The Saas-Bahu temple of Gwalior Fort

By Arun Gaur

AS we take up the foot-passage leading to the imposing ramparts of Gwalior Fort, an array of domes, and below them the primarily deep blue tiles still sticking at scattered patches, are the first to strike the mind. When we go down the fort, the other way, after having traversed the rock on which it is built, taking the motorable ghati road, we come across the colossal Jaina figures in raw stone. Both these impressions are the moulded masses of adamantine strength.

The fragile and finer work occurs in between these two extreme points in the form of elaborate carvings on the fine-grained yellow sand-stone on the temples of Teli and Saas-Bahu.

Their names offer the first enigmas which may turn out to be, after all, no more than the superficially false lures generated by one’s own fancies. Was the temple of Teli built by some oil-extractor or massager, and was the other one built to commemorate the typically age-old Indian relation, so marred in practice becoming a butt of prose satires and so idealised in some of the versified segments of Indian literature? The man on duty trilled his tongue: "Mother-in-law daughter-in-law temple." The same expression seems to have been popular some 150 years ago, as Cunningham reports, at least among the English circles. Of course, the conception was so deeply embedded in the native mind, that it must have overpowered its actual name, if there was any, dispelling it which eventually became lost irretrievably. Some opine that originally, it was Sehestra-Bahu, which in due course got changed into the twin-temple of Saas-Bahu. Perhaps the temple at Nagda (Rajasthan) bearing the identical designation would shed some light on the issue.

In contrast to the temple of Teli, its moulded plinth is higher. On climbing up the platform — about 10 feet high — of the larger one of this twin-temple one enters a two-storey mandapa (an open porch).

Among all the edifices in the fort, the most careful carving seems to have been done in this temple. It is difficult to find a piece of plane surface in this section that has not been carved. On the door-lintel, the most outstanding work has been executed. There are projected and multilayered miniaturised versions of single-storey pillared shrines on the two extremities installed on the capitals of the pillar forms housing Shankara and the bearded Brahma along with their spouses. The upper apartment is occupied by Vishnu and Lakshmi and the lower by some flying deity, probably a variant of either Garuda or Marut. As the lalata-bindu refers inevitably to the central deity, it clearly marks the temple as Vaishanava. Though the finest examples of such niched projections are found in the doors of the mandapa, in its subdued form this feature is to be encountered everywhere on the walls—outside and inside.

Thus it takes up the motif of a multitude of sub-shrines that flourished especially in the South India. The ceiling containing the pattern of the successive formations of the square, the octagon and the circle is repeated, in its variant forms, in the porches and the central hall. Generally, wherever the artists have not carved out deities, they have tried to fill the available space with the grooved wavy pattern which is at the most a rudimentary counterpart of the Islamic arabesque developed 500 years later by the Mughals. Neither these grooved waves, nor the ceiling work is impressive enough.

But their inelegance does act as a foil to the plastic art within the niches and also provides a force that counters the over-exuberance of the finer art, saving it from getting reduced to a mere monotony. There is a marked contrast between the relative simplicity, one may even say-crudity, of the groove work and the complex aesthetics of the three dimensional work. The oblique lines on the pillar formations on the jambs also assist in circumventing the monotony that may creep in due to the almost excessive horizontal and vertical chiselling.

Through the door one can proceed to the mahamandapa (central hall), antarala and garbhagriha, which are all arranged in a lineal pattern. The three-storey pillared maha-mandapa, inspite of being attractive due to its peculiar interior, seems to be rather involved and congested. This feeling deepens because of the four squarish and bulky central pillars on a raised platform right under the shikhara, and the space that is consumed by the passage that skirts it. Little recessed flights of steps, necessitating a little cautious climb, lead upwards into the lateral porches opening on the three sides into the inspection bays. These open spaces, through which sufficient light filters in, act as air vents too. That is why inspite of being a constricted central hall it remains airy and at least dimly lighted never becoming stuffy. Beyond the central stage one sees the two-storey antarala and then an entrance to the garbhagriha having the door drawn on a similar plan as that of the main entrance.

It is fortunate that we have the detailed epigraphical foundation inscription of Mahipala (A.D. 1093) that states many facts, and leaves many questions unanswered. The inscription helps in unravelling the underlying structural and iconographic conceptions. In it Padamanatha has been named the principal deity which is apparently derived from the Kachchhapghata prince Padamapala.

The two kings had their own preferences and none could have been ignored. These two deities were Vaikuntha and probably Aniruddha. Along with the Vaikuntha, two images of Aniruddha have been referred to in the inscription — one made of pearl and the other of silver. The pearl Aniruddha had grown a little due to the pangs of separation from his consort Usha. Some commentators infer from this reference that female deities were not set up. The images of silver Aniruddha, Achutya and Vamana were, perhaps, installed in the smaller temple and those of pearl Aniruddha and Vaikuntha in the larger.

The inscription further tells us that the temple was conceived as a rival to the Kailasha mountain. Was it a kind of Vaishanava challenge to the Shaiva sect in the 10th century? Its pennant, white as the moon, streamed down the summit like the Ganga descending into the thoroughly matted hair of Shankara. May be, an idea like this is responsible for the condensed, thickly set mass of the shikhara — a rising succession of turrets on the inverted bell of superstructure. For rituals Padamapala had appointed eight Brahmins, the number was later increased to 18 or 21 by Mahipala who also made arrangements for the dancers, musicians, lighting, ornaments and vessels.

The smaller temple, widely recognised as that of the Bahu seems to be a one-storey replica of the bigger one. Apart from the erotic couples that are particularly left to be inscribed here, it carries the usual features:the floral motif, the geometrical designs, the animal bands running on the surface of the plinth. Though it doesn’t host the intricate fully or partially relieved niche deities and the maze of dwarf pillars, yet it is a little cute thing in its own right and is in a better state of preservation.

A number of factors must have contributed to the formation of the individual style of this temple. As happened almost everywhere in India, here too the temple-building was influenced by the ruling kings. Apart from the establishment of the deity, the king must have been, as the zealous royal patrons, responsible for the instilling of the regional element in its style. Particularly in the present case, this royal association was never a mere formal tag of the ruling dynasty. It is quite another matter that, strangely, the temple could neither retain its dynastic nor the architectonic appellation. Apart from the regal propensities, the feudal contacts with the Chandellas, the prevalent current of Vaishanavism and the geographical factors like the availability of the fine-grain sand stone were some of the other factors that must have brought about modifications in the style. The artists tackled, in their own way, the problems of harmonising the piling mass of the shikhara of interlocking the horizontal and the vertical elements and to set up the images at the most appropriate places. Thus along with its neighbour — the 8th century Pratihara temple of Teli, the Saas-Bahu temple too diversified the basic configurations of the North Indian temples, thus creating its own sub-style.

When we look at the classical and the Gothic architecture of the Western church — the domes, the series of pointed arches and the slender spires — one thing becomes clear from the contrast that they present that at one stage of the stylistic evolution of Indian temples, the master artists, unlike their Western counterparts, began to nurture a different kind of ambition — not simply to raise a sleek and a well-balanced structure, but the erection of a sculptured mass magical enough in its own way. This is well borne out by the present specimen.