Warning! What follows is absolutely a non-linear and convoluted account of two days in Hampi.
My history lecturer in school told my mother (she was a teacher too) to tell me to write a page and a half before the big exam on the morrow. 'It'll not pain then to write reams of history", he said. And it is true. I am reminded of this as I talk to a friend. I have no work to do today other than set up my house; a bit more furniture, some curtains, a fridge and the place will become habitable.
We, Bugs, Siva, Keya, Anisha, Pratibha, Ravi, Ragini and I have just returned from a two day trip to Hampi.
What can I say? That it was a good trip, a peace trip where the world was in harmony in contrast to the wild chaotic city? Remember the poem, "The solitary Reaper"? "..Stop here. Or gently pass" I want to preserve that harmony a little bit longer.
As Siva said, the next trip is 'Mohenjadaro and Harappa'. Hampi is a wild place. Boulders stacked up in incongrous places. Sunset in the cloudy skies. It is a vast vista of plaintain groves, I hear the sound of distant rumbling, of trucks, vehicles far off. Yes, it is a little bit of childhod driving on the wild South Kanara buses. A driver once showed how to take the bus to the edge of a roll; I was with my friends, eight o'clock in the evening, chatting with the driver as we journeyed home and he showed us the roll. Happy times, yes.
Imagine bicycling, with many hilarious misadventures, amongst the stone ruins of an age old kingdom. There are rocks, temples made of rock, set amongst rocky patches, strewn. And there are government maintained patches of land nearby. That is what hits me now as I think of it. Patches of green amidst the rocks. Except Matanga Hill (So off we zoom to Matanga Hill, to see the sunset. We buy twenty bucks worth of peanuts (reminds me, who paid for it? Is it accounted? :) ) from an old lady who wants to make the 'bonni'[first sale]. 'I'll guard your cycles till you come back if you buy twenty bucks worth of peanuts', she says) which is no hill but boulders stacked on top of another by a haphazard hand. The sky is thick cloudy streaks near the western horizon; a few clouds at the edges of the breaks shine silver, heavenly. And it is puffs straight up. It is cooler and we are sitting on a rock overseeing more rocks. A mile away, perhaps, lie the plaintain groves; dark green almost to the horizon. I hear the distant sound of trucks rumbling. I hear people talking but the mind is a blank. I think nothing for a while, then hear someone talking.
Consciousness. To be aware yet not feel craving, desire yet not desperation. Intangible. There is something Mona Lisa about this. Intriguing!
What of the bats in the underground cave? 'Bat dung' someone cries. And Siva sings a hindi song, I forget what except that it was hilarious. All are in fine fettle. Ravi sleeps off at Mango Tree and at Waterfall. Keya and Siva scare away a crab. I drink a lot of lemonade. We ate good food that evening. The aroma is of home cooked food. Then off we went, the luna groaning as we went uphill. But it sure beats cycling! :)
Cycling is fun too. Though those faulty brakes!; as if ten people were dragging me backwards even on the downward slope. It is a nice little hamlet. if I may call it that. Just four kilometres away from the hotel. It is a good day to cycle. A wee bit sunny, perhaps? :) We went first to the Queen's bath, yours truly playing the tour guide and trying, unsuccessfully I may add, to be one step ahead of the rest. But we find a fundu guide in the Vithala Temple. He shows us the dancing hall, the musical pillars. Each is made of a block of granite, two and half feet by two and half feet perhaps. Within them are carved smaller pillars, their height and slenderness carved to the pitch of the instrument it mimics. He plays the Damaru, the Ghatam, the mridangam, the veena, the tabla, sa re ga ma pa da ni sa on the jal tarang. He plays the instrument carved on the pillar and we listen, ears glued.
There is an amazing depiction of mahasasura being torn apart by Narasimha. And another of utbhav Narasimha; Narasimha emerging from the pillar. And a tree grows beside the North entrance of the Temple. (Or is it.. the South? Help please! :D )
It is early morning around eight. The land is still cold. As we walk towards breakfast, a boatman allures us with the prospect of a coracle ride. We bargain down then pay him what he asked for in the first place! Peace is getting to us. Someone wants to explore the rocks. The boatman struggles upstream as few of us pose for photographs. Bugs along with Anisha and Pratibha are in the coracle as it slips back a few feet. The boatman rams his oar into the ground and tries to draw up the coracle but it is too strong. Luckily, he is smart. He paddles quickly to the side and grabs hold of the weeds on the bank. And he drags the coracle up and around the mighty stream. That is how humans have taken over the world. Mind over matter. And it is a silent fight seen from the opposite bank and he's noncommital on the issue. We paddle slowly over the calm stretch. My legs are cramped just a tad.
And the lonely planet recommended places do not have idlis or dosas. So we sit in a small peaceful place run by a small girl and her mother Was it child labor? She seemed happy but who knows what hopes, dreams lay within. I drank some black tea while Pratibha, Anisha, Siva and Ragini drinnk coffee that 'looks more like tea' (Anisha). The flies have pretty large stake in the place too! Someone protests for another location but the movement is not seconded; 'There are flies everywhere in Hampi!', Anisha says.
There are no flies when we go out on saturday. Just a lot of huffing and puffing. I am wheezing, scaring away the birds and the buzzards, as I gasp for breath. Not that it is too dry a place. It might have been a few years back but the Archaelogical Society of India (or whoever) is doing a pretty good job, maintaining the lawns planted around. Especially amongst the ruins of the palace, near the Mahanavami Dibba?
My memory seems to be refreshed, nor the name of the place seem important. What is important though is what one feels.
What can I say? That we laughed a lot, Siva in crackling form, Pratibha's 'Ah ma!', Keya singing and dancing like a Bhakti sant in the Virupaksha Temple? The old man who showed us the inverted image of his hands grinned as she danced her way past. :D Ravi discovers the inverted Gopuram. How does it invert the image? Is it like the virtual and real images from lenses taught in high school physics? Most probably it all has to do with proportions. 'A ray from the top goes down this way and the other ray from gopuram base goes up like this', gestures Ragini. Most probably. But beyond all that, science though having the answers, is unsatisfactory.
Later in the evening, we have finished dinner and wait for the overseers of installing the extra beds to take a walk. It is a nice crescent moon. Siva wants to model; he places the bottle of water on his head and gingerly steps out. Pratibha and Anisha are trying to distract him. I am laughing as Siva gains confidence and wildly starts swinging his hips as he walks. Bugs is laughing. So is an european tourist captivated by the antics and the laughter. Wild!
..in the here and the now. That is what we are. Tat avam asi is not too bad a phrase. Not at all!
Virupaksha Temple is so peaceful (I know I am overusing the word but what else to use!?). I wish I could stay that way forever. Just a tiny wish, dear god. One itsy bitsy wish. There is peace. It is cloudy and we ate well at lunch; we sweated off a few kilos cycling before that!
The silence. The tranquility just grabs you. And it is some time since we have sat down. A million thoughts have passed thru our minds. It is a place to grow old in. A place of grace.
I wish I could stay here forever but we have an agenda; the 'patel points' have to be covered!
The previous day we were talked into going to Mango Tree for an early lunch. So we ditched a lot of 'patel points'. But not before Siva's rear tyre went flat and Bugs, riding with me was insistent in her demands to stop and look at the underground temple instead of puffing our way to Mango Tree. At one stretch the side road hits the main and goes off down the hill. I zoom in exhuberance, a bus honks behind me and I start wobbling, I see a replay of the brigade road stupidity that occurred a day before the play. 'Don't shake', I scream to Bugs as I try to apply the brakes more gently. We manage to slow down and stop . Bugs wanted to ride the bike after that! :D
On the way back down off Matanga Hill, we passed a mother and child carrying bundles of grass. ..or were they sticks? They were getting home after a hard day's work I guess. That day, I enjoyed the hues and the landscape and never noticed her pass.
It is now ten monday night; I have played truant from work today. The guilt sets in now. I must go to office tomorrow.
Does the eagle feel the same as it takes off to circle far above and wide?
