Paul Kingsnorth:
In May 2013, I went to Kolhapur (कोल्हापूर) after almost a decade.
I visited Ambabai (अंबाबाई) temple.
It has now become very crowded for my taste. Although more majestic and elegantly beautiful than the most, once it was like a temple in my neighborhood where we loved to go as kids, the way we went to Dutt (दत्त) temple at Miraj. Now, it's a destination for almost all Hindu religious tourism. Commerce, wealth and security on display are overwhelming.
Is it better to meet Ambabai in one's heart?
As a kid, I always wondered: if the main temple is so crowded, why are the most other temples on the campus so empty? Are other deities less important or less magnanimous? This time too I wondered the same because when we went to Shakambhari (शाकंभरी) temple, there was almost no one. Even the priest was sitting outside.
Earlier, I visited Rankala (रंकाळा). Once, I used to go there at least once a year. What a pleasure it was walking a couple of km to the lake (some of it on unpaved road) with my elder cousin - Diluappa (दिलुअप्पा) and loitering there for a while and breathing deep in that cool gust. I felt as if I never left the place...I felt 40 years younger.
There were kites/hawks flying over, occasionally swooping in to pick up pieces of bread/ trash thrown by visitors into the water. But that act of vandalism by humans had no effect on me. Rankala was simply overwhelmingly seductive...Ambabai's in her Temple/ All's right with the world!
This is how H G Wells describes 'the end' in his ‘The Time Machine’:
When "All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives—all that was over" arrives, will Rankala still be there?
I hope so.
Artist: Les Edwards, 1979 portraying when 'all that was over'
"What am I to do with
feelings like these? Useless feelings in a world in which everything must be
made useful. Sensibilities in a world of utility. Feelings like this provide no
“solutions”. They build no new eco-homes, remove no carbon from the atmosphere.
This is head-in-the-clouds stuff, as relevant to our busy, modern lives as the
new moon or the date of Lughnasadh. Easy to ignore, easy to dismiss, like the
places that inspire the feelings, like the world outside the bubble, like the
people who have seen it, if only in brief flashes beyond the ridge of some dark
line of hills."
('Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist', Orion Magazine, Jan/Feb 2012)
('Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist', Orion Magazine, Jan/Feb 2012)
In May 2013, I went to Kolhapur (कोल्हापूर) after almost a decade.
I visited Ambabai (अंबाबाई) temple.
It has now become very crowded for my taste. Although more majestic and elegantly beautiful than the most, once it was like a temple in my neighborhood where we loved to go as kids, the way we went to Dutt (दत्त) temple at Miraj. Now, it's a destination for almost all Hindu religious tourism. Commerce, wealth and security on display are overwhelming.
Is it better to meet Ambabai in one's heart?
As a kid, I always wondered: if the main temple is so crowded, why are the most other temples on the campus so empty? Are other deities less important or less magnanimous? This time too I wondered the same because when we went to Shakambhari (शाकंभरी) temple, there was almost no one. Even the priest was sitting outside.
Earlier, I visited Rankala (रंकाळा). Once, I used to go there at least once a year. What a pleasure it was walking a couple of km to the lake (some of it on unpaved road) with my elder cousin - Diluappa (दिलुअप्पा) and loitering there for a while and breathing deep in that cool gust. I felt as if I never left the place...I felt 40 years younger.
There were kites/hawks flying over, occasionally swooping in to pick up pieces of bread/ trash thrown by visitors into the water. But that act of vandalism by humans had no effect on me. Rankala was simply overwhelmingly seductive...Ambabai's in her Temple/ All's right with the world!
This is how H G Wells describes 'the end' in his ‘The Time Machine’:
“The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow
in freshening gusts from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air
increased in number. From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond
these lifeless sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey
the stillness of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of
birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives—all
that was over. As the darkness thickened, the eddying flakes grew more
abundant, dancing before my eyes; and the cold of the air more intense. At
last, one by one, swiftly, one after the other, the white peaks of the distant
hills vanished into blackness. The breeze rose to a moaning wind. I saw the
black central shadow of the eclipse sweeping towards me. In another moment the
pale stars alone were visible. All else was rayless obscurity. The sky was
absolutely black.”
When "All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives—all that was over" arrives, will Rankala still be there?
I hope so.
Artist: Les Edwards, 1979 portraying when 'all that was over'
