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Here, on stone, a whole
sophisticated civilisation is laid bare as if hidden cameras had
caught it all. It is an unblushing visual analysis of an entire age
In European terms they lived in
the period which produced the beautiful but stiff and formal Bayeux
tapestry and two-dimensional Byzantine art. And yet these Indian
carvings of that perion are so life-like, so fluid and real and
relevant to us that we titter and smirk when we see them caught in
acts which make us feel like Peeping Toms. Our occasional
embarassment is the hallmark of the timeless magic of Khajuraho.
We had driven in from Khajuraho’s
small airport, down an avenue of green-gold trees, to a hamlet that
seems to have grown haphazardly around its ancient monuments. Hotels,
restaurants and shops gave way to open spaces straggling into
villages where potters worked in the sun, farmers tilled their
fields, women carried glinting brass pitchers on their heads and slow
cattle plodded down the rural roads.
Khajuraho was once the great
bustling capital of the aggressive kingdom of the Chandelas, the
Moon Dynasty. And the legend of the origins of that dynasty could be
sung as a full-throated opera full of mystery, seduction, tragedy and
final triumph.
We intended to probe a little
deeper to seek an answer to the enigma of Khajuraho. We decided that
the following day, we’ll walk around the old temples again and
try to discern the minds and motivations of the great men who created
them.
Khajuraho looked particularly
challenging in daylight. The beautiful old Lakshmana Temple stood on
its high platform towering over excellently manicured lawns,
brightened by vivid patches of bougainvillea. Tourists drifted
around, some in groups shepherded by their guides, some peering
earnestly into their do-it-yourself guidebooks, a few couples using a
holiday in Khajuraho to ease their rites of passage into married
life.
We do not, however, believe that
the erotic sculptures that decorate some of the temples were intended
as a sort of permanent manual on sex. Nor do we share the sophistry
of some scholars. They claim that the sculptures were carved on the
outer walls of the temples to drive home the lesson that humans had
to rise above the ‘low’ cravings of the flesh to more
renunciatory and spiritual heights. All these explanations are the
result of a more recent mindset that tends to the hypocritical
attitude that our procreative urge is a shameful activity. The
Chandellas had a far more open and forthright approach to the joys of
living. In fact, according to the Chandelas themselves, their
dynasty started as a result of a divine seduction!
Once, a mythical time ago,
Hemavati, the beautiful daughter of a priest, was seen bathing in a
moonlit lake by Chandrama, the moon. The bright immortal descended on
earth and ensnared her. But when dawn came and Chandrama had to
depart, he promised the distraught Hemavati that the son born of
their union would be a great king and possess the Philosopher’s
Stone which would turn base metals into gold. He also assured her
that their son would also establish a powerful dynasty.
All that he had promised came
true. Their son, Chandravarman was born, and at the age of 16, he
slew both a tiger and a lion with a stone. He then founded the great
Chandela dynasty which ruled this area for more than a hundred
years.
That is the legend and there are
many who believe it. Historians and archaeologists, however, contend
that the Chandelas were local feudatory chiefs who, in about 940 AD,
grew so powerful that they established themselves as independent
rulers under Yasovarman who is also known as Lakshvarman.
Lakshvarman celebrated his
self-acquired kingship in the way that many rulers have done before
him all over the world he built a mighty shrine and thus started the
great era of temple-building in Khajuraho.
Lakshvarman’s temple is
today a fas cinating archaeological monument as indeed all the others
are. According to the Archaeological Survey of India’s excellent
booklet Khajuraho, Lakshvar-man’s temple has been identified as
the present Lakshmana Temple. It is the first temple after the ticket
booth as one enters the fenced-in grounds of ten of the twelve
temples of the ‘western group’. There is also an ‘eastern
group’ and a ‘southern group’. In fact, most visitors
would classify many of the 21 significant monuments of Khajuraho as
shrines.
Why do most of the temples have
no encircling walls around them? Perimeter walls seem to be an
integral part of the architecture of most religious places over the
world. Why are the temples of Khajuraho different? They stand on
plinths raised above the landscape, proudly proclaiming their
presence as if they had nothing to fear from iconoclasts, vandals and
marauders. This is probably the reason why they are not walled: they
had nothing to fear. A dynasty whose legendary valour and martial
prowess were expressed in the slaying of the tiger and lion story
would not permit outsiders to despoil their temples. The temples
stand proud, like triumphant standards, proclaiming to all the
countryside, “We need no walls when we have the might of the
affluent Chandellas.”
We have also wondered whether the
whole area on which the town of Khajuraho now spreads was a large and
reedy lake. Temples could then have been on little islands rising out
of this marsh. The water provided all the protection the shrines
needed. Walls would have been quite superfluous. This would also
account for the fact that virtually no secular monuments have been
unearthed in this area, which gives the lie to the theory that this
was once the capital of the great Chandella kingdom. It was a revered
temple town, and nothing more.
As convincing as our theory seems
to us, it is still only speculation. In contrast, there is no doubt
about the fact that the Chandellas were prosperous. An affluent
lifestyle with an emphasis on well-being and material enjoyment could
also explain the explicit carvings on the walls of the temples.
Horses prance in battle; armed warriors march in grim and serried
ranks to distant fields of war; kings sit enthroned surrounded by
their ministers; ascetics pray; and dancers swirl in frenzy, their
bodies caught in freeze-frames of movement. The sculptors peer into
the boudoir and bedroom. Women are caught gazing at themselves in
mirrors, draping saris, writing love letters. Nothing remains secret.
No act of affection, love, passion escapes the sharp eyes and chisels
of those ancient sculptors. Here, on stone, a whole sophisticated
civilisation is laid bare as if hidden cameras had caught it all. It
is an unblushing visual analysis of an entire age.
As the Chandela’s power and
self- confidence burgeoned, so did their sculpted monuments. And
their loftiest, most elaborate and grandest monument is the 30.5
meter high Kendaraya Mahadeva dating 1025-50 to the reign of the
great Vidyadhara. This temple places Lord Shiva visually in the
towering peaks of the Himalayas. Another remarkable feature of the
carvings on this temple is that the women depicted here are slimmer,
more sophisticated than those carved on the other shrines.
Most of the carvings show scenes
from everyday life between 940 and the first half of the twelfth
century. In European terms they lived in the period which produced
the beautiful but stiff and formal Bayeux tapestry and
two-dimensional Byzantine art. And yet these Indian carvings of that
perion are so life-like, so fluid and real and relevant to us that we
titter and smirk when we see them caught in acts which make us feel
like Peeping Toms. Our occasional embarass-ment is the hallmark of
the timeless magic of Khajuraho.
Sunset is the time to visit two
temples of the ‘southern group’: the Duladeo and
Chaturbhuja. The Duladeo is, according to the Archaeological Survey
of India: “the latest temple of Khajuraho”. Though at first
glance the carvings on this Shiva temple seemed to be as good as in
any temple of the ‘western group’, a closer examination
revealed that the skills of the artisans had declined when work
started in this temple. There is a certain careless fluidity about
these figures as well as a lack of depth.
The figures in the Chaturbhuja
too re veal a subtle change in the attitudes of the people of
Khajuraho. The temple stands looking out over the ancient fields,
unadorned by any sculptures of lissom, loving couples. By AD 110, the
joyous, uninhibited period of Khajuraho had given way to a more
paternalistic, austere age. Chaturbhuja’s so-called
Dakshinamurti, the southern facing image, faces west. A local guide
told us that this single image held the crown of Shiva, the face of
Buddha, the body of Vishnu and the stance of Krishna. If this is
true, then this serene idol integrates many faiths.
Though most of the temples of
Khajuraho are dedicated to Hindu gods and goddesses, there are three
temples in the ‘eastern group’ which belong to the Jaina
faith. Here, clearly, the followers of this non-theistic faith seem
to have been influenced by the Hindu temples. The Parsvanatha temple,
for example, resembles the Lakshmana temple in many ways. It has a
predominance of Vaishnava themes normally associated with the
Preserver of the Hindu Trinity. There are Parasurama, Balarama with
Revati and a group of Rama, Sita and Hanuman.
For a while, the creators of the
Jaina temples had tried to capture the vitality of the Hindu shrines
but the exhilarating era of the great Chandelas had ended.
Mediocrity and oblivion lay ahead. But if you plan your trip around
the first half of March, you will become a part of a recreation of
that era in the evenings. During the day, you could take a trip to
the grotto where the Pandav Falls descend and an old mendicant lives,
tending little forest shrines. Alternatively, travel 21 kilometres
out of town to see Raneh Falls. The first view is from a sort of
gazebo built on a knoll. And the view is dramatic. We looked down a
mass, a single mass of cracked and weathered rock. The rock had been
carved into a number of channels. The green river gushed through
these in spray-spouting waterfalls, in rapids and into green pools
deceptively still as sheets of jade. And then, it tumbled down in
roaring, foaming, white. But the main falls were still obscured.
We climbed back into our car and
drove for a short distance. From here, we picked our way down a
well-maintained cement path and tastefully landscaped slopes though,
happily, much of it had been left to the natural wilderness. At the
end of the path was a railed terrace. Now we saw the falls.
The Ken river rushed through a
gorge of dusty-red sandstone with huge intrusions of black granite.
It was as if cracked ice had become red and black and petrified.
There were no loose boulders, no scree, not even water-rounded rocks.
It was either the river roaring down for 30 metres; or gleaming green
stretches of seemingly still pools; or muscled eddies streaked with
white foam.
The nights, however, must be
reserved for the Khajuraho Classical Dance Festival: the most
prestigious in India. The very best artistes in the country perform
against the backdrop of the floodlit temples. And in the parallel
Folk Dance Festival, teams from all over India stage their varied art
forms in a revival and cross-fertilisation of cultural strains that
is the essence of the living mosaic of this land.
The audiences in this parallel
festival stamp and cheer and uninhibitedly applaud the dances they
like.
That is exactly what their
ancestors must have done when the Chandellas ruled the heart of old
India.
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