Karnataka: A Temple Extravaganza

India is a huge country. I might have known the size of South Asia before hopping the plane over, but I certainly did not comprehend the diversity and amount of history and culture inherent in the country I chose to spend the semester in. Even though, as a study abroad student, I am more of a temporary resident here, I still feel like a weekend tourist. Four months will never be long enough to see and experience everything that India has to offer; even with a program director who has connections all across the subcontinent, I know I will still come up short by my departure in December. As a part of the Culture and Civilization of India course, our group forays around Karnataka provided a small glimpse of the vast and complex country known as India.

Our first weekend in India was spent touring our new surroundings in Mysore. Although it was not exactly a part of the cultural excursions since Dr. M. S. Nagaraga Rao did not accompany us, the itinerary and locations of the day were chosen and arranged by Dr. Rao, and the trip—my first taste of Indian archeology—still remains one of the most vivid to me. On the top of Chamundi Hill, I saw my first temple structure, paid alms to my first Nandi, was given my first bindi by a holy man, and was approached for the first time by young students looking to acquire coveted “school pens.” Later, I would return with the group to make the climb up the 1,001 steps, a memorable experience that was as grueling as it was rewarding. Mysore is known throughout the country for its beautiful palaces, and we were given the opportunity to have an in depth and personal tour of the main palace. It was a busy day, and one that set the stage for my future experiences in Mysore.

Our real cultural excursions began in Sravanabelgola, with a hike up a rock hill to see the colossal statue of Gomateshwara. From there, we toured Belur and Hale bid, two cities in southern Karnataka that are well-known for their Hoysala and Chaluyka architecture. The Keshava Temple in Belur was unique because it was still an active temple, and when we went there was a large gathering of people and jazzy music playing in the background. In Hale bid, we viewed the Hoysaleswara Temple, which epitomizes Hoysala-style artistry.

The Chaluykas and Hoysalas were very prolific builders, as examples of their architectural constructions can be seen all throughout Karnataka. The Chalukyas, in fact, built many of the temples that we visited during our cultural excursions and on our tour of Mysore. Among them, one of my favorites was the series built into a rocky hillside in Badami. Admittedly, the ornamental Chalukya and Hoysala temples all look very similar to my untrained eye; I have difficulty separating the different religious structures that we visited, and I still cannot determine precisely from which temples all of my photographs are taken. The excursion to Badami, in contrast, remains vivid and unique. I am not particularly an aficionado of the Chalukya and Hoysala tradition of excessive embellishment. Architects and sculptors during the time period certainly knew how to get the most out of their rock; however, instead of looking full and space-efficient, I find the plethora of carvings to be rather overwhelming. The Badami temples that we visited during our weeklong travels in northern Karnataka are exemplary of the Chalukya period, yet they have a look and feel that is somewhat more serene and controlled. The artistry and flourish of the temples, combined with the natural tranquility of aerial views and solid expanses of soapstone made the Badami caves a pleasing sight for me. The experience reminded me a little of Chamundi Hill and Sravanabelgola: there is definitely something satisfying in ascending a rough, carnal, and sometimes precarious stairway to enjoy a bird’s eye view of the surrounding area.

The early Chalukyas of Badami were especially known for experimenting with mixtures and combinations of different architectural styles from northern and southern India. At Aihole, one can find Dravidian, Deccan, and Rashtrakutan traditions of sculpting meshed together in a single building. Perhaps because of the sheer number and the similar form of Chalukya architecture, I find it difficult to distinguish our excursion to Aihole from the rest. Pattadakal, similarly, is a blur to me; the most vivid memory I have of it is that, instead of the manicured gardens that surround some temples, Pattadakal’s grounds were a plowed and furrowed expanse of dirt. The temples we saw in Pattadakal were grouped together in what I will call a “neighborhood” for lack of a better term, and I believe that one of them had a rough staircase that led to the breezy roof.

After seeing a myriad of ornamental and action-packed Chalukya and Hoysala temples, the sight of Ibrahim Rauza and Golgumbaz, two feats of the more stoic Islamic religious architecture, was a much-needed and refreshing shock. South India knows how to fill every inch of available space; in complete contrast, Islamic architects know how to not fill it. The graceful arches and domes of Ibrahim Rauza and Golgumbaz are tall and sloping, and the two buildings are majestic for their austere simplicity and skillful design. I felt very small next to the gigantic mosques, but the size and empty space were essential to the impact of the two fantastic structures. It is almost as if the architects built a new sky when constructing the mosque and mausoleum; just as a tree house is built around a tree, Ibrahim Rauza and Golgumbaz seem to be constructed around the sky, and the flocks of birds that inhabit Islamic architecture only made the relationship more severe. According to Islamic tradition, birds use the same language as God in their singing, so having a constant flurry of wings and avian chatter is an essential to the atmosphere of mosques.

The Chalukyas built thousands of temples in order that each town had at least one or two at their disposal. The mosques, on the other hand, seemed to know that they were something special and rare in our tour through Karnataka. Set slightly removed from the rest of Hampi, Ibrahim Rauza had a powerful and commanding presence. Golgumbaz had an especially strong impact on me as well because, not only were we able to drink chai and watch the sun set behind the impressive dome, but we were also able to return the next morning, climb the steps, and experience the “whisper gallery.” Golgumbaz’s dome has impressive acoustics, so even the quietest noises are amplified. Something whispered against the sloping wall can be heard clearly many meters away on the other side. Seeing the Islamic architecture was definitely one of my favorite parts of the week in northern Karnataka.

Indian temples are generally always built to suit multiple functions and needs. Beyond just a location to worship a god, temples are designed to be social hot spots. Community events, including religious discourses, marriages, and song and dance performances, were held in temples so that they could also be held in front of the gods. Not only did this practice add religious sanction to the event, but it simultaneously served as an alternative form of pooja that made devotion to the god an inherent part of the community’s daily life. The dual purpose of Chalukya and Hoysala temples is manifested in open designs that give the structure the capacity to house a large crowd; in stone benches added for seating; in larger eaves to move the drip drains out of the way; and in wide surrounding platforms for visitors and devotees to walk around on. I have seen all of these characteristics while touring Karnataka’s archeology; however, the functionality of India’s religious structures was never plainer to me than it was in the Vithala Temple of the ancient city of Vijaynagara. The Vithala Temple does not provide merely a multipurpose space; the building itself is multipurpose. Once a famous dance hall, the pillars of the Vithala can be played like a musical instrument. Its clever architects have even figured out how to make rock imitate a variety of instruments. Thus, the Vithala leads a double life: mind-mannered worship site by day, entire symphonic orchestra by night. I was stunned to arrive at the seemingly ordinary temple to be met with the resonance of drums, string instruments, bells, clay pots, and more, all of which arise from light taps on the different stone columns. I cannot even begin to fathom how the granite was manipulated in order to create such diverse sounds; the Vithala Temple, to me, will always be something akin to a supernatural Indian miracle. I only wish that I could have been present at the temple during its prime, and could have heard the songs produced by such a unique and revolutionary creation in person.

During the same day that we visited the Vithala Temple, we also went to the Virupaksha Temple. Like the Keshava Temple in Belur, Virupaksha is a living temple which is still in use for worship. We had arrived at an auspicious time, since the temple elephant was brought out to take her morning walk, participate in the religious rituals, and bless the current visitors by gently resting her trunk on their heads and breathing on them. Since elephants are not native to the United States and can only be viewed from afar in zoos, it is exciting to interact with the animals. It is also exciting to be able to say that I have been blessed by an elephant.

Earlier in our weeklong exploration of northern Karnataka, we visited the temples of Mahakuta. Because they must also serve as community centers, Indian temples always have a tank, or large well of water, built next to them so as to provide for the daily needs of its priests and devotees. The recessed tank at Mahakuta is constructed around a natural hot spring; thus, it is popular for worshipers to wade and swim in the tank in the hopes of being blessed by the sacred waters. I visited Mahakuta with no intention to swim, but when my attempts to wade peacefully on the steps went awry, I ended up unexpectedly wet. Even though I had to tour Pattadakal still dripping, the experience was worth the minor discomfort. Between Virupaksha’s elephant and my fully-clothed plunge into the Mahakuta hot spring, I suppose I was doubly blessed during our traveling excursion.

Our final expeditions around Karnataka were done in conjunction with the Science, Technology, and Sustainable Development course. On Friday, we set out to Lukkihalli and Mylanahalli to view a presentation by a BAIF representative as well as two resource-efficient farms. I am not taking the Science and Technology course, so perhaps I was at a disadvantage for this field visit. Overall, I am still not entirely sure of what I was looking at today. I found the visit to the watershed to be especially confusing, since it just looked like the farmers were trying to individually grow little shoots of grass in a rocky square of dirt, and I could not tell the difference between the cultivated watershed and the uncultivated. The concept and practice of resource-efficient farming is a solid one, and it is very impressive how self-sufficient and independent the farms can be when they rely only on themselves and their land’s own output. They manage to make energy-efficient greenhouses, natural fertilizer from the excrements of the animals they raise, and enough clean, filtered rainwater to satisfy the needs of the entire complex. Everything that is produced seems to be used, even if it is only as compost, so waste is nearly nonexistent. I am not sure how farming works in the United States, but I know that our oftentimes extravagant society could learn a lot from how effectively these Indian farms follow the tenets of reduce, reuse, and recycle. Still, while the trip was not entirely worthless, I am not sure that the opportunity to physically visit and tour the two farming facilities was worth the six hours spent in transit for me. For the most part, I think I could have achieved the same knowledge and emotions from a lecture or presentation done here at Dhavanyaloka or at a closer farming facility. However, I liked the pluck of the cashew tree that was growing out of the rock in the watershed, and I did get to feast on some very scrumptious food in Lukkihalli. I cannot say if it was the organically-grown crops or if the BAIF center just had a particularly fabulous chef, but Friday’s lunch was definitely the best meal I have eaten in India to date.

On Saturday we visited two different hospitals: one ayurvedic and the other a primary healthcare provider in Sargoor. Although these hospitals seemed well cared for and well-staffed, they are very different than the elaborate medical campuses that I am used to going to back home in the United States. These Indian hospitals are much smaller and considerably starker than hospitals in the States are, yet the Swami Vivekanda Hospital has a huge and active role in the community of Sargoor. Beyond just medical care, the SVH works to improve the quality of life in the surrounding tribal villages. Back in the United States, such a level of involvement would never come from a hospital; instead, health-conscious community or non-profit organizations might take up similar missions. When “holistic” health is spoken about by American doctors, it is usually only in the context of giving advice to a patient about how they can change their life to promote health and wellness. I have been to hospitals that speak of holistic health in the United States, but none of them follow the concept as completely as SVH. In the United States, holistic health is merely an encouragement from doctors to their patients; at SVH, however, holistic health is activism that changes an entire community for the better. Needless to say, I was very impressed with the progress and success made by the doctors.

Finally, along with the hospitals, we visited two schools—the Viveka Tribal Center for Learning and the Vivekanda Youth School of Excellence—that were set up by the Swami Vivekanda Hospital. I am certain that the time spent at Viveka Tribal Center, short as it was, will always remain one of my favorite memories of my semester in Mysore. The students gathered around us in throngs; they were so happy and excited to have us visiting them and their school, I felt a little bit like a celebrity. When the teachers called them back into the classrooms, the students sat down and belted out their lessons as loud as they could in order to show us how much they were learning. Everyone was so welcoming and curious—it was heart-warming to be treated with such eager friendliness even though the students and teachers did not know us.

After each day spent traveling and touring, I return to my bed in Mysore exhausted, sun burnt, mosquito-bitten, and with an increasingly passionate hatred for bumpy Indian roads. However, after more than a week’s worth of physical interaction with historic sites and community centers, I feel as though I am more familiar with the culture and geography of Karnataka. I came to study in India with no real purpose or goal in mind other than to learn and to experience a life wholly different from my own; I have certainly received that and more. Truly understanding and knowing India may require more time than I have to offer, but I feel very lucky to have had the chance to meet and make a home in the state of Karnataka.