He used to be a paint salesman. The vast yet unpainted walls of the temple are a sign of his success in that field. Now he is a purveyor of local knowledge.

He introduced me to the symbolism of the temple, its tower-gates or gopurams numbering nine to equate with the orifices of the human body. The last person he had introduced to these orifices was the brother of Michael Jackson, whom he had helped in his study of temple music.

I sniffed a good story and asked around. The myth of the pop star found its roots in the recent visit of a white Australian dance teacher called Lee. Mr Soundarajan was a great enthusiast for the cause of promoting Tiruvannamalai onto the world's tourist agendas. He used his enthusiasm to help him vault several shades beyond the truth. I walked the streets of town at four o'clock in the morning on his sure advice that I would meet a grand religious procession. It duly started at ten, when I was back in my bed and asleep. I forgive him this and so much else for the quality of his stories.

An alternative way of honouring the pradakshina of the mountain is to roll your body all around its course. This brings your body into direct contact with much of this sacred earth, under each foot of which many Shiva lingams are meant to be hidden. I have read of people making this pilgrimage in installments marked by the single roll of a coconut along the road. They would roll their bodies up to the point where the coconut had stopped, then resume their journeys later. Mr Soundarajan's version told of one-kilometer stretches. The pilgrims would then wait for their wounds to heal, and continue. One sannyasin died recently after completing the circuit one thousand and eight times, a number with almighty symbolic power in the Hinduism of south India.

It was almost a disappointment to Mr Soundarajan that so many holy men had settled around his town. Since they were in the body, her was not able to witness their out-of-the=body miracles. For example the current star saint in the town, Yogi Ramsuratkumar, had recorded his voice on a tape-recorder overseas even though he had never left India.

The town currently had another 'high-rated' sannyasin (for Mr Soundarajan felt able to assign his saints to rank) and it was certain that he must be taking lots of exercise outside of his body, for his body did nothing at all but sit. For over four years now he had been stationed at the summit of Arunachala, neither walking about nor lying down to sleep, sometimes stretching his legs out in front of him and then returning them to his seated posture. The only food he would eat was whatever meal was brought him by the first pilgrim of the day. If the second pilgrim brought a banquet he would not touch it, and if no pilgrim came he did not eat.

A German research student had wished to test the sannyasin out. He climbed by torchlight in the early evening, arriving at the hilltop after seven. The sannyasin was surprised to see a foreigner there, but said that it was too dangerous to travel down in the dark. The student should sleep beside him and wait for dawn.

The German slept for a while, then woke to find the sannyasin's body stretched out by his side. The head was severed from the trunk and gore and blood was puddled in between. Like the blood, the student found himself in an unsuitable situation, caught between two unpleasant alternatives. He could either be attacked by those who had committed the murder, or be arrested for the murder himself. Terror kept him awake, then wore him out. He fell asleep at between two and three in the morning.

When he awoke it was light. The sannyasin was seated in his regular posture, his head and limbs knitted back together by an air of composure. Rising from the rock it was the student's body that felt as it had come to pieces. The sannyasin instructed the student to leave and tell no-one of what he had seen.

The German hurried down the mountain, and ran through the back streets to hammer on the door of his friend and mentor Mr Soundarajan. Roused from sleep, Mr Soundarajan was duly skeptical but was witness to the terror that still ran in spasms through the student's limbs and stared out through his eyes. He led him to an elder who lived within the temple grounds, a great man of wisdom and experience. The young German told his story and the elder nodded. Yes, this ability to sever themselves limb from limb was indeed a power of the sannyasins, one they used to discourage attacks from animals who wished for live meat rather than a corpse. On top of the hill there was no fear of such attacks, only the presumption of young students who needed to be taught a lesson.

My own visit to this holy man on the summit of Arunachala, a man named Narayana, can be found in my book On Sacred Mountains. The chapter on Arunachala forms the heart of that book, which as well as India also travels to Ireland, Sri Lanka, Mount Ararat in Turkey, and the American South West.

Please feel free to order your copy of On Sacred Mountains from myself