Skip to main content

The Dumbness of Orchha



Our tourist guide was deaf and dumb. 

Chaturbhuj Temple
Maggie and I landed in Orchha rather unexpectedly.  We had no idea what lay in store for us there except that some parts of the movie, Raavan, were shot there.  The auto driver stopped in the parking lot and pointed at an ancient structure and mumbled something.  I asked him what it was and he said while pushing his auto into its parking corner, “Mandir (temple).  There’s also a mahal (palace).”  He did not look cooperative at all.  He must have been irked by the cop who swindled Rs 50 out of him at the UP-MP border though he added that amount to our fare in the end.  “What fault did you commit so that you had to bribe the cop?” I asked when he had returned from the cop.  “It’s the routine...” he mumbled with palpable irritation.

The Ascent
We ascended the granite steps of the Chaturbhuj temple.  A honeycomb lay hanging on the arch at the entrance.  There was a priest conducting some rituals and a few devotees were attending them.  We looked around, up and down, and then proceeded to the other side where another flight of concrete steps would take us down.  As we were descending a boy made a gesture to us from below.  He was asking us to wait.  We did wait as he ran into a small door and came out with two things: a key and a sign board that he hung on his neck briskly asking us to read it.  It said, “I am deaf and dumb, help me.”  Then he dangled the key on our faces making another gesture that meant, “Follow me.”

“He has something to show us,” I said to Maggie.  We followed him.  He opened a small door which led to a very narrow path.  He gave me a torch and made another gesture.  We went in, climbed up many narrow and steep steps conquering the various levels of the temple until we reached the top from where the view looked quite charming.  I did not understand most of what our guide was trying to communicate through his generous gestures.

A view from the top
When he brought us down some half an hour later, we rewarded him amply and proceeded to other sites of interest.  On the way, we had our breakfast at Amar Mahal which looked palatial.

Orchha did not look neglected really.  But there was something about the place that sapped its potential to be a tourist attraction.  All along the way, the landscape looked like a desolate wilderness dotted with some thirsty bushes and trees. 

There is a new temple adjacent to the ancient structure.  There were hundreds of devotees standing in a queue with their holy offerings in hand.  Perhaps, Orchha is a religious centre rather than a tourist attraction, I thought.  In spite of all that crowd, the place looked very quiet without any rush or sound.  Maybe, we had reached the place at a wrong time in a wrong season.  Nevertheless, there was something dumb about the place. 

Amar Mahal where we relished a buffet breakfast
As we made our way back after visiting the other places, our tourist guide came running to meet us again.  He folded his hands with a beaming smile on his face.  That smile sparkled against the grimness of all the granite around.  In fact, that was the only smiling face I ever saw in Orchha.


Top post on IndiBlogger.in, the community of Indian Bloggers


Related post: The Eagle of Orchha



Comments

  1. Looks like you had a mixed experience...not so good in the beginning but ending was good :-)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, Jayanta, a mixed experience, interesting nonetheless.

      Delete
  2. The two characters you briefly mentioned about, seems very interesting to me. Their behaviors are so unlike. One not so friendly, the other smiling at you. This is really a mixed experience as understood by Jayanta.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It's difficult to smile if you are living in Orchha, perhaps! Otherwise one has to be deaf and dumb!! The place baffled me a bit.

      Delete
  3. Recall my memories of 2000 , when I was in jhansi and pursuing my B.tech. Orchha was our weekend destination . after 14 yrs nothing changed there ! great blog , i m here first time .

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Glad I could revive your memories. Perhaps, Orchha won't change for another century! It has merged into history, it looks like.

      Delete
  4. My blurred memory has the same impression...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Orchha won't change much in centuries, Amit.

      Delete
    2. I thought in the same line and tried to put them in best of my expressions yesterday but the net connection kept flickering deleting my words. I gave up after several attempts.

      Let Orccha not change! That's my wish. At least in terms of its serenity and the smile of the little boy that should never vanish from any impoverished being.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Everything is Politics

Politics begins to contaminate everything like an epidemic when ideology dies. Death of ideology is the most glaring fault line on the rock of present Indian democracy. Before the present regime took charge of the country, political parties were driven by certain underlying ideologies though corruption was on the rise from Indira Gandhi’s time onwards. Mahatma Gandhi’s ideology was rooted in nonviolence. Nothing could shake the Mahatma’s faith in that ideal. Nehru was a staunch secularist who longed to make India a nation of rational people who will reap the abundant benefits proffered by science and technology. Even the violent left parties had the ideal of socialism to guide them. The most heartless political theory of globalisation was driven by the ideology of wealth-creation for all. When there is no ideology whatever, politics of the foulest kind begins to corrode the very soul of the nation. And that is precisely what is happening to present India. Everything is politics

The Little Girl

The Little Girl is a short story by Katherine Mansfield given in the class 9 English course of NCERT. Maggie gave an assignment to her students based on the story and one of her students, Athena Baby Sabu, presented a brilliant job. She converted the story into a delightful comic strip. Mansfield tells the story of Kezia who is the eponymous little girl. Kezia is scared of her father who wields a lot of control on the entire family. She is punished severely for an unwitting mistake which makes her even more scared of her father. Her grandmother is fond of her and is her emotional succour. The grandmother is away from home one day with Kezia's mother who is hospitalised. Kezia gets her usual nightmare and is terrified. There is no one at home to console her except her father from whom she does not expect any consolation. But the father rises to the occasion and lets the little girl sleep beside him that night. She rests her head on her father's chest and can feel his heart

Yesterday

With students of Carmel Margaret, are you grieving / Over Goldengrove unleaving…? It was one of my first days in the eleventh class of Carmel Public School in Kerala, the last school of my teaching career. One girl, whose name was not Margaret, was in the class looking extremely melancholy. I had noticed her for a few days. I didn’t know how to put the matter over to her. I had already told the students that a smiling face was a rule in the English class. Since Margaret didn’t comply, I chose to drag Hopkins in. I replaced the name of Margaret with the girl’s actual name, however, when I quoted the lines. Margaret is a little girl in the Hopkins poem. Looking at autumn’s falling leaves, Margaret is saddened by the fact of life’s inevitable degeneration. The leaves have to turn yellow and eventually fall. And decay. The poet tells her that she has no choice but accept certain inevitabilities of life. Sorrow is our legacy, Margaret , I said to Margaret’s alter ego in my class. Let

A Rat’s Death

I’m reading an anthology of Urdu stories written by different authors and translated into English by Rakshanda Jalil. These are stories taken from the rural backyards of India. I wish to focus on just one of them here today merely because I love it for its aesthetic intensity. A Rat’s Death by Zakia Mashhadi is the story of an impecunious man named Dhena who is a Musahar. Musahar is a Dalit community whose very name means ‘rat eater.’ Their main occupation is catching rats which they eat too because of inescapable destitution. One day Dhena is tempted by the offer made by Mishrji, a political broker. Go to the city and take part in a political rally and “You will get eight rupees, and also sherbet and puris with sabzi.” Puris and sabzi with sherbet to boot is a banquet for Dhena for whom even salt in his rat meat is a luxury. Dhena is scared of the city’s largeness and rush and pomp. But the reward is too tempting. The city people who eat puri-sabzi consider people like Dhena