Lepakshi

Me: I’m off to Lepakshi tomorrow morning, dad.

Dad: Where’s that? What does it have?

Me: It’s in Andhra Pradesh but very close to Bangalore. It’s a temple town - there’s a Shiva temple and a huge Nandi statue.

Dad: Hah!

The tone of the “hah” said it all - incredulous. Probably brought back memories of when I’d fought with him to not go to temples. An acquaintance used the same tone when she bumped into me at the temple:”what are YOU doing here?” I too had asked myself this question before I left Bangalore - will I really enjoy a temple visit?

Luckily, I have parents who never forced me to be ritualistic or pious; they let me be. On the rare occasion that they did force me to go on a ‘family pilgrimage’, I was thoroughly annoyed by all the din, people paying to get ‘special darshans’ & ‘special blessings’ and the expectation to wear my piety on my sleeve or what I call PDP: public display of piety. “Fold your hands” mom would say. “Smear the chandan and the kumkum and the vibhuti” grandma would say. “No jeans” everybody would say. “Prostrate…no, no, not like that; do it like this!” “Wear flowers in your hair.” “You are not looking devoted enough.” “When they open the sanctum door, you should crane your neck for the darshan; don’t stand there looking uninterested”. “When they ring the bells, call out to the lord….louder!” “Have tears in your eyes at the idol’s sight.” “Elbow everybody and get your prasad.” “You don’t remember your gotra??? How can you get his blessings?”

At places of worship, I always struggled to find quiet corners which could let me sit and enjoy some tranquility, and appreciate the beauty of the architecture. I decided that it was time I cast aside my self-imposed ban and went back to temples sans restrictions, to see if I could enjoy all the things I admire -architecture, paintings, tales & lore, the finesse of the sculptures and people-watching. A friend had suggested Lepakshi; I think I couldn't have chosen better.

When Sita was abducted by Ravana, the mythical bird Jatayu is said to have fought Ravana right here, over the ground where the temple is built. Ravana cut off its wing and Jatayu lay here, injured. When Rama found Jatayu, he said “le, pakshi” (rise, bird) and the bird rose. Hence the name Lepakshi.

To understand the history and lore of the temple, I hired a guide who explained everything, beginning with how the temple actually has 7 layers in its design. The outer layers of the temple complex are apparently now occupied by people who have set up shops and houses within the colonnaded pavilions. So, houses of the poor may have up to 10 columns within them while larger houses supposedly have up to 200 columns! The temple complex currently occupies about 5 acres of land. A tortoise-shaped rocky hill is where it all began. It is presumed that a small shrine installed by sage Agastya already existed here when Achyutaraya (Achyuta Devaraya), the ruler of the Vijaynagara Empire, came upon it in the 16^th Century. This temple was planned and begun by Virupanna, Achyutaraya’s trusted treasurer, in 1530 AD. He was assisted by his brother Veeranna. It was built in the Vijayanagara style of architecture, using brown and grey granite. The temple construction continued till 1542 AD, when a few enemies of Virupanna complained to the king that the treasury funds were being embezzled by him. 

The temple is today known as the Veerabhadraswamy temple: Veerabhadra being the wrathful form of Shiva. This is said to be the spot Shiva threw a clump of his hair on, when he found that his beloved Dakshayani had died, insulted by her father. She was re-born as Parvati and married Shiva once more. Besides Veerabhadra, there are shrines dedicated to Lord Shiva and Vishnu too. There is a pavilion connecting all the three shrines and a hall for ritual dance (Natya mantapa) as you enter the temple. 

Wandering in the Natya mantapa, I tore my eyes away from the life-size sculptures to look up, only to have lovely paintings vie for my attention. These paintings have been coloured using vegetable and natural dyes. For the next hour, I was the fool in the temple, walking with my head turned upwards, bumping into columns and people, all while muttering to myself about how beautiful these paintings were. But, people were strangely indulgent of me. This is also when I almost trampled my guide, who was seated near a column for some rest. Had he not said “That’s Rambha” in time, I would have stepped over him. Instead, I hired him to guide me around the temple.

I turned my aching neck downwards to focus on the statue he was pointing to - Rambha, the apsara, the celestial nymph, dancing as the gods watched. Rambha mimicked her three-legged dance teacher, also sculpted there, and both statues were in the exact same pose. The gods arrived to watch the spectacle and play an instrument or two. I looked back upwards to admire more paintings - Parvati grooming herself and peering into a mirror; Baby Krishna, with his eye following you all around; Ravana with his Shivalinga, and many more such mythological tales. Looking down once more, I was stunned to see the ‘hanging column’, a column which does not touch the floor. Apparently, the British were equally stunned and tried to find out how the column stood. In doing so, they moved it slightly. That led to many other columns and beams around re-aligning themselves. Scared that the temple would collapse, they let it be and there were no further investigations. It was obvious to them that this was a very crucial column, probably one of the main supports. 

When you go inside the main sanctum and circumambulate, definitely walk into the smaller chambers that you see and turn your eyes to the ceiling. It has beautiful paintings - all worn out, though. The main sanctum itself has a large, splendidly-painted ceiling which is unfortunately faded and sooty. But, I am happy that it has been left as is and not been subjected to shoddy re-painting under the guise of ‘restoration’. At least I can spot glimpses of the original craftsmanship, which has no parity.

The afternoon sun did not dampen my enthusiasm to walk around the complex. Luckily, the monsoons made it a warm but bearably hot day. Visitors seeking shade rested in the cool and shaded dance hall, oblivious to the heat outside. I walked on to find a large footprint in my path, filled with water and having turned a little green from the algae. I was told that this is Seeta’s footprint and a perennial source of water, considered holy. As if on cue, devotees appeared and cupped some water with their hands, drinking it, and then sprinkling a little over their heads. A couple of steps ahead, there were curious circles scooped into the rock. “A colour palette?” I asked. My guide nodded negatively and said that it was a thali (a plate with multiple bowls), where workmen sat for lunch, and food was served in the various ‘bowls’. “Wasn’t it too large to be a thali?” “Not really,” said my guide “considering the fact that humans then were gigantic, almost 7 to 8 feet tall.” I wondered whether to believe that but then, decided to; don’t things like these make for the fun, fantasy-filled stories I love?

I had more such stories in store for me. As we approached the Nagalinga where a Shivalinga sits shielded by a coiled, seven-headed snake, my guide told me how it was built. During lunch break, a group of brothers waited outside the kitchen at this spot, as their mother hurried to cook their meal. Not wanting to waste their time waiting, they built this in the 30 minutes that it took their mother to prepare the food. When she came out to call them, she was surprised to see the Nagalinga, and the power of surprise from her vision (also called nazar) was so strong that the sculpture cracked in two places.

Lepakshi, it seems, was quite the cradle of arts and crafts in the region. Various repetitive motifs in the paintings were pointed out to me; they are reproduced on fabrics till today (bed-covers, mostly) and known as Lepakshi prints. In the Lata mantapa or the hall of creepers, each of the 42 columns is embellished with a unique creeper design on every face. These are popular as ‘border’ designs, apparently a favourite with Kancheepuram saree makers even today.

As I stood in the Kalyana mantapa, I marvelled at what my guide called ‘special effects’: two monkeys that would also seem like four. And, a three-headed cow, which, depending on the head you focused on, looked like it was standing, grazing or licking itself. My guide then pointed out to two reddish smear marks on a stone wall nearby. He went on to tell me that this was the blood from Virupanna’s eyes, when he threw them here. “And why would he do such a thing?” I asked, aghast. Apparently, when the king received the embezzlement complaint, he ordered that Virupanna’s eyes be gouged out and he be blinded, as was the customary punishment those days. When the loyal Virupanna heard this, he decided to carry out the task himself. And, the Kalyana mantapa remained unfinished. It was the last part to be built in the temple complex.

I gazed at the ornate columns of this Kalyana Mantapa, built at the spot where Shiva and Parvati were said to have married, many yugas ago. The sculptures of all the guests, the bride and the groom are exquisite. Had it been completed, it might have had a roof; maybe, with vibrant paintings as well. Or domes, maybe? One can only speculate. Today, I had a brilliant blue sky with dramatic clouds for a roof, and that worked fine as well.

I stopped at the Nandi on my way out of Lepakshi. It is India’s largest Nandi carved out of monolithic granite. The second largest is at Tanjore’s Brihadeeshwara temple and the third largest is at Chamundi Hills, in Mysore. The Nandi is in the middle of a garden which is a favourite with locals as well. There’s never a free moment and quite a challenge to photograph the bull without people or with the subjects you want. It’s a beautiful piece of work - with lovely doe-eyes, a benevolent countenance and a hint of a smile. Admiration-worthy are the neck and ear ornaments and the saddle on the back. I left Lepakshi just as the sun hinted at setting, happy with my day.

And, what do you know - ’temple-going’ seems to have changed since my last visit, quite a few years ago. People now walked in with families like they were on a picnic, munchies in tow. Mandatory prayers offered, it was time for photo sessions. Each member of the family dutifully posed next to the gods to have their picture taken. Children were told to pray and hold the pose. Larger statues outside the main sanctum had both adults and kids clambering over them, smiling for the camera. A large family surrounded the Naga linga and wanted me to click their group photo as they smiled away, a kid even casually draping his hand around the Naga. Of course, all this is done with due reverence, after the customary removal of footwear. I thought of the days when gods were ‘above all’ and nobody would dare go near an idol, much less put an arm around them. I smiled at the ‘Facebook-isation’ of temple visits and wondered how many people were going to change their profile picture the next day. 

For information about my trip & tips, read this:

http://nomadandabag-guides.blogspot.com/2013/01/lepakshi-information-tips.html