Those were the Autumn days, about two decades back,
Was out and about with family, had festivities to make.
Was on my way back home, when the warning was issued,
The Cyclone was approaching, we tried to rush all we could.
Efforts were not enough, and we got stuck in a bad traffic jam,
With huge trucks around us, ours was a tiny car in the open.
The hours passed, a veil of darkness descended upon us,
We heard big roars, as if the devil’s lung was about to burst.
The Cyclone went about its business for the whole night long,
Destroying vehicles, houses, as if licked with its thorny tongue.
Twisted trees and power poles alike with all its might,
Wiping out years of mankind and civility in just one night.
We stayed in that car for the whole time, huddled and scared,
The winds tried to toss us, and we thought we won’t be spared.
That was one scary Autumn night, like none I had seen before,
With everything else destroyed, as if we were left to tell the lore.
It was long before, when cyclones were without any names,
Less powerful, and may be a slightly less in fearsomeness.
Rising temperatures have made them more common than ever,
Autumn is synonymous with cyclones now, and will be in future.
When the world prepares for festivities at the arrival of Autumn.
My tribe is either preparing for a cyclone or is recovering from one.
As mankind “progresses” towards a better “future” elsewhere,
There will be people here who pay more than their fair share.
Not paying for the “progresses” they haven’t made, not a choice,
Autumn and its cyclones are now a story of my tribe’s resilience.
Having stood steadfast in the face of the cyclone of this year,
They pick up pieces, preparing for the next without any fear.
An old man looks at the restless sea under black clouds as he prays using prayer beads, at Puri in Odisha, India.
My first encounter with a cyclone was way back in 1999, when me and my family were caught unawares while coming back from a roadtrip during Dussehra. We spent a night inside the car, stuck in a traffic jam on the then infamous Andhra-Odisha border. The storm raged on outside, and tried hard to toss and turn our car as the eye of the storm passed right over us. When the storm passed and dawn broke, almost everything around us was destroyed. The super cyclone of 1999 followed it, and became one of the worst natural disasters of the Indian subcontinent.
Over the years we moved to naming cyclones in the Indian ocean region, but the cyclones didn’t relent. On the east coast, Odisha became their primary target, and they came back every year during Autumn, the festive season in India. As global temperatures have risen, Odisha has been gearing up for cyclones, every year since, that is, after facing its annual bout of floods.
And for the people of coastal Odisha and the adjoining hills inland, they don’t understand what on Earth is worth the price they pay for every Autumn, year after year. The industrialisation that doesn’t exist in their backyard, the infrastructure that is just beginning to show up, the vehicles that don’t ply on their roads, or the over-consumption of resources that they are not party to? Or is it that they pay the price for someone else’s luxury?
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
“Let’s go, oh tired mind, about time we see His beautiful round eyes,
And purify our eyes in the sacred temple at the centre of Sankhakshetra.”
– Saria Bhika
Not even a week more and I will be back in Puri for Rathyatra again. This will be my fourth visit to Him in just more than a year. I have to make up for the lost 26 years, you see! You can read about the lost 26 years here. It was a wait too long, indeed.
I have had a very strange relationship with Lord Jagannath and Puri, to say the least, bringing out the innermost emotions to the fore, emotions that I never knew existed in me. Bringing out that side of me to the front which even I wasn’t aware existed. And all of it in a good way. Even if I have been teary-eyed on each of the last three visits, I have felt a sense of happiness on each of those occasions. As Lord Jagannath grew on me, so did my interest in His miracles and associated lore. So far, I have come to know that He loves devotional songs wrote to please Him. And that’s how I dug deeper and wrote about Bhakta Salabega (pronounced Saa-law-be-gaw) a few months ago, which you can read here.
While there are many beautiful of devotional compositions dedicated to Lord Jagannath, many of which were composed by Bhakta Salabega, there is one heart-touching composition which was composed by one “Saria Bhika” (pronounced Saa-ree-aa Bhee-kaw). I have quoted the first stanza of this composition at the beginning. The best part about this composition is its simplicity, and its explanation of a devotee’s mind when (s)he goes to see Lord Jagannath in Puri. What makes it unique however, is the fact that this is the only composition made by this poet, and a few cryptic clues the poet has left in the poem. The last stanza for example asks the reader to tell something to one Balaram. This made me curious about him. Or her?
After searching a lot on the internet, I decided to have a word with the very bright Prateek Pattanaik (Twitter: @pattaprateek) who is one of the best knowledge repositories as far as ancient Odia literature is concerned. He was kind enough to point me in the right direction, suggesting that “Saria Bhika” might as well be a poetess, and if that turns out to be correct, she would be one of the first Odia poetesses.
Having been nudged in a particular direction, I started from the last stanza where the poet asks the reader to tell something to one Balaram. Lord Balabhadra, elder brother of Lord Jagannath is also know as Balaram, but why would the poet want something to be told to Lord Balabhadra. If a message needs to be conveyed to Lord Balabhadra, the poet being present inside the temple could do it. That brings us to another Balaram, i.e. Balaram Das, a fifteenth century poet, and one of the Panchashakha – five contemporary Odia poets who lived in Odisha within hundred years or so, and are credited with much of the revival of Odia literature. The second stanza of the poem talks about five minds and one existence, which made me kind of sure that the poet was indeed talking about Balaram Das. The second stanza however may also mean five different elements and one existence.
Balaram Das was also called Matta Balaram, because of his rebellious nature and utter disregard for social conventions of that time. There are three characters in Balaram Das’ life and writings who fit the bill of “Saria Bhika” – two of them were women and one was a dumb and deaf beggar (because Bhika in Odia also means alms).
The first and the most probable of the three characters was a harlot in Puri, whose brothel Balaram Das used to frequent during his visits to Puri. The brothel used to be a two-storey building in the grand road. On one such visits during Rathyatra, Balaram Das was deeply engrossed in the harlot when he heard the drums and trumpets announcing the arrival of Lord Jagannath. Like being woken up with a slap from a sleep, Balaram Das ran like a mad man towards the chariots, with his hair and clothes dishevelled. When he tried to climb onto the chariot, he was pushed down after being scorned by the priests for not being clean while coming to see the Lord. Balaram Das made the chariot stop with his devotion, and never visited the harlot again. This seems to be a turning point in his life. It could be possible that the harlot mended her ways and got into devotions towards Lord Jagannath, and while she wrote the only poem of her life, she also wanted let Balaram Das know about her changed life.
The second character was an old woman of low birth who went by the name Shriya. Saria sounds like a corrupt version on Shriya and makes her a strong contender for our poet. In fact, she is the lead character in one of Balaram Das’ best known works called “Lakshmi Puran”. Lakshmi Puran is one of the earliest literary works in the world which propagates feminism (more like domestic feminism) and questions male hegemony in the society. You read that right, back in fifteenth century! “Lakshmi Puran” is the story of Goddess Lakshmi, consort of Lord Jagannath, when she is asked to leave the house (the temple in this case), because she went against Her husband’s wish. It lays down a code of sorts for all the married women.
The third and the least probable of the three character was a dumb and deaf beggar. Balaram Das was a regular speaker on Vedanta in the Mukti Mandap in Jagannath temple in Puri, and it was believed that whoever would touch his head would instantly become able to explain the philosophy of Vedanta. It is believed that a dumb and deaf beggar once touched Balaram Das’ head, and not only he got cured but went on to become a foremost intellectual on Vedanta. He was known as Hari Das.
It is really strange that the composer of one of the best known devotional songs of Lord Jagannath remains unknown to this day. May be that was the last wish of the composer. We would never know. Those of you interested in listening to the song can do so by clicking here. This version slightly different and was sung by the versatile Bhikari Bal. For those of you interested in the lyrics, I have given an almost literal stanza by stanza English translation below.
A devotee of Lord Jagannath pays Him respect, as singers in the foreground sing devotional songs dedicated to Lord Jagannath during Rathyatra in Puri, Odisha.
“Let’s go, oh tired mind, about time we see His beautiful round eyes,
And purify our eyes in the sacred temple at the centre of Sankhakshetra.”
(Puri is also known was Sankhakhetra, because of underlying design of the ancient city in the shape of a conch, and the Jagannath temple is right at the centre.)
“On the way the temple of Goddess Batamangala and also the eighteen arched bridge,
Although five minds, it is only one existence. Will also take bath in the Narendra pond.”
(Assuming that the poet in the second line refers to the Panchasakha and their common goal.)
“After reaching the grand road, let’s put the dust in our mouth in reverence,
Let’s stand under the umbrella for a while and serve the great souls who come visiting.”
“There is huge crowd at the Lion’s gate, and the priests are hitting with sticks,
Let’s give a push and go ahead, and in case we get pushed or hit, let’s tolerate.”
In frame: A devotee of Lord Jagannath pays Him respect, as singers in the foreground sing devotional songs dedicated to Lord Jagannath during Rathyatra in Puri, Odisha. The Rathyatra of Lord Jagannath in Puri is one of the largest congregation of humans in the world.
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
दरवाज़े, जिनकी चाबी उसी के पास ही थी,
कुछ एक मेरे लफ्ज़, जो वो ही थी समझती,
समझ जाती थी ज़ुबान खामोशियों की भी,
सांसे उसके लिए जैसे सरगम किसी गाने की।
एक दिन ऐसा आया, वो बोली में चली जाउंगी,
तुम्हारी कुछ आदते हैं जो मैं कभी सह ना पाउंगी,
क्या पता उसको के सबसे बड़ी आदत वो खुद थी,
मेरे दरवाज़े की चाबी,
मेरे अनसुलझे लफ्ज़,
मेरी सांसे,
और मैं….
वो खुद थी…….
हां, वो उसकी आदत थी ।। Yes, she was his habit
A Hindi poem, this one talks about the closeness and the “used to” kind of bond the lovers share, so much so that when the lady decides to leave citing few of the man’s habits that she can’t tolerate anymore, it turns out that the man considers her his biggest habit, as his key to happiness, as his unspoken words, even as his breath and he himself.
I have to admit that owing to time constraints and many ongoing projects, I am unable to give time to creative writing as much as I should. So, after a long time, here it is.
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
कहानियां बीते सदियों की जब हालात कुछ और हुआ करते,
इनसानों के बीच फुट कम, और पुल बहुत सारे थे जुड़ते।
सदी, जब ना था किसीका कोई भगवान, और ना कोई धर्म,
गोरा या काला, इनसान का रंग ना पैदा करता था कोई भ्रम।
जब मानसिकता नहीं थी भ्रष्ट, और ना था सोच में कोई पक्षपात,
सृष्टि का भला होता था एकमात्र धर्म, बस एक ही थी इनसानियत।
वैसी एक धरोहर हमरा हक था,
विरासत में मिला केवल विवाद,
फुट इतनी गहरी, और घाव इतने,
के पूरा समाज होने चला है बर्बाद।
क्या ऐसी एक धरोहर पर हक है हमारे बाद कि पीढ़ियों का?
क्या ये हमारा फ़र्ज़ नहीं के हम उनके लिए छोड़ जाएं कुछ अच्छा?
The stories of a different time altogether, when bridges between men outnumbered the differences.
A time when there was no God and no religion, and color of the skin did not create any confusions.
A time when the mentality was not corrupt and thoughts were not prejudiced, and everyone’s well-being was the only religion, and was the only humanity.
We deserved such a heritage. Instead, we inherited only differences, the fault-lines so deep and wounds so many, that the society is headed for destruction.
Do generations yet to come deserve such a heritage, a legacy of differences? Isn’t it our duty to leave something better for them?
The Assembly Hall, as this cave in the Bhimbetka rock shelters is called. It is open on both sides and held a very important place among the inhabitants. This cave was used for community meetings, with the boulder at the center believed to be the seat of the Chief.
Rock shelters of Bhimbetka were continuously inhabited from at least a hundred thousand years ago to as recently as the medieval period. These rock shelters look over the alluvial plains of the Betwa river (a tributary of Yamuna to the north), the plains which extend right up to the foothills of the mighty Himalayas.
Bhimbetka gets its name from Bhim Baithak (sitting place of Bhim of Mahabharat). The rock shelters find themselves mouth of the Deccan traps, along the Dakshinapath, the ancient important trade route that connected the southern India, which lied beyond the Satpura-Vindhya range, with northern India. The location makes the then inhabitants of these rock shelters prime witnesses to India’s unfolding history – Lord Ram’s exile and subsequent southern campaigns, the exile of the Pandavs, civilizational shift from Indus plains to Gangetic plains, Emperor Ashoka’s ascend, rise of the Satavahans and Islamic invasion of southern India. It was as if destiny had reserved the best seats of an epic called “India”, for the “primitive” inhabitants of these rock shelters.
They first find mention in modern times in 1888, by British India officer W. Kincaid in his scholarly paper, the rock shelters were physically discovered only in 1957 by V. S. Wakankar. Though thought to have been lost, their proximity to Bhojpur, the ancient capital of Raja Bhoj, and to the Dakshinapath means there have been exchanges between the inhabitants of Bhimbetka and other human encampments/civilizations.
What make these rock shelters special and earn them the badge of a “World Heritage Site”, are the paintings on the rock faces, created by the inhabitants. The oldest painting here is believed to be at lease 30,000 years old (oldest existing painting in the world is at least 40,800 years old and is in El Castillo, northern Spain). And then there are the cup marks on few rocks, believed to be as old as the habitation itself in Bhimbetka, and would be earliest evidene of human creativity, and so make Bhimbetka one of the earliest cradles of cognitive human evolution in the entire world.
Rockshelters of Bhimbetka, is entire mankind’s heritage indeed!
Note: As I keep digging my storage device for photos from Bhimbetka, I will update this blog post.
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
“Dear Sons of the Sages! Lord Shiva has come and granted you boons. Give up everything else and do this service. If you do this service, you can make the impossible possible, parboiled rice and fried green gram will sprout, dried wood becomes a living tree, childless mothers bear children, blinds get vision and old people become young again.”
It was the Hindu month of Chaitra and I was driving by a village in southern Odisha. While passing, by I heard the sound of the drums and the grave tune was potent enough to teleport you into another dimension. It had to be, for it was meant to please the fiercest forms of Shakti and Shiva – Goddess Dandakaali and Lord Rudra, respectively. As I grew curious and stopped the car, my father told me it was Danda Jatra, pronounced as thuh (as in “the”)-wn-daw zaat-ra, literally meaning the festival of punishment.
Drummers beating a very grave tone, announcing the arrival of Danduas to villages from far off.
Danda Jatra traces back its origins to more than a millennium ago, when it found importance in the Tantrik practices of a predominantly Shakta (worshippers of Shakti) Kalinga of 10th century AD, or thereabouts. Danda Jatra is by the farming community and for the farming community, cutting across all castes, and revolves around the daily life of a farmer. In simple words, the practice revolves around the age old tradition of “barter”, wherein in this case the Dandua (as the people who take part in this festival are called) asks for a few wishes to be fulfilled by Goddess Dandakaali and Lord Rudra and in return promises to spend 13, 18 or 21 days in penance and abstinence (the punishment), spreading the message of Shiva and Shakti.
Danduas walking past a village in a procession holding these flags, to the beat of drums, and spreading the message of Shiva and Shakti.
Every team comprises of 13 Danduas and there are more than 300 teams in existence today. From the start, for 21 days the Danduas abstain from any kind of indulgence like meat (of all kinds), liqour and physical intimacy with their partners. On the strike of midnight of the first day, they take bath in the village pond, wear saffron colored clothes and congregate near the village temple. After a few rituals Hara-Gouri (basically Shiva and Shakti) are consecrated as two holy sticks (also called Danda in Odia). Then they light the holy fire by (you guessed it right!) rubbing two bamboo sticks against each other, and this holy fire remains lit till the end of the festival. I saw them roaming around in villages with the holy fire and the consecrated sticks, and blessing households and shops as the walked along.
A Dandua carrying the holy fire around the village, to bless the households and shops. The holy fire is kept lit for whole 21 days.
They go around giving performances in villages upon invitation, and through the use of comedy and light-heartedness (sometimes vulgar), they spread serious messages from the scriptures, about ways of life and righeousness. When they perform on the dirt, it is called Dhuli Danda (Dhuli in Odia means dust), and when it is in the water, it is called Pani Danda (Pani in Odia means water). And then there is something known as Danda Suanga, which usually starts around midnight and continues well into the morning next day.
I had heard about it as a kid and had seen it a couple of times when I went to the villages with my father. I had the opportunity of watching Dhuli Danda this time. The Danduas had made square shaped farmlands on the ground, by lying down on the dirt, and one of them acted as a farmer, who used two of them as oxen to cultivate the farmland and then planted seeds. And so the daily life of a farmer continued.
The Danduas on the dirt are mimicking farmlands, and two running towards the camera are acting like oxen cultivating the farmlands. The Dandua behind them acting as the farmer.
Danda Jatra is one of the toughest festivals to take part in for the Danduas, high summer temperatures, lack of sleep, off-schedule and mainly midnight rituals, and just one full meal take a toll even on the most seasoned of them. The meal that is prepared is neither grinded nor boiled, and is offered to Goddess Dandakaali and Lord Rudra first. The Danduas have the food after that in the dead of the night, outside the village and amidst the deafening sound of the drums. They are not supposed to hear any sound while eating, not even that of a bird chirping. If they hear any such sound, or find any impurity in their food, they won’t take that food and stay hungry that night.
A Dandua sitting on the road exhausted. High summer temperatures, lack of sleep, off-schedule and mainly midnight rituals, and just one full meal take a toll even on the most seasoned of them.
On the day of Vishubh Sankrati (the day when Sun crosses the equator and moves into the northern hemisphere), also the last day of the Danda Jatra, the Pata (Paa-taw) Dandua, the leader of the team who wears only black, plays an important role. It is said that Goddess Dandakaali herself possesses him, and then he is tied upside down with holy fire lit right below his head. Sal tree resin (locally called Jhuna) is thrown into the fire repeatedly and it creates a lot of smoke. Amidst loud chantings, it is repeated till the Pata Dandua bleeds from the nose and exactly three drops of blood fall in the holy fire right below. This signifies Goddess Dandakaali having accepted the offerings, and the Danda Jatra culminates.
The Pata Dandua plays a very important role in the Danda Jatra, and acts as the medium of communication between Goddess Dandakaali, the Danduas and the villagers.
Danda Jatra is a religio-spiritual practice, and is held with reverence and much fanfare in rural southern Odisha, even after a millennium since it started. Modernity has influenced it in many ways. And, my quest for knowing the practices around Danda Jatra more intimately, and bringing them out to the larger audience, remains a medium-term project.
Jai Dandakaali!
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
Dear Lord of the blue mountain, trample and subjugate my restless mind, like a mighty elephant destroys a lotus pond. Thus save me!
– Bhakta Salabega
Salabega (pronounced Saa-law-be-gaw), one of the greatest devotee of Lord Jagannath was a Muslim by birth. He wrote very beautiful devotional songs dedicated to the Lord. Bhakta Salbeg’s era dates back to about half a century after Kalapahad (yes, I will tell his story too, but that’s for a different time!) had wreaked havoc on Odias, in the early 1600s. Odisha was reeling under Mughal rule. Lalbeg was the Mughal subedar of the Odisha province at that time.
While returning from a conquest, Lalbeg fell for the beauty of a bathing Brahmin widow near a place called Dandamukundapur (which is near present day Sakhigopal between Bhubaneshwar and Puri). Lalbeg forcefully took away the Brahmin widow to his harem and married her. Bhakta Salabega born in 1607/08 AD was their only child. After growing up, Salabega accompanied his father to many military conquests. In one such battles Salabega was grievously injured.
On his death bed, Salabega listened to his mother who was still a Jagannath devotee and started praying to the Lord. By the grace of the Lord and under his mother’s care Salabega had a miraculous recovery and became Lord’s devotee for life. After recovery from his injuries Salabega went to Puri for Lord’s darshan but was turned away from the temple for his religion of birth. Heartbroken Salabega left for Vrindavan hoping that he would have the Lord’s darshan around a year later during Rathyatra.
When Salabega was returning to Puri during Rathyatra a year later, he fell ill midway. He was very disappointed, as now he would have to wait for another year to be able to see Lord Jagannath. So he started praying, and Lord Jagannath being how He is, obliged and His chariot Nandighosh didn’t move even an inch from where it was, till Salabega didn’t reach Puri, and was able to see Him in his own eyes.
After his death, Salabega was cremated at the same spot on Puri Badadand (grand road) where Nandighosh had stopped. His samadhi still stands there, and it is customary for Nandighosh, Lord’s chariot to stop in front of Salabega’s samadhi during Rathayatra.
Bhakta Salabega wrote many beautiful devotional songs dedicated to Lord Jagannath, each of those equally expressive of a devotee’s devotion and His greatness. “Ahe nila shaila”, pronounced “Aa-he nee-law shai-law” (the same one from where the opening lines of this post are taken) is the most well known. You can watch a much shorter and slightly modernised version of the original here.
For those of you interested in the original lyrics of “Ahe nila shaila”, below are the stanzas in Odia and their English translation.
A Russian devotee of Lord Jagannath singing His praise right outside the Singhadwar (Lion gate) of the temple in Puri, Odisha.
“ଆହେ ନୀଳ ଶୈଳ”
ଆହେ ନୀଳ ଶୈଳ ପ୍ରବଳ ମତ୍ତ ବାରଣ,
ମୋ ଆରତ ନଳିନୀ ବନକୁ କର ଦଳନ।
“Dear Lord of the blue mountain, trample and subjugate my restless mind, like a mighty elephant destroys a lotus pond. Thus save me!”
ଗଜରାଜ ଡାକ ଦେଲା ଥାଇ ଘୋର ଜଳେଣ,
ଚକ୍ର ପେଶି ନକ୍ର ନାଶି କୃପା କଲ ଆପଣ।
“When the King of elephants cried out your name in pain when his foot was caught by a crocodile, you sent your disc to kill the crocodile and rescue the elephant. Thus save me!”
କୁରୁସଭା ସ୍ଥଳେ ଶୁଣି ଦ୍ରୌପଦୀର ଜଣାଣ,
କୋଟି ବସ୍ତ୍ର ଦେଇ ହେଳେ ଲଜ୍ଜା କଲ ବାରଣ।
“After hearing Draupadi’s cries for help from the Kuru court, you saved her from being ashamed in front of the court full of men by providing her with a million yards of clothes. Thus save me!”
ଘୋର ବନେ ମୃଗୁଣିକୁ ପଡିଥିଲା କଷଣ,
କେତେ ବଡ଼ ବିପତ୍ତିରୁ କରି ଅଛ ତାରଣ।
“When the deer was in excruciating pain in the dense forest, you saved her from a grave danger. Thus save me!”
ରାବଣର ଭାଇ ବିଭୀଷଣ ଗଲା ଶରଣ,
ଶରଣ ସମ୍ଭାଳି ତାଙ୍କୁ ଲଙ୍କେ କଲ ରାଜନ।
“When the Raavan’s younger brother Vibhishan came to take refuge under you, you gave him refuge and made him the King of Lanka. Thus save me!”
ଅଜାମିଳ ଡାକ ଦେଲା ଜୀବ ଯିବା ବେଳେଣ,
ତେଡ଼େ ବଡ଼ ପାପୀ ଗଲା ବଇକୁଣ୍ଠ ଭୁବନ।
“When a grave sinner like Brahmin Ajamik called out your name while dying, you liberated him. Thus save me!”
ପ୍ରହଲ୍ଲାଦ ପିତା ସେ ଯେ ବଡ଼ ଦୁଷ୍ଟ ଦାରୁଣ,
ସ୍ତମ୍ଭରୁ ବାହାରି ତାକୁ ବିଦାରିଲ ତକ୍ଷଣ।
“Prahalad’s father (a demon named Hiranyakashipu) was terrible and atrocious, and you came out of the pillar to tear him apart. Thus save me!”
ନୀଳାଚଳେ ବିଜେ କରି ବୌଦ୍ଧ ଅଵତାରେଣ,
ବେନି ଭୁଜ ଟେକି ପ୍ରଭୁ ଯାଚୁଅଛ ଶରଣ।
“You have chosen Neelachal (another name of Puri) as your abode, residing there as the Buddha incarnation of Lord Vishnu, and are offering shelter to everyone by lifting your hands.”
କହେ ସାଲବେଗ ହୀନ ଜାତିରେ ମୁଁ ଯବନ,
ଶ୍ରୀରଙ୍ଗା ଚରଣ ତଳେ କରୁଛି ମୁଁ ଜଣାଣ।
“Thus speaks the insignificant Salabega, who is a Muslim by birth, and I am appealing under your lotus feet, please save me!”
In frame: A Russian devotee of Lord Jagannath singing His praise right outside the Singhadwar (Lion gate) of the temple in Puri, Odisha. As was for Bhakta Salbeg, it is forbidden for this devotee also to enter the temple, because of his religion of birth and foreign origin.
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
The mythical King Indradyumna saw in his dream a manifestation of Lord Vishnu as Nila Madhava (the Blue Vishnu), in the form of an Indranil gem. He sent out his courtiers in all directions to find out more about his dream. Among the courtiers was Vidyapati, the younger brother of the royal priest. He travelled east from King Indradyumna’s capital city of Avanti (present day Ujjain, in Madhya Pradesh). On his way he came to know about the legends of Kitung, a Sabara (tribal) God, being worshipped by the Sabara chief Vishwabasu. Kitung’s description sounded very much similar to that of what King Indradyumna had seen in his dreams.
With lot of difficulties, Vidyapati reached the Sabara village near Brahmadri hills on the banks of a big river (present day Mahanadi, in Odisha), the place where Vishwabasu lived along with his daughter Lalita and his other subjects. Vishwabasu was very secretive about the location of his God, Kitung, because he was bound by a pre-condition by Him that the day any outsider came to know about His secret location, He would vanish. After living there for many months, Vidyapati was able to win Lalita’s heart and gain Vishwabasu’s confidence, after being one of them.
After Vishabasu agreed for the marriage, on Vidyapati’s request he also agreed to take him to Kitung, but put up a condition that Vidyapati must be blindfolded for the entire route. Vidyapati agreed to this condition, however, secretly kept a handful of mustard seeds under his waist belt. While walking behind Vishwabasu, blindfolded and holding his hand, Vidyapati kept sprinkling the mustard seeds all through the way. After reaching the cave of Kitung, he could confirm that Kitung was what his King was looking for. He was indeed Nila Madhava.
On pretext of calling his parents and other family members for his marriage, Vidyapati went to Avanti, and reported to King Indradyumna about the location of Lord Nila Madhava. The King having found his Lord, gathered everyone and marched east, towards Vishwabasu’s village. Upon reaching the village, Vidyapati easily identified the route because the mustard seeds he had sprinkled had grown into small trees, and their bloom marked the path with their yellow flowers. When King Indradyumna reached the cave, with Vidyapati, Vishwabasu, Lalita and everyone else in toe, it was empty. Vishwabasu’s Kitung had vanished, as per the condition with him.
Having not found Nila Madhava, King Indradyumna repented. That’s when the voice from the heavens directed him and others to go further east, to the sea, where the Lord would then manifest Himself in the form of a very large, fragrant, reddish log, and the signs of conch, disc, mace, and lotus can be found everywhere on it. They were instructed to take out log from the sea, and make four deities out of it and worship them.
The location they found the log at would be present day Puri, on the east coast. The four deities would be the siblings – Lord Jagannath, Lord Balabhadra, Goddess Subhadra, and Sudarshan. The descendants of Vidyapati and Lalita, and the people from Vishwabasu’s tribe still serve Lord Jagannath and His siblings in Puri. Vishwabasu’s village on the banks of Mahanadi is today known as Kantilo, in Nayagarh district in Odisha. A temple was built in later centuries and Lord Nila Madhava was consecreted at the same spot where Vishwabasu once worshipped Kitung.
What happened of King Indradyumna? Well, that’s a story for some other time!
I grew up listening to these as bed time stories, and at other times reading them from story books. The more I listened and read, I got fascinated by things of the past, legend or truth. I wonder if the later generations could ever relate to these.
A priest comes running down the stairs of the west gate of the Nila Madhava temple, in Kantilo, Nayagarh district, in Odisha.
In frame: A priest comes running down the stairs of the west gate of the Nila Madhava temple, in Kantilo, Nayagarh district, in Odisha. Kantilo is believed to be the place where Lord Jagannath was being worshipped in his earlier manifestation of Lord Nila Madhava or Kitung, by the Sabara chief Vishwabasu.
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
The roar of the river, and so close,
Drowned everything including sound,
Couldn’t even hear my mind’s prose,
Beneath, the slippery shaky ground.
The whirlpool right in front of me,
Couldn’t fathom how deep it could go,
To be locked in it, and lose the key,
Forever, with no more despair to grow.
My mind’s whirlpool was getting bigger,
Consuming everything, from inside out,
Event that led to this, and the rigour,
Everything that I thought I knew about.
Stood there thinking, on the bank of the river,
Cold wind touched my skin and I began to shiver.
Lot of rejections, a failed life I thought,
People who once “adored” had started to hate,
This agony and pain, on myself I had brought,
There won’t be any if they left at this rate.
The image of a life I had in my mind,
Things that I had started to believe,
In last few days all of it came unwind,
It started to question my love to live.
It was the river I had followed,
All the way up, and on way back,
And saw everything it had mowed,
The mountains it made to crack.
I walked a few steps on the bank, and now closer,
Thought it was okay if the world called me a loser.
Everything started to become hazy,
Was getting ready to make the jump,
Thoughts in my head were going crazy,
Clearly heard my heart’s frantic pump.
Everything fell silent all around, including the river’s roar.
I clearly heard but turned to find no one, and it shook my core.
I had clearly heard my Mom’s calling,
But I couldn’t see her anywhere near,
Didn’t know what kept me from falling,
And the whole event too much to bear.
More than a year later, when I think of it,
Perilously close I actually was to commit.
Cannot thank enough the divine intervention,
A blunder it would have been, for any reason.
All these days, this past in me had dormantly lied,
Nothing remained same, that was the day “I” died.
The “I” that was meek, and fragile..
The “I” that was weak and easily broke….
Lot of things were unfolding in my life during that time, and the mountains had turned my life upside down. People had changed, definitions had changed, and outlook had changed, or so I thought. I was finding it really hard to cope with all of it at once. And it is that moment of weakness I have portrayed in my poem above. Depression is a killer. You might not be as lucky as I am to have a divine intervention. So, please talk it out.
Remember, suicide is a crime against your loved ones!
River Ganga flowing through a valley, under an overcast sky, downhill from Devprayag, in Uttarakhand, India.
In frame: River Ganga flowing through a valley, under an overcast sky, downhill from Devprayag, in Uttarakhand, India. It was here we had stopped for lunch on our last day in the mountains more than a year ago.
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
“The divine are extremely happy where women are respected; where they are not, all actions are fruitless.” – Manusmriti
All the women who are reading this, I beg for your forgiveness. I hope this International Women’s Day brings about a change, not just in words, but in actions too.
It was on the morning of 17th December 2012, I trembled as I read the gory details of what was done to Nirbhaya the previous night. How could men do those things to a woman? Were they men, after all? And weren’t they born to women? And Aruna Shanbaug, ever heard of her? Before dying, she spent forty three years in a vegetative state in Bombay hospital. Her only fault was she was alone in the basement of the hospital where she used to work as a junior nurse.
In India, five women get raped every hour, seven get assaulted every ten minutes. From worshiping the feminine form as the source of creation to committing unfathomable crimes against her, we as a society have deteriorated a long way. From revered Goddesses to not even as equals and objects of pleasure, how did this fall happen? This calls for some soul-searching as a civilization.
In 9,000BC, some eleven thousand years ago, emerge the first evidences of humans doing agriculture for the first time in the Indian subcontinent. Till then, humans had been hunter-gatherers, leading a primarily nomadic lifestyle. They would seasonally move up and down the subcontinent in search of food. Agriculture was a serious affair, the fields needed to be tended to, and the crops needed to be watered. And in this transitory phase, just when they were starting to hone their skills in agriculture, the humans of the subcontinent faced a new challenge. How to be hunter-gatherers and farmers at the same time?
Because the women were not as strongly built as their male counterparts, given their existence by nature was for a different purpose, the answer was obvious. The women stayed back and started to tend to the agricultural fields, while the men ventured out, at first to hunt/gather, and later in history to explore and conquer. There was the foundation of our civilization as a matriarchal one. And it functioned with women at the center, everything else revolving around them. Given the large role women played at that time in procreation and keeping the household sorted, they began to be revered as Goddesses. Progressively, women took over all the intellectual jobs/vocations, those which weren’t physically as demanding and did not include much travelling, and allowed them to act as the foundation of a household.
The early invaders of this civilization did not have much success, not because of the lack of their military prowess, but because the foundation of this civilization, its smallest unit, the household remained intact, thanks to the above design. Over the period, they changed their tactics and went after the very foundation itself. When the women were attacked, the men didn’t have a choice but to protect them, and hence they kept them inside the houses. After a few generations, the act of protection became “traditions”, and then followed the ill-practices of purdah and sati. As time passed women lost their rightful place in our societies, a seat above rest of us all, earned by them for being creators themselves.
We as a civilization failed them, and continue to do so even today!
First of all, women don’t need equal rights as men. Because, equal right would be equal in true sense if men too are capable doing things that women do, including managing a household, taking care of everyone’s needs and child birth. As a man myself, I am incapable. So, when feminists shout for equal rights, I cringe and rightly so!
Secondly, women were created better than men, and any objectification or anything considered demeaning in the household and outside needs to be dealt with sternly. The mindset that women as someone inferior needs to be shunned.
And lastly, just let her be. Stop ogling!
Remember, we can’t be the Vishwaguru if we keep ill-treating the source of creation itself.
A small girl smiling for the camera on the hanging bridge across the Bhagirathi river, in Nautela, Uttarakhand.
In frame: A small girl smiling for the camera. Her smile could qualify for borderline grinning. I was busy taking photographs on the hanging bridge across the Bhagirathi river, in Nautela, Uttarakhand when I saw her and her tiny tot friends crossing. They were really fascinated by the camera in my hand.
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
हर एक आशियाने पे जैसे वो चला देती थी अपनी जादू की छड़ी,
सुला के सबको, सपनों की रखवाली करती हुई रात भर रहती थी खड़ी |
सुबह की पहली रोशनी के साये में जैसे वो लड़खड़ाती हुई चल रही थी,
सपनों से भरी रात के नशे से लगभग बेहोश, अपने कदमों को संभालती।
उसकी अपनी कदमों की आहट जैसे उसी के जादू को थी तोड़ रही,
मुस्कुराती, और एक रूहानी रात का वादा करके चली गयी, रूही।
The setting moon over Hyderabad’s skyline, as seen from Moula Ali, in Hyderabad, India.
As if she ran her magic wand over all the dwellings during the night, and after having made everyone fall asleep, she stood guard to their dreams. Under the shade of the first light of the morning (poetic expression), she unsteadily walked, still drunk on the dreams from the night, she tried keep herself steady. It was as if her own footsteps were undoing her magic spell, and with a smile on her face, Ruhi walked away promising another intriguing night.
It was magical indeed, my first ever photowalk, and first ever trip to Moula Ali, on the other side of Hyderabad. The moon was setting over the sleepy Hyderabadi skyline, and the dawn was breaking in the opposite direction.
These were my very early days in photography, when I was using a Sony HX100V (with a sensor that was 1/4th of what my current DSLR has). And I didn’t know RAW even existed (yes, perils of being self taught!), so bear with me for the resolution of the image.
In frame: The setting moon over Hyderabad’s skyline, as seen from Moula Ali, in Hyderabad, India. It was magical indeed, just being there at that moment, with the moon setting in front of me, and behind me, the dawn breaking.
VERY IMPORTANT TO NOTE: Yes, you can share this work with proper attribution. But, please seek permission before using this work (not including the photo), partially or fully. YOU CAN NOT USE THE PHOTO. Believe me, asking is better than ending up in court or facing public shaming on social media. Thanks for understanding.
Amrit Panigrahy 