It is 5:00 AM on a crisp Sunday morning, I am up and about and speeding towards Shravanbelagola with Saurabh.
The 150KM eastwardly drive from Bangalore is made easy by the torrential rainfall of the previous day. Minus an occasional truck grating in a wretched low gear belching huge clouds of black smoke, the road is empty. The terrain is flat and easy give or take a lonely heap of tremendous boulders lining the horizon.
Our destination today Shravanbelagola - dozen temples built between the 7th and 15th century and the tallest freestanding monolith that John Keay in his book calls “nothing grander or more imposing exists anywhere out of Egypt and even there, no known statue surpasses it in height.”
The steep climb to the colossal of Gomateshwara on top of Vindyagiri (@t Shravanbelagola) |
Kunikal is the halfway point between Bengaluru and Shravanbelagola. Today it is just another tiny hamlet crinkling its eyes at the rising sun. A wonderful waft of a freshly started dry wood fire is in the air. We stop at a tiny restaurant, the only one open at this unearthly hour, to gobble the first batch of soft idlis laden with spicy green chutney. We wash it down with steaming tea, the heat colluding with the spice threatening to erode a few layers of sensory cells on the tongue.
A hearty morning breakfast on the way to Shravanbelagola |
We hit the road again. The temperature is starting to rise. By the time we reach Shravanbelagola, all the windows are rolled up and the AC is on full blast.
Men in filthy tattered baniyan – vest – will expertly disembowel dried coconut to serve you the most delicious Narial Cola (at Shravanbelagola |
)We head towards the entrance of the temple at the foothills of Vindyagiri hill. A prominent sign innocuously requests all visitors with breathing and heart problem, cold and headaches to get a (free) checkup/treatment at a nearby government medical facility. Chuckling at the inadvertent bureaucratic humor, we deeply hydrated ourselves with deliciously cool nariyal-pani before plunging through the doorway.
Entrance to Vindyagiri hills and the giant monolith of Gomateshwara (@Shravanbelagola, india) |
Right at the base of the hill, as is the rule here, I surrender my footwear. The rock steps are starting to heat up making me take the slope at a trot. The baring of the feet is perhaps an ancient device to to burn the ghee induced cholesterol. Any later than the time right now – 8:00 AM, I would need thick sports socks. Thankfully, I have a pair tucked in my backpack. If I did not, I could buy one in one of the many shops here selling it for an itsy-bitsy premium.
Pack a pair of socks. Footwear is not allowed on the Vindyagiri hill. |
This flight of 600 stairs has been designed by no architect. Someone stood exactly where I stand now a thousand years ago and gingerly traced the top. The two points were then connected with a line as straight as the terrain would allow. The miniscule height of each step is an exceptional optical illusion that fools everything but the muscles of the legs. The ancient stairs are climbing quickly and climbing steep. The rare landing stage covered by an ornamental arch throws a strip of a shadow so thin that I have to cool my body down in three shifts.
Then I am at the top. From here, the vista is breathtaking. An emerald green lake monopolizes the view. Yonder, the 1500 year old ruins atop Chandragiri thrusts themselves up into the sky. We walk past the Odegalla Basti and a flat sheet of a rock that is punctuated by slabs of thick glass. The frames are an imaginative solution for preserving some of the 800 inscription found on this site.
Innovative way of preserving the inscriptions cut into the bedrock |
We cross cobbled courtyards, turn graffiti covered corners, climb astonishingly old steps, duck through lovingly carved doorways until Gomateshwara explodes into view.
We find a cool spot in the shadow, lean against a pillar and take in the view. There is a buzz in the air. A sea of colorful sarees are industriously moving around carrying apparatus of veneration – brass plates with tiny lamps, burning incense sticks, coconut, mercuric vermillion and bright yellow turmeric, and fresh jasmine flowers on a string. Kids, sensing distracted parents, have divided them selves into two teams. One is using the dark niches of the temples as bandit’s lair while the other is chasing them down meting out pretend justice. A Caucasian couple points a long telephoto lens at the ubiquitous intricate stonework. A family blocks a corner in the courtyard and are unwrapping a delicious home cooked lunch.
The eyes wander back to the raison d'etre of this mêlée . The statue is enormous and at 57 feet, clears the enclosure walls. The eyes are open and have a detached look. The lips curl up a tinge depicting calm and satisfaction. An overgrown anthill at the foot signifies intense incessant penance. The characteristic long hands dangle around the mid thigh. The overall piety of the situation makes the nudity trivial.
Yet the statue lacks the apparent contemporary context in the colossi of Ramses at Abu Simbel or the pure marble poetry in Michelangelo’s David at Florence. This work of 982 CE is a consecration, not art, I remind myself.
The Gomateshwara colossal (@t Shravanbelagola) |
The inscription near the left foot of Gomateshwara is the oldest known inscription in Marathi. I swell with pride as I painstakingly convert the ancient cursive into “Sri Chaavundraaje Karviyale” (commissioned by King Chavunda). The text is repeated in Kannada and Tamil. If the devanagri script had been lost in the dust of time, as was hieroglyphics, this would have been the Rosetta stone!
The oldest known written Marathi sentence at the foot of the colossal of Gomateshwara |
The sun is overhead now, and shadows have become sparse. We duck into the cool pillared hall dwarfed by the statue and circumambulate it watching the images of the tirthankaras.
At length, we stop at the head of the stairs to gulp down a bottle of cold water
before committing our bare feet to the stone on fire. I don’t think I have ever run this fast down a slope this steep.
View of Chandragiri from the top of Vindagiri |
We eat a monastic yet sumptuous Jain lunch and fight the temptation to find a cool corner catch a shuteye.
We climb Chandragiri to catch sight of a clutch of ruins scattered like the goodies spilling out of a tripped thief’s bag. Beautiful temples built over the past 2000 years co-exit peacefully. The myth of Chandragupta Basadi rumored to be built before CE is dispelled by the priest who points out structural elements that puts the temple construction more realistically in the 12th century. Although, he confirms that Chandragupta definitely retired here in the autumn of his life.
As always is the case, the journey back seems shorter and quicker. Shravanbelagola is definitely my top three historic/religious day trips from Bangalore.
I mean how many places so down South in India can lay claim to a “Emperor Chandragupta Maurya was here” signage?
