A Wandering Mind

So many shades of green – from the bright green of the leaves to the dull green mixed with brown of the mountains. Even the lake was green, though it was difficult to decide if it was the colour of the water, or simply the reflection. As the setting sun cast its last light of the day on the water, the lake appeared to be a jewel, hidden away in the mountains. We were at Lonar, the site of India’s only meteoric crater lake, and from my vantage point on the balcony of the MTDC resort, as I watched the shades of green grow dark and disappear into the darkness, I wondered if I would be able to climb down the crater and discover some of the mysteries it held.

I have already written about the monuments and art of Orchha. However, this series on Orchha will be incomplete without one post dedicated to the Vultures of Orchha!

At first glance, Orchha is all about the grand monuments that tower over the town, and present magnificent views across the Betwa river. Then, we listen to its stories, and are swayed by the twists in its history, its association with so many interesting personages, who have left their footprints behind. There are, however, even more stories waiting to be heard, but which can only be seen, when you look closer, at the art of Orccha.

Long, long ago , a king went hunting in the forest, and found himself separated from his entourage. Following the sound of flowing water, he arrived on the banks of the Betwa, where he saw a sage meditating. Being a respectful man, he waited for the sage to open his eyes. The sage soon became aware of the king’s presence, and blessed him, directing him to the place where his soldiers waited. But the sage did the king a service beyond just pointing him in the right direction. He told him that this land on the riverbank was a sacred spot, the erstwhile capital of an ancient city. It was time for the land to flourish once again, and the king returned to build his new capital here. The king prospered, as did his dynasty, which rose to great prominence, ruling from here. However, this too, wasn’t to last forever. The dynasty declined, and so did the town, settling back into a state of inconsequence. Till it revived again, once more, this time welcoming, not royals, but visitors ...

“Datia mein aap kya dekhenge? Wahan dekhne layak kuch bhi nahin hai” (What will you see in Datia? There is nothing to see there). That was our driver, and it was a refrain we had heard often. Ignoring him was easy. Finding our way to the palace at Datia, was not.

We caught our first glimpse of the temple when Samhith stopped to play in a canal cutting across the road. 

We stood at the gate, surprised to find a fort instead of a temple. The driver urged us inside, assuring us that the temple was indeed there. As we walked in slowly, looking at the fragments of pillars and carved stones which lined the path, a well-built man came forward. “I am the caretaker here” he introduced himself. “Do you want me to take you around?” he asked. There didn’t seem to be guides around, or anyone else for that matter, so we agreed, and began our exploration of the Garhi Padhavali.