The Oasis II

In the previous post about the Kasiraj Temple near Godowlia Crossing we had entered the compound and reached the side of the temple that is its facade too. Before we go any further I must mention that last night I was reading M. A. Sherring writes about the millions of micro-temples that swell the ranks of temples in Kasi in his The Sacred City of the Hindus: An Account of Benares in Ancient and Modern Times.

  

One look at the exquisitely carved columns of the temple is sufficient to tell that the counting of the number of temples in Kasi will have to include those on the shaft near the base too. There are miniature temples with one main shikhar and two subsidiary ones on each of the four sides of the square base of the shaft, i.e there are four temples per column. There are more than sixteen columns in the temple that have temples on all the four sides and at least eight embedded ones with temple on one side. That takes the total count of the micro-temples to seventy-two or more!

 

There are two images of the ornate capital of the column. The one to the left is somewhat blurred, but it serves well the function of showing the relation of the capital with the arch. The image to the right is clearer. The petals, bells and rings chiselled out of stone are definite proofs of the highly developed art of stone work in India.

   

The same developed art of stone work can be seen in the patterns on the walls and the screens on the wall over the arches. The parapet on the roof over the pavilion and the chajja all around are both crafted with care and are aesthetically satisfying.

         

 

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The Oasis

I had begun with the concept of oasis in the city in one of my previous posts. It was about Kooch Behar Kali Bari, and I had contrasted its green space with the concrete-asphalt area around it. This time round the term is used for the positive extreme of the polarity of concrete-asphalt; about an aesthetically pleasing building set amidst an apparently impossible open space in the heart of the densely populated Banaras.

This temple, situated at nearly the end of the dense network of galis between Raj Ghat and Dashashwamedh Ghat,  is unique because of the open space around it. Temples in this zone have been found claustrophobically cramped by foreign visitors, not without any reason. Of course there is Gyaan Vaapi and then Adi Vishweshwar Temple, but open space in one of them is no more, and in the other it’s not much. Houses from all the directions are looking at the temple at Godowlia, water in mouth, to pounce upon the space in front of them and claim it as their own. Change has not left this campus untouched. Urballaghology knocks.

I had not thought that this post will touch the issue of change right in the beginning. I had planned first to display the aesthetic treat the temple offers to the eyes, in entirety and in its parts too. I still intend to do so, but after having covered change in the temple campus. There used to be more greenery in the compound once, i.e. when I was a child. I remember the Pandanus fascicularis (ketaki/kevda) plant that used to be near the back opening of the sanctum sanctorum of the temple, its roots hanging in the air and its sharp edged leaves. Then, there used to be a couple of trees of the yellow variety of Nerium oleander. And there used to be no brick walls in that region. It used to be an invitingly open space; open for children to play in.

There used to be a commercial set up around the entrance pathway back then too, but it has expanded too much now. Although the temple is the property of the erstwhile King of Kasi, many people use the premises, I am quite sure in a very unauthorized manner. The open space in front of the temple is used by the owners of cows from a nearby house. They keep their cows there, on both the sides of the entrance near the long stone steps.

Many other temple compounds in Kasi are being used in a similar manner. The compound of the temple on Panchkot Ghat has now become a privately owned and jealously guarded guest house, solely for foreign nationals. The same compound where we used to play freely in our childhood now considers as trespassers anyone who does not bring them money, and they aren’t welcome at all. I speak from personal experience. I’ll try not to tell that story on these posts. It’s too bitter to be here. Now, back to the temple.

As one enters the gate of the compound from the street, walks a few steps forward and turns left, the eyes are greeted by an open space and a finely carved stone temple set at the centre of a stone platform. A flight of stone stairs rises from the ground level to take the visitor up to the temple.

 

One peculiarity of this temple is that its facade is actually the left side of the temple whose front opens to a very narrow gallery like space between the entrance to the temple’s pavilion and the set of houses to the left in the image of the right hand above.

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Kooch Behar Kali Bari

It’s not special: the compound one goes across on an almost daily basis, or has it available amongst three other choices to make from if one wants to go to school throughout the session. Can such a place be special: the place where one used to go with one’s grandparents as a little child to meet distant (in bloodline only, not in family bonding) relatives from the village, and then, on his own after he reached his seventh standard? It has the everyday life written all over it. It was familiarized to such an extent that I used to see it as a kind of extension of my house: a space to play in and relax. Not anymore.

Bablu Thakur was nearly my age, but he was one year junior to me in school (different schools). Moreover, he used to go to Ideal Home (or was it Anglo Bengali?) that was a Hindi medium school, and the proud and more privileged I, to an English medium school.

His father or brother (or both, I am not sure who) was an employee of the Kooch Behar Estate. His whole family used to live there. They used to live in the rooms with corrugated tin sheets as roof. The rooms are faintly visible behind the screen of leaves and branches in the image above. The kaccha courtyard in front of the rooms used to serve as their drawing room where guests were entertained. There still are a couple of cots there for the same purpose. I used to sit on them and sat on one of them in my last visit to the place.

Bablu’s elder brother is the employee of the estate now and his nuclear family occupies the space that his father’s family used to occupy once. The view from the kaccha courtyard of their house is exceptional. It’s exceptional because the compound is an island of green amidst the concrete and asphalt sea of Sonarpura-Pandey Haweli around it. The green hedge near the gate hides the wall of the compound that separates this oasis from Sonarpura-Godowlia street and the houses beyond.

The gate at a distance in the image above looks more majestic when seen zoomed in. The windows have broken tinted glasses and missing arches. Brick was used in the construction of the gate but it imitated the traditional stone architectural features e.g. waved arches over windows and both sides of the gate and the side columns supporting the central arch.

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