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.

Sometimes a god needs comfort food too

This 15^th-16^th century stone sculpture of the Indian god Ganesha depicts the elephant-headed deity in typical seated pose, with his fat belly bulging over his chubby thighs. Apart from his most obvious attribute, he is also identifiable by the iconographic symbols he holds: the conch shell in his upper right hand; the noose (upper left hand - sometimes a goad or an axe), representing a weapon to catch or clear away obstacles; and his favourite ladhu sweet (lower left hand) which he is tucking into greedily. He usually holds a lotus flower as well.

Ganesha is worshipped for his ability to remove obstacles and bestow success on new initiatives, so this post should really have been the first in this blog. In case you haven’t tried them, ladhus (see below) are delicious if you have a super-sweet tooth, and Ganesha’s fondness for them is one of the things that makes him a particular favourite amongst Hindu devotees.

As if that were not endearing enough, his closest companion is a mouse, depicted on the front of the plinth in the image above. Sometimes the mouse is shown clasping his little paws in worship of Ganesha; elsewhere it has been shown bearing the god on its back (although the idea of a mouse of that size is a tad disturbing). Either way, the myth about elephants being scared of mice doesn’t apply here.

Ganesha’s story is more than a little eccentric. Unlike most gods who tend to be born from lotus flowers or cosmic seas, Ganesha was born of the goddess Parvati looking quite normal. The story goes that his father Shiva (one of the three great Hindu gods along with Vishnu and Brahma) was away for a long time. On returning, he was greeted at the door by a grown-up Ganesha whom he did not recognise. Assuming him to be an interloper, he acted as gods will often do and cut off the young man’s head. At this point, Parvati appeared. Presumably there followed what the police sometimes call “an exchange of words”.

To make up for his blunder, Shiva went out to find a new head for his son (still with us here?). Like any reluctant husband sent out to do the shopping, he settled for the first thing he saw, which was the head of a passing elephant. Parvati's response can only be imagined, but with an ample supply of ladhus all seems to have ended well. In some segments of the Hindu faith, the family may be depicted as a happy group including Ganesha's brother Skanda (or Kartikeya) and his father's bull Nandi. The particularly jolly depiction below comes from the Sri Aruloli temple on Penang Hill in Malaysia.