Chapter - 22 : Cattle
Me and Mama stood in the lobby, staring in alarm at the black aquarium.
'Should we, err, say something?' I bent to ask my mother, not taking my eyes off of the River Styx recreation.
'Excuse me,' she stomped to the reception. 'Not to put too fine a point on it, but the water's a tad murky, and I would be remiss if I didn't enquire as to the state of the fish in it.'
He stared at her blankly.
'Well it seems to me,' Mama's voice grew sterner, like she was reprimanding a governess for arranging the teacups a bit off, 'With the complexion of the aforementioned pool, your fish would either be floundering about in a limbo state or give rise to a patient zero of marine zombie-ism.'
'Bhaiyya paani ganda hai,' Uncle grunted.
'They like the darkness,' he responded tonelessly.
'Me too, fish, me too.' I mumbled, going to the aquarium. 'But that's no way to live.'
Mama burst out laughing. 'Everything becomes so meta with you,' she chided while pulling my cheeks, as I protested. 'Now pick up these bags.'
We went to the car and stuffed the bags and ourselves in like we were herding cattle.
Leaving the small city wasn't hard, and we were out among the fields and ponds in minutes. I was able to recognize drongos, bee-eaters and kingfishers in a flash; you always learnt fast when taught by your parents.
We turned into a tiny lane leading into a village, and were welcomed by a cow with a cattle egret sitting on it.
The cattle egret (Bubulcus ibis). It is a white bird adorned with buff plumes in the breeding season. They often accompany cattle or other large mammals, catching insect and small vertebrate prey disturbed by these animals. The positioning of the egret's eyes allows for binocular vision during feeding, and physiological studies suggest that the species may be capable of crepuscular or nocturnal activity. Adapted to foraging on land, they have lost the ability possessed by their wetland relatives to accurately correct for light refraction by water. Its Arabic name, 'abu qerdan', means "father of ticks", a name derived from the huge number of parasites such as avian ticks found in its breeding colonies. The Maasai people consider the presence of large numbers of cattle egrets as an indicator of impending drought and use it to decide on moving their cattle herds. The cattle egret is a popular bird with cattle ranchers for its perceived role as a bio-control of cattle parasites such as ticks and flies.
'Should we, err, say something?' I bent to ask my mother, not taking my eyes off of the River Styx recreation.
'Excuse me,' she stomped to the reception. 'Not to put too fine a point on it, but the water's a tad murky, and I would be remiss if I didn't enquire as to the state of the fish in it.'
He stared at her blankly.
'Well it seems to me,' Mama's voice grew sterner, like she was reprimanding a governess for arranging the teacups a bit off, 'With the complexion of the aforementioned pool, your fish would either be floundering about in a limbo state or give rise to a patient zero of marine zombie-ism.'
'Bhaiyya paani ganda hai,' Uncle grunted.
'They like the darkness,' he responded tonelessly.
'Me too, fish, me too.' I mumbled, going to the aquarium. 'But that's no way to live.'
Mama burst out laughing. 'Everything becomes so meta with you,' she chided while pulling my cheeks, as I protested. 'Now pick up these bags.'
We went to the car and stuffed the bags and ourselves in like we were herding cattle.
Leaving the small city wasn't hard, and we were out among the fields and ponds in minutes. I was able to recognize drongos, bee-eaters and kingfishers in a flash; you always learnt fast when taught by your parents.
We turned into a tiny lane leading into a village, and were welcomed by a cow with a cattle egret sitting on it.
By Shagil Kannur - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=53177772
The cattle egret (Bubulcus ibis). It is a white bird adorned with buff plumes in the breeding season. They often accompany cattle or other large mammals, catching insect and small vertebrate prey disturbed by these animals. The positioning of the egret's eyes allows for binocular vision during feeding, and physiological studies suggest that the species may be capable of crepuscular or nocturnal activity. Adapted to foraging on land, they have lost the ability possessed by their wetland relatives to accurately correct for light refraction by water. Its Arabic name, 'abu qerdan', means "father of ticks", a name derived from the huge number of parasites such as avian ticks found in its breeding colonies. The Maasai people consider the presence of large numbers of cattle egrets as an indicator of impending drought and use it to decide on moving their cattle herds. The cattle egret is a popular bird with cattle ranchers for its perceived role as a bio-control of cattle parasites such as ticks and flies.
Chapter - 23 : Pond
We were at the Chausath Yogini temple, in Hirapur village. Yoginis are feminine divinities, said to personify different forms of subtle energies. This was one of those rare temples whose basic architecture was more akin to the Stonehenge than a Hindu temple; in the sense that it was simple, circular and open to the sky.
It had a low circular wall without a roof and a square shaped main shrine (Chandi Mandap) at the center, with beautiful and exquisitely carved female deities housed in each of the 60 niches on the inner wall of the circular structure.
There were two Dvarpalas on both sides of the entrance and nine Katyayanis in the niches of the outer wall. The Dvarpalas and Katyayanis embody wrath and anger and were possibly the guardians of this unique temple.
It was a dedication to Shaktism; the consideration of the universal force of creation, nurturing and destruction as feminine, and goddesses as various aspects of the same. I looked at my mother and couldn't help thinking it was true - after all that mothers do, why wouldn't it be so? And yet, all that men had done to women...insecurity? Or was it because we still had not evolved above the misuse of brute physical strength?
I looked at my parents, clicking photographs of a bulbul on a banyan tree outside the building; a balanced, yet dynamic energy, an amalgamation of Shiv and Shakti. I wondered when I would get to see a relationship as strong as what they had. Was it just our generation? Maybe it was simply a matter of time - the eternal Cupid.
I waved to some schoolchildren, and Mama was quick to take a photograph of their smiling faces - always interested in the emotional spectrum and anthroscape of any place. Papa spotted some villagers washing clothes and themselves in the pond, and I was reminded of Bhavnagar. We spent some time chasing a pond heron and a Holly Blue butterfly.
'There's an entire book on the 64 yoginis,' Mama said, coming up to me. 'I'm buying it. We can read it on our way to Bhitarkanika tomorrow.' I pointed to a temple, submerged in the pond, with nothing but the shikhara visible. 'That's a Kali temple, I heard.' Mama told me. 'She's the guardian deity to the yoginis - they said they only offer fish as prasadam to her.' I looked on, fascinated. It was right out of an exploration movie - the expedition to the underwater civilization. I wished I had some scuba gear to go explore the temple.
'Got some pretty good ones,' Papa declared, coming up to me and showing me the heron. The white streaks on the black-brown body caught the light perfectly, making it look as if the creature had materialized from the sun.
The Indian pond heron or paddybird (Ardeola grayii). They are distinctive when they fly off, with bright white wings flashing in contrast to the cryptic streaked olive and brown colours of the body. They are usually silent but may make a harsh croak in alarm when flushed or near their nests. The habit of standing still and flushing only at the last moment has led to widespread folk beliefs that they are semi-blind and their name in many languages includes such suggestions. In Sri Lanka the bird is called "kana koka" which translates as "half-blind heron" in the Sinhala language. The phrase "bagla bhagat" has been used to describe a "wolf in sheep's clothing" or a hypocrite appearing like a meditating saint and occurs in a Marathi proverb. The paddy-bird also appears as a character in the Hitopadesha where, in one story, it takes injury to itself to save a king.
'There's a school for arts and culture here,' I told Mama, looking at the cottage in front of the temple, decorated with tribal Shola art and hangings spun from coconut fibre. 'Where was such a place when I was in school?' I pouted. Mama laughed.
'We can visit the Odisha state museum, before checking into the Panthanivaas guest house,' Uncle announced. 'We'll have lunch there and go on to the temples in Bhubaneshwar.'
'Sounds good,' Mama beamed at him, climbing into the car. 'Razi, chalo!' She called to Papa. He was busy, trying to get closer to the heron. He jogged back to us and got in. The last thing I saw was the pond heron flying back to the sun.
It had a low circular wall without a roof and a square shaped main shrine (Chandi Mandap) at the center, with beautiful and exquisitely carved female deities housed in each of the 60 niches on the inner wall of the circular structure.
There were two Dvarpalas on both sides of the entrance and nine Katyayanis in the niches of the outer wall. The Dvarpalas and Katyayanis embody wrath and anger and were possibly the guardians of this unique temple.
It was a dedication to Shaktism; the consideration of the universal force of creation, nurturing and destruction as feminine, and goddesses as various aspects of the same. I looked at my mother and couldn't help thinking it was true - after all that mothers do, why wouldn't it be so? And yet, all that men had done to women...insecurity? Or was it because we still had not evolved above the misuse of brute physical strength?
I looked at my parents, clicking photographs of a bulbul on a banyan tree outside the building; a balanced, yet dynamic energy, an amalgamation of Shiv and Shakti. I wondered when I would get to see a relationship as strong as what they had. Was it just our generation? Maybe it was simply a matter of time - the eternal Cupid.
I waved to some schoolchildren, and Mama was quick to take a photograph of their smiling faces - always interested in the emotional spectrum and anthroscape of any place. Papa spotted some villagers washing clothes and themselves in the pond, and I was reminded of Bhavnagar. We spent some time chasing a pond heron and a Holly Blue butterfly.
'There's an entire book on the 64 yoginis,' Mama said, coming up to me. 'I'm buying it. We can read it on our way to Bhitarkanika tomorrow.' I pointed to a temple, submerged in the pond, with nothing but the shikhara visible. 'That's a Kali temple, I heard.' Mama told me. 'She's the guardian deity to the yoginis - they said they only offer fish as prasadam to her.' I looked on, fascinated. It was right out of an exploration movie - the expedition to the underwater civilization. I wished I had some scuba gear to go explore the temple.
'Got some pretty good ones,' Papa declared, coming up to me and showing me the heron. The white streaks on the black-brown body caught the light perfectly, making it look as if the creature had materialized from the sun.
The Indian pond heron or paddybird (Ardeola grayii). They are distinctive when they fly off, with bright white wings flashing in contrast to the cryptic streaked olive and brown colours of the body. They are usually silent but may make a harsh croak in alarm when flushed or near their nests. The habit of standing still and flushing only at the last moment has led to widespread folk beliefs that they are semi-blind and their name in many languages includes such suggestions. In Sri Lanka the bird is called "kana koka" which translates as "half-blind heron" in the Sinhala language. The phrase "bagla bhagat" has been used to describe a "wolf in sheep's clothing" or a hypocrite appearing like a meditating saint and occurs in a Marathi proverb. The paddy-bird also appears as a character in the Hitopadesha where, in one story, it takes injury to itself to save a king.
'There's a school for arts and culture here,' I told Mama, looking at the cottage in front of the temple, decorated with tribal Shola art and hangings spun from coconut fibre. 'Where was such a place when I was in school?' I pouted. Mama laughed.
'We can visit the Odisha state museum, before checking into the Panthanivaas guest house,' Uncle announced. 'We'll have lunch there and go on to the temples in Bhubaneshwar.'
'Sounds good,' Mama beamed at him, climbing into the car. 'Razi, chalo!' She called to Papa. He was busy, trying to get closer to the heron. He jogged back to us and got in. The last thing I saw was the pond heron flying back to the sun.
Chapter - 24 : Larger
The museum was larger than any I'd seen in a long time. The government had spared no expense - there was a separate ticketing house, a park for the hyperactive kids and even an inquiry desk. I ran to get the tickets and permits for the cameras, passing the row of hedges trimmed into anthropomorphic shapes. It reminded me of some of the structures in Lalbagh Botanical Garden, back in Bangalore.
Most of the sections were fascinating, taking me back in time to the Indian sub-continent from the 16th century onwards, to the various regimes and influxes of culture. My parents had always been drawn to history, more than me - I just loved creating stories and alternate realities with it. The one fact that always left me in a daze was that every value, moral and ethic; every belief and ritual we respected had arisen centuries ago - probably mutated and gotten lost in multiple translations when it came to us. This body of thoughts and ideas was saved from the scrutiny of all except the conscious, child-like brain, which learns to keep its disagreements away in a secret book in the mind.
Maybe, through abstract imagery, cryptic art and coded verses, they had tried to give us the key to that book. We tend to think only of our generation as the rebellious, open-minded one; challenging prevailing institutions and postulating newfangled concepts. It was possible these remnants, tokens of the past, echoed these very ideas; it was possible everything had been said and thought already, and we were its echoes.
The five of us separated soon, lost in a daze, inside the chronological kaleidoscope. I could feel my parents revisiting all their concepts and trying to see reflections of those in the sculptures; some validation from the forefathers who seemed to have figured it all out. We stood among the runes and ruins in a vicarious attempt to listen to these echoes.
'The eternal truth can hide, behind a shape or symbol, or even a crooked line,
And I could paint the moon with words to explain God's design,
But to know it, you'll have to see for yourself,
See through these eyes of mine.'
We moved on to the tribal artifacts and handicrafts, getting a glimpse into the more recent past. Here was humankind; untouched, uncorrupted. A self-sustaining, symbiotic relationship with nature. Although their timeline was closer to home, their beliefs were more in sync with the prehistoric humankind, more pagan and attuned to Mother Earth. The luxuries of excess and idle time had not yet set in, and there was less contemplation, more action.
I saw a stall with Pattachitra and palm-leaf engravings, and chuckled at the prices they were selling the artworks at. This was just a tier above the root - I imagined these masterpieces selling for a fortune in auctions and displays abroad, and wondered how much was trickling down to the artist. We'd gone straight to the source (Raghurajpur) and been dazzled already. I waited near a bench for my parents. I looked out a window to see a larger egret perched on the rooftop.
The larger egret (Ardea alba). It has a slow flight, with its neck retracted. This is characteristic of herons and bitterns, and distinguishes them from storks, cranes, ibises, and spoonbills, which extend their necks in flight. The great egret walks with its neck extended and wings held close. It feeds in shallow water or drier habitats, feeding mainly on fish, frogs, small mammals, and occasionally small reptiles and insects, spearing them with its long, sharp bill, most of the time by standing still and allowing the prey to come within its striking distance. The name of the venerable Shariputra, one of the Buddha's best known followers, signifies "the son of the egret" (among other possibilities), for it is said that his mother had eyes like a great egret.
By Rotareneg - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34172056
The larger egret (Ardea alba). It has a slow flight, with its neck retracted. This is characteristic of herons and bitterns, and distinguishes them from storks, cranes, ibises, and spoonbills, which extend their necks in flight. The great egret walks with its neck extended and wings held close. It feeds in shallow water or drier habitats, feeding mainly on fish, frogs, small mammals, and occasionally small reptiles and insects, spearing them with its long, sharp bill, most of the time by standing still and allowing the prey to come within its striking distance. The name of the venerable Shariputra, one of the Buddha's best known followers, signifies "the son of the egret" (among other possibilities), for it is said that his mother had eyes like a great egret.
Papa came and saw me looking at the geological excavations and mineral samples from the Odisha coastline, and beamed at me. 'There's so much information to grasp, all at once. Makes you think of how little we can ever know, doesn't it?'
I left with him to join the others. As I sensed the echoes fading away, I realized what Papa had said; so much knowledge, and so little time - and eventually, that knowledge would be lost, like short-lived sparks in a larger mind.
Chapter - 25 : Little
We deposited our bags in our rooms and went for lunch to the nearby canteen. I ordered fish and rice.
'That's it?' Aunty teased.
'Not feeling very hungry today, cause we've only been walking around. Actually this entire trip we've only been...' I was cut short by a slap to my scalp, courtesy Mama. 'Parading your stamina in front of us oldies?' She scowled at me.
'Hey, I didn't even say anything - and did you just call yourself oldies?' I threw back.
She mumbled a Gujarati taunt and turned to her freshly-arrived brinjal. I looked at my plate of rice and fish despondently - I had wanted a meagre meal, but this was ridiculous.
'Portions too little for you?' Aunty laughed.
'Karma,' Mama said in a quiet voice and immediately giggled away, choking on her morsel.
Papa and Uncle soon joined us, and lunch was done in minutes. 'As you go towards bigger cities, the size decreases, but cost increases,' Uncle said jovially, sensing my thoughts. 'Don't worry, you have a lot more meals left to compensate.'
We left for the Khandigiri-Udaygiri caves immediately. It was right in the middle of the city; an urban haunt, like a park or shopping mall. The rocks were massive, cut away into a labyrinth of caves. I bolted up the steps constructed to reach them, and started climbing the boulders. Shankar would have loved this.
There wasn't much difficulty, except reaching one particular cave, which required swinging down with both hands and dropping at the right moment. Mama gave me the 'stop-trying-to-impress-the-girls' look and sat on a bench, looking up at me. She knew I'd been a lost cause since kindergarten, though.
I landed in the cave, and took a photo of the sun setting, from inside it. I hadn't quite figured out how to go back up. Then, I saw a small foothold on the lower side. I would have to take a quick jump with one foot from it and land on the opposite platform.
My leg was a little too short to step on the footing directly, so I had to perform two short jumps. I almost slipped on the foothold, but jumped quickly from it and made it, a trick I'd learnt from crossing streams through slippery rocks.
'Show-off,' Mama smiled at me. 'Learn parkour when you go abroad, you'll love it.' I grinned back. 'And shed some of this heavy muscle, work on agility and flexibility,' she reprimanded.
'I'm not that muscular, ma,' I protested, taking her bag. 'You should look at some of the...'
'Don't compare with your beefcake friends.' She cut in. 'For your height, you're fine. It's all these media perceptions of the ideal body, making the functionality obsolete. Stamina and nimbleness will go a long way.'
I agreed with her; although overcoming body complexes and rejecting cosmetic ideals for useful ones was the defining problem of our time.
We went back through the adjoining rocks, and I glimpsed a brief scenery through the nearby buildings. I ran down the rock-cut steps and arrived at a temple near the exit gate, where people were feeding peanuts and bananas to monkeys.
'In many places, especially Odisha, monkeys are considered to be created in the image of Lord Hanuman. Hence, people revere them.' Aunty told me.
We enjoyed some coconut water across the road. The seller was very friendly, chatting with us about where we were from and how life was in Odisha.
'It's actually not that bad,' he said, speaking about his occupation and earnings. 'People have this huge misconception about so-called lowly jobs. I earn enough to feed my family and send my kids to school. My daughter can speak in perfect English, which is required in today's world. She'll go places. I'm contented. It's just that you get no respect from the society unless you're in one of those elite jobs. I hope my kids learn not to care about that, and find something to do that is the right balance between their passion and abilities.'
We thanked him and made our way to the car. I felt renewed, and not just because of the coconut water. You find inspiration in the strangest of places.
A lesser egret came and perched upon the rocks. It matters not how big you are or where you come from; only that you fly.
The little egret (Egretta garzetta). It is a white bird with a slender black beak, long black legs and, in the western race, yellow feet. As an aquatic bird, it feeds in shallow water and on land, consuming a variety of small creatures. They use a variety of methods to procure their food; they stalk their prey in shallow water, often running with raised wings or shuffling their feet to disturb small fish, or may stand still and wait to ambush prey. They make use of opportunities provided by cormorants disturbing fish or humans attracting fish by throwing bread into water. On land they walk or run while chasing their prey, feed on creatures disturbed by grazing livestock and ticks on the livestock, and even scavenge.
There wasn't much difficulty, except reaching one particular cave, which required swinging down with both hands and dropping at the right moment. Mama gave me the 'stop-trying-to-impress-the-girls' look and sat on a bench, looking up at me. She knew I'd been a lost cause since kindergarten, though.
I landed in the cave, and took a photo of the sun setting, from inside it. I hadn't quite figured out how to go back up. Then, I saw a small foothold on the lower side. I would have to take a quick jump with one foot from it and land on the opposite platform.
My leg was a little too short to step on the footing directly, so I had to perform two short jumps. I almost slipped on the foothold, but jumped quickly from it and made it, a trick I'd learnt from crossing streams through slippery rocks.
'Show-off,' Mama smiled at me. 'Learn parkour when you go abroad, you'll love it.' I grinned back. 'And shed some of this heavy muscle, work on agility and flexibility,' she reprimanded.
'I'm not that muscular, ma,' I protested, taking her bag. 'You should look at some of the...'
'Don't compare with your beefcake friends.' She cut in. 'For your height, you're fine. It's all these media perceptions of the ideal body, making the functionality obsolete. Stamina and nimbleness will go a long way.'
I agreed with her; although overcoming body complexes and rejecting cosmetic ideals for useful ones was the defining problem of our time.
We went back through the adjoining rocks, and I glimpsed a brief scenery through the nearby buildings. I ran down the rock-cut steps and arrived at a temple near the exit gate, where people were feeding peanuts and bananas to monkeys.
'In many places, especially Odisha, monkeys are considered to be created in the image of Lord Hanuman. Hence, people revere them.' Aunty told me.
We enjoyed some coconut water across the road. The seller was very friendly, chatting with us about where we were from and how life was in Odisha.
'It's actually not that bad,' he said, speaking about his occupation and earnings. 'People have this huge misconception about so-called lowly jobs. I earn enough to feed my family and send my kids to school. My daughter can speak in perfect English, which is required in today's world. She'll go places. I'm contented. It's just that you get no respect from the society unless you're in one of those elite jobs. I hope my kids learn not to care about that, and find something to do that is the right balance between their passion and abilities.'
We thanked him and made our way to the car. I felt renewed, and not just because of the coconut water. You find inspiration in the strangest of places.
A lesser egret came and perched upon the rocks. It matters not how big you are or where you come from; only that you fly.
By GDW.45 - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=31968375
The little egret (Egretta garzetta). It is a white bird with a slender black beak, long black legs and, in the western race, yellow feet. As an aquatic bird, it feeds in shallow water and on land, consuming a variety of small creatures. They use a variety of methods to procure their food; they stalk their prey in shallow water, often running with raised wings or shuffling their feet to disturb small fish, or may stand still and wait to ambush prey. They make use of opportunities provided by cormorants disturbing fish or humans attracting fish by throwing bread into water. On land they walk or run while chasing their prey, feed on creatures disturbed by grazing livestock and ticks on the livestock, and even scavenge.
Chapter - 26 : Grey
We went to old Bhubaneshwar, to visit the Baitala Deula temple. It was between two residential houses, kept like a Mahjongg piece among pawns on a chessboard. Most of the temples in Bhubaneshwar were like this, and the elements of the city had simply mushroomed around them.
Vaitala (meaning spirit or ghost) Deola (or Devalaya, a place where idols are worshiped) is a Tantrik temple, which was clear from the symbols on its outer walls. There was the usual line of idols dedicated to Chamunda ma (revered highly in Odisha), apart from sculptures of a Buddha-esque deity with a mace in right hand and an upward standing phallus.
'That's Lakulisha, mentioned in various Puranas. He is shown along with his four disciples – Kushika, Gargya, Kaurusha and Maitriya.' Mama schooled me. 'Lakulisha was an Ajivika, a wandering monk who had preserved the ancient occult knowledge. He restored Shaivism in its original form in the first century, re-established the pre-Aryan culture and re-united the various Shaivic sects under Pashupata, that had survived in semi-secrecy for centuries.'
'Hinduism has to be the most...diffracted culture, doesn't it?' I thought aloud. 'So many sects and beliefs coming under one umbrella, and yet as different as chalk and cheese.'
'And all allowed too,' Mama nodded. 'Lakulisha was an advocate of the pagan branch, which worshipped the creator as Pashupati, the herder of all animals, people, spirits, gods. This was part of the Mimansa school.'
'Lot of pagan beliefs still survive here, right?' I mused.
'That's true. The Pashupati Sampradaya was a mystical Shaivism, accepting the various dispositions of human nature, rather than controlling or codifying it. It believed the human body was a vital instrument to reach spiritual highs. Many other schools of thought abhorred these beliefs, and in modern times, they've been almost snuffed out.' Mama said wistfully. 'We fear ourselves too much.'
'But there is a need to curb some behaviour, isn't there?' I asked her. 'Some actions are harmful, either to you or others, in the long run or short run, and some are beneficial, kind. I know whether something is right or wrong depends a lot on the context and the voice of the majority, but once you cross that, there is right or wrong, right? There is a duality.'
'There is, but each has its own energy. Instead of right or wrong, think of it as black and white. The more narrowly you look, the more you see these tiny monochromatic elements making up any action or belief or thought, which clustered together, eventually make a person. These persons in turn make up a people. These peoples make up the world. Those who have a bird's eye view, a vision of the cosmic design, see a dynamic gradient of grey; opposite energies creating a balanced cosmos.' Mama explained. 'When you think of something as wrong you inherently mistrust this balance, and ironically most wrong things happen because of this very dogma that is instilled from an early age.'
'Kind of like the patterns on a grey heron's neck,' I chuckled.
The grey heron (Ardea cinerea). A bird of wetland areas, it can be seen around lakes, rivers, ponds, marshes and on the sea coast. It feeds mostly on aquatic creatures which it catches after standing stationary beside or in the water or stalking its prey through the shallows. In Ancient Egypt, the bird deity Bennu, associated with the sun, creation, and rebirth, was depicted as a heron in New Kingdom artwork. In Ancient Rome, the heron was a bird of divination that gave an augury (sign of a coming event) by its call, like the raven, stork, and owl. Roast heron was once a specially-prized dish in Britain for special occasions such as state banquets. The English surnames Earnshaw, Hernshaw, Herne, and Heron all derive from the heron, the suffix -shaw meaning a wood, referring to a place where herons nested.
The sky had turned grey, and it was time to go on to the Lingraj temple, situated in the very center of old Bhubaneshwar, before our day ended.
'Where do I go to find you?
In thunderstorms and locust swarms, they say you speak your ire,
In floral blooms and fallen plumes, they say your painter's hand,
Our fleeting lives, shot from your Ives, like sparks in a raging fire,
What do I do to fathom you, how many fathoms I've scanned...
I'm still picking up the clues and crumbs you've left behind you,
Where do I go to find you?
It's not a free eternity if you're waiting at the end,
But how do I demystify a universe that goes on?
Maybe this soul is meant to stroll to infinity and transcend,
The senses, reality's fences and find a larger pantheon,
They say that you're behind this all - but is there someone behind you?
Where do I go to find you?
Now I suspect that we affect this deceptive universe,
'Tis our belief there is relief in a higher absolute,
Is this delusion, an illusion - every thinker's curse?
Did you create me first, or did I dream you up en route?
When my lips had touched your name, had I unwittingly designed you?
Where do I go to find you?'
I walked back out, the two ladies in stead. One priest came to Aunty and insisted that she do a puja because some holy day was approaching.
'Arre, how can we do a puja today?' She put on a look of mock indignation. 'We haven't even bathed properly. We also have to get our family pundit's blessings. Tomorrow we'll have a proper bath and come - it will be an insult to God otherwise.'
'Yes yes,' the priest melted immediately. 'Of course, proper rites must be followed. I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.'
She gave him a huge smile and a namaskaram and followed us. Mama could barely control her laughter. 'It's muscle memory now,' Aunty chortled, joining my mother. 'This is a foolproof way to bamboozle these swindlers.'
And we left the temple, laughing to ourselves. I saw a median egret flap by us and settle on the stone wall, looking at the main temple, trying to find the same thing I was.
The intermediate egret, median egret, smaller egret, or yellow-billed egret (Ardea intermedia). This species, as its scientific name implies, is intermediate in size between the larger egret and smaller white egrets like the little egret and cattle egret, though nearer to little than large. Breeding birds may have a reddish or black bill, greenish yellow gape skin, loose filamentous plumes on their breast and back, and dull yellow or pink on their upper legs. Close up, the larger egret's gape line extends behind the eye, while the intermediate's is less pointed and ends below the eye. The intermediate tends to stalk upright with neck extended forward.
Photos, courtesy of Razi Abdi and Rupa Abdi.
Rupa Abdi's Blog: https://travelnaama471249025.wordpress.com/
Anjana's Blog: https://anjlifeexperiences.wordpress.com
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Vaitala (meaning spirit or ghost) Deola (or Devalaya, a place where idols are worshiped) is a Tantrik temple, which was clear from the symbols on its outer walls. There was the usual line of idols dedicated to Chamunda ma (revered highly in Odisha), apart from sculptures of a Buddha-esque deity with a mace in right hand and an upward standing phallus.
'That's Lakulisha, mentioned in various Puranas. He is shown along with his four disciples – Kushika, Gargya, Kaurusha and Maitriya.' Mama schooled me. 'Lakulisha was an Ajivika, a wandering monk who had preserved the ancient occult knowledge. He restored Shaivism in its original form in the first century, re-established the pre-Aryan culture and re-united the various Shaivic sects under Pashupata, that had survived in semi-secrecy for centuries.'
'Hinduism has to be the most...diffracted culture, doesn't it?' I thought aloud. 'So many sects and beliefs coming under one umbrella, and yet as different as chalk and cheese.'
'And all allowed too,' Mama nodded. 'Lakulisha was an advocate of the pagan branch, which worshipped the creator as Pashupati, the herder of all animals, people, spirits, gods. This was part of the Mimansa school.'
'Lot of pagan beliefs still survive here, right?' I mused.
'That's true. The Pashupati Sampradaya was a mystical Shaivism, accepting the various dispositions of human nature, rather than controlling or codifying it. It believed the human body was a vital instrument to reach spiritual highs. Many other schools of thought abhorred these beliefs, and in modern times, they've been almost snuffed out.' Mama said wistfully. 'We fear ourselves too much.'
'But there is a need to curb some behaviour, isn't there?' I asked her. 'Some actions are harmful, either to you or others, in the long run or short run, and some are beneficial, kind. I know whether something is right or wrong depends a lot on the context and the voice of the majority, but once you cross that, there is right or wrong, right? There is a duality.'
'There is, but each has its own energy. Instead of right or wrong, think of it as black and white. The more narrowly you look, the more you see these tiny monochromatic elements making up any action or belief or thought, which clustered together, eventually make a person. These persons in turn make up a people. These peoples make up the world. Those who have a bird's eye view, a vision of the cosmic design, see a dynamic gradient of grey; opposite energies creating a balanced cosmos.' Mama explained. 'When you think of something as wrong you inherently mistrust this balance, and ironically most wrong things happen because of this very dogma that is instilled from an early age.'
'Kind of like the patterns on a grey heron's neck,' I chuckled.
The grey heron (Ardea cinerea). A bird of wetland areas, it can be seen around lakes, rivers, ponds, marshes and on the sea coast. It feeds mostly on aquatic creatures which it catches after standing stationary beside or in the water or stalking its prey through the shallows. In Ancient Egypt, the bird deity Bennu, associated with the sun, creation, and rebirth, was depicted as a heron in New Kingdom artwork. In Ancient Rome, the heron was a bird of divination that gave an augury (sign of a coming event) by its call, like the raven, stork, and owl. Roast heron was once a specially-prized dish in Britain for special occasions such as state banquets. The English surnames Earnshaw, Hernshaw, Herne, and Heron all derive from the heron, the suffix -shaw meaning a wood, referring to a place where herons nested.
The sky had turned grey, and it was time to go on to the Lingraj temple, situated in the very center of old Bhubaneshwar, before our day ended.
Chapter - 27 : Median
Similar to the Jagannath Puri temple, vehicles had to be parked somewhere slightly far off, and me, Mama and Aunty made our way from there barefoot, since there was no other place to keep our footwear.
We passed through the metal detectors that seemed redundant, since they beeped all the time and no one really cared. 'We should bring a sword next time, just to see if they notice,' I muttered to Mama.
It was a wide, open space, with more grassy gardens and granite-paved verandas than the actual temple structures. There was a main Shiva temple, with around twenty smaller temples dedicated to the related deities.
I walked over to the edge of one of the parks, looking at the thick wall separating us from the city. I followed one of the pigeons that had flown in, till I was standing at the median of the temple complex.
I walked over to the edge of one of the parks, looking at the thick wall separating us from the city. I followed one of the pigeons that had flown in, till I was standing at the median of the temple complex.
'Where do I go to find you?
In thunderstorms and locust swarms, they say you speak your ire,
In floral blooms and fallen plumes, they say your painter's hand,
Our fleeting lives, shot from your Ives, like sparks in a raging fire,
What do I do to fathom you, how many fathoms I've scanned...
I'm still picking up the clues and crumbs you've left behind you,
Where do I go to find you?
It's not a free eternity if you're waiting at the end,
But how do I demystify a universe that goes on?
Maybe this soul is meant to stroll to infinity and transcend,
The senses, reality's fences and find a larger pantheon,
They say that you're behind this all - but is there someone behind you?
Where do I go to find you?
Now I suspect that we affect this deceptive universe,
'Tis our belief there is relief in a higher absolute,
Is this delusion, an illusion - every thinker's curse?
Did you create me first, or did I dream you up en route?
When my lips had touched your name, had I unwittingly designed you?
Where do I go to find you?'
I walked back out, the two ladies in stead. One priest came to Aunty and insisted that she do a puja because some holy day was approaching.
'Arre, how can we do a puja today?' She put on a look of mock indignation. 'We haven't even bathed properly. We also have to get our family pundit's blessings. Tomorrow we'll have a proper bath and come - it will be an insult to God otherwise.'
'Yes yes,' the priest melted immediately. 'Of course, proper rites must be followed. I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.'
She gave him a huge smile and a namaskaram and followed us. Mama could barely control her laughter. 'It's muscle memory now,' Aunty chortled, joining my mother. 'This is a foolproof way to bamboozle these swindlers.'
And we left the temple, laughing to ourselves. I saw a median egret flap by us and settle on the stone wall, looking at the main temple, trying to find the same thing I was.
By GDW.45 - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32238144
The intermediate egret, median egret, smaller egret, or yellow-billed egret (Ardea intermedia). This species, as its scientific name implies, is intermediate in size between the larger egret and smaller white egrets like the little egret and cattle egret, though nearer to little than large. Breeding birds may have a reddish or black bill, greenish yellow gape skin, loose filamentous plumes on their breast and back, and dull yellow or pink on their upper legs. Close up, the larger egret's gape line extends behind the eye, while the intermediate's is less pointed and ends below the eye. The intermediate tends to stalk upright with neck extended forward.
Chapter - 28 : Purple
Everyone was hungry, tired and sleepy at the same time. For the first time, I wasn't the only one placing hunger at the top of my woes.
'There's a famous restaurant here, called Dalma. And yes, there is non-veg,' Uncle said hastily as I opened my mouth and shut it, embarrassed. 'Chalo Chintu!' He bellowed like he was signalling off a voyage.
It was a cozy, albeit dimly lit (precursor to shady) restaurant, with us being the only customers. So, Papa and Uncle were obviously under pressure to order fast; they pored over the menu with laser focus. Mama and Aunty stared at the TV, which had a cricket match going on.
'Excuse me, could you put on some news or something?' Mama turned around, calling to the waiters.
She saw them standing in single file - including the manager - staring at the sports telecast with their mouths open, like it was a B-movie scene.
'I think the TV's for them,' I whispered to Mama, in case I woke them up.
'Preposterous,' she huffed and got up. 'Excuse me,' she emphasized, and all the waiters came to life and scampered about like the headmaster had just paid their class a surprise visit, 'Can we change the channel to the news? And would you kindly send someone, if it's not too much of a bother? I think we've decided what we want to order.'
Upon hearing that, Uncle yelped, and scanned the menu faster.
Eventually, I went with mangsha tarakari, and Rohu besara. Mama ordered their famous Dalma, and Papa requested prawns in coconut milk gravy. The food arrived quicker than we thought ('How surprising, this entire trip the service has been so good,' Aunty exclaimed) and we finished it even sooner. The meat was succulent and creamy - Papa guessed they left the fatty parts in while cleaning it - and the gravy had the pungent mustard and garlic flavour, my favourite kind. The prawns was really unique; the cooking style was similar to the Kerala equivalent, but there were no tadka of curry leaves and urad dal in this - and the sourness of tamarind paste was missing. However, this version retained the raw essence of the prawns and the coconut, and it tasted like it had been cooked for longer, imbibing the flavours of the spices down to every fibre of the meat.
'Dessert?' Uncle suggested, rubbing his stomach. 'There's a sweets shop next door.'
We left for some roshogullas and jalebi rabdi, and climbed back into the car to deal with our next woe; sleep. 'Chintu, to the guest house,' Uncle pointed, visibly less captain-like, and yawned back into his seat.
'Bhitarkanika tomorrow. We'll see mangroves and crabs and birds and crocodiles. Yay,' Mama cheered silently, and both me and Papa smiled. I laid back my head and let the purple night reign.
'Excuse me, could you put on some news or something?' Mama turned around, calling to the waiters.
She saw them standing in single file - including the manager - staring at the sports telecast with their mouths open, like it was a B-movie scene.
'I think the TV's for them,' I whispered to Mama, in case I woke them up.
'Preposterous,' she huffed and got up. 'Excuse me,' she emphasized, and all the waiters came to life and scampered about like the headmaster had just paid their class a surprise visit, 'Can we change the channel to the news? And would you kindly send someone, if it's not too much of a bother? I think we've decided what we want to order.'
Upon hearing that, Uncle yelped, and scanned the menu faster.
Eventually, I went with mangsha tarakari, and Rohu besara. Mama ordered their famous Dalma, and Papa requested prawns in coconut milk gravy. The food arrived quicker than we thought ('How surprising, this entire trip the service has been so good,' Aunty exclaimed) and we finished it even sooner. The meat was succulent and creamy - Papa guessed they left the fatty parts in while cleaning it - and the gravy had the pungent mustard and garlic flavour, my favourite kind. The prawns was really unique; the cooking style was similar to the Kerala equivalent, but there were no tadka of curry leaves and urad dal in this - and the sourness of tamarind paste was missing. However, this version retained the raw essence of the prawns and the coconut, and it tasted like it had been cooked for longer, imbibing the flavours of the spices down to every fibre of the meat.
'Dessert?' Uncle suggested, rubbing his stomach. 'There's a sweets shop next door.'
We left for some roshogullas and jalebi rabdi, and climbed back into the car to deal with our next woe; sleep. 'Chintu, to the guest house,' Uncle pointed, visibly less captain-like, and yawned back into his seat.
'Bhitarkanika tomorrow. We'll see mangroves and crabs and birds and crocodiles. Yay,' Mama cheered silently, and both me and Papa smiled. I laid back my head and let the purple night reign.
By Yathin S Krishnappa - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=21376476
The purple heron (Ardea purpurea). It is similar in appearance to the more common grey heron but is slightly smaller, more slender and has darker plumage. It is also a more evasive bird, favouring densely vegetated habitats near water, particularly reed beds. It is most active at dawn and dusk. It is a secretive species.
Photos, courtesy of Razi Abdi and Rupa Abdi.
Rupa Abdi's Blog: https://travelnaama471249025.wordpress.com/
Anjana's Blog: https://anjlifeexperiences.wordpress.com
Vedant's YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC_-wTP-OKAF6HskDOqSeREw
Vedant's Instagram Page: https://www.instagram.com/vedantsapra/
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