FOOTLOOSE
Legends of the Sun
INDU BALACHANDRAN
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Konark by sunrise is not to be missed ... even under a mist.
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PHOTOS: INDU BALACHANDRAN
In sync with nature: The wheels of the chariot
"HE don't know good Inglis. Only I speak the good Inglis."
With that firm declaration of his credentials, Sanathan Beura, a tour guide at Orissa's Konark Temple, lured me away from the other somewhat miffed guide, and led me off confidently towards the temple gate.
Well, after the spoilsport mist had ruined my chances of watching a magical sunrise at the Konark Sun Temple — a long cherished dream of mine — I wasn't going to take chances with touts passing off as tourist guides. But Beura, who looked nearly as ancient as the temple himself, proudly pointed out his name painted on the Orissa Tourism board just outside the gate, and also showed me his ID card. "See? I am a jenine offisul guide, Madam. Knowing the multi languages. You are from Chennai? Vanakkam!"
Detail showing a marriage procession.
Well if the sun had let me down, perhaps this "jenine" guide wouldn't — and I instinctively felt I would get my hundred bucks worth of both stories and entertainment.
I stood for a moment taking the whole picture in — a monument as familiar to most Indians as the Taj — with its defining gigantic wheels and prancing horses; a grand chariot standing in readiness to fly across the heavens bearing the Sun God. Twenty-four wheels. Seven horses. Twelve sun dials. All numbers related to the sun and its influence on the composition of a day, a week, the months in a year... Quite literally, clockwork precision, intricately crafted over eight centuries ago.
Chasing a sunrise
Earlier, during my two-hour dash from Bhuvaneshwar to reach Konark well before the sun did, I had read up a brochure about the fascinating story of why this temple was built. Apparently, Lord Krishna's handsome son Samba had once taunted the sage Narada about his looks, and a peeved Narada decided to get even. He lured an unsuspecting Sambha towards a lake where Krishna's many consorts were bathing ("in gay abandon" said my brochure. Ah, the English language!). Krishna fell into a rage when he heard his son had peeped at his cavorting beauties, and cursed him with leprosy. Later, hearing it was all Narada's fault, Krishna repented and told his son to worship the Sun — healer of all disease. The God Surya heard the boy's prayers, and as Sambha bathed at the Chandrabhaga beach at sunrise, he was miraculously cured. A grateful Sambha decided to build the greatest ever tribute to the Sun God right there.
The woman in authoritative pose.
Obviously Sambha had had greater luck with the famed early morning sun than the massive crowd assembled on the very same beach since five in the morning. Nevertheless, the first glimpse of a pale pink orb emerging from the mist drew a massive cheer from us all... but then something else totally fascinating caught my eye. A charming re-enactment of the legend no guidebook or Internet site had told me about! With precise timing, three Oriya women very quickly set about building a miniature Konark temple each, scooping up the wet sand near the shore where they stood. Deftly they decorated the pagoda with fresh marigolds and jasmines even as the reluctant sun, now glowing redder in the sky, touched their sandy creations. They murmured a fervent prayer looking upwards. Was it for a health cure? I wondered, clicking away with my camera. The whole action must've lasted less than two minutes, even as a giant wave of icy ocean water swept their temples away.
It was time now to head quickly to the actual temple, hopefully before the Sunday crowds did.
Interesting interpretations
My guide Beura's narrative began conventionally enough with some facts and figures about the temple, but soon took his own style — not to mention his own historic interpretation, of the whys and hows of the spectacular carvings. Or should that be cravings? "Don't mistake, Madam, but I will tell correctly why so much eroteek man-woman poses is there in this temple." For a man who claimed he knew foreign languages, I wondered if he was saying "erotique" a la the French.
I waited a bit nervously wondering what he may say next, but I needn't have worried. He had some fine politically correct words worked out for a lady tourist like me.
"See, many scenes here of the monogamy, the bigamy and the polygamy." Well! Beura did have a sound vocabulary. He even stoically pointed out a "polyandry" situation! But what really cracked me up was the historical significance of these sculptures — never to be found in any history book I can assure you. According to my 65-year-old temple-analyst, the great Kalinga war had resulted in millions of deaths; (the same war that had dramatically changed King Asoka's life forever) but after this carnage came the realisation that the population had dropped alarmingly low. As future kings built their temples, they decided to depict scenes, which would encourage their subjects to procreate and multiply their numbers quickly. Hence the sensuous acts up on the walls! "Is this really true?" I laughed, not believing a word; pointing out that the Kalinga war was in 265 B.C., whereas this temple was built only in the 13th century! "Oh yes, Madam, because Kalinga war very very bad war, and for many years, India not having enough peoples." And that was logical reason enough for him.
Moving on, past the many spectacular dance poses, my guide was also eager to point out some fascinating details of everyday life depicted in some of the sculptures, which we may have never really noticed in passing. Like a tiny panel of just a woman sitting — but what a royal stance! Surely she was a queen in the making, concluded Beura. And here, a woman wearing high heels! And then another — a woman with a very pretty purse. My good guide even pointed out the "modern mind lady" — his own phrase for woman's emancipation — showing me a defiant woman saying a firm "no" to man! I stopped to look at an intricate depiction of a happy marriage procession. Look closer at the tiny couple inside the palanquin, said my guide. "It is child marriage!"
Fascinating legend
While my guide prattled on, I stood at the best spot to take in the full glory of the towering pagoda, recalling the curious legend I had heard from my host at a dinner party at Cuttack the previous day. The story, which is often sung as a folk ballad in Orissa, tells the tale of a young 12-year-old boy, Dharmapada, going in search of a father he'd never seen all his life. At Konark, he met Bisu Maharana, his father, and the chief craftsman of the magnificent Konark temple, working tirelessly with 12,000 men for 12 long years. But they were in deep gloom, as an impatient King would have them all killed if they didn't complete the temple by a given date. But no one could find a way to fix the final dome of the temple. The young prodigy skilfully found an answer, and the magnificent temple stood complete. But, afraid that the King Narasimha Deva would kill his father for not finding a solution, when a mere boy had, the young boy jumped to his death right from the top of the tower as a sacrifice to save his father. My guide's version of this fascinating story, too, came pretty close.
My two hours had passed quickly, but I still sought my money's worth for the generous tip I planned to give my entertaining Inglis-speaking, paan-chewing guide.
Sanathan Beura looked pleased with the money I gave him. "Are you having satisfaction? I can tell even more legends of temple, Madam — even famous famous people are coming to me only for my good Inglis and good knowledge!"
That was interesting! Which is the most famous person you took around these temples? I asked him. "Shah Rukh Khan!" replied Beura promptly. "He was coming here once during shooting of Ashoka film. He is mussalman, yet what good interest he is having of this Hindu temple."
Something to tell Shah Rukh if I ever met him casually one day, I thought. But then Beura could have been lying through his teeth — only, I noted, he didn't have very many left, as he grinned and posed proudly for me against the magnificent Konark temple.
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