The Amazing Vibrabus
It's evening, and we're standing in a little group at the side of the road, waiting for our bus and co-passengers, trying to have a conversation. Since it's the Western Express Highway in rush hour, we aren't succeeding - so we stand around and smile at each other through the horns, engines, smoke, and shrieking agents trying to fill seats. One asked me very aggressively if I was going to Goa. Maybe I had a 'going-to-goa' kind of face... he looked so desperately furious I almost went, had R not called me exactly then asking how to get to the meeting point. No agent scorned has a wrath more terrible than an R denied directions, which is how the trip happened at all...
Ah, here comes our bus... it's a gigantic (ever notice how buses look so monstrous inside the city?) black-gold VRL with snarling radiator and antennae-like mirrors, like something out of Starship Troopers bearing down on us... step inside, whoa, it's an icebox! Huddle into seats and thank VRL and God for blankets. We stop, idling at a signal, and the bus' true USP emerges - it's vibrating like something out of a demented honeymoon suite on a caffeine-amphetamine cocktail. Teeth chatter, body trembles, vision blurs, and speech stutters.
And here we go - I was wondering when this person would show up. Ever notice, on any bus ride, there's always be one person who will have some kind of violent physical aversion to his seat, and will stand in the aisle as long as he can? He blocks the passage! He lurches! He stuffs bags into the overhead compartment! He drops stuff from the bag! He picks them up, and, whoops, now drops the bag itself! He cannot keep his balance! What does he do?! Aha! He wedges passenger A's shoulder into the crack of his ass, put's one hand on Passenger B's head, and one foot on Passenger C's crotch! He is stable! He drinks water! He spills water! He searches for towel! He... anyway, let's go on.
R sets a record - 2 hours straight on the phone. And the kid in the seat next to us starts vomiting.
At the food court on the highway, we get screamed at by our bus driver - "Jaa apne aadmi ko bula! Ina time khaane ko kya lagta!" Suitably chastened, we troop meekly to our seats, and the bus driver tortures us hideoulsy for the next 2 hours with the mandatory awful trip-movie. Ever noticed there's a whole class of movies that appear to have been made for the sole purpose of inflicting hideous pain upon trapped bus passengers, locked into a chilly, reverberating iron shell roaring along at 90 kmph, where certain death by leaping, screaming in horror, from the window is only marginally less attractive an option as staying inside and watching 'Do Knot Disturbb'.
The morning introduces us to Hospet and a bright yellow-and-chrome minibus almost as old as the ruins of Hampi itself. Many a bone-shaking, tooth-rattling and soul-vibrating mile later, we are in Hampi.
Hampi... is a strange place. There are no buildings - just rocks, hillocks, scrub, and shanties. And, sprawled through it all, rearing up in the middle of nowhere - deserted, silent ruins, all around. It's... more than a little surreal.
Hampi was the capital of the ancient Vijaynagara Empire from 1336 to 1565, and was a large, sprawled-out city, with markets, palaces, forts, temples, the whole hog. Today, it's a deserted, silent ghost town, with a small village nestling in it's center around the main Virupaksha temple complex which has the only habitation. Venture out beyond that, and you will find yourself walking through a silent stone necropolis, bereft of any life apart from the some signs of repair work by the ASI, or the occasional overawed tourist group.
Our 'hotel' is a virulent pink color on the inside, with blue doors and red sheets on the bed. The overall effect is very, almost disturbingly, womb-like... and it's not helped by the sight of a mosquito net hanging off the ceiling like a giant used condom.
An interesting menu.
Recycling ancient structures
Start walking around. Past the bazaar, which has cheerfully colonized the ancient marketplace pillars and used them as support in their own shops, there's a brief rise and a gigantic Nandi. This is supposed to be the largest monolithic bull sculpture in the world. The titanic taurean Must be 15-20 feet high, carved in a reclining posture, complete in great detail and anatomical correctness. ;)
A giant load of bull
Further on, cresting the rise of the hill, we come face-to-face with a scene straight out of Tomb Raider: In the middle of overgrown jungle, a series of buildings rears out, a lost city among the palms.
The ancient market road
All we need is Lara Croft
Support for the sky
Standing in Ruins
ancient grinding-wheel surface
Lunch is followed up with crisp, fresh jalebis from the market, and then a tour of the main Virupaksha temple. Here we see the makara-yadi - the seven-in-one animal guardian of the city, India's second-largest gopuram (temple gate), an ancient pin-hole camera that projects the image of the gate onto the opposite wall in an underground room, best seen at 6 am and pm daily when the light is perfect.
The Makara-Yadi -
elephant's trunk, crocodile mouth, peacock's plumage, rabbit ears, horse's body, lion-claws, and the all-seeing eyes of a Narasimha
Gopuram - 1
Gopuram - 2
An ancient pinhole camera projection
The main hall is still used to perform marriages for the village couples; imagine getting married under the thousand-year-old frescoes, feeling the history of a millennium around you. The adjoining chamber inside the actual temple, however, is closed, and is opened only for visiting royalty once a year.
reserved for royalty
There's also an underground chamber, which has two gods - Hari and Hara - Vishnu and Shiva - which again occurs in only one other place in India, Varanasi. This makes Hampi a major pilgrimage spot as well.
The underground temple
At the gate there's a three-headed Nandi - the Trikaladhyananandi - the only one of it's kind, representative of Bramha, Vishnu, Shiva - the past, present and future - which used to be worshipped inside the temple until it got damaged.
Also in the temple courtyard is Lakshmi, the friendly local temple elephant. Feed her bananas you can buy outside, or give her cash; food goes into the ever-smiling mouth, cash goes to the handler sitting next to her looking bored out of his skull, and the trunk comes up and gives you a quick pat on the head as a 'blessing'. Only for cash, though. Bananas earn you elephantine goodwill, but that's it.
May you return with bananas next time
As we step out of the temple, I walk into a pair of bulls fighting, and get stepped on. Those things are heavy! I limp around for the next half-hour.
Behind the temple, there's a tableland filled with pillars, pagodas, and skeletal stone structures standing silent in the whispering wind, through which the last rays of the setting sun fall on the hordes of monkeys playing. The city had been been lost for three hundred years before being rediscovered by a british hunting party during the Raj; for those three centuries, these simian citizens were the sole inhabitants, lords and masters of the stone. I think of Rudyard Kipling's Jungle Book - the monkey kingdom - and the effect is simultaneously saddening and a little eerie. A sense of greatness and mystery - not defiled, but passed beyond such trivial concerns. We can today see only a fraction of a fraction of what it must have been like... and it still inspires awe.
the plateau of memories
sunset of an empire
last sliver of sun
absorbing the atmosphere
There's another connection to monkeys one that I don't find out until afterwards, and the serendipity of this above observation is hammered home - Hampi is identified with the mythological Kishkindha, the Vanara kingdom identified in the Ramayana. The original monkey kingdom. So I guess the primate population really was the original owner...
monkey see monkey doo
grumpy Hampi monkey
Another kind of inhabitant makes their presence felt extremely strongly at this point - hordes of mosquitoes, fed up with months of monkey-blood, descend on us like an Alfred Hitchcock special effect, crazed with the thirst for human blood! But fear not! For I am armed with bthe mighty Odomos! I am invincible!
Asif loses his camera during the day; a carload of Bongs arrives, the essential component of any tourist spot; and R meets some people she knows, again. This is getting freaky.
Early next morning, a small group of us decide to trek up Matanga hill. It's a clear, chill dawn, the air pure and clean with a slight trace of mist. A minor wrong turn delays us, and we miss the actual moment of sunrise, but the view that early morning from the hilltop is awesome; a complete panorama of all the places we spent yesterday exploring.
Hampi wakes up in the pre-dawn chill
In the distance, the mist is still rising from the valleys, while the low hills blaze with sunshine; flat black and white bars of sky, mist, mountain, cloud, and valley. We sit for a while, accompanied by an elderly European gent, the sun shining off his bald pate like a spotlight.
the first sun touches the temple
view from the top of Matanga
Then breakfast, followed by the largest glass of coffee I have ever had, including the Latte Grande from Kosta Koffee.
Later in the day, head for another temple complex - the Vittala temple. Walking along the banks of the Tungabhadra, we are accosted by a Voice. There's no-one around for at least a hundred feet - yet it rings out, loud, clear, and reverberating back and forth between the hills - "Hello sir! Where you going? Boat coming! Please waiting!" It turns out to be coming from a boatman in a coracle in the middle of the river, apparently blessed with iron lungs and a dolby surround-sound voicebox.
A disgruntled deity
the King's Balance, where he weighed himself in jewels to give to charity
Good incentive to diet?
Vittala temple has one of Hampi's most-photographed landmarks - the stone chariot, in the middle of the main courtyard. Huge crowds of tourists. They are all getting group-photographed; the cameraman has to stand forty feet away to get them all in the frame. Wouldn't be surprised to find the group visible on Google Earth.
the stone car
But away from the chariot, the crowds thin, and we find the peaceful side of the temple - ancient, twisted, gnarly trees, straight out of Running With The Demon's haunted foliage, and places where you can sit on the cool stone in the shade and watch the circus of humanity dance around you, laughing, chattering, posing, pointing, photographing. And if you sit there for a while, not doing any of these things, you feel a sense of peace, connect with the place.
You can see in your mind's eye what it was like during the abandoned years, what it must have been like at the zenith of it's existence. And then the past than the present run together, and the true age, the timelessness, of the stone is felt. Savor that feeling when it happens, because everything else you see can be found on Wikipedia and Flickr. That feeling is the reason why you travelled here.
the musical pillars -
9 identical pillars, each of which would produce the sound of a different instrument when tapped.
Lunch is at MangoTree restaurant, the restaurant for the Aam Junta. A series of concentric terraces around a central (you guessed it!) mango tree. Full on crowd, harried waiters, massive rush, but excellent food. The trick is to order what is easiest to deliver - usually the main thali, or the day's special. You know it's good, it's there, and it will be served fast.
the Blair Witch tree
Royal Indian hunting-dog
Take an alarmingly lurching boat across the Tungabhadra to Anegudi. Saw an interesting huge ceremonial chariot, but the rest of the trip was a let-down; just a lot of getting your bones rattled in autos. Maybe we just didn't know the right places to go to.
Last day. The Elephant Stables, a row of huge doorways in front of a parade-ground, and the royal zenana - The Lotus Palace - glowing a soft, organic pink in the sunshine, looking almost alive. (and I'm wondering why the two are in the same compound? Wouldn't the ladies object to effectively sharing quarters with a bunch of elephants? Or vice versa?)
Both are in a far better condition than the Queen's quarters across the river. I guess some things don't change - when you're into cars and women, the first priority is to relocate the wife out of the way.
an idea of the height of the door.
still didn't stop R from accidentally cracking her head on the edge
the Paan-Supari market
the temple of a thousand Rama's -
a three-tier graphic novel of the Ramayana, in stone
black marble pillars
Acoustic Elephant -
makes a ringing noise when tapped
Return of Terror
Finally, packed up and ready, heading for Hospet. This time we're gunning all-out, roaring down the highways in a cataclysmic cacophony, roaring engines, rattling windows, lurching roads, cursing driver, hysterical horn, whistling wind, shrieking passengers... this bus is a shock to sanity. Every half-hour, we stop for 5 minutes for the driver to head into the bushes; apparently something he ate earlier didn't agree with him.
the medieval minibus
We make it just in time, with seconds to spare before the Volvo leaves for Mumbai. Ahhh, the Volvo... air-conditioned, air-cushioned, silent, stable, cool and comfy... after the terror of the rattletrap, feels like, as the ad goes, Heaven.
Then they turn up the volume and switch on Mission Istanbul.