Ugra Narasimha:
I stepped out of the Virupaksha temple from beneath the long shadow of its colossal tower onto the main street. It was lined on its either sides by an arcade of shops. And immediately I was thronged by a dozen guides, who must have, all this time patiently waiting in the shadows of the side-shops while I was clicking the snaps of the main tower trying out different combination of filters.
They were of all ages - from a boy of sixteen to a man of about sixty, falling on one another in a semi-stampede, eager to tout themselves before the other. It was like being in an Indian rock concert. I couldn't make out a word, though I was sure it was English - a type of hip-hop Indian English where all the words ran as a song-train without any spaces in between. The sentences were typically, incomplete.
I replied loudly in Kannada, which seemed to settle all the confusion. A mild wave of disappointment passed over the faces of a few, who one by one, dropped out of the crowd. I haggled with the accoster who stood closest to me - He was a small built man with a balding head which, along with his deep eyes made him look wiser. He wore a faded striped shirt and a beige trouser. He looked weak but he kept endlessly enlisting in a rapid spray of words the names of all the local attractions -- presumably to mean that he covered them all. And finally, to keep up his advantage over others he started flashing an old, half torn, and what imaginably was once an ID badge, while shouting into my face - 'apprrroved gaid',' apprrroveddd gaidd'.
A sepia burnt photograph on the badge showed a more cheerful younger face, the head was as bald as now. I don't remember the name but the year was a distinct scribble of a cheap pen- 1983. He confirmed this, in a rather proud tone, that he had experience over twenty years.
We settled for Rs. 200.
He led me, over the steep Hemakuta Hill through the pediment where the Jain temples and other mandapams looked abandoned, burning helplessly under the pitiless summer sun. Through our climb, he often spoke in bursts of paragraphs which were monotonous and incredibly quick for me to follow. And whenever he spoke, as if he couldn't help, he was throwing the name of Abdul Razzaq almost after every other line. Abdul Razzaq said this, Abdul Razzaq wrote that etc. I suppose he wanted to be heard as quoting Abdul Razzaq. But in his enthusiasm, he sounded as if he had appropriated Abdul Razzaq. Obviously he was trying to impress.
I gauged him cautiously; a cursory probing into some of the details perplexed him, which he shrouded in another incoherent ramble. For all the twenty odd years of being a guide here, he gave me an impression that he did not know any other traveler to Vijayanagar other than Abdul Razzaq. It seemed he hadn't heard of Nuniz. And when I mentioned his name, he nodded rather disinterestedly. But Abdul Razzaq was his favourite. May be just because the name was easy for him to repeat.
His, like thousand others Indians of his generation was an unexamined life. A life, that had to perhaps struggle so much for a living during a miserable time of the nation that all his vast experience had been given no chance to be accounted for , either by opinion or judgment. All he had learnt was to smile often.
I just followed him.
By the time we coursed our way through the gigantic boulders that hung precariously, and climbed onto the Huge Ganesh temple, I had realized that I could not expect to learn much from him about Vijayanagar than what I had already known. In a sense, I suppose he realized this too. But he was polite and well mannered. That was more than enough for me. So, I asked him to just show me around and help me with the directions. To my surprise he understood.
Down the hill we walked on the road that cut through vast hillocks of dust beaten rocks. And rocks. And more rocks. Never in my life, had I seen so many rocks in one place. It was, so unique. Rocks- they glistened in grim quietitude under the sun. Often, they were interrupted by scattered ruins: a half fallen dome, a suggestion of a rampart, a possible wall, a colonnade hiding in an ongoing excavation, a few disabled pillars, a temple long desecrated - from whose interior I heard the unmistakable Mancunian accent. Silently, we walked in the middle of a million structures. Among all of them, as if it was only natural there existed not a single thing which had a sense of completeness.
Not a soul was visible in any direction; an odd cow that had wandered into the road from her herd or a lazy stray dog that made a brief appearance once in a while was all we saw. Otherwise we were as old and as forgotten as the history that surrounded us. It was midday and sun slowly sucked the life drop by drop.
But we walked on, a bit slowly now. As the boulders became smaller in size, the hill tapered down and eventually opened out as a vast land looking endlessly lush with shades of green fields and trees. And through all this the road carried on further, gently curving to the left. Into more history.
We turned right onto a small dusty bridle path and found ourselves suddenly surrounded by fruit orchards and banana plantations. Overlooking them few tall coconut trees shot out into the heaven. Few women, with their heads wrapped in cotton towels, were tending to the crops while a couple of goats cheerfully gamboled about in the corner. The air became pleasantly cooler and the earth smelt fresh; just as I had suspected a narrow canal ran beside carrying olive grey water that moved in silence. The land was being irrigated. We kept on walking.
By the time I asked the guide where we were headed, it was easy enough for him to just raise his arm with his finger pointing at an angle to announce in a quick breath, as if the word was made of just one syllable - Narasimha.
And before me, in this unseemly silent banana plantation with its cool air smelling of old cheddar, had suddenly appeared a gigantic idol of Ugra-Narasimha, the fourth Avatar of Lord Vishnu!
The image was a huge monolith of a chimera - Half man and Half lion, carved in gray washed beige stone squatted and staring over your head into a distance with a pair of ferocious eyes imaginable, mouth wide open in a mid roar. A multi-headed serpent roofed lazily. It was striking. I had seen the pictures of Narasimha before, but seeing in real was breath taking. Though all of hundreds of years old, except for a broken arm, and as I learnt later a small Lakshmi along the arm, the idol looked mighty and majestic.
Ugra Narasimha, at Hampi, India.
I was immediately reminded of Lion of Lucerne (Löwendenkmal) which I had visited the summer before. It was a mesmerizing monument in The city of Lucerne designed by Bertel Thorvaldsen, dedicated to the six hundred Swiss guards, who lost their lives guarding the Tuilleries and Versailles palaces and their royal inhabitants in Paris during the French revolution.
The story goes something like this: After Bastille was successfully stormed the mob headed to Versailles Palace where the King and the Queen were believed to be resident. The Palace was guarded by a thousand Swiss Guards hired by the King who did not trust his own army.
By the time the blood thirsty mob reached Versailles, the royal family had already received news of the fall of Bastille and had escaped via a secret tunnel. But the hapless Swiss Guards still under the impression of protecting the Royal family fought on a long brave battle, until finally around six hundred of them lay killed. Versailles was eventually taken and their lives went unaccounted- to no man, nation, wealth or idea. It lacked sense. It is such an irony to think of it now that the most neutral country in the world had lost six hundred of its very own men in perhaps the most mindless battle of all time. And to these six hundred brave men who laid their lives in Versailles on August 10th 1792 was dedicated the Lowendenkmal.
A huge lion carved in a niche before a pond is stabbed in the back and lies dying in dolour and deep anguish of betrayal amongst the broken sovereigns and symbols of the French royalty. The Latin reads as dedicated to the loyalty and courage of Swiss.
Back to Hampi: The story of Ugranarasimha, another lion in a sense, is more enthralling. Narasimha was the fourth incarnation of the ten avatars of Lord Vishnu who chose this unique avatar to kill the evil Hiranyakashipu. Hiranyakashipu was one of the powerful demons (asuras) wanting to avenge his brother who had also been killed by Vishnu. He had subjected himself to great penance and had gained enviable powers and favours of many gods. But his son Prahlada was a devout follower of Vishnu. This naturally upset him, and he started harassing his son. But Prahlada was firm in his devotion. He refused to accept that his father was greater than Lord Vishnu.
In one such argument, when Prahlada had claimed that Vishnu was omnipresent, Hiranykashipu had scoffed at the idea and challenged Vishnu to present himself before him if he really was present in one of the random pillars of the Palace. It is said that Vishnu, all furious at the mockery emerged from the very pillar in the great Ugra-Narasimha Avatar. Ugra means furious. And after a long battle killed Hiranyakashipu at the doorway of the palace by disemboweling him with his bare hands.
But the interesting bit is the mode of killing- which abided to all the boons Hiranyakashipu possessed - he was killed by a chimera- not entirely human, neither god, demigod nor animal. He was killed in the hour of twilight between day and night when neither sun nor the moon could be seen, and on a threshold using claws which is neither human nor inanimate. He died on the lap of Narasimha between earth and heaven.
Mark Twain it is quoted had remarked that Lion of the Lucerne was the most moving piece of stone he had ever seen. I know Twain passed through Northern India but not sure if he visited Hampi. I wondered what he would have thought if he had seen the Ugranarasimha?
Somewhere between my thoughts the guide mentioned something about vandalism and the gated enclosure protecting the idol, but I did not register much. I stood in silence unable to take my eyes off this magnificent piece of stone that had been vested with form and myth for eternity such that in spite of all the desecration, and all the negligence that extended for centuries, the idol continued to - mutely, gracefully exude great power. You see, the stone in Lucerne had become a lion, but this stone here at Hampi had become Lion and a Liongod. In world we live, there isn’t anything more, any stone can ever become.
Hindus, it is said abandon their idols if it is desecrated. They hold that, once violated the sanctity of the idols cannot be restored. So the great Liongod wasn’t being worshipped or offered prayers. I do not know if this could be called praying but I stood there before this forsaken Lord in silence, in awe, in unbelievable sense of calm with my hands clasping each other and head bowed. I do not know what it was; it just seemed like the natural thing to do.
We stepped back onto the road; the sky hovered like a huge ivory gossamer with patterns of cirrus clouds being weaved at a distant height. We sat under the shade of a nearby Jacaranda tree and ordered coconut water from the vendor beside, who as we drank, argued for about ten minutes with another customer over the quality of his coconuts.
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I stepped out of the Virupaksha temple from beneath the long shadow of its colossal tower onto the main street. It was lined on its either sides by an arcade of shops. And immediately I was thronged by a dozen guides, who must have, all this time patiently waiting in the shadows of the side-shops while I was clicking the snaps of the main tower trying out different combination of filters.
The main Tower of Virupaksha Temple, Hampi.
They were of all ages - from a boy of sixteen to a man of about sixty, falling on one another in a semi-stampede, eager to tout themselves before the other. It was like being in an Indian rock concert. I couldn't make out a word, though I was sure it was English - a type of hip-hop Indian English where all the words ran as a song-train without any spaces in between. The sentences were typically, incomplete.
I replied loudly in Kannada, which seemed to settle all the confusion. A mild wave of disappointment passed over the faces of a few, who one by one, dropped out of the crowd. I haggled with the accoster who stood closest to me - He was a small built man with a balding head which, along with his deep eyes made him look wiser. He wore a faded striped shirt and a beige trouser. He looked weak but he kept endlessly enlisting in a rapid spray of words the names of all the local attractions -- presumably to mean that he covered them all. And finally, to keep up his advantage over others he started flashing an old, half torn, and what imaginably was once an ID badge, while shouting into my face - 'apprrroved gaid',' apprrroveddd gaidd'.
A sepia burnt photograph on the badge showed a more cheerful younger face, the head was as bald as now. I don't remember the name but the year was a distinct scribble of a cheap pen- 1983. He confirmed this, in a rather proud tone, that he had experience over twenty years.
We settled for Rs. 200.
He led me, over the steep Hemakuta Hill through the pediment where the Jain temples and other mandapams looked abandoned, burning helplessly under the pitiless summer sun. Through our climb, he often spoke in bursts of paragraphs which were monotonous and incredibly quick for me to follow. And whenever he spoke, as if he couldn't help, he was throwing the name of Abdul Razzaq almost after every other line. Abdul Razzaq said this, Abdul Razzaq wrote that etc. I suppose he wanted to be heard as quoting Abdul Razzaq. But in his enthusiasm, he sounded as if he had appropriated Abdul Razzaq. Obviously he was trying to impress.
I gauged him cautiously; a cursory probing into some of the details perplexed him, which he shrouded in another incoherent ramble. For all the twenty odd years of being a guide here, he gave me an impression that he did not know any other traveler to Vijayanagar other than Abdul Razzaq. It seemed he hadn't heard of Nuniz. And when I mentioned his name, he nodded rather disinterestedly. But Abdul Razzaq was his favourite. May be just because the name was easy for him to repeat.
His, like thousand others Indians of his generation was an unexamined life. A life, that had to perhaps struggle so much for a living during a miserable time of the nation that all his vast experience had been given no chance to be accounted for , either by opinion or judgment. All he had learnt was to smile often.
I just followed him.
By the time we coursed our way through the gigantic boulders that hung precariously, and climbed onto the Huge Ganesh temple, I had realized that I could not expect to learn much from him about Vijayanagar than what I had already known. In a sense, I suppose he realized this too. But he was polite and well mannered. That was more than enough for me. So, I asked him to just show me around and help me with the directions. To my surprise he understood.
Down the hill we walked on the road that cut through vast hillocks of dust beaten rocks. And rocks. And more rocks. Never in my life, had I seen so many rocks in one place. It was, so unique. Rocks- they glistened in grim quietitude under the sun. Often, they were interrupted by scattered ruins: a half fallen dome, a suggestion of a rampart, a possible wall, a colonnade hiding in an ongoing excavation, a few disabled pillars, a temple long desecrated - from whose interior I heard the unmistakable Mancunian accent. Silently, we walked in the middle of a million structures. Among all of them, as if it was only natural there existed not a single thing which had a sense of completeness.
Not a soul was visible in any direction; an odd cow that had wandered into the road from her herd or a lazy stray dog that made a brief appearance once in a while was all we saw. Otherwise we were as old and as forgotten as the history that surrounded us. It was midday and sun slowly sucked the life drop by drop.
But we walked on, a bit slowly now. As the boulders became smaller in size, the hill tapered down and eventually opened out as a vast land looking endlessly lush with shades of green fields and trees. And through all this the road carried on further, gently curving to the left. Into more history.
We turned right onto a small dusty bridle path and found ourselves suddenly surrounded by fruit orchards and banana plantations. Overlooking them few tall coconut trees shot out into the heaven. Few women, with their heads wrapped in cotton towels, were tending to the crops while a couple of goats cheerfully gamboled about in the corner. The air became pleasantly cooler and the earth smelt fresh; just as I had suspected a narrow canal ran beside carrying olive grey water that moved in silence. The land was being irrigated. We kept on walking.
By the time I asked the guide where we were headed, it was easy enough for him to just raise his arm with his finger pointing at an angle to announce in a quick breath, as if the word was made of just one syllable - Narasimha.
And before me, in this unseemly silent banana plantation with its cool air smelling of old cheddar, had suddenly appeared a gigantic idol of Ugra-Narasimha, the fourth Avatar of Lord Vishnu!
The image was a huge monolith of a chimera - Half man and Half lion, carved in gray washed beige stone squatted and staring over your head into a distance with a pair of ferocious eyes imaginable, mouth wide open in a mid roar. A multi-headed serpent roofed lazily. It was striking. I had seen the pictures of Narasimha before, but seeing in real was breath taking. Though all of hundreds of years old, except for a broken arm, and as I learnt later a small Lakshmi along the arm, the idol looked mighty and majestic.
Ugra Narasimha, at Hampi, India.I was immediately reminded of Lion of Lucerne (Löwendenkmal) which I had visited the summer before. It was a mesmerizing monument in The city of Lucerne designed by Bertel Thorvaldsen, dedicated to the six hundred Swiss guards, who lost their lives guarding the Tuilleries and Versailles palaces and their royal inhabitants in Paris during the French revolution.
The story goes something like this: After Bastille was successfully stormed the mob headed to Versailles Palace where the King and the Queen were believed to be resident. The Palace was guarded by a thousand Swiss Guards hired by the King who did not trust his own army.
By the time the blood thirsty mob reached Versailles, the royal family had already received news of the fall of Bastille and had escaped via a secret tunnel. But the hapless Swiss Guards still under the impression of protecting the Royal family fought on a long brave battle, until finally around six hundred of them lay killed. Versailles was eventually taken and their lives went unaccounted- to no man, nation, wealth or idea. It lacked sense. It is such an irony to think of it now that the most neutral country in the world had lost six hundred of its very own men in perhaps the most mindless battle of all time. And to these six hundred brave men who laid their lives in Versailles on August 10th 1792 was dedicated the Lowendenkmal.
A huge lion carved in a niche before a pond is stabbed in the back and lies dying in dolour and deep anguish of betrayal amongst the broken sovereigns and symbols of the French royalty. The Latin reads as dedicated to the loyalty and courage of Swiss.
The Lion of Lucerne, Lowendenkmal, Lucerne Switzerland.
Back to Hampi: The story of Ugranarasimha, another lion in a sense, is more enthralling. Narasimha was the fourth incarnation of the ten avatars of Lord Vishnu who chose this unique avatar to kill the evil Hiranyakashipu. Hiranyakashipu was one of the powerful demons (asuras) wanting to avenge his brother who had also been killed by Vishnu. He had subjected himself to great penance and had gained enviable powers and favours of many gods. But his son Prahlada was a devout follower of Vishnu. This naturally upset him, and he started harassing his son. But Prahlada was firm in his devotion. He refused to accept that his father was greater than Lord Vishnu.
In one such argument, when Prahlada had claimed that Vishnu was omnipresent, Hiranykashipu had scoffed at the idea and challenged Vishnu to present himself before him if he really was present in one of the random pillars of the Palace. It is said that Vishnu, all furious at the mockery emerged from the very pillar in the great Ugra-Narasimha Avatar. Ugra means furious. And after a long battle killed Hiranyakashipu at the doorway of the palace by disemboweling him with his bare hands.
But the interesting bit is the mode of killing- which abided to all the boons Hiranyakashipu possessed - he was killed by a chimera- not entirely human, neither god, demigod nor animal. He was killed in the hour of twilight between day and night when neither sun nor the moon could be seen, and on a threshold using claws which is neither human nor inanimate. He died on the lap of Narasimha between earth and heaven.
Mark Twain it is quoted had remarked that Lion of the Lucerne was the most moving piece of stone he had ever seen. I know Twain passed through Northern India but not sure if he visited Hampi. I wondered what he would have thought if he had seen the Ugranarasimha?
Somewhere between my thoughts the guide mentioned something about vandalism and the gated enclosure protecting the idol, but I did not register much. I stood in silence unable to take my eyes off this magnificent piece of stone that had been vested with form and myth for eternity such that in spite of all the desecration, and all the negligence that extended for centuries, the idol continued to - mutely, gracefully exude great power. You see, the stone in Lucerne had become a lion, but this stone here at Hampi had become Lion and a Liongod. In world we live, there isn’t anything more, any stone can ever become.
Hindus, it is said abandon their idols if it is desecrated. They hold that, once violated the sanctity of the idols cannot be restored. So the great Liongod wasn’t being worshipped or offered prayers. I do not know if this could be called praying but I stood there before this forsaken Lord in silence, in awe, in unbelievable sense of calm with my hands clasping each other and head bowed. I do not know what it was; it just seemed like the natural thing to do.
We stepped back onto the road; the sky hovered like a huge ivory gossamer with patterns of cirrus clouds being weaved at a distant height. We sat under the shade of a nearby Jacaranda tree and ordered coconut water from the vendor beside, who as we drank, argued for about ten minutes with another customer over the quality of his coconuts.
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8 comments:
Next time around tell those gaids, i know more than you all know put together and suggest that you will gaid them...
Surely, as you say.
hip hip hurray, u got a job and soon might get a life
Thanky, Can I have yours?
too greedy u r, qualification demands more than ogling at swimsuit clad babes in beaches, sorry u r not qualified.
I loved your description of the guide! You have a very engaging writing style...
Thanks for dropping bye epiphanie.
Hi Sunil. A fascinating journey and a fascinating account of Narasimha.
I was thinking that one hardly sees any temples to this avatar of Vishnu even in North India where the festival of Holi is celebrated with so much passion. And Holi has so much to do with Prahlada, Hiranyakashipu and his sister Holika.
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