The rocky road to ruins: trying to understand Hampi

 

Fig 1 Hampi: ruined temples in a rocky landscape

The thing I most wanted to see on my recent Indian trip was Hampi, a sprawl of half-ruined temples in the central Deccan plateau, about 300km east of Goa. I had never heard of it until the archaeologist George Michell gave a lecture to my SOAS class. Michell had an understandable fondness for Hampi, having first seen it in the 1960s when its decaying ruins were occupied by mystic yogis and pot-smoking backpackers. It was largely through his work that the site became a subject for serious archaeological research. 

Hampi is commonly described as the former capital of a great Hindu empire that was destroyed by its neighbours, the five Muslim sultanates to the north (see map below). The 40 sq km city was the core of the Vijayanagara empire (founded in the 14th C) whose rulers filled it with temples and palaces. These were decimated after the Battle of Talikota (1565) when the five sultanates ganged up, invaded the place and beheaded the 80-year-old de facto ruler Rama Raya, after which the empire never recovered. This account sits comfortably with popular socio-political views in present-day India. 

Fig 2  Vijayanagara Empire in 1520 (modern cities shown for reference). Source: globalsecurity.org 

Except there is clearly a lot more to it. As you stagger up and down the rocky slopes from one temple to the next, it becomes clear that Hampi was based around a cluster of myths and legends re-interpreted by rulers who switched from one deity to another over a period of two centuries. 

For a start, the site was never known as Hampi but as Vijayanagara – “City of Victory” – which gave the empire its name. It was founded in 1336 by two brothers from the Sangama clan, successful military commanders looking to build an empire. They settled by the village of Hampi whose name derived from the local river goddess Pampa. Pampa does not appear in ancient Hindu texts but the legend somehow spread that she had married the god Virupaksha (a form of Shiva). Virupaksha just happened to be the family deity of the Sangama clan, who clearly understood the power of mythology.

This fascination with mythology continues in the Ramachandra Temple (the “Hazara Rama”, Fig 3), built in the early 15th C by King Devaraya II. The Sangamas’ allegiance seems to have shifted to Vishnu by this time, but Devaraya went further and chose to worship him in the form of Rama, ninth avatar of Vishnu and hero of the ancient epic the Ramayana. No-one knows why he did this (there may already have been a local Rama cult) but like his ancestors, Devaraya understood the power of being associated with a religious legend.

Fig 3  Scenes from the Ramayana at the Ramachandra Temple (Hazara Rama)

This may be why Hampi is thick with references to the Ramayana. Images of the monkey god Hanuman, who helped Rama to rescue his abducted wife Sita, appear everywhere (Fig 4). Hampi was said to be the location of Kishkindha, the monkey kingdom in the legend. To underline this, various sites were named after key points in the story: Anjaneya Hill (where Hanuman was born), Malyavanta Hill (where Rama and his brother Lakshmana took refuge),  Sugreeva’s Cave (where the monkey king Sugreeva found Sita’s jewellery which she had dropped as a clue) and Matanga Hill (home of the sage Matanga and the meeting-place of Rama, Hanuman and Sugreeva). 

Fig 4  Carving of Hanuman with Rama and Lakshmana, on Hemakuta Hill

Fig 5 Modern-day monkeys on Hemakuta Hill

Archaeologists also believe that temples like the Ramachandra were aligned with these auspicious sites to ensure power and protection, e.g. Matanga Hill and Malyavanta Hill are both directly visible from the centre of the Ramachandra’s principal shrine (Fig 6). 

Fig 6 Alignment of Ramachandra Temple with important Ramayana sites, by John Fritz. 

Source: The Ramachandra Temple at Vijayanagara, ed. Anna Dallapiccola

Despite his fascination with Rama, Devaraya was careful not to forget Pampa, the site’s original goddess. The main shrine at the Ramachandra bears the inscription: “Devaraya too is blessed by Pampa”. This courtesy is absent from later monuments, for example the huge Narasimha statue built by King Krishna Devaraya of the later Tuluva dynasty in 1528 (Fig 7). The statue, now a major tourist attraction, originally comprised Narasimha and his consort Lakshmi. Only the man-lion remains now, Lakshmi having been pulverised by the sultanates' armies in 1565. Perhaps it was unwise to neglect Pampa.

Fig 7 Figure of Narasimha, man-lion avatar of Vishnu, 1528. H: 6.5m

Similarly, the gorgeous Vittala temple complex (mid-15th to mid-16th C) is an entirely Vaishnavite monument, known for its chariot-shaped Garuda shrine (Fig 8) and the ornately carved pillars of the main temple hall (Fig 9). By this time, the ruling Tuluva dynasty had quietly forgotten about Virupaksha and Pampa.

Fig 8 Garuda shrine, Vittala temple complex

Fig 9  Carved pillars, main hall, Vittala temple complex

So how did the Vijayanagara empire meet its end? The popular version of a Hindu empire destroyed by Muslim invaders does not give the full story. The remains of ancient mosques and Jain temples show that the city was tolerant of other faiths. Thousands of Turkish and Persian men were employed in the army. The influence of Muslim or “Persianate” culture is visible in the beautiful Lotus Mahal (Fig 10), with its lobed arches and ornate plaster work. The same Persianate flair is seen in the nearby Elephant Stables (Fig 11) with domes and pointed arches set in perfect symmetry.

Fig 10  Lotus Mahal royal pavillion, c. mid-15th C

Fig 11  Elephant stables, c. mid-15th C

North of the border, though, relations with the five Muslim sultanates were shaky, partly due to Vijayanagara’s periodic attempts to invade their territory. In 1543, Rama Raya (son-in-law of Krishna Devaraya) seized power from his nephew, the rightful heir. Rama Raya was a capable leader who maintained the empire’s position by playing off the sultanates against each other, knowing that no individual state had a bigger army than he did. But his growing sense of superiority (he once forced the Sultan of Ahmednagar to eat betel-nut from his hand as a form of humiliation) was his downfall. The sultanates eventually realised that their combined forces were a lot bigger than Rama Raya’s. So they invaded Vijayanagara and executed him, leaving behind a picturesque set of ruins to be enjoyed by tourists of all denominations.

Getting some perspective on Hampi required a lot of research, not least because the archaeological studies (brilliant though they are) are not closely tied to Vijayanagara’s socio-political history. On the latter, I found the work of Richard Eaton indispensable, especially his account of the life of Rama Raya. 

There was also a lot of misleading tourist information to wade through. But most tourists, I suspect, are just glad to have seen Hampi without tumbling down one of its steep rocky slopes. My rather elderly tour group made it back in one piece, thanks be to Hanuman! (and Pampa)

References:

City of Victory: Vijayanagara (1991), John Fritz and George Michell

A Social History of the Deccan (2000), Richard Eaton

India in the Persianate Age 1000-1765 (2020), Richard Eaton

Demons in the detail: temple architecture of the Hoysala dynasty

Fig 1. Narasimha at Chennakeshava temple, Belur

I recently visited the state of Karnataka, India, where I fulfilled a long-standing ambition to see the ancient temples of the Deccan region. But not everything translated well into print or pictures: the famous site of Hampi, for example, is a vast complex of ruined temples dotted across a rocky landscape which quite defeated my pathetic phone-camera.

Instead, it was the less famous though equally beautiful temples that provided good blog material. And this image (Fig 1)  has always been a favourite of mine, partly because it’s deliciously gory but also because of its underlying legalistic humour.

What we see is the god Vishnu disembowelling the demon-king Hiranyakashipu (those two long chains are his intestines, meticulously carved in stone). As told in the Bhagavata Purana (an 8th-9th C religious text), the demon persuaded the god Brahma to make him invincible. The terms of the gift, however, were that Hiranyakashipu could not be killed (a) by man or beast, (b) indoors or outdoors, or (c) by night or day. 

Vishnu overcame these parameters easily by assuming the form of the man-lion Narasimha (neither man nor beast ✓) and killing the demon on the threshold of his home (neither indoors nor outdoors ✓) at the point of sunset (neither night nor day ✓). Which goes to show that even a demon-king needs to check the small print.

This particularly gruesome version comes from the Chennakeshava temple at Belur, a 12th C temple dedicated to Vishnu, built by the kings of the Hoysala dynasty. The Hoysalas ruled a large part of the Deccan from the 10th to the 13th C, but are not especially famous today: they never achieved the domination of the Cholas (whose rule extended to South-east Asia) or the glory of the Mughals. 

Fig 2. Approximate area of Hoysala kingdom, 10th-13th C

Their place in history is secured, however, by their temple architecture which is ornate to the point of obsession. The level of detailing stands out even in a milieu that is not known for restraint. Italian Rococo is perhaps the only other school that comes close.

In Fig 3 for example we see the 12th C Hoysaleswara temple at Halebidu, dedicated to Shiva.  As at Belur and the other great temple at Somnathpur (which I didn’t visit), the façade is densely layered and segmented, providing multiple surfaces for the display of religious sculpture. The material used was chloritic schist, also known as soapstone (not to be confused with the soapstone in fake jade jewellery). This relatively soft but supple stone can be carved intricately without crumbling, a quality of which the Hoysala sculptors took full advantage.

Fig 3. Hoysaleswara temple, Halebidu

Each of the carved panels looks like it took a lifetime to complete. And from the architectural plans (below), it seems that each of the linga sanctuaries (the star-shaped sections on the left) was designed with as many facets as possible to provide space for ornamentation.

Source: Temples of Deccan India, George Michell

The two door-guardians at the main entrance (Fig 4) are perfect examples of the microscopic detailing typical of Hoysala sculpture.

Fig 4. Door-guardians at Halebidu

The outer walls are covered with carved panels with borders of leaves, flowers or animals. The one in Fig 5 depicts Ganesha (right) and a rare image of Brahma riding a peacock (left). Each bead in their jewellery and head-gear is carved in three-dimensional detail. Even Ganesha’s pet rat (under his feet) wears a jewelled harness and has sharp little claws on each toe. 

Fig 5. Brahma (L) and Ganesha (R) at Halebidu

Stories from the Bhagavata Purana, the Mahabharata or the Ramayana were the sculptors’ favourite subjects. The panel in Fig 6 depicts the ace archer Arjuna (from the Mahabharata) shooting an arrow into the eye of a fish-shaped target suspended high above. In the story, Arjuna uses only a reflection in a bowl of water to take his aim. The sculptor depicts Arjuna’s right arm pulled back and his hand wide open as if he has just released the arrow. His right leg is bent so that he can shoot upwards but his eyes are downcast, looking only at the reflection in the water.

Fig 6. Arjuna the archer, Belur

In Fig 7 at Belur, Vishnu outwits another demon-king, named Bali, who has taken over the universe. Vishnu, disguised as a dwarf, begs Bali to give him a little piece of land, so small that he can cover it in three steps. The demon-king agrees. Vishnu then reveals himself and takes two gigantic steps covering the earth and the universe. Bali, admitting defeat, offers his own head as the last step and Vishnu takes it, thus securing his victory. 

Fig 7. Trivikrama panels at Belur

The story is carved on two neighbouring niches: the dwarf on the left (with his little umbrella) making his request to Bali, and Vishnu on the right, taking one of his giant steps which makes him look like he's dancing the can-can. This popular image, known as Trivikrama (the three steps), appears at Vishnu temples across southern India. 

It was touching to see these stories being re-told to groups of local visitors (we were the only foreigners there), as they probably were hundreds of years ago. 

More trip-based posts to come when I finish sorting out my 300+ photos.

The Emperor Jahangir's fantasy world

This 17th century painting, attributed to Abu’l Hasan, is one of the finest works in the Chester Beatty Library, Dublin and certainly one of the most bizarre. Dating from 1616, it depicts the Mughal emperor Jahangir standing on a globe while furiously shooting arrows into the decapitated head of a black man. The globe rests on the back of a bull which is standing on a giant fish. An owl perches on top of the severed head while another seems to be falling off it. Celestial beings in the upper right corner reach down to offer Jahangir more weaponry.

 The answer to the question “what’s going on here?” is not a short one, but worth unpacking nonetheless. Firstly, the head is meant to be that of Malik Ambar, a former slave of Ethiopian origin who became a successful military leader in the Deccan region, fighting against Mughal expansion in the late 16th and early 17th centuries. The Mughals struggled for decades to conquer the five Deccani sultanates; it was a long painful to-and-fro affair until Jahangir’s grandson Aurangzeb finished the job in the mid-17th century. At the time of this painting, Malik Ambar was very much alive and the whole Deccan business was a massive thorn in Jahangir’s side. He seems to have commissioned this allegorical fantasy in part to assuage his own raging frustration.

Source: New York Review of Books

The surrounding images are so complex that academic sources don’t always agree on their meaning, and a full discussion is beyond our scope here. One thing that stands out is Abu’l Hasan’s use of European imagery. The globe is not only a reference to Jahangir’s own imperial name (“he who seizes the world”) but seemingly also a nod to their popularity in European Renaissance art. The Mughal court was well acquainted with contemporary European painting thanks to gifts from Jesuit missionaries from as early as the mid-1500s. Jahangir (when not obsessing about his enemies) had a keen and enquiring mind, and was much taken with this new field of art. In a way, this portrait is a distant cousin of Holbein’s The Ambassadors, another work packed with allegorical references, including a hidden skull and (yes) some globes. The little weapons-merchants in the upper right rather resemble Italian Renaissance putti, while also harking back to the celestial beings seen in classical Indian sculpture.

The art historian GA Bailey has pointed to the tiny Persian text inscriptions beside each key image as another feature seen in European Renaissance art. The one beside Malik Ambar’s head reads: “The head of the night-coloured servant has become the house of the owl”. While owls certainly had a bad rep in Indian superstition, this text also reminded me of the “habitation of dragons and a court for owls” in the Book of Isaiah; indeed, the furious speech of God’s Judgement on the Nations (read it here) could be Jahangir raging about the Deccan. The idea that this image has Christian metaphorical overtones isn’t far fetched: we know about the Jesuit connections, and on the globe Abu’l Hasan has included an image of a lion lying down peacefully with a deer or antelope. In the companion piece to this painting (“Jahangir slaying poverty”), the biblical imagery is even more distinct.

Abu’l Hasan is careful to tie it back to Indian and Islamic imagery, however, as the Mughals were Muslims after all, albeit rather liberal at times. The bull and the fish are common images in Indian art, and the artist knew that his audience could make its own references to Matsya the giant fish (avatar of Vishnu), Nandi the bull (companion of Shiva) and so on. But he may also have been referring to an idea amongst some mediaeval Islamic scholars that the earth rested on a bull and a fish.  For example, there is a striking similarity with this image from a 13th century illustration by Islamic mystical scholar Zakariya Qazwini, whose book Ajaib al-Makhluqat (The Wonders of Creation) was just the sort of thing that curious Jahangir would have loved.

Source: US Library of Congress

The main aim, I suspect, was to show Jahangir at the very centre of a painting filled with Western, Islamic and Indian imagery, both ancient and modern, so as to underline his position as He Who Seizes the World - if he could only get rid of those pesky Deccan rebels! 

Happily, Malik Ambar lived on well into his seventies as a high-ranking courtier in the sultanate of Ahmednagar, even acting as regent at one point. It was not until years after his death that the sultanate finally succumbed to Mughal forces. Sunil Khilnani talks about him in his fascinating Radio 4 series Incarnations: India in 50 lives. If you have BBC iPlayer, you can access it here. 

Useful sources of information for this post included: "Sultans of Deccan India 1500-1700", Metropolitan Museum, NY; "The Indian Portrait, 1560-1860", Rosemary Crill; "Biblical Themes in Mughal Painting", SP Verma; and "The Spirit of Indian Painting", BN Goswamy. 

My memory of the phrase "habitation of dragons and a court for owls" comes from Gerald Durrell's "The Garden of the Gods", Corfu Trilogy, Book 3, Chap 4.