamil Nadu, at the exact point from which Rama built his bridge to Lanka in the Ramayana.

The story is woven into the Ramayana itself, but the Shiva Purana keeps it as one of its own.

After the great war at Lanka — after Ravana was killed, Sita recovered, and the army of Rama prepared to return home — Rama realised something was weighing on him. He had killed Ravana. And Ravana, despite being the kidnapper of Sita, was also a great brahmin and a great devotee of Shiva. The killing of a brahmin — even a brahmin demon — was a serious sin in the order Rama believed in.

He needed to atone.

Before crossing the bridge back from Lanka to the mainland, Rama decided he would worship Shiva at the very point from which he had started the war. He asked his army to assemble at the southern tip of the mainland. He sent Hanuman to bring a great Shiva linga from the Himalayas — a proper, well-made linga — to be installed at the spot.

Hanuman flew north. He would be back, he reckoned, in time.

But the hour the rite had to be performed was strict — it could only be done at a specific muhurta, an auspicious moment, which was about to pass. Hanuman had not returned.

Sita, watching, did the simplest thing. She walked to the beach. She gathered handfuls of wet sand. She made a small linga out of the sand with her own hands and placed it on the spot.

“Worship this one,” she said to Rama. “Hanuman will return when he returns.”

Rama did the rite. He worshipped the sand-linga. He completed his atonement in the proper hour.

Hanuman returned shortly after, carrying the great stone linga from the Himalayas. He saw the sand-linga already worshipped on the spot. He was upset. He had flown to the Himalayas. He had hurried back. And his linga had been replaced.

“Take down the sand-linga,” Hanuman said. “Install mine instead.”

Rama smiled. He said, “Hanuman — let me try first.”

The Purana lets the small comedy be there. Hanuman, frustrated, went to the sand-linga and grabbed it with both arms to lift it out. He pulled. He pulled with all the strength that had once crossed an ocean.

The sand-linga did not move.

He pulled harder. The sand-linga did not move.

He fell back, panting. Rama, who had not moved, looked at him gently.

“This is Sita’s linga,” Rama said. “It is not coming out. She made it with devotion. That is the linga that will stand here.”

The Purana says Hanuman wept then — not from anger, but from recognition. He understood. He installed his own great linga from the Himalayas right next to Sita’s small sand-one. Both were worshipped together at the site. To this day, the Rameshwaram temple has the Ramalingam (Rama’s, the sand-linga, gradually fossilised into a small stone, still in the inner sanctum) and the Vishvalingam (the larger linga brought by Hanuman, worshipped alongside).

The Purana adds that pilgrims who come to Rameshwaram traditionally worship the Vishvalingam first — out of respect for Hanuman’s effort — and then the Ramalingam — which is the actual main linga. The order is the small daily redress for Hanuman’s frustration.

A few practical features:

• Rameshwaram is one of the four dhams — the four corners of the Hindu pilgrimage map (Badrinath in the north, Dwarka in the west, Puri in the east, Rameshwaram in the south). A complete pilgrimage involves all four.
• The 22 wells of the temple. The Rameshwaram temple has 22 sacred wells inside its compound, with water of different flavours. Pilgrims traditionally bathe in all 22 as part of the rite of visit.
• The temple’s corridor is one of the longest in any Indian temple — about 200 metres on each side.

For a reader, Rameshwaram is the Jyotirlinga of what is made with devotion outweighs what is made well. Hanuman’s linga from the Himalayas was, materially, more impressive. Sita’s was a handful of beach sand. The handful of sand did not move when even Hanuman pulled it. That is the Rameshwaram lesson, and the temple still worships both lingas to keep it visible.

The last of the twelve is in the Sahyadris — a quiet woman’s faith and the small village named for it.