Of Temples and Tombs…
Bijapur, Badami, Aihole, North Karnataka, India
I must have been an historian in my previous birth. I just love the timelessness of old monuments…the way some of them have been there for centuries, mute witnesses to all that has happened since. Wandering through old dilapidated temples, tombs of sultans and long forgotten palaces is almost like traveling back in time. The serene peaceful atmosphere is akin to a tonic for the tired body and soul. At the end of such a trip, the limbs are tired but the spirit stands rejuvenated. What more can a stressed out metro junkie wish for?
When the bus arrives in Bagalkot early next morning, it is still dark and there’s a bit of a drizzle outside. I have to catch a bus to Badami, 1 hour away. Badami is going to be my base for this trip. There are hardly any places to stay in Aihole and Pattadkal. I ask around for the bus and am bestowed with looks to suggest that I am an alien trespassing into someone else’s territory. I was to get this feeling over and over again in the course of the next two days. After a journey through freshly harvested maize fields, I reached Badami around 8 in the morning. I checked into KSTDC’s Mayura Chalukya, recommended by a lot of people who’ve been here. And they are right – the place is cheap and has clean functional rooms. The staff is courteous and they can help you with all the information you need.
The plan was to go to Pattadkal (around 22 kilometers away) first followed by Aihole (14 kilometers further) and then come back to spend the night in Badami. The next day I planned to move around Badami and, hopefully, spend a few hours in the medieval Adil Shahi capital city of Bijapur (around 3 hours away) before heading back to Hyderabad.
The connectivity to these places is very poor. The only way to get to Pattadkal is to take a crowded mini bus. After spending almost 40 minutes in the bus sitting with grinning bemused villagers, I reach there. Pattadkal is one of the two world heritage sites in Karnataka, the other being Hampi. For a world heritage site, the approach road to the temple complex is in a shockingly sad state. It’s more of a mud track than a road. Also even though it’s a Sunday, there are very few visitors, save a group of noisy kids accompanied by their exasperated mothers. The temple complex though, is quite well maintained with well laid out gardens all around.
Pattadkal, perhaps one of the greatest ever experiments in the history of Indian temple architecture, is an art historian’s delight. It is basically a collection of nine temples, four of which are in the south Indian Dravidian style, four in the Nagara style of north India and the last one, the Papanatha temple represents a coming together of the two styles. Pattadkal was the second capital of the Chalukyas and it is where the kings were crowned. All the temples date to between the 7th and 8th centuries AD and are located on the banks of the scenic Malaprabha river. The entry fee is Rs 10 for Indians and $5 for foreigners, an exorbitant amount by any standards. This discrimination against foreigners is something that is beyond my comprehension. I have seen this at a lot of the monuments and I really find it demeaning. No way to treat someone who comes in from far to know a bit more about your culture. Not only does it make poor business sense (I didn’t see any foreigners while I was there) but it also adds a blemish to the nation’s name. It is high time that the management sees reason and rationalizes the fee structure. However one good thing that the government has done is to put up placards beside each temple mentioning its year of construction and architectural features. This is very useful for someone who is interested in knowing a bit more than what is usually available from other sources.
I sit on the steps of the Virupaksha temple, the largest one in the group, and watch the river flow by. The children pose beside the 7 foot high Nandi while one of the ladies takes snaps. They try to place one of the kids on the Nandi’s back. After several unsuccessful attempts, the kids resign themselves to holding the ears of the Nandi. The place is frequented by monkeys, who can get aggressive if they smell food. I was told this beforehand but one of the groups that just entered the temple compound had a tough time warding off the monkeys. There are no facilities here except a few tea stalls and coconut sellers and so the visitors have to carry their own stuff. I loiter around for some time before deciding to move on.
My next destination Aihole is even further removed from civilization and getting there is an ordeal in itself. First the way it is pronounced. Every time I ask somebody about Aihole (as in ‘hole’), I draw a blank. The right way to pronounce it is ‘Aivalli’, something that I realize much later. Having got around that, finding a transport to the place is next on the cards. I ask around (with an improved pronunciation) and am told that there are no vehicles that go there, except a state bus which will arrive 2 hours later and consequently leave me with little time to explore the place. But lady luck ruled in my favor and soon I spotted a carrier auto going that way. What followed was an adventure ride for the next half an hour. The auto guy drove as if there was no tomorrow and with half my posterior hanging out of the driver’s seat, it was not something one looks forward to. The view, though, is very nice. The auto moves through undulating landscape weaving through maize and sunflower fields. One of the guys sitting behind has his cap blown over and we wait for full 5 minutes, as he runs back to retrieve it. Villagers sitting at the back smoke cheroot and talk in a language, which has a fair sprinkling of Marathi words. Every time someone gets down, there’s a haggle over the fare. The auto driver invariably prevails. I have a feeling that the villagers already know that this would happen. It is as if the haggling is just a part of the whole process.
I reach Aihole around noon. The sun is blazing hot and there is no shelter in sight. Aihole is just a very small village on the banks of the Malaprabha and there are little facilities available. I have enough foresight to carry plenty of water and fruits with me. Aihole was the first capital of the early Chalukyas and is a veritable treasure trove of ancient temples. Actually quite similar to Hampi, only much more ancient and much less publicized. There are more than a 100 temples in the village dating from the 6th to the 12th centuries. Of these around 30 temples are within an enclosed area and the others are spread all over the village.
The most famous of the temples is the photogenic Durga temple within the enclosed complex, lying in the midst of lush green lawns. The temple is apsidal in plan, topped by a curvilinear shikhara. A pillared corridor runs around the temple. The pillars are beautifully carved with sculptures depicting incidents from the Ramayana. Another notable temple is the Lad Khan temple, also within the compound. The temple has beautifully carved pillars and is named after a Muslim saint who lived here sometime in the late 19th century. There are several other smaller shrines and a small museum within the same complex.
Next, I venture into the village to discover the other temples. One of them is the rock cut Ravanphadi temple. A beautiful sculpture of the dancing Shiva is on the left wall. Moving ahead, on the slopes of a low hill is the Mekuti Jain temple built on a raised platform. A flight of steps directly above it leads to a Buddhist shrine on the hilltop. This is a really quiet place offering a fabulous 360-degree view of the whole village with the beautiful Malaprabha flowing by at a distance. The women folk are mostly busy carrying water home from the ponds and the men are out in the fields. After spending some time there savoring the cool breeze and the perfect picture postcard view, I come down to the village bus stop to take the bus back to Badami. After waiting for almost half an hour, I spot the same carrier auto going back to Badami, only that this time it is loaded with sacks of onions. As the auto speeds on the seriously bad roads, towards Badami, the setting sun spreads a very agreeable orange hue all around. I have a feeling that it has been a day well spent, not counting the hot sun and the freakish auto rides.
The locals go on with their morning rituals and I’m rewarded with the same are-you-an-alien stares as I pass by. Unlike a lot of other places, these temple towns have still not been able to assimilate tourism into the fabric of their ecosystems. They are yet to wake up to an entire opportunity that is just waiting to be tapped. Contrast this with, say, Hampi, where the entire village caters to tourists in some form or the other. There you have more Israeli and Japanese restaurants than decent Indian ones. Most locals rent out rooms for the night and there are hordes of people who are willing to show you around, for a fee, of course. Here you’ll be lucky to find a decent south Indian meal, there are few government appointed guides and the approach roads are badly littered and in serious need of repair. If you don’t know the local language, it can get a bit difficult at times.
When I reach the caves, it is still quite early and as expected there is no one around. Fortunately the man in charge of the ticket counter allows me to see the caves, though I suspect, it is still much before the official opening time for the caves. Badami has a set of four elaborately carved cave temples and one natural Buddhist temple. The caves are located half way up a low hill and can be approached by stairs. I find the third cave quite interesting with its almost 3-metre high sculptures. Between the second and the third caves, there are stairs that go up to the top of the hill where there are some fortifications from the Chalukyan era. I was keen on going there but these days the government keeps the gates closed. The caves overlook the ancient Agatsyateerth pond, built sometime in the 5th century. I descend down to the lake and make my way to the other side to an area called the North Fort.
Just behind the archaeological museum, there is a long stairway that leads to the fortification on the top of the hill. Most people who come to Badami don’t venture this way, but if you ask me, this is the best thing about the place. I climb the rocky uneven steps with huge towering cliffs on both sides of the way. It is quite dark and cool out here. From the top of the cliffs, whole families of monkeys look down upon me with suspicion. There must be tens of them up there and this feeling of somebody watching your every move, even if it happens to be a harmless monkey, can get quite unnerving at times. Add to that the stark gloomy cliffs on both sides, the sound of gravel being crushed under your shoes, an occasional garden lizard and the damp rocky surface and it soon reminds you of a cheap horror flick you saw sometime back on the telly. After walking, for what seemed like ages, I reach the cliff top. The view from there justifies the effort. The whole valley is bathed in a soft glow. The pond shimmers in the glory of the early morning sun, reflecting the cliffs on the other side. A perfect Kodak moment. There are a couple of Chalukyan temples on the top covered with intricate carvings. I spend some time there before coming down to the lake front. On the northern side of the pond, is a group of Shiva temples called the Bhoothnath temples, which are also worth exploring. Soon I head back to the hotel, have a lavish breakfast and proceed to catch a bus to Bijapur.
The first monument I go to is called the Barah Kaman, literally meaning ‘twelve arches’. Situated near the bus stand, it is the unfinished tomb of Ali Adil Shah. Ali Adil Shah inherited a troubled kingdom. He had to face the mighty Aurangzeb at one end and the Marathas at the other end. Due to his untimely death, in one of these battles, the mausoleum was left unfinished. The twelve half finished arches stand on a raised platform and are quite majestic. If completed, it would have easily dwarfed everything else in Bijapur.
Next I proceed to the most written about monument of Bijapur, the Gol Gumbaz. This tomb of Mohammad Adil Shah is an astounding feet of engineering. The dome of the monument is considered to be the second largest in the world after St Peter’s Cathedral in Rome. I had read this over and over again but it does not sink in, until you see it from inside. It is almost like an overgrown mushroom. After the intricate carvings of the temples, Gol Gumbaz is a study in contrast. The architects certainly did not have aesthetics in mind when they designed this. The monument is meant to strike awe, plain and simple. On the four sides of the tomb are seven storied minarets with the huge bulbous dome in the center. The most talked about feature of Gol Gumbaz is the ‘Whispering Gallery’. This is a gallery that runs around the interior of the dome. It is so called because a small whisper made in this gallery can be heard about seven times and is amplified several times over. Only thing is if you want to check it out for yourself, you have to go there really early before the rush of noisy children takes over.
The Gol Gumbaz complex also houses a small mosque and a museum displaying artifacts from the Adil Shahi period. There are well-maintained gardens around the mausoleum, frequented by families, adolescent lovers and tourists – an escape from the dust and heat of the town. I wander around the garden, looking for vantage spots to take some snaps when I spot a group of sadhus sitting on the grass. They ask me to take a photograph of theirs and I could see no reason to refuse. After I take the photograph, we get talking. The leader of the group, Gulab Nath, is a youngish man in his late twenties. Others are much older. Gulab Nath shows me the photographs of their recent trip to the Kumbh at Nasik and points out various renowned sadhus whom he hob knobs with. This is followed by photographs with an assorted group of political leaders, police commissioners and several other high fliers, whom he claims to have contacts with. All this while he keeps referring to himself as ‘Baba’ as in: “This is all Baba’s mahima.” and “Baba does not have money, but what he has are these divine powers.”
Initially I thought he was referring to someone else in the group. Only later did I realize that he was talking about himself. He then shows me a fat folder full of appreciation letters from political big wigs. I read one of them and it talks about the extraordinary magical powers of ‘Baba’. I sense what is coming and I try to excuse myself but they are insistent that I sit down and accept something from them in return for taking their snap. ‘Baba’ gives me a rudraksh bead and tells me that it’ll protect me from all misfortunes. He talks a bit more of his powers and then all of a sudden asks for a daan, of course, as much as I want to give. On hearing this, I tell them I don’t have any money on me and make a hurried exit.
My next stop was the monument I was most keen to see, the Ibrahim Rouza. Situated a little outside the town, Ibrahim Rouza is the tomb of the mid 17th century sultan, Ibrahim Adil Shah. The entrance to the tomb complex is beside a foul smelling garbage dump frequented by pigs. Don’t let that deter you. Ibrahim Rouza is arguably the finest monument in the whole of Bijapur. Some historians have compared the perfect symmetry and the beauty of the tomb with the Taj. My memories of Taj are not very fresh but Ibrahim Rouza is certainly worth a dekko. Surely one thing that scores in its favor is that unlike the Taj, it is not at all touristy. Even those who do come to Bijapur flock to the Gol Gumbaz and more often than not, give this a miss. Perfect recipe for spending some quiet moments exploring the beauty of this monument.
Besides the tomb, the complex also houses a very beautiful mosque, facing the tomb, with elaborate fountains in the between the two. Both the mosque and the tomb are on a raised platform. There is a arched pathway that runs around the mosque and the tomb, below the raised platform. There are plenty of small details about Ibrahim Roza that are not so evident to a casual visitor. To really appreciate the beauty of the place, one should hire an experienced guide (some of them sit at the entrance to the compound). As the guide takes us around the monument, he tells us about several interesting tidbits that no guidebook talks about. Some of them might sound exaggerated but invariably all of them are very interesting. For instance – the guide claims that the fountains were fed by a water body called ‘Begum Kary’ or something similar more than 7 kilometers away. Another amazing feature of the complex is that a small whisper made near the mehraab of the mosque can be heard inside the tomb, more than 50 metres away. This was to ensure that the namaaz read in the mosque could carry to the buried sultan.
The tomb itself consists of a bewildering mass of carving done with fantastic profusions of inscriptions, flowers and foliations on the whole exterior making the whole composition an enrapturing feast to the eye of an art-lover. The external surface of the walls is beautifully decorated with delicate, shallow interlaced writing quoting extracts from the Quran. There are beautiful arched windows just above the door on all the four sides, allowing the outside light to filter in. In the inner chamber are graves of Ibrahim Adil Shah, his queen Taj Sultana, his daughter, two sons and Haji Badi Sahiba his mother. Beautiful minarets rise from the terrace at each corner of the building to a height of 80 feet above the ground. The tomb is indeed an imposing sight.
The guide continues with his stock of astonishing features of the tomb. As we are walking in the pathway below the tomb, he shows us an arch that leads to somewhere inside. He claims that this is the way to the Gol Gumbaz, more than 6 kilometers away. It is a maze of crisscrossing paths and those who have tried to find their way through have not come back. Consequently the government has restricted entry to this part of the monument. It is pitch dark here with light coming in at the end of the pathway, a considerable distance away. I am glad I have people for company. Venturing in this part of the monument, with its dark alleys, mysterious looking arches and bats hanging from the walls can add a really eerie touch to the whole place. When we emerge out into the open, the elderly group with me releases a collective sigh of relief.
A wall, several feet in thickness, encloses the gardens around the tomb. I walk on the top of the walls admiring the beauty of the whole place. There are a few families sitting on the lawns, enjoying the late afternoon sun. Kids chase each other on the raised platform. A few love struck couples sit in the corners savoring each other’s companionship. Every now and then, there’s a group of youngsters who come to see the tomb, click a few snaps and then leave. As the soft call of the muezzin emanates from a nearby mosque beckoning all the believers for the evening namaaz, I experience an indescribable calm. There are plenty of other sights in Bijapur, but I find it hard to leave this place. I want to take some shots of the tomb with the setting sun as a background but the tomb has to be closed for the day. I try to reason with the caretaker to let me stay a bit longer but he does not budge. With reluctant steps, I come out and take an auto to the bus stand.
