Fun-loving sculptors of 7th century India

I’ve just returned from south India, where I spent several days visiting temples and archaeological sites in Tamil Nadu. This area is bristling with historic monuments, but one of the most impressive (and a key reason for my visit) was this carved rock-face at Mamallapuram, about 60km south of Chennai on the Coromandel Coast.

Mamallapuram was an important sea-port for the Pallava dynasty that ruled most of south India from the 6th to 8th century AD. The Pallava kings - notably Mahendravarman I and his son Narasimhavarman I of the early 7th century - were keen builders with an eye for beautiful architecture. The stretches of granite rock on this coastline provided ample material for their sculptors. The temples they built in Mamallapuram are of great historical significance, providing the template for subsequent religious buildings in south India. But for sheer attractiveness, it is difficult to beat this massive piece of free-form relief carving, 30m wide by 15m high.

The work is often referred to either as “Arjuna’s Penance” or “The Descent of the Ganges”, but no-one actually knows its original name, or indeed what it was for. None of that matters much when you are standing in front of it (cringing from the traffic that roars along inches behind you), because it is simply amazing. 

The rock-face is divided by a cleft down the middle, into which are carved two large images of naga (serpent) deities. The natural element of nagas is water, suggesting that the cleft represents a waterway or river. On the left is an image of the god Shiva, who once helped to channel the Ganges to avoid a flood, hence the suggested name “Descent of the Ganges”. But Shiva is also gesticulating towards a thin ascetic man standing on one leg with both arms raised (see below). Some believe that this is Arjuna, from the Indian epic Mahabharata, who performed a rigorous penance in order to persuade Shiva to grant him a weapon of deadly power. Surrounding these figures are a host of divine, human and animal images. It’s like a stone version of the Sistine Chapel ceiling: the more you look at it, the more you see.

It has been written about extensively but none of the studies prepares you for the playfulness and exuberance of the sculpture. Most commentators point out the mischievous cat who mimics Arjuna’s pose, attracting a group of gullible mice who will soon become lunch (below). But it was only when I stood in front of the rock-face that I noticed, for example, the jaunty little ganas (dwarves) who make up Shiva’s retinue. The cheeky one standing between Shiva and Arjuna looks like he’s about to give Arjuna a crafty shove to see if he can keep his balance.

A herd of elephants occupies the lower right quadrant, accompanied by their babies, one of whom is trailing behind but grinning cheerfully anyway (he’s obviously used to being left behind). On the upper left and right, the celestial beings are all giving you a cheery wave as they float by, looking so realistic that you involuntarily move your head to follow their flight. They seem to be in pairs or couples, each with a unique pose and expression that is quite unlike the systematized style of China's Terracotta Warriors. They reminded me of Olympic teams marching in the opening ceremony, full of happy optimism, waving to the crowd: at least, if Olympic teams were accompanied by pet lions with long curly tails. You get the feeling that the sculptors didn't feel the need to explain themselves.

It’s frustrating therefore that so little is known about the many different sculptures and monuments of Mamallapuram. We don’t know where the artists came from, how they learned their skills or why many of the works are unfinished. One suggestion is that Mamallapuram was a training ground for sculptors. This might explain why it contains what the historian Richard Blurton calls a “conspectus” or broad overview of rock-cut architectural styles, dotted all over the town.

Blurton also notes that the 'easy familiarity' and 'earthy' aspects of Pallava sculpture eventually gave way to the 'purest classical style' of the Cholas. In other words, south Indian sculpture became less fun and more restrained, which is a bit of a shame. But the fun-loving artists of Mammallapuram at least left their mark on other Pallava monuments, notably at the Kailasanatha temple in Kanchipuram, about 50km inland, which was the personal chapel of Narasimhavarman II of the 8th century. Below for example is an image of the goddess Durga with her lion companion, both displaying that air of bold liveliness that is so appealing.

And also at Kailasanatha, there is this wonderful image of the god Shiva in his long-haired mendicant form, baring his bum and (I swear) twerking. Perhaps after this, as Miley Cyrus discovered, there was just nowhere further to go.  

Reference material: Hindu Art (1992) by T Richard Blurton ; Indian Art (1997) by Vidya Dehejia