Bhubaneshwar's world-renowned temples—centuries of history etched in stone—are hit by urbanisation and overpopulation
THINGS are going in an unholy direction in Bhubaneshwar, India's 2,500-year-old cathedral city. Many of its elaborate centuries-old temples are not on the sightseeing agenda of the tens of thousands of tourists who flock to this ancient town. The reason: most of these monuments are rapidly turning into eyesores, rotting in neglect and swamped by unchecked urbanisation.
The more privileged clutch of temples protected by the Centre, though better preserved, have been overrun by the servitor's mafia—which runs protection rackets as well as harasses visitors, sometimes in collusion with the temple administrators. Add to this the unauthorised constructions in the vicinity of the temples and the picture is grim. "It's a ghastly situation. Oriya heritage and culture is under attack", says Banka Behary Das, environmental activist.
Legends speak of some 1,000 temples and a crore of shivalingas in Orissa's capital city. An early survey put the total number of temples at 500. Today, archaeologist Dr B.K. Rath, secretary of INTACH's Orissa chapter, estimates that some 320 temples survive. The ASI and the state archaeology department protect some 33 temples, and the INTACH has compiled a list of another 165 unprotected monuments. (The state of the remaining 30-odd temples is unknown.) In a study, the late archaeologist Dr Krishna Chandra Panigrahi stated: "It is rare to find anywhere in India, such a large number of ancient monuments at one place as we have in Bhubaneshwar, covering such a long period and representing the dynastic changes in history so well."
The town, which coexists with the modern capital city, was an ancient pilgrimage spot, and its temples cover a span of about 2,000 years. Kalinga, as Orissa was known in earlier times, was the kingdom that created history by resisting Emperor Ashoka for 13 years. After the death of Ashoka, Kalinga regained its independence and, in the 2nd century BC, touched its zenith. A golden age that was reflected in the temple architecture of this period. The remarkable series of ancient monuments are testimony to the well-defined Kalinga order of architecture. Though most of the monuments are built in the classic Orissan style of architecture—a rectangular courtyard, the pyramidical front porch and the curvilinear shrine with the deity—there are also some unique departures from the style.
However, these national treasures, even the Lingaraja, Orissa's pride, are being defiled with impunity. It's a gigantic monument, rising to a height of 180 ft, and dominating a 10-mile landscape of stunning temples and faceless tenements in Bhubaneshwar's dusty old town area. The sheer height is brought into relief by strongly-drawn vertical ribs on its khon-dalite and sandstone surface. And its sprawling 2.41 lakh sq ft laterite compound houses another 100-odd smaller temples. The majestic temple is the quintessence of the Kalinga style of architecture. On a lean day some 5,000 devotees flock for worship, and during festivals, it increases to over 20,000 visitors a day.
While historians and archaeologists wax delirious about Lingaraja's treasures—the traditional three-chambered structure, the balustrated windows, the marvellous images, and the fine scroll work—the temple could be dying a slow death. On a languid, hot afternoon last week, savouries, beads and pictures of deities were being hawked at the dozen or so makeshift kiosks and five permanent tin-roof structures that have mushroomed inside the temple com -pound. Earthen pots lay stacked untidily in a corner and fluorescent lamp holders were being hammered into monument stone and beggars roamed the precincts. Outside, some 100 ugly shacks selling religious bric-a-brac lined the temple walls. So much so that the customary cultural notice board put up by the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI)—the temple is one of the 22 centrally-protected monuments in Bhubaneshwar—has become the shade and perch of a fruit-seller. "There's a problem of encroachment," admits assistant temple administrator Ramakanta Mishra.
A stone's throw from the bustling Lingaraja, the Ekamresvara temple has clearly seen better days. Now it's been dumped into the dustbin of history: some 15-ft of the temple is now buried, its door choked with garbage, the cracked structure hemmed in by a police station and two pink-coloured concrete offices. People defecate in the water-logged compound and urinate at the temple's base. Unlike the luckier Lingaraja, the Ekamresvara is one of Bhubaneshwar's 165 unprotected monuments on Indian National Trust For Art and Cultural Heritage's (INTACH) watch-list of endangered monuments. "Nobody can see the temple," says an INTACH report of the monument.
Encroachment and commercialisation of religion have affected even the 21 ASI-protected temples, though they are tended to with professional care—witness the Lingaraja. In the caves of Khandagiri, a craggy outcrop of rock-cut caves, cells and shelters, some of 1st and 2nd century BC vintage, with carvings and iconography, a group of locals have, for over a decade now, occupied a cave, installed a deity and run a prayer service. The cave entrance is covered with tarpaulin, and fruit stalls have sprung up all around, effectively sullying the glorious historicity of the place. The ASI has gone to court against the illegal occupiers, and the case hangs fire.
In Udaygiri, a similar outcrop of caverns straddle the road and visitors have vandalised temple pillars which have invaluable inscriptions of King Kharavela of Kalinga in the Brahmi script.
AND if the monument is in good shape, its environment is polluted. Take the case of the "dream realised in sandstone"—the 1,100-year-old Muktesvara, one of India's most beautiful temples. Overlooking the Bhubaneshwar-Puri highway, it has been adversely affected by outsiders who crowd in to bathe in a stagnant tank near the temple. The solitary caretaker can't do much to dissuade the bathers: religion is a sensitive proposition, especially in these days when it forms a handy tool for politics.
Encroachment may have all but demolished the uniqueness of the centrally protected 1,200-year-old Vaital temple as well. Jutting out of a busy old town road, the temple doesn't conform to the dominant Orissan type of architecture: the elongated flat roof instead of the usual curvilinear ones reveals southern influences. Here, three crude single-storey structures have come up in the temple compound, and two of them actually flank the old monument. The compound pathways running along the monument have been turned into cricket strips where servitors and locals play. Not many of those who play among the statuesque ruins are aware that under the Ancient Monuments Archaeological Remains and Sites Act of 1958, "whoever destroys, removes, injures, defaces, imperils or misuses" a monument of the ilk of Lingaraja or Vaital "shall be punishable with imprisonment which may be extended to three months or with a fine which may extend to Rs 5,000, or both." Says K.K. Ramamurthy, superintending archaeologist of ASI's Bhubaneshwar circle which looks after some 120 monuments in Orissa and neighbouring Madhya Pradesh: "It's a worrisome situation."
The fate of the state-protected temples is infinitely worse. Svarnajalesvara, one of Orissa's earliest standing temples, has been reduced to a temple lost between a string of one-storey tenements and an empty rubble-filled plot. One tenement has almost entered the temple compound. Where restoration has been done, it is so slipshod as to be palpable even to a layman's eye. Original buff-ochre coloured sandstones which fell off have been replaced with faded brick-red stones in a glaring clash of colours; cement and mortar has been used instead of epoxy resin which is more firm and leaves no marks. Some distance away, the two-acre compound that once housed three ancient temples—Lakshmanesvara, Bharatesvara and Satrughnesvara—is now a heap of dismantled stones with exotic engravings lying in dense shrubbery.
However, a majority of Bhu-baneshwar monuments are unprotected temples like Ekamresvara. Some of them gasping for life: the 35-ft high 12th century AD Koinchi temple at the entrance of the narrow Bodu Street is in the vice-grip of a banyan tree which grows out of its spires. Even the cracks are not easily detected because the roots run all the way to the ground. Others simply crumble for lack of care: such as the 11th century Koti-teerthesvara temple, the top of which tilts dangerously over the town's bustling neighbourhood.
THE INTACH watchlist of endangered temples warns that the unprotected monuments suffer from cracks and their water-logged precincts have been turned into public toilets and hospital waste dumps. "Unprotected temples have been always neglected," says Dr Rath. "But since they are contiguous to areas having the more famous protected temples, their upkeep and environment should have been taken care of from the very start."
And that is the crux of the matter. A stiff 1992 amendment to the Ancient Monuments Archaeological Remains and Sites Act prohibits any construction, mining or quarrying within 300 metres from a protected monument limits. Beyond 300 metres, any such activity requires the ASI's permission. In case of Bhubaneshwar, the tightening up of the law to maintain a temple's sanctity came rather late in the day: the town's monuments had been already crowded out by a frenzied construction boom.
And builders have continued to flout this law over the last six years. Archaeologists have been crying themselves hoarse about declaring the old town area along with its immediate neighbourhood an exclusive heritage zone, spread over 1,260 acres and housing 196 temples. This, they contend, would ensure proper preservation of monuments and enforce strict urban development laws to restrict unfettered development of the area. The Orissa government even accepted an INTACH report advocating such a zone in 1988. Ten years on, the Bhubaneshwar Development Authority (BDA) is "formulating the zonal development plans for the heritage zone". Time is running out fast: the old town population is expected to touch 40,000 by the turn of the decade, up from 12,000 in 1981. And the pressure, particularly in the old town area, admits Samarendra Pat-naik, BDA's member (planning), continues as there is an "overall housing demand" throughout Bhubaneshwar.
Clearly, muddle-headed planning and the commercialisation of religion could spell doom for the temple city, and sooner than anticipated. "If we don't do something immediately," says ASI's Rama-murthy, "it might be difficult to save the monuments." There is, however, a silver lining: the Finance Commission has sanctioned Rs 10 crore for the preservation and protection of Orissa's ancient monuments. And 10 per cent of this is likely to be directed towards salvaging Bhubaneshwar's temples. A much delayed attempt that could well be the last chance to rescue a priceless heritage.