Sravanabelagola, Karnataka, India

Sravanabelagola is just a day trip (about 100 km) from Mysore in the South Indian state of Karnataka. In fact, it’s often bundled together by Mysore tour bus operators with stops at two ruin cities of the Hoysala kingdom, Haledid and Belur - splendid temples at both locations.

Shortly after we arrived as exchange students at Mysore University back in ‘74, our chaperone arranged for the twelve of us to take this very tour. We were eager to get out and see something of the countryside with our cameras at the ready. Our sprawling campus had already become somewhat too claustrophobic for our tastes.

Of the three sites, Sravanabelagola was by far the most dramatic. This was said to be one of the most popular Jain pilgrimage centers in South India, and is known for its colossal monolithic statue of Gomateswara at the top of a hill. (All Jain pilgrimage sites are atop of hills.) We climbed the time-worn steps that went up the mountain. And that’s exactly how it was. Not only was there a giant statue, but Jain priests were busy conducting a ceremony, pouring milk, curds, ghee and saffron over the naked stone idol. I stood there and watched in wonder and took a picture.

Thirty years later would find me in Mysore once again. My wife and I signed up for the three-site tour. Sravanabelagola was our first stop. I was eager to see it again. Nothing much looked familiar, but that was to be expected after so many years. There was a brand-new entrance gate at the bottom. We started our climb. Somebody said there are 500 steps to the top. Indeed, we could not see the top. We climbed higher and higher. Now and again, naked men passed us going the other way, their faces smeared with ash. We stopped frequently to catch our breath and look around. The higher we climbed, the stronger the breeze became. It felt good.

At last we reached the top. The sheer size of the statue took my breath away. It stood serenely atop of the mountain and had bamboo scaffolding all around it. My mind balked. I tried hard to reconcile what confronted me at that moment with my admittedly sketchy memory of same. For one thing, this statue was gleaming bright under the clear Karnataka skies. The one I remembered was black (which was entirely possible for, I was told, the ghee poured over the stone sometimes had the tendency to turn the stone dark). Yet, I grudgingly decided that this was not the same statue I had seen the first time around. If I had, I would have remembered it. It’s sheer size alone made it unforgettable.

And this remains a mystery. Where exactly was I when I thought I was there thirty years back? There was another hill in town. I thought maybe, back then, we had climbed the other one. I searched the internet, but found nothing even close to what I remembered at that location. I asked my professor who had been in charge of us back then. I asked my wife who had grown up in Mysore and made this pilgrimage any number of times. All came up empty.
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Today the mystery was solved. It seems that not 20 km from Mysore there’s
Gommatagiri. A 700-year-old statue of black granite stands atop a fifty meter tall hillock called 'Shravana Gudda'. This statue of Gomateshwara is said to be an early Vijayanagara creation . The center attracts many pilgrims during the annual ‘Maha masthakabhisekha', held in September. That would coincide with the time we were there.

The statue at Gommatagiri has a striking resemblance to its famous counterpart in Sravanabelagola except that it is dwarfed by comparison. Googling Gommatagiri and then clicking on images, I finally solved the puzzle that had haunted me for nearly half a lifetime.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com

Mysore, South India

How often have you heard it said that a song or a taste had taken someone back to remembering a place of his or her past? In most cases, many find that this may be the only way to actualize the precious memories of previous lives for, during prolonged absences, places tend to physically change and become unrecognizable.

I recently posted an article about Basel, Switzerland, in which I intimated that there are two cities I’ve become emotionally attached to. I can now reveal that the other is Mysore, India. It may serve to note that I spent only a short time in each initially. Yet, I had the opportunity to visit both again after decades had passed… and neither seemed to have changed all that much in the meantime.

In my junior year at college, I participated in the Central Pennsylvania Consortium’s ‘study abroad’ program. There were about a dozen of us from various colleges, most (but not exclusively) in Pennsylvania. Our destination was Mysore University in Mysore, South India.

We were all excited to be going. The Beatles, particularly George Harrison, had made India into a high-priority destination for us. Then, after landing in Delhi, the fun began. India simply overwhelmed us. The heat, the dust, the sights, the sounds, the tastes, the smells all conspired to overload our circuits. Though we stayed in one of the better hotels - close to Connaught Circle, the most westernized part of the city - our minds and bodies balked at what we faced. We continued to hear stories about Westerners going off to India with the best of intentions and leaving again on very the next flight out. We might have done the same had we felt well enough to organize two thoughts or more.

Some of us managed a trip to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. On the way, we stopped at Fathepur Sikri. Eventually, we headed south by train to Mysore, our new Indian home. By the time we were settled in at the Manasagangotri dorms, most of us were already feeling much better – physically, at least. We were given bicycles to tool around town with and told to remember to keep to the left-hand side of the road. It wasn’t so much of a problem; back in those days as there wasn’t much traffic anyway.

Mysore was an absolutely lovely, gentle South Indian town. It is where the Maharajas of Mysore – the Wodeyar dynasty - made their home. Accordingly, there are several magnificent palaces in town. The city lies at the foot of distinctive Chamundi Hill, which seen from a distance, at night, looks like it is draped with a sparkling pearl necklace, the illusion the streetlights along the road that leads up to the summit artfully maintains. A ride or climb (there are steps) to the top affords one a lovely view of the town below. There is also the Chamundeshwari Temple, a huge statue of Nandi, the bull, and another of the demon Mahishasura after which Mysore was named.

Famed South Indian writer, R.K. Narayan, lived much of the productive part of his life in Mysore. He wrote almost exclusively about Malgudi. Anyone reading his novels, who might have spent any time at all in Mysore, will easily make the connection between Malgudi and Mysore. They are one and the same. Narayan writes in English - not in Kannada, the language spoken Karnataka (State) – but writes as an English speaker in Mysore would speak. It gives his prose a deceptive simplicity.

It was British author, Graham Greene, who discovered Narayan and introduced his prose to Western audiences. To me, his genius is two-fold: First, he managed to capture the essence of Mysore with words (just as a smell or taste is capable of reconstituting a past life); and second, his observations in a philosophical/metaphysical sense, are nothing short of profound. I’m thinking primarily of his novel entitled, “The English Teacher” which some say is his most autobiographical effort. In it, he explores the here as it relates to the beyond. He is said to have been a modest man, often seen in the English Literature Department at Mysore University as guest, coach and observer.

Peter Koelliker; pkoelliker8@yahoo.com