We are now into the second half of the second month of the lock-down. Our group of buildings is an enclave of safety in the middle of a hot zone. The supply chain has truly broken down, so finding fresh vegetables is a bit chancy. The Family rescued some sun dried bhindi (okra, lady finger, or gumbo, another of the many pieces of technology we have inherited from prehistoric human) from a corner of the room we have turned into a pantry and larder. When I began to chop it I realized that the gummy resin had got stickier as it dried. It had to be cooked dry. I threw some powdered dhania and turmeric with entire cloves and black pepper into a pan, and fried the bhindi till the gum had dried up. Then I scooped a lot of yogurt into it, covered it, and let it simmer.
Although the bhindi had released an aroma while it cooked, I realized that it wouldn’t have much of flavour when it finished cooking. So we decided to make an aromatic pulao to go with it. The basmati took four rinses to clear, and I soaked it and set it aside. I took a handful of raisins and peanuts and soaked them in water. It is easy to remove the skin off the peanuts when it is soaked. Next I scooped a little star aniseed, cinnamon, mace, and cloves into the mortar and ground it coarse. When I was ready, with the peanut skinned, the raisins soft, the rice drained, it was time to heat a little oil in the pan. The masala is fried until it begins to release an aroma, then a finely chopped onion is dropped into the oil with the raisins and peanuts and fried to a golden colour. I fried the rice for a short while to make sure that the grains would not stick together, and then added to water to let it cook.
The Family had a large pot of chana masala ready, and we had our little epidemic Saturday lunch. In the first six weeks of the lockdown we had prepared ourselves for such food with a fat, fiber, and protein rich diet. Now there will be weeks of carbohydrate-rich food to eat before we are allowed to move about more freely.
From the car park at the edge of the town you do not see the pearl in the oyster: the temple of Omkareshwar. My host and I walked past a row of stalls selling material that pilgrims may need for their puja, including heaps of sindoor in many different shades. “This place can’t be too windy,” I said, but my companion did not answer. He was too busy fending off assorted priests who promised us quick access.
It was only while we were crossing the hanging bridge that I got my first glimpse of the peaked spire of the main temple (at the right of the photo above). The temple was high above the present level of the river, but would have been pretty far above the historical level as well. The hanging bridge made it possible to get there without any climbing at all. We’d shaken off the priests by the time we reached the place where we had to remove our shoes. From here it was a short walk to the entrance of the temple.
Interestingly, the linga, which is the main object of veneration, is located in a small alcove to one side of the temple. About ten people were enough to make it a tight fit. I began to understand the reason for the crowd control barriers I’d come through. On a day when a large number of people come here, there are genuine problems which could arise. But the fact that there was a female goddess in the main temple, under the shikhara, while the linga is off in a side chamber, made me wonder whether the function of the temple has changed in recent times. Was it originally a temple to one of Shiva’s powerful consorts?
In fact I could not find much historical information on the structure. There is a lot of material on the ritual and religious aspects of the temple and the island. The brackets around the tall pillars are beautifully carved representations of supernatural beings. They are made in a classic style, and my guess is that they were carved in the last millennium. Without the context of who the temple is dedicated to, it is hard to interpret the figures. The four-armed figure on the right holds a mace (gada) in one and a lotus in the other, and has two arms free. Is that an ayudhapurusha of a mace? If so, what is she doing in a Shaiva temple?
The figures belong to a different era in our history. The present management of the temple does not care for them much, as you can tell by the fact that there are electrical panels and cables threaded through them; and fans and lights haphazardly placed without consideration of the beauty of the carvings. I was short of time and could not explore more. I will have to read more and go back.