Selective Amnesia

CBZ Chronicles, Redux, Deux

Last heard from you, you were struggling to find your voice over the sound of the engine.

One minute, you are on the (what appears to be smooth and level) road. Next minute, your lost voice comes back in a high-pitched scream as you float 10 feet above ground. You come back to earth a few feet from a speed-breaker that did more than its job description.

But that does not set back you, young Lochinvar, from your quest for fun.

From Tindivanam, you proceed in a north-westerly direction, sights firmly set on Kanceepuram. On the way, you pass Vadavasi, or Wandiwash, as our white brethren put it. Out of nowhere, you spy what seems to you like an old temple. Brakes screech, and dust clouds. You dismount, and walk up to the structure.
Oh yes, it is. Or atleast, a traveller’s bungalow, with tell tale signs of Pallava Archtecture.
Rough hewn granite walls, with solid blocks of granite chisseled into a pillar with the trademark L shaped support at the apex. It’s a gem.


But wait, what is this, right next, in a cosmic sense, but about 2 kilometres away in absolute numbers, is another such temple, this time of Chola Style. Nah. Make it Chola and Vijayanagara style of construction.

You appetite for history whetted, you continue on your journey to Kanceepuram. Passing such quaintly named villages as Dusi(Dust), Mandaiodu (Skull) and one intriguingly named Chaulakya (an ancient Marathi/Kannada dynasty).

At Kanceepuram, you head straight to a 1400 year old temple called Kailasha Nathar koil. Built by the Pallava King Rajasimha Varman, this temple is a classic in Dravidian architecture. Sandstone sculptures and pillars, sitting on granite bases look like a million chariots rushing to a distant war-field. Each of these chariot is equipped with a small room, room enough for a monk to sit and meditate. And to assist him in his meditation, are sculptures and paintings of different gods and goddesses. Now sadly plastered over in an attempt to preserve. You go round and round this small but brilliant temple, the temple that inspired Raja Raja Cholan’s own masterpiece, in awe and a quiet sense of pride, all to be shattered by a bunch of noisy kids, and later, 8 good looking white women from Columbia.

By now, it’s 12:30, and the sun’s beating down on your head. The granite floor of the temple’s burning through your socked feet and you lust for a cold drink. Luckily, you spot a store right outside the temple. In the store, you strike up a conversation with another visitor who is as passionate about history, as you. He tells you of a place called Pallavar Medu which might be, if one believed local legend, the ruins of the Pallava palace and fort.

You promise to yourself that you will discover this archealogical gem, and head back to the temple. You talk wih a helpful and smiling ASI guide who takes you around the temple, pointing out little pieces of art that you missed. He tells you the finer details of the history of this temple. He tells you that the calligraphic writing on the walls of the temple inspired some of China’s own alphabets, Buddhist monks being responsible for its spread. You spot a pillar that has writings in Tamil, in a script you can barely make out. Not surprising, for it’s Tamil Brahmi, the first written script in Tamil language.

You take your leave from the guide and proceed to the village main. There you go around the area alleged to be the Pallava palace. And all you can find are a bunch of huts and an old crumbling wall caked with cow-dung. Locals call it Pali Modu. You circle the place again. Then you slap your forhead in despair, as you realise that Pali Modu is a corruption of Pallavar Medu. And the crumbling wall is one side of what used to be the stable.

You ask a young boy playing marbles if your suspicions are right. And he nods his head. He offers to show you the other parts of the palace. You and he walk over thorn bushes and open drains to reach the palace, or what is left of its third storey. You crawl through garbage and dead rats and human excrement to reach a small hole that used to be a room at some time in the past. You try to crawl through this tunnel, but realise that the hole is no bigger than your head, which is smaller than the rest of you. You crawl back out and snap away to glory this derelict, once upon a time palace.

Finally, it’s time to head home.

If you do all this, my dear friend, you will have had about half the fun I had Sunday morning.