Within two weeks of returning to India from Vietnam I was already feeling claustrophobic. Like a junkie awaiting his next fix I was eager to head away from home and see the world. With a heavily depleted bank account from my Vietnamese adventure I had to set my sights a little lower. Lucky for me then, that my family planned a retreat to the small town of Hassan, in the neighbouring state of Karnataka.
Much like Tamil Nadu, Karnataka’s major sights are largely based around temples (although the lush natural parks of the Nilgiris are also beautiful to visit). In India, the temple’s use was not limited to just worship, acting as the social hub of local life. A market would invariably be present, traders squabbling loudly with locals over the price of vegetables and fruit. The enchanting fragrance of jasmine would hang in the air, as women of all ages queued from before dawn in order to get the freshest cut flowers to place in their hair. Neighbours shared the local gossip while families would come here to bond by worshipping together. This area is famous for two temples, both products of the Hoysala Dynasty.
Legend has it that the patriarch of the empire was a boy named Sala. While still a youngster, he was being taught by his guru when a tiger appeared. While all around were losing their heads, he kept calm, bravely (some would say even stupidly) approaching the creature and proceeding to give it a good beating. Needless to say he won the battle, striking the beast dead (the word hoy means ‘kill’ in older dialects of Kannada), and thus a great empire in the history of India was born.
The smaller temple of the two is the Chennakesava Temple in Belur, a Vishnu temple that was commissioned in 1117 CE and completed 103 years later. The temple itself is within a walled compound, and sits on a raised platform in the shape of a 32-pointed star. On the outside of the temples most of the carvings have been eroded by rain – acid or other – but still retain the strong memory of their former glories. Gods in various guises and positions are discernible, and a frieze consisting of one continuous vine of flowers wraps around the entire temple. Other frescoes are present, displaying rows of swans, elephants and makara (a 7 animal chimera) that wind fully around the outside wall, some 200 metres or so. No two animals are identical. And that’s before we go inside.
It is on the interior where the more famous carvings are, and they do not disappoint. Delicately hand crafted in soapstone, each is as beautiful as one could imagine. It is simply breathtaking how these were created using rudimentary tools and natural light only. The level of craftsmanship cannot even be imagined. All statues and figures were sculpted from memory – there were no drawings to guide the workers. Created in situ, even one mistake could ruin the entire temple and incur the wrath of the king.
Most impressive of all the carvings are those of the guardians to the main shrine, two voluptuous beings ward off intruders with their cold glares. Their necklaces are carved down to individual links, their belts of jewellery bearing medallions and gems carved into the stone. Gleaming in the fluorescent light, they are lent a mesmeric quality.
The icing on the finely-crafted cake is in the form of the Hoysaleswara Temple in Halebid, dedicated to the god Shiva. Here the inner sanctum is in similar style to that of Belur, although much of the stonework is in a state of ruin. This temple felt the wrath of conservative Muslim invaders, who ransacked it, destroying much of the inside. What remained was appropriated by the British and shipped to the UK. Of the 84 stone statues originally existing within, 70 are missing, a sizeable proportion of which are now housed in museums such as the V&A. Indeed, how the outer walls of the temple escaped this destruction is all the more remarkable, and this is what catches the eye.
Famous tales from mythology wrap around the temple, each allocated their own portrait sized block to tell stories I have been told as a child. The detail is breathtaking – on the block depicting Krishna lifting Mount Govardhana one can clearly see a hunter crouching, ready to spear a pig while a lizard suns itself on a rock. In a somewhat bizarre prediction of the future, one section contains a man in a judge’s wig and a trench coat surveys the goings on with an air of authority. And that’s not all, with small stretches of frieze putting paid to the notion of a prudish India by depicting content from the Kama Sutra considered suitable only for adults.
The inspiration behind the British legal system's dress code
This probably is not safe for children
Neither print nor picture can justifiably capture the awe inspired by the intricacy of these works. Even the columns supporting the structure have a great level of skill attached to them, having been turned in elephant-run lathes. Who needs a CNC mill or laser cutter anyway? The Archaeological Survey of India must be commended for the tremendous job performed in repairing these temples from the destruction wrought upon them previously. A trip to Southern India would be futile if one did not see these, which must be towards the pinnacle of art. And all this motivated by their devotion to the god (although the king’s whip must have had some say in matters). If religious love can produce beauty such as this, then I’m sorry Richard Dawkins but I know whose side I’m on.
