Linda: Aurengabad
Fort Daulatabad
Three days were spent outside in the verdant and fertile area around Aurengabad in central-west India. This area has seen the rise and fall of many dynasties with its greatest period during the time when Aurengzeb, son of Shah Jahan, made it his capital. Interestingly, not only is there a significant Muslim population here, but there is also a large Christian population. At present, the area has roughly 50% Hindu, 25% Christian, and 20% Muslim, with a small minority of Jain and other sects. I am not sure why there is such a strong Christian heritage in this particular area, far from the ports of the East India Company of old.
Situated majestically on a nearby hilltop (actually an old volcano) the ancient fortress of Fort Daulatabad. Its original name was Devgiri, or Abode of Gods and was already an impressive fortress by the 12th century. In the 14th century, it was renamed Daulatabad, City of Fortune, by the Sultan of Delhi, Muhammad Tughlaq, and was a favorite abode of Shah Jahan and his young son, the future Aurengzesb. What is impressive about this fortress is the emphasis on defense. One can tell much about a people by how they design their cities; it tells you what is truly important to them. This citadel is an abode for peace. Instead of works made to promote the machination of offensive warfare, all efforts were made of a defensive nature. The area is surrounded by two enormous walls, quite far apart from each other and separated by a flat, empty plain and a dry moat. No army could encroach on the outposts of the citadel without detection. The second wall is many meters high and thick and undulates at a distance from the base of the hill/mountain upon which the citadel sits. Then, around the base of the conical mountain (volcano) is another wall with impressive ramparts, guard towers, and series of gate houses zig-zagging down narrow streets. The area between the second wall and the wall (third) around the base of the citadel itself was for the common people. It had enough land to grow all that was necessary for the city. One can still see the remnants of fields and gardens on its fertile grounds and there are several public and private baths dotting the countryside, as well as several deep, deep wells and tanks with cool, clear water – spring fed as well as filled by seepage. Water was carried throughout the citadel – including the very top – by a major feat of engineering, which remains mysterious to this day. Through earthenware pipes, water was transported from a river 6 kilometers away. Thus, all parts of the fortress had water from the river at all times and water from the many wells and tanks during times of siege. The next section was surrounded by a deep, deep moat that had been filled with crocodiles at one time. The walls of the fortress and the depths of the moat were dug by hand – absolutely straight so that “even a reptile could not scale it”. This area contains the ruins of some lovely palaces – small enclosures with a courtyard surrounded by modest rooms on the outside. In the design of the palaces, one sees the play of weather on the decisions of the architects. Everything is designed with a view to nature. The palaces are not large, meandering manors where one room leads into the next, designed to keep the weather out and people in – as in England. Here, the palaces are rooms, airy and small, designed to capture every bit of air, with impressive cooling systems that not only capture air from any cross-breeze, but sometimes channel it through water to cool it before its welcome breeze cools the people. The courtyards and gardens must have been lovely, with shade trees and pavilions; it is clear that people spent most of their time outside. The path to the top of the citadel then goes through a series of small courtyards and narrow passageways, each which can be closed off. There is also a long, meandering, pitch-black tunnel (filled with bats) that, in times of siege, could be blocked off. An intruder would be plunged in darkness, and hot rocks, fire, boiling oil, traps, and hidden guards would await the person thus entrapped. There were two sets of these tunnels, after which the pathway was wider and better paved, climbing, climbing, climbing to the top of the hill. The palace at the top, built by Shah Jahan, was beautiful in its simplicity. It had a lovely courtyard flanked by 4 rooms, one on each side. One room was a mosque, a second led to a stairway to the roof and another fortress (very military) at the summit, a third room, and an audience chamber with two small, octagonal private chambers on each side as well as a lovely balcony overlooking the countryside – an impressive view for miles around. The ingenuity of design, bent on retreat rather than attack, was stunning, as was its situation in the center of this beautiful plain. It reminds me of some of the areas of sacred geography that one sees, where a large, large hill is in the center of a large, open plain. Some places in the west come to mind, as well as Cashel, in Ireland (now THAT is a wonderful place).
This was a place of peace and aptly named. It had never been taken by force, though had once been taken by deception. Though it is largely in ruins, one could happily spend many days here, wandering around the vast perimeter, finding hidden pockets of lovliness – and perhaps some beautiful rocks and old coins, which seem to abound in this area!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Linda: Khajaraho, Feb. 9-12
Khajaraho, Feb. 9-12
From one perfection to the next, truly, this country is a wonder of art, of poetry, of genius. We left the wonders of the Mughal world to go backwards again in time. This time, we traveled (uncomfortably) on an amazingly crowded local bus – crowded both inside and on top! Fortunately, we had seats, so by dint of elbow and knee, I could maintain my personal space from encroachment on those who had to stand for the entire 5+ hour journey. It really wasn’t too bad as one’s need for “comfort” lessens with time, which I think is a good thing. I was delighted that our lovely hotel in Khajaraho had a splendid, working, plentiful shower in which I could refresh myself from the experience!
Khajaraho is a city of temples, built at the height of medieval India from 900-1100 AD. It is a city founded both in legend and in history. In legend, it was said that a beautiful maiden was bathing in a lake at night. The moon god, struck by her loveliness, came to earth; the offspring of their love destined to be a great king who would found a kingdom and religious center. In history, it is the seat of the great Chandala kings, kings who, through their might and integrity, maintained their kingdom at this pivotal crossroads against waves of Islamic invasions and who, through their immensity of character and patronage, built these temples of exquisite perfection. Here, we see the culmination and perfection of all that had gone before it. Originally, there were over 85 temples in this area – each a jewel, and each dedicated to some aspect of the divine. Now, 25 temples remain, the most inspiring are 10 set close together. When they were built, these temples surrounded a lake – one can only imagine the splendor of their outlines reflected in the still water.
The glory of these temples is two fold – first of all in the incredible geometry of each temple, an overall geometry, where the spires of a temple increase to the lofty heights of the tall, conical spire that covers the sacred center, a spire reminiscent in design to the lofty mountains of the Himalaya, the abode of the gods. The geometry of the building is then accentuated by the carvings on the outside. From a distance, besides the play of the spires, one against the other, one also notices the interplay of lines, both horizontal and vertical, bands of sculpture that lead the eye around and upward, but predominantly and irresistibly upward toward the liberation of the sky.
Then, as one approaches more closely to the temple, the magnificence of the whole focuses onto the domain of the individual sculptures that surround the temples, row upon row, going both around the temple and upward. Each temple stands on a pedestal. The sculptures, about a foot high on average, on many of the pedestals show everyday life: harvesting, warfare, couples, hunting, a sculptor. The details, even after a thousand years, are astounding. The faces, natural but not naturalistic. Then, as one ascends the steps to the temple proper, one looks at the sculptures surrounding the outside of the temple. Here, the sculptures, often three feet high, are of a more lofty subject, from regal and aristocratic on the bottom tier to the realm of gods as one looks up. Again, the depictions are very detailed, natural but not naturalistic, and immensely symbolical. There is a predominance of feminine sculpture, for according to Hindu scripture, a temple without the presence of the feminine (and a house without a wife) is without a soul. Women are revered, in principle. There is a plentitude of sculptures in pious and inward contemplative poses, and interspersed generously amongst them are others of a more playful, but symbolic nature; a woman putting on make-up, a woman putting henna designs on her food; a woman pulling a thorn from her foot; a woman, frightened by a monkey, finding refuge in her beloved – much to his obvious delight; couples in loving embrace (sometimes explicitly loving – as one Victorian put it “a little too warm for what is necessary”). But what is so astounding and transporting is the passionless, transcendent splendor of the faces and the purity of love and emotion. I have seen many, many beautiful sculptures with faces of surpassing beauty, ones that turn one’s own soul inward and upward. And these were like those, even transcending them in a different sort of way, in a quiet, pure “goodness”. They were detailed, details of clothing and ornament; indeed, the clothing was sculpted so that it was as if the garments were transparent – how they could make stone seemingly transparent was itself a wonder. And yet, though detailed, it did not transgress into making the faces “realistic”. The simplicity of line combined with the subtlety of design imbued each piece with a transcendent quality, a purity, an impartiality, a soul that has shed it’s own desires and sees only the perfection of the beloved – a gift upon which they look, forever. Finally, it is a work of reverence and piety.
It was said that the sculptor, before beginning work for the day, would begin by bathing, fasting, and praying – often for many hours. Only when his mind was stilled would he enter into the work of art, so that the form that was to be “released” from the stone could come forth. His art: the culmination of generations of artists and a mind and heart free from the needs, fears, and desires of the world.
This place, remote even now, is a journey worth taking. The Chandala empire went into decline in the late 11th century, and these temples lay, half or completely buried in the jungle, for almost 1000 years. They were “rediscovered” in 1838 by an English surveyor but it wasn’t until this century that they were taken under the care of India’s Archeological Survey. Archeological excavations continue; indeed, they are now uncovering a temple which they think will be the largest yet – and there are several more “hills” which probably contain more jewels to be wrested from the arms of the earth that have protected them, these past 900 years.
From one perfection to the next, truly, this country is a wonder of art, of poetry, of genius. We left the wonders of the Mughal world to go backwards again in time. This time, we traveled (uncomfortably) on an amazingly crowded local bus – crowded both inside and on top! Fortunately, we had seats, so by dint of elbow and knee, I could maintain my personal space from encroachment on those who had to stand for the entire 5+ hour journey. It really wasn’t too bad as one’s need for “comfort” lessens with time, which I think is a good thing. I was delighted that our lovely hotel in Khajaraho had a splendid, working, plentiful shower in which I could refresh myself from the experience!
Khajaraho is a city of temples, built at the height of medieval India from 900-1100 AD. It is a city founded both in legend and in history. In legend, it was said that a beautiful maiden was bathing in a lake at night. The moon god, struck by her loveliness, came to earth; the offspring of their love destined to be a great king who would found a kingdom and religious center. In history, it is the seat of the great Chandala kings, kings who, through their might and integrity, maintained their kingdom at this pivotal crossroads against waves of Islamic invasions and who, through their immensity of character and patronage, built these temples of exquisite perfection. Here, we see the culmination and perfection of all that had gone before it. Originally, there were over 85 temples in this area – each a jewel, and each dedicated to some aspect of the divine. Now, 25 temples remain, the most inspiring are 10 set close together. When they were built, these temples surrounded a lake – one can only imagine the splendor of their outlines reflected in the still water.
The glory of these temples is two fold – first of all in the incredible geometry of each temple, an overall geometry, where the spires of a temple increase to the lofty heights of the tall, conical spire that covers the sacred center, a spire reminiscent in design to the lofty mountains of the Himalaya, the abode of the gods. The geometry of the building is then accentuated by the carvings on the outside. From a distance, besides the play of the spires, one against the other, one also notices the interplay of lines, both horizontal and vertical, bands of sculpture that lead the eye around and upward, but predominantly and irresistibly upward toward the liberation of the sky.
Then, as one approaches more closely to the temple, the magnificence of the whole focuses onto the domain of the individual sculptures that surround the temples, row upon row, going both around the temple and upward. Each temple stands on a pedestal. The sculptures, about a foot high on average, on many of the pedestals show everyday life: harvesting, warfare, couples, hunting, a sculptor. The details, even after a thousand years, are astounding. The faces, natural but not naturalistic. Then, as one ascends the steps to the temple proper, one looks at the sculptures surrounding the outside of the temple. Here, the sculptures, often three feet high, are of a more lofty subject, from regal and aristocratic on the bottom tier to the realm of gods as one looks up. Again, the depictions are very detailed, natural but not naturalistic, and immensely symbolical. There is a predominance of feminine sculpture, for according to Hindu scripture, a temple without the presence of the feminine (and a house without a wife) is without a soul. Women are revered, in principle. There is a plentitude of sculptures in pious and inward contemplative poses, and interspersed generously amongst them are others of a more playful, but symbolic nature; a woman putting on make-up, a woman putting henna designs on her food; a woman pulling a thorn from her foot; a woman, frightened by a monkey, finding refuge in her beloved – much to his obvious delight; couples in loving embrace (sometimes explicitly loving – as one Victorian put it “a little too warm for what is necessary”). But what is so astounding and transporting is the passionless, transcendent splendor of the faces and the purity of love and emotion. I have seen many, many beautiful sculptures with faces of surpassing beauty, ones that turn one’s own soul inward and upward. And these were like those, even transcending them in a different sort of way, in a quiet, pure “goodness”. They were detailed, details of clothing and ornament; indeed, the clothing was sculpted so that it was as if the garments were transparent – how they could make stone seemingly transparent was itself a wonder. And yet, though detailed, it did not transgress into making the faces “realistic”. The simplicity of line combined with the subtlety of design imbued each piece with a transcendent quality, a purity, an impartiality, a soul that has shed it’s own desires and sees only the perfection of the beloved – a gift upon which they look, forever. Finally, it is a work of reverence and piety.
It was said that the sculptor, before beginning work for the day, would begin by bathing, fasting, and praying – often for many hours. Only when his mind was stilled would he enter into the work of art, so that the form that was to be “released” from the stone could come forth. His art: the culmination of generations of artists and a mind and heart free from the needs, fears, and desires of the world.
This place, remote even now, is a journey worth taking. The Chandala empire went into decline in the late 11th century, and these temples lay, half or completely buried in the jungle, for almost 1000 years. They were “rediscovered” in 1838 by an English surveyor but it wasn’t until this century that they were taken under the care of India’s Archeological Survey. Archeological excavations continue; indeed, they are now uncovering a temple which they think will be the largest yet – and there are several more “hills” which probably contain more jewels to be wrested from the arms of the earth that have protected them, these past 900 years.
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