‘Ahilyabai died at the age of seventy. She ruled for a very supportive, productive thirty years as the queen of Malwa. Girls were not usually educated then but her father had taught her to read and write. She wanted everyone to come up, and supported all classes of society. She looked after the poor, gave her people good governance and did not use public funds for personal expenses. Can you imagine that, though she was queen? It was a golden age in the heart of India.’
‘She became a legend in her lifetime, fiercely loved by her people and admired by other rulers, from the Nizam of Hyderabad to the British. Her capital was at the lovely town of Maheshwar by the Narmada. Poets, writers and artists flocked to her court. Using her personal funds, she rebuilt the Kashi Vishwanath temple and did a lot for many holy cities across India, including Ujjain—she built temples, wells, ghats, roads and rest houses. Later, in the nineteenth century, it was the British who decided to reduce the importance of Ujjain because its merchants were known to be anti-British. They made Indore important in its place, a fine town that had been developed from a sleepy little village by Maharani Ahilyabai.’
‘I have a very nice “Maheshwari” handloom cotton sari,’ confessed the grandmother. ‘Ahilyabai invented the design and her present descendants revived it. I particularly like to wear it on 15 August in private celebration of Indian women.’
‘Really, Ma? What a sweet thing to do. I must get one, too, though I don’t wear saris as often as you,’ said the mother. ‘Ahilyabai sounds brilliant. I wish I had a good biography of her to read. How come we don’t know enough about her in the normal course of things? When I was checking flights to Indore, I saw that the airport there is called Devi Ahilya Bai Holkar Airport. Now I know why.’
‘I imagine Ujjain has a lot of temples, if it’s so holy,’ said the grandmother.
‘The Panch Kos or pilgrim circuit of Ujjain takes us through eighty-four temples. It’s an energy field like the Goverdhan Parikrama. Several temples in Ujjain were rebuilt on old, unforgotten sites during Ahilyabai’s rule. But then, Ujjain remembers everything. When the stars are in alignment every twelve years over Ujjain for the great event of the Kumbh Mela, they say that the constellations in the sky are represented on earth by the city’s temples.’
‘Shakti is there, too, you know. The Harsiddhi Shaktipeeth at Ujjain is one of the fifty-one places where parts of Sati’s body fell. This temple marks the site where Sati’s elbow is believed to have fallen. The link with the goddess added the power of siddhi or enlightened understanding to Ujjain. It became known as a place of intellectual attainment.’
‘That’s why Sri Krishna was sent to study there with his brother Balarama at Rishi Sandipani’s gurukul, where Sudama, too, was a student and became Krishna’s friend. Krishna was so adept that he learnt not only the warrior’s skill of archery and the fourteen sciences but also “the sixty-four arts” from Guru Sandipani. Later, Krishna married Mitravinda, a princess of Ujjain. She was one of his eight chief queens.’
‘Ujjain was also at the crossroads of important earthly political alliances between the ancient kingdoms of Magadha, Kosala, Vatsa and Avanti.’
‘In the third century bce, young prince Ashoka was sent by his father as the governor of Ujjain. Ashoka married Devi, a rich merchant’s daughter from Vidisha, and his son, Prince Mahendra, was born in Ujjain. Ashoka went back to Pataliputra in Bihar but Queen Devi stayed on at Ujjain.’
‘When Ashoka embraced Buddhism, it was from Ujjain that he sent his son Mahendra and daughter Sanghamitra to the eastern coast and out across the sea as missionaries to Sri Lanka. They were taught at Ujjain, which everyone knew of as a town of scholars.’
‘It was at Ujjain, too, that King Bhartrihari once ruled. However, when disappointed in love, he became an ascetic and a recluse, living in a cave on the banks of the river Kshipra. He composed many profound verses that were widely spread by the Nath Sampradaya order of sadhus and are still sung in India. You must see “Bhartihari’s Cave” by the Kshipra, when you visit.
‘Then, in 57 bce, King Vikramaditya of Ujjain won a famous victory over the Shakas. He founded a new era to commemorate this. Ahead of the Gregorian calendar by 57 years, the Vikram Era or Vikram Samvat is still in use with us as the Indian calendar.’
‘Vikramaditya was a great and noble king who set a high standard of excellence. Many later kings tried to be like him and live up to his reputation.’
‘Vikramaditya established a grand court at Ujjain. It attracted many great scholars and Ujjain further flourished in that period as a seat of learning.’
‘Sciences like mathematics and astronomy, arts and literature achieved new heights during his rule. His court had the pick of eminent scientists and artistes. They were collectively known as the Navratna or Nine Gems, a concept picked up by later rulers.’
‘Among them was the great physician and healer Dhanvantari, a master of Ayurveda and the author of an important medical treatise.’
‘Varahamihira was a well-known astronomer and astrologer whose fame spread to faraway kingdoms as did the news of his specially built observatory at Ujjain. It disappeared under the debris of history but was never forgotten. Centuries later, Maharaja Jai Singh II of Jaipur managed to build an observatory there as an act of reparation.’
‘Vetal Bhat, author of the still-popular Vetal Pacheesi or Twenty-five Tales of the Ghoul, wrote elegant, witty stories that not only entertained but also served as lessons in character-building, ethics, best practices and diplomacy for kings and commoners alike.’
‘Vararuchi, the great grammarian, wrote a formidable work on Prakrit grammar. He is also said to have authored the collection of stories called Simhasan Batteesi or Thirty-two Tales of the Throne.’
‘I know those stories,’ said the child. ‘Papa and I read them together. I like Vikram and Vetal—and Raja Bhoj of Malwa in the Throne stories’.
‘You’re not scared of the Vetal?’
‘Papa says I don’t have to be because the Vetal can never get past King Vikram.’
‘Anyway, what’s a Vetal compared to the Shivaganas, eh?’
‘They don’t scare me either. They can’t help looking different. Ma says if they’re good enough for Mahadev, they’re good enough for us.’
‘And quite right, too. Those stories from Ujjain are still with us, and also the poems and plays of Kalidasa whose Kumarasambhavam you know about. He was from Ujjain, too. In fact, several famous ancient plays are set in Ujjain by other playwrights like Bhasa and Shudraka.’
‘We consider Kalidasa the finest Sanskrit playwright and poet. We don’t really know his history but his works remain a reality. Well, you’ve seen how the known and the Unknown seamlessly interface throughout the land via its sacred geography. The depth and range of the concept are unique to India. Think of Ratnavati and the rock-solid Thayumanavar temple at Trichy or Nakkeeran at Madurai who left behind an actual literary work on Kumar, or Ram Setu or Mathura–Vrindavan or Kashi or a thousand other places.’
‘So I can’t resist telling you a popular tale about Kalidasa. Parvati was the turning point in his story and he repaid his debt to her magnificently with Kumarasambhavam. She helped him save his marriage and he retold the story of her wedding with divine inspiration, in divine language. The legend of Kalidasa is the true stuff of literary romance.’
‘We don’t know his original name but the story goes that he was an illiterate local youth who was picked up and married through a palace intrigue to the learned princess Vidyottama of Ujjain.’
‘After the wedding, the princess was terribly shocked to discover her husband’s complete lack of learning. He couldn’t even write his own name. The princess, who worshipped Shiva and Parvati with total faith, now prayed desperately to them to save her from this shame and misery. Swallowing her anger at the way she had been tricked by cunning ministers at court who resented her learning and feared that she might even be queen one day, she told the country bumpkin to pray to Parvati to help him get an
education.’
‘He went weeping to a temple nearby where Parvati was worshipped as Ma Kali and spoke to her with such honesty and in such a childlike, funny way that she found him amusing. She took pity on him, and on the poor princess whose dignity was now so shatteringly at stake, and blessed him with instant wit, learning and poetic skill. His mind suddenly lit up with wise, beautiful thoughts, with words and rhymes and meters and metaphors. Encouraged by Parvati, he went back bravely to the princess and told her that the goddess had blessed him and that he wished to be called “Kalidasa”, the devotee of Ma Kali.’
‘To test him, the princess asked him a question in Sanskrit: “Asti kashchit vaagvisheshah?” “Is there something unique to speech?” meaning, “Have you anything special to say?”’
‘Kalidasa smiled sunnily and told her to give him some time to answer. He went to live by the Kali temple and wrote steadily every day between prayers to the divine mother. He began three enormous poems with those very words, as a grand answer that there is something to speech.’
‘His epic poem Kumarasambhavam about the marriage of Shiva and Parvati begins with the word “Asti”.’
‘The epic poem Raghuvamsha or “Lineage of Sri Rama” begins with the word “Vaak”.’
‘“Kashchit” occurs in the first stanza of Meghdoot, “The Cloud-Messenger”—the lyric poem that vividly describes the beauty of the north Indian landscape with Ujjain as the jewel in its crown dedicated to Mahakaleshwar.’
‘And we can’t possibly forget his most famous play, Abhignyana-Shaakuntalam, “The Recognition of Shakuntala”.’
‘What a romantic story. He arrived illiterate and came back a great poet. Did Vidyottama and Kalidasa live happily ever after?’ said the grandmother.
‘I think it’s safe to say that they must have. What a story . . . asti kashchit vaagvisheshah. Maybe it was that which inspired Kalidasa to describe Shiva and Parvati as “vaak” and “arth”, inseparable as “word” and “meaning”. He wrote three plays and four long epic poems in Sanskrit.’
‘I heard from a friend just last week that the Shillong Youth Choir was going to sing Schubert’s unfinished opera Shakuntala at the Austrian Embassy,’ said the mother.
‘Shakuntala went west in a big way in the colonial period,’ said the grandfather.
‘I wish I knew something by Kalidasa,’ said the mother. ‘They taught me Lord Ullin’s Daughter and The Inchcape Rock in school, and sonnets by Shakespeare. Not that I mind knowing those poems. English poetry is quite charming. But it would have been nice to have learnt something by Kalidasa to balance east and west. Beyond our Hindi textbooks, I mean. I can’t help feeling that I belong to a cheated generation.’
‘You would probably have learnt about asti kashchit vaagvisheshah in the eighth standard if your school had taught you Sanskrit. Mine did not either, it was very, very Westernized, which is useful out in the world but leaves you trapped in the English language with a big, empty hole in your heart. So I struggled to learn Sanskrit privately. My first textbook was the Laghu Siddhanta Kaumudi. It’s an abridged version of Panini’s Sanskrit grammar by someone called Varadaraja back in the seventeenth century. I almost gave up! But luckily I found a very sweet old teacher with a genuine love of the language, a sanyasi at the Kanchi Kamakshi temple opposite the Jawaharlal Nehru University East Gate. My ashram helped me a lot, too. And once it takes hold, you never want to stop.’
‘However, you can still obtain a real piece of Kalidasa through other, informal ways. I’d like to give you some nice homework while I’m away, which I’ll take you through when I come back. Will you look up Kalidasa’s prayer to Parvati as the giver of wisdom? It’s supposed to be his very first composition, a paean of thanks after she blessed him with instant scholarship. It’s very beautiful and powerful . . . “sarva tantratmike sarva yantratmike” (the soul of all magic and occult power). You can find it on YouTube. It’s called Sri Shyamala Dandakam, and begins with the words “Manikya veenam upalayalantim” (O player of a jewelled lute). There are several versions out there, some very long, but I have a soft spot for the one chanted by Bharat Ratna M.S. Subbulakshmi. It’s about seven minutes long. Her pronunciation is perfect and her bhakti bhava is sublime.’
‘I shall find it and we shall learn it,’ said the mother resolutely. ‘I would love to recite something by Kalidasa on the banks of the Kshipra. If I don’t manage to learn it by heart before our trip, I’ll hear it on YouTube by the river.’
‘We’ll all hear it. Imagine hearing Kalidasa in Ujjain. But why is the Kumbh Mela celebrated there?’ said the father.
‘Ah, for that, we must go right back to the story of the Kalakuta poison which Shiva drank to save the world.’
‘When amrita, the nectar or elixir of eternal life, emerged in a jar from the Ocean of Milk, a drop each fell on Ujjain, Prayag, Nashik and Haridwar, making them sacred sites.’
‘Our chance to obtain an earthly share of the elixir comes once in twelve years at each of those four places, when the stars are in the very same alignment as they were above each city when the drop of nectar fell on it. This event is called the Kumbh or Jar after the jar of amrita. They call it Singhast in Ujjain because Guru or Jupiter is in Simha or Leo then over the city.’
‘If you go to Ujjain during the month-long Singhast, the tradition of countless pilgrims is to follow the Panch Kos pilgrim circuit, have a cleansing dip in the Kshipra and then go to Mahakaleshwar in spiritual surrender.’
‘We’ve missed the 2016 Singhast, which means there won’t be another until 2028,’ mourned the grandmother.
‘I’m told that 75 million people showed up during the month of the 2016 Singhast. There was no proper Kumbh Mela at Ujjain for centuries, you know. The present Singhast Kumbh was revived in the eighteenth century by the Maratha ruler Ranoji Shinde who patterned it after the Nashik Kumbh, which itself is patterned on the Haridwar Kumbh. In fact, the Ujjain Singhast is the only Kumbh to have been revived in a princely state. The others took place in British-ruled cities.’
‘Then, there’s the south Indian Kumbh at the ancient temple town of Kumbakonam by the Kaveri, in Tamil Nadu. Kumbakonam was a big centre of Hindu culture and European education. It was called “the Cambridge of south India” during the colonial period. The Kumbh there is called “Mahamaham”. It’s held every twelve years for ten days when Jupiter is in Leo. The brightest star in Leo is Regulus, known to us as Magha nakshatra. Hence the name “Maha Magham” that softened over time to “Mahamaham”.’
‘Many sacred rivers of India are believed to turn up in the Kumbakonam tank during that time—Ganga, Yamuna, Godavari, Narmada, Mahanadi, Sarayu, Sindhu, Kaveri, Payoshini—the Mahabharata’s name for the Tapti . . . and even the hidden Sarasvati.’
‘That’s incredible,’ said the grandfather. ‘It reminds me of something my father once told me about how one did a full Kashi Yatra. He said we had to take a pot of water from the Ganga to pour into the sea at Ram Setu and vice versa.’
‘Yes, it’s Aa Setu Himalaya in reverse currents of affirmation. I’m told that Mansar Lake in Jammu, by which there is an Umapati-Mahadev temple, is where the devout take a dip on holy days. Mansar represents Mansarovar in Jammu. There are layers of connection across India that will take the westernized minority like us years to fully discover. If you remember, I noticed it in Himachal Pradesh, too, at Paragpur. I’m sure Acharya noticed it long before any of us.’
‘It’s a tight, wide web that was deeply embedded in the land millennia ago, that remains deeply embedded in innumerable heads, even ours. People like us may appear to merely skim the surface but it goes deep with us, too. See how hungrily we respond to our prayers and stories, our tirthas and kshetras, and to anything good and beautiful in our tradition. Wherever we are, we feel the thrilling connection with the gods who make our geography sacred. Mirabai said it for us, “Chalo mann, Ganga-Jamuna teer— oh heart let us go to Ganga-Yamuna”.
‘That’s why lakhs of people arri
ve at Kumbakonam for a mass-bathing ceremony with no issues about who belongs to which community. Every class and caste shows up and cheerfully bathes together, women, too. Taking Shiva-Parvati’s name, and Vishnu’s, they dissolve their identities in the waters and pray to emerge with their heart and karma cleansed. Luckily, the tank is big. It covers 6.2 acres and is shaped like a trapezoid.’
‘The whole town pitches in for those ten days for Annadanam, the giving of food. That is our most important religious duty, you know, more than any ceremony. You may never go to a temple but if you feed the poor, the travellers and the pilgrims, you can chalk up some very good karma. Every temple and ashram cooks for the crowd and so do private households. The Muslims of Kumbakonam contribute a thousand kilos of rice each time towards the Mahamaham Annadanam. Anybody can show up anywhere for a meal. It’s all quite wonderful.’
‘That’s so heartwarming to know,’ said the grandmother. ‘To think that Shiva drank poison to save the world so long ago and we still thank him on such a scale, up and down the land. Kumbh is a beautiful, inclusive idea. It should bring out the best in people.’
‘All year round and every year, not just every twelve years,’ snorted the grandfather.
‘Our fasts, feasts and festivals are daily reminders and Kumbh is a big, collective reminder,’ said the guru gently.
‘What should we do when we go to Ujjain?’ said the father.
‘You could go to the early morning bhasma harati of Mahakaleshwar at 4 a.m. that only men used to go to because of the early hour. But any one of us can book it online today and watch it being conducted. It’s free. You need to book only because the space is limited inside, so they issue passes for which you need ID proof. Or you could just go to the large temple hall and watch it onscreen. Ladies have to wear saris and men have to wear dhotis if they want to attend the ash harati.’
‘They do the ablution or jal abhishek before the bhasma harati. Abhishekha priyo Shiva, remember? The jal abhishek is from 3.15 a.m. to 4 a.m. I’m told that you have to be in line by about one in the morning because it’s “first come, first in line”.’
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