The emerald-green Agasthya Lake sparkles in the evening
light, surrounded by a glowing sandstone outcrop that was once the
capital of the Chalukya rulers. This town, which once answered to the
name of Vatapi, was built back in the 6th century. Today we know it as
Badami, and it is named after the ruddy colour of the rocky cliffs here.
It
is 4 pm on a Sunday and the sun casts its setting rays on the mouth of a
deep ravine located between two hills. The jagged outline of the
sandstone turns a deep red in the evening light as millions of tourists
make their way up the hillocks to visit and view the caves.
Chalukya
sculptors have chiselled and carved four caves on these rocks. These
rock-cut cave-temples, hewn out of sandstone, were built between the 6th
and 8th centuries and are dedicated to both Hindu and Jain deities. I
lose myself in the dark crevices of the rugged hills, which have become
virtual art galleries.
We
start our tour with the first rock-cut cave, which is more like a
pillared hall. All four caves form a similar architecture pattern – a
veranda with pillars, a columned hall, and small square-like cells cut
into the rock. This was probably one of the first caves to be built way
back in the early 6th century.
The
first cave is dedicated to Shiva and the pantheon of Gods from Ganesha
to Karthikeya, and you are greeted by reliefs and carvings on the
ceilings. A sculpture of Shiva with 18 arms in different dance poses
takes your breath away. The guide says it probably depicts an early
interpretation of Nataraja – Shiva the cosmic dancer.
Larger-than-life sculptures of
Vishnu greet you in the second cave. A busload of schoolchildren takes
over the space. They are overwhelmed by a massive sculpture of
Trivikrama, a form of Vishnu and the giant form of Vamana (the fifth of
the ten avatars of Vishnu, Vamana was a dwarf Brahmin who tamed the
megalomania and pride of Mahabali, the later-contrite demon king). You
can also see a huge carving of Varaha (the third avatar of Vishnu as a
boar that liberated Mother Earth from the tyranny of the asura
Hiranyaksha). The ceilings are dotted with sculptures as well. I stand
here, waiting for the other tourists to leave so that I can take in the
moment.
The steps cut
into the rocks take me to the grandest of all the four caves – also
dedicated to Vishnu. An inscription here dates back to the 6th century. I
feel humbled and dwarfed on beholding the bold strokes of the sculptor,
who has carved such imposing images of deities – Vishnu seated on a
coiled serpent, Harihara (a representation combining Shiva and Vishnu)
and Narasimha (the fourth avatar of Vishnu – half-human and half-lion).
The sun stokes
the blue-green waters of Agasthya Lake. I can see the Bhuthanatha
temple on one side and the Shivalaya atop the hill. The outcrop is
fortified by the Chalukyan kings while the city below is painted in a
sheet of white. I sit alone after the tourists have left the cave, and
gaze upon the town.
Finally, I am
alone in a cave – the last, and one dedicated to Jains. I can see an
unbroken view of the Agasthya Lake from the cave framed with its jagged
edges. Besides Mahavira, there are carvings of Tirthankaras, Yakshas and
Yakshis, and Bahu Bali on the walls. This cave was probably built at a
later date.
The sun comes
down, touching the cliff and lighting up some of the sculptures. I start
walking back as many tourists are still posing for photographs against
the pillared caves. The guides are loud and the monkeys are boisterous,
grabbing water bottles and bags from the hands of the tourists. Yet, in
that noisy moment, there is a certain peace that is inexplicable.
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