Kishkindha and Hampi: Journey from Myth to Heritage

 

Kishkindha and Hampi: 

Journey from Myth to Heritage

“Travelling west, you will behold an enchanting forest in perpetual blossom, with majestic trees – mango, jamun, jackfruit, banyan, peepal, aśoka, kadamba, red sandalwood, mandara, and others.

Enjoy the riot of colours, pleasing to the eyes; inhale the soothing fragrance; savour the nectar-like fruits; and proceed further to reach Pampa Pushkarini – the lotus-pond – free from slime and duckweed and with smooth, level banks.

Relish Pampa’s peerless beauty and charm, festooned as she is with lotuses and lilies; regal swans, playful ducks, majestic sarus cranes and other lovely birds warbling sweet tones in her nourishing waters. Having never been hunted, they are unafraid of human presence.

On Pampa’s bank, enjoy a delicious meal of roasted birds and fishes. After the hearty meal, savour a refreshing cool drink of Pampa’s sparkling, crystal-clean water, fragrant with the scent of lotus blossoms.

When at dusk you stroll beside Pampa’s sprawling blue waters and behold trees donning fresh blossom, you will cast off all your grief.

Nature is bountiful and compassionate; it sustains, nourishes, and soothes the soul.”

Modern readers reading these enticing details may wonder if it is the promotional pitch of Condé Nast, Lonely Planet, or TripAdvisor.
It is not.

It is from Valmiki’s Ramayana; Kabandha’s advisory to Rama and Lakshmana to reach Kishkindha, Pampa, Matangavana, and Rishyamuka.

Kabandha’s Helpful Tips: A Forest Interlude

Many have read some version of Ramayana; even those who haven’t are familiar with the epic story through kathas, Ram Leelas, theatre, films, or TV serials.

Yet, few may recall Kabandha, a peripheral character who makes a fleeting appearance in Aranyakanda and bows out thereafter.

Kabandha is a headless torso, but not a corpse; he is alive, grotesque, and sinister.

He is a celestial with a curse, awaiting the arrival of Rama for redemption. Danu’s son, struck by Indra with vajra, which didn’t kill him, only pushed his head and thighs into the torso, gave a single eye on the chest, and a hideous, cavernous mouth with huge teeth in the belly.

Modern readers might wonder if he was a person with a congenital physical disability – too small a head with too large a torso. Detested and hounded by society, perhaps, he sought refuge in the forest, and lived the life of a savage?

Why did Adi Kavi bring in Kabandha? What purpose does this character serve in the epic story?

Ramayana is an epic, and its scope is vast; not limited to the affairs of the royal family of Koshala, nor of Rama, the avatar, nor even the Lanka war. Ramayana offers a panoramic view of Bharatavarsha, a vast territory, much of which is little known to the settled world.

In the Kabandha episode, the Poet provides vignettes of the amazing beauty and biodiversity of a distant, little-known area of the vast subcontinent, and useful tips for survival in a remote forest. Knowledge is power. Environmental awareness is critical to survival.

Kabandha is gruesome and repulsive in form, vicious and violent in conduct. He has a limited role – to reaffirm Rama’s divinity, and to guide the brothers to Sugriva, who will tell them about Sita’s abductor. The critical alliance with Sugriva will facilitate Rama and his army to reach Lanka.

Kabandha also provides guidance to reach Rishyamuka – the route, landmarks, flora, and fauna.

Kabandha is no chef, but he is glad to share a few culinary tips.

“At Pampa, you will savour plump birds, fat as lumps of ghee. You will strike down with arrows delicious fleshy fish – rohu, curved-snouted, and reed-fish – and enjoy them—skinned, finless, roasted, and with but a single bone.”

Ecological & Cultural Synthesis

This seemingly casual reference to food sources reveals a surprisingly rich ecological and ethnozoological awareness.

In the microhabitat of the Pampa lake, three delicious varieties of fish are plentifully available – Rohita, the red-tinged fish, is rohu – a mid-zone feeder; Vakratunda is curved-snouted – a bottom feeder; and Nala mina is reed-fish – a surface feeder.

The lake is vast and deep, so it’s best to hunt fish in the shallow waters with arrows. Better to focus on the plump, fleshy fishes, with a single mid-bone, easy to roast and easier to handle.

The culinary detail is amazing: remove the fins, skin the fish, roast on fire.

Kabandha had no head, no legs, only one eye on his chest, and on his belly, a mouth with hideous teeth; but he had encyclopaedic knowledge of the biodiversity of the region and the survival diet in an alien forest.

He was not a professional ethnobiologist or a trained naturalist; but like many forest dwellers, he was a keen observer, and a repository of ecological knowledge so critical for survival.

Survival in the forest needs more than strength and valour. Knowledge of ecology – of flora and fauna – especially the edible choices are critical. Fruits and roots may be taken as they come, but fish is better roasted after due preparation.

Princes, too, must learn the art of survival when alone in an alien forest.

Whither Pampa?

Time (Kāla) respects neither geography, nor history, nor man nor matter. It alters geography at will and rewrites history when in the mood.

Mountains move up. Seas recede. Rivers change course; some die out, others are born.

Empires rise and fall; so do cities, states, and countries.

Time (Kāla) devours everything, including empires built by eminent gods.

An unknown poet laments:

Raghupate, kva gato ’Uttara Koshala?
Yadupate, kva gato Mathurapuri?

“O Rama, what happened to Uttara Koshala;
O Krishna, where has Mathura vanished?”

In Aranyakanda of Ramayana, Valmiki lingers upon the mesmerising beauty of Pampa, a lake deep enough for elephants to sport; and the bountiful forests of perpetual spring – Matangavana and Rishyamuka.

Were the poet to visit Hampi today, the area would be unrecognisable to him. What would disappoint him most – the mighty Tungabhadra reduced to a feeble stream after the construction of the multi-purpose dam upstream; the little pond called Pampa Sarovar, a faint memory of the fabled Pampa Pushkarini? Where are the sarus cranes and other birds, the elephants, tigers, bears, deer, and other animals; and the trees laden with blossoms and fruits? He might possibly lament:

Kva gato Pampa?
Kva gato Matangavana?
Kva gato Rishyamuka?

Fiction to Trip

Recently, a fiction lover read Victory City by Salman Rushdie, and was so charmed by the book that he made a quick trip to Hampi, disregarding the advisory to visit in winter.

The novel is about an imaginary memoir – Jayaparajaya (Victory and Defeat) by Pampa Kampana, the imaginary queen of the Sangama brothers – Hukka Raya I and Bukka Raya, the first two kings of the Vijayanagara Empire (1336–1646).

What connects Pampa to Hampi? Pampa is Parvati’s local name; she performed arduous penance, pleased Shiva, and was united with him here.

The Vijayanagara kings built the huge temple for Virupaksha Shiva, known here as Pampapati. The entire area got named as Pampa Kshetra.

(Virupaksha Temple Complex, Hampi; 

Source: Wikimedia Commons)

In Kannada, ‘P’ is pronounced as ‘H’, so Pampa became Hampa; and since many city names favoured ending with ‘i’, like Ujjayini, Kashi, Kanchi, and Madurai, Hampa became Hampi – the City of Pampa.

Where was Pampa Pushkarini, the vast and deep lake? It was possibly an oxbow lake created by the mighty rivers Tunga and Bhadra, or it could be a lake in a valley skirted by mountains. It was deep enough for elephants to swim, big fish to thrive, and huge flocks of birds to have a sanctuary. Lotus and lilies bloomed round the year, lending colour and fragrance, while providing safe haven for birds to breed and reed-fish to proliferate.

Victory City

Salman Rushdie’s Victory City ends poignantly with Pampa’s words:

“I, Pampa Kampana, am the author of this book.
I have lived to see an empire rise and fall.
How are they remembered now, these kings, these queens?
They exist now only in words.
While they lived, they were victors, or vanquished, or both.
Now they are neither.
Words are the only victors.
What they did, or thought, or felt, no longer exists.
Only these words describing those things remain…”

Kishkindha, Matangavana, and Pampa Pushkarini are gone, but Valmiki’s words remain. Words are the only victors.

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