In Search of Siddhi

Long back people of India worshipped Hills. It was called Parvatha Pooje or Giri Pooje. Especially in South India. It was no Deity or God they worshipped but just the Hills themselves. This was because Hills provided everything they needed. It was their first Home. Hills were embedded in their Primal Psyche. Man first lived in Caves, which gave him protection from the Elements & Wild beasts. As he started to understand that he could grow food and need not Hunt it always, he must have begun to experiment in farming and moved down towards flat Land and flowing Water. Still, he lived nearer to Hills and invariably there were forests in the Hills. Hills provided everything the Early Man needed. Food, he could hunt or gather there. He found Firewood for warmth and cooking. Hills yielded Herbs and many medicinal Plants and insects which were life saving during illnesses. Gave him Honey ...He could go there for Ritualistic Hunting now.....And so at the merest opportunity Man takes off to the Hills even now!!!

The Races & peoples of South India including the Dravidians are as ancient as the Aryans and have been inhabiting the Indian Sub-continent from early ages. In the beginning they were spread all over the sub-continent from Afghanistan to the southern tip of India.

Language of Brahui, now spoken in Balochistan, Turkemenistan, Afganistan, Sind by a few tribes is a Dravidian Language most closely related to Kannada (Canarese in the western Lingo)

The Culture of Pre-Aryan India was Unique and in its nascent stage developed independently of the Vedic Or Aryan Culture.It came face to face with the Sanskrit speaking early Aryans and thereafter it was a Synthesis of the Two cultures.
There is a belief that the Vedic Culture as we know it today was the same three and more thousand years ago. This cannot be true as cultures interact with each other and do not remain the same. Even as native cultures came in contact with the Aryan they too began to change even while keeping many of the tribal traditions, customs , languages alive.

One of the most significant ritual of these early tribals was the worshiping of Hills. There was no Idol but just the Hills. "Worship" was not as we know it today. The people would go to the Hills , spend time there, spruce up a cave there, cook food, eat and come back. There would always be a cave at the hilltop. This Ritual is very much alive even today with many South Indians.Hills and Mountains have always been held in high esteem. This is manifest in the fact that some of the earliest Kannada names people gave their Children was Parvathappa ( Of the Mountains ), Giriyappa ( Of the Hills), Guddappa ( Of the Hillocks). This name lives on today with Kids still being named after Hills... as in Girish!!!
Siddara Betta ( Hills of the siddhas, Siddala Konda in Telugu ) is about 70 KM from Bangalore. It is a hillock with a cave at the top and a natural Health Spa inside the cave . The water has a very salubrious effect. Inside the cave there is a Linga , the symbol of Shiva which is worshipped. Linga or the Phallic Symbol is found in the Indus valley civilisation excavations at Harappa & Mohenjodaro and also at Lothal. It is a pre-Vedic religious symbol integrated into the Hindu religion & Vedic culture and points to the influence of the natives on the Vedic.

Siddi or Siddhi means attainments or achievements. It also means one who has attained, achieved. These are spiritual attainments and takes a lot of "Sadhane"( Effort, Perseverance, Penance) to achieve. One of the important criteria for becoming a Siddi is to lose the Ego. Shed all desires. And yearn to know the truth.Become one with the All. Siddi( One who has attained) is an Ascetic, living a frugal life meditating for months on end. They were akin to the Sages, Seers and Rishis of the Vedic tradition and were the keepers of Knowledge and Wisdom in society. These people were held in high esteem.

Siddis were also experts at using herbs, minerals for curing ailments and were equivalent to doctors of Modern society . Sidda medicine evolved to a great and an exacting science and is used by a significant number of people in India even today.
The climb atop Siddara Betta seemed easy but it was not.

Steps only led upto a point and after that steps were carved right on to the hillock with a supporting rail and the going was tough.
This too is the trail!!!

But as you reach the top, walk inside the dark cave and pour the chilling water from the Spa on your head, all the weariness will drain away and you will be refreshed!!!


Most fascinatingly this hill and the cave with the Linga has been worshipped by my family for as long as anybody can remember. Though we may visit other Temples and worship other Gods this one has a unique place. My forefathers have been coming here for generations together. It is a cave that was earlier almost inaccessible.

Yet every baby born in my family is brought here on its first birthday,wherever on earth that family might be residing, and its hair is cut or shaved in sacrifice . Only after this ritual is the baby taken to the neighborhood Hairdresser for the weekly cut.

My father, who is 67 years now had come to Siddara Betta after his first birth day. I came here when I was One and so did my Sister and brother. My grandfather remembered coming here when he was a kid and used to narrate how dangerous it was to make the journey to Siddara Betta from his village 70 KM away. Wild animals were prowling about and proper roads or transport were absent. They would travel on Bullock carts for days to reach Siddara Betta. My brother brought his kids here for their first hair cut. It is thrilling to speculate that people must have been visiting this cave for hundreds of years!!!

Shiva, the greatest of all the Siddis is always smeared in Ash, signifying that everything returns to the nothing it came from. And you would be too if you visited the cave at Siddara Betta!!!

One Evening in the Life of ..... A Story

Part: One
And then all was still. The tiny, jingling bells stringed to her anklets had fallen silent. Her flailing arms, vainly trying to grasp the thin air, had collapsed by her side. The intermittent gurgling had stopped.

His heart beat wildly. His eyes were clasped shut. His breath had frozen inside his belly and he could feel the jaw muscles stretched across his chin.
He slowly opened his eyes and his gaze fell on the pillow and traveled to his clenched fists, pressing the pillow down on her buried face with all their might. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the nail on her little finger had broken. It had pierced the skin of her palm and a trickle of blood ran down across it, had started to coagulate in mid air and seemed to be contemplating falling on to the bed sheet.

His heart still beat fast but he noticed it was rhythmic and this knowledge calmed him some more. He relaxed a little and slowly, very slowly unclenched his fists. He tried to imagine what she looked like under the pillow but was surprised, as he was unable to visualize anything. “Anyway, I don’t want to see her right now” he thought and let the pillow remain.

Everything had gone according to plan. He had not made any noise and had not let her struggle much. He got up and tiptoed to the front door and peeped through the keyhole. There was no one. Of course he knew that. The couple staying below had gone abroad on a short assignment and their flat was locked and the couple above never came back before nine…and it was only five now. The building had only one apartment per floor, three flats in all, but he was convinced that the man above was the snooping kind and wanted to be sure no one had heard anything. (“He is not home now”, thought he, even as he squinted through the hole.)

He tiptoed back to the room and sat down on the chair with his back towards her. He pressed both palms face down on the massive wooden table (…family heirloom…solid Burma Teak…costing him 20 thousand rupees to transport from Delhi…) It felt cool and comforting and he remained like that. He wanted to know what he felt like. He concentrated hard but felt empty. He felt nothing.

He did not have much time left but he wanted to linger a bit, think about her a bit, about the short time they spent together. His passport and all other travel documents were in his briefcase. He had double-checked all his flight tickets. He had to catch the 11.00 pm flight to Mumbai and then onto the United States in the wee hours tomorrow. He would have to lie low for a few days until the coast was clear for him to proceed to Brazil. He would join his cousin there…start afresh…it was all planned. He was a great one for planning. That was a given and he felt safe in that knowledge.

As he sat there, thinking, it appeared very surprising that they had never had an argument, had never even spoken harshly to each other. And now he had killed her. “Cuckold” he whispered and with a more determined voice said “Never”. He felt very sad but knew he had done the correct thing.

He remembered her hurried conversations on the phone, as he entered the room unannounced, the sarcastic look she gave him before she disconnected.
Her late nights at the office, long drives with colleagues and the disinterest in him of late had all driven him to despair. He had fallen desperately in love with her and was ashamed to admit that she was the only woman he had ever got close to in his life. But he was a Man and was not the kind to sit and mope and wring his hands. He had never confronted her with his doubts, as he could never bring himself to broach the subject.

He had enough evidence and had furtively recorded her conversations with a hard male voice (He had gone to great lengths to learn how to do this, browsing the net for hours on end!)The quality of the recording was bad but he could recognize the tenderness with which they spoke to each other. It was all over now and he looked at his watch. It was 8.00 and thought he should be leaving now.

He took a sheet of paper and wrote “No newspaper. No Milk”. He slowly tiptoed to the door, opened it and glued it on. He came back and sat on the bed next to her dead body but did not look at her. He let out a long sigh and with firm steps went inside.

Part: Two

They broke open the door when the stench got unbearable and found the woman lying dead on the cot with her face covered by a pillow. The Man dangled from the ceiling and it was obvious he had killed her before taking his own life. They did not find a suicide note but a piece of paper with a few lines of verse hurriedly copied on it.

He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
………………………………………………

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
………………………………………………
………………………………………………

And there, till Christ call forth the dead,
In silence let him lie:
No need to waste the foolish tear,
Or heave the windy sigh:
The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.

A Happy New Year to One & all !!!

Let this New Year lead everyone to Peace & Prosperity !!!

A Magic Carpet Ride !!!

During the last years of Muhammad Bin Tughlaq's reign many of his southern commanders broke free from the Delhi sultanate taking advantage of the loosening grip of the Sultan to establish their own kingdoms. The Bahmani Kingdom established by Zafar Khan alias Hasan Gangu alias Alauddin Hasan with its capital at Gulbarga is the most important. He ascended the throne as Allauddin Bahman Shah.

After the demise of Firoz Shah Bahmani, Capital of Bahmanis was shifted to Bidar by Ahmed Shah Wali, ninth Bahmani ruler. He was moving his capital farther away from Hampi, Capital of the great Vijayanagara Empire, bulwark against Muslim rule in South India. Bidar fort was completely rebuilt by him and his next two successors by demolishing the already existing structure possibly constructed during Kalyana Chalukya period.

It was pretty cold for a Hyderabad morning when I and Hareesh left for Bidar, planning to reach there by 8.00 am . Bidar in Karnataka is just 135 KM from Hyderabad. Bidar is a dusty and hot place perched at the top as if it were a crown on some regal head, a crown buried in oblivion. But it was December and the weather turned pleasant soon.

Soon we were on the Highway in Hareesh's car with a thin traffic of trucks. We stopped over for a smoke right outside Kukatpally and made a tentative itinerary. We would visit the fort, tombs and Gurudwara before heading back.
Just on the outskirts we came across farmers transporting sugarcane to the mills and families travelling on bullock carts to the city.



There was a convoy of carts taking sugarcane to the mills. It was an idyllic scene and I wondered how long this could continue. With India embracing free market and trying to integrate with the global economy, Indian farmer is on the verge of extinction. I remembered my own childhood and visits to my village, the tall sugarcane fields with a small crusher right amidst them where jaggery ( Brown, coarse sugar) was made. The night long romps with cousins and friends eating hot jaggery.


We passed through Sangareddy, a small town and through Zaheerabad. There we bought some Guavas, just ripening. I smelt the aroma of the fresh fruit and remembered reading Garcia Marquez. In Latin America they keep a bowl of ripe Guavas in the room instead of spraying some chemical room freshener.
Personally I don’t like ripe Guavas and their nauseating smell of ripeness. The skin is a cadaverous yellow. Pale and sickly. The Ripe already has a certain decay clinging to it. I prefer fruit that are neither raw nor fully ripe. Guavas, which are in the process of becoming, on their way to attaining their full scope and range before withering away. Fruit in transit, I like to call them. They are more interesting and taste good.

We reached Bidar and immediately proceeded towards the fort. It was magnificent with a moat running all round it. There were ruins of huge palaces with colored tiles and built with black granite.

We also saw the solah Kambh (16 pillars) Mosque which was getting a face lift.

Bidar was mostly ruled by two Dynasties, Bahmanis and Barid Shahis.

Any talk about Bidar will be incomplete if I did not tell you all about a fascinating personality who was Vazir or Prime Minister to three Bahmani rulers. He was a warrior, a scholar, and a diplomat par excellence. He was also a philanthropist and built many Mosques etc. He was Mohammud Gavan, a native of Persia. He built the Madarasa of Mohammad Gavan, a imposing structure, a religious college with a library that held more than five thousand titles!!!
Scholars and students came from all parts of the Islamic world to study here. Struck by lightening and public apathy, it is in ruins today.

There is a tradition of Sufi saints all over India particularly in those areas where Muslim rule was predominant. Sufism in India is a synthesis of Vedic thought and Islam. These saints came from far flung places in the Islamic world and Baba Budan came from Ethiopia to Chickmaglur in Karnataka and is credited with bringing Coffee beans to turn Chickmaglur into the Coffee bowl of India and the world.

There is another very interesting Sufi saint of Bidar, Baba Rahmatullah Kirmani. His Dargah is on the way to the Bahmani Tombs and he seems to have been held in high esteem by the People. He is supposed to have come from Kirman in Persia flying a Magic Carpet to Bidar, taking just One and a Half hours for the journey!!! It is very much possible that he was brought by the Barid Shahi rulers to crown them and gain some sort of legitimacy after they became independent of Bahmanis.
Bidar is also an important place for Sikh pilgrimage and Guru Nanak, the founder of the Sikh religion came to Bidar during his early travels. There was acute shortage of potable water and touched by the plight of the common folk he is said to have moved some rubble with his toe and fresh water sprang up at the spot!

Today there is the Karanja reservoir to supply water to the parched lands of Bidar. This was built quite recently even though it is a known fact of many centuries that water is scarce in these parts.

We visited the Bahmani Tombs and it was by far the most impressive of all the ruins that stand today. It reminds one of Shelly's Ozymandias and you can't but wonder at the hopelessness of it all. Yet you find ruler after ruler trying to attain immortality through building gigantic monuments . It is the same all over the world and one more proof that Men are the same all over at all times.

We decided to visit Basavakalyana. A most fascinating story unraveled in these parts in the 12th century. It is the story of Sharanas, Jangamas and Vachanas. A protestant religion came into being; in order to give new life to a stagnant and decadent social order. At the helm was a minister in the Chalukya rule, Basavanna. This town before him was simply known as Kalyana, Capital of the Chalukya Kingdom and after him as Basavakalyana. It shows no signs of its earlier greatness(apart from the ruined fort), having lost prestige long back, turning into one of the many tens of thousands of such nondescript towns in India.

Then at a little distance from the town was Anubhava Mantapa.It was an incredible experience to tread the ground on which the Vachanakaras had trod and harangued with the people. Allama, Basavanna, Akka, Siddarama, and a thousand other Sharanas sang here. The power of the spoken word was demonstrated here with a decisiveness that lasts to this day. Poetry was written in simple everyday language. The deepest, most profound thoughts were discussed in the common Man's language. In case you want to experience the beauty of these Vachanas, read “Speaking of Shiva” an anthology by AK Ramanujan, a brilliant translation from Kannada to English.This is a pioneering work of translation and is regarded as the work of a genius adept in English, Kannada and Tamil.

There was a serious attempt to liberate the people from the clutches of organised religion and the cultural hegemony of a select few.These privileged classes had maintained steadfastly their privileges through a vice-like grip on Language,Temples and Priesthood that can put today’s business Corporations and Intellectual Property lawyers to shame. The caste system was rigid affording no opportunity for escape or for upward social mobility. Birth determined your social and material condition. All knowledge and Education was the sole prerogative of very few in society.

To the sharanas, Body became the temple and Work, Worship. Through work you could attain salvation. One need not be born a Brahmin, know Vedas, perform Homa, Havana or undertake pilgrimages to holy places to attain "Moksha" or salvation. Whatever a Man's occupation, doing his work diligently was enough to attain liberation from the eternal cycle of births and rebirths.Trying to rid people of superstitions they were ridiculed and persecuted. Basavanna’s attempts at intercaste marriage ended tragically.
Most ironically they have built a temple for Basavanna!

Meanwhile,the Juggernaut of Sanathana Dharma rolls on swallowing, ingesting and excreting religions and movements. Buddha is supposed to be a reincarnation Of Vishnu and Charvaka's Atheism an offshoot of Vedic philosophy!!!

Hair apparent.... Hair Un-apparent!?

During the visit to Gurudwara we were asked to cover our heads before we entered the Sanctum Sanctorum. This got me thinking. Why this dislike for hair? Every faith and culture seems to be prejudiced in this aspect.
Long hair has been celebrated in every literature of the world. Long tresses have maddened lovers for ages. While shiny, black hair is loved in the East, it is the blond that is held in high esteem in the West.Hair as black as the night, they say and that is as it should be since the night is a beautiful and a mysterious time.

It is understandable to cover your head in the kitchen lest some of it drop onto the food you are cooking. A swimmer wears a smooth cap to reduce friction since every split second matters. A king wears the crown as a symbol of his authority.

But we also see cutting hair as a symbol of renunciation. Buddha, after leaving his family and riches in search of the Eternal Truth, shaved his head at the first opportunity. Jains go a step further and pluck their hair by their roots enduring excruciating pain. Monks of every faith shave their heads to a severe gloss. Muslim women and Christian Nuns as also some Hindu women cover their heads. Sikhs entomb theirs in a Turban.
When did Headgear become a part of the Human dress code? What made them adopt it? When did it attain fame and prestige? Was it the clime? The various headgear of every country makes for a fascinating study.........
On the outskirts of today's Bidar there is a very interesting temple. It is in a cave and a stream runs through it. The Idol is a good 600 feet inside the cave and you have to wade through chest high water to reach it.
The God is Narasimha (Nara = Man and Simha = Lion) He is the God with the face of a lion and the body of a Man. This is another incarnation of Lord Vishnu, come down to Earth to slay a Demon, Hiranyakashipu and save the world from his evil clutches. Here in the Bidar cave he is Jharini Narasimha Swamy or Lord Narasimha of the stream. Jhari, which is a beautiful Kannada word, means Stream or rivulet. I had almost forgotten the word and felt a high on recollecting it. Jaaru in Kannada means Slide. A stream is forever sliding and slithering. Did Jhari bring about Jaaru?
In another temple close by devotional music was being played by a Master Musician and his group.



This was our last place of visit and we were seen off by a lovely pair of birds perched atop electric lines running outside the Temple.

The Sultan - Boredom in the Boudoir

"There just wasn't enough water" thought the Sultan. He was in his Boudoir, alone. His intense gaze was fixed at the far corner of the ceiling but he saw nothing. Many thoughts were jostling for attention in his mind.

He was in his favorite chair brought all the way from Persia. It had the softest upholstery and he felt suspended in thin air as he tried to sink deeper into it."They make very good things there...." murmured the Sultan and immediately looked around if anybody had heard him talk to himself. Of course there was no one and remembered having instructed all to be left undisturbed. But he knew there lurked just outside, his slave of many years, for a clap, the sound of his clearing throat or the rustle of his clothes.

Sometimes the Sultan was astonished at this slave, was even afraid of him secretly and believed he could read his mind......Many a time, even as he struggled within to find the right words to ask for something, the slave would be there with the thing he wanted.

The plan was perfect. Being closer to the Deccan would have put an end to the persistent rebellions of his southern commanders. This was the reason he had wanted his Capital shifted from Delhi. But he was misunderstood from the beginning. The people had refused to move.

"Their arses grow roots" said the Sultan out loud and felt immediately ashamed. But it was true that it took a Royal proclamation and the threat of Death to get them moving.

Finally it was time to move and he had wanted Delhi searched to see if anyone refused to come. His Death threats had worked. Apart from a Blind man and a lame guy every one had packed up.
However people had refused to cooperate. "No water" they said which he could somewhat understand but they repeatedly said they did not "belong to Daulatabad" which he never understood. His own forefathers were from Persia. They had travelled far to this unknown land and with Valour and cunning had built this empire. Many of his wives were Hindus and this was now his home.

Alas, attacks by the Mongols had started almost immediately after his departure from Delhi. This was an even bigger threat than the fickle rebellions of his Dakhani Commanders and had the power to dismember his Empire. Finally he had to relent and shift back the entire population to Delhi.

The news he received from his spies in the South was not good. Things were not as he had imagined. All the bribes he had given his nobles had served no purpose. They had just grown fat and continued their intrigues against him. Some of them in Daulatabad were inciting his Commanders to break free from the Sultanate.

But the Sultan was determined to keep his territories intact. It had taken great effort by his father to reach thus far. And he had waged his own struggle to get at the throne though he did not want to particularly dwell on this aspect.
It pained him to think of his father. He was aware that people whispered among themselves that he had killed his father.( "Regicide? Patricide?" thought the Sultan ). But was it not true that a pavillion had collapsed on him causing him to Die instantly?

The Sultan felt sad and thirsty. He was now hunched forward and was staring at his slippers. His mouth had gone dry and he tried to swallow his spit but ended up coughing. He sat up straight only to see his Slave with a pitcher and glass. He stared at him blankly while the slave stood motionless. The Sultan was angry now. He had not asked for water. He wanted to shout and drive him out of the room but no sound ensued from his lips. Instead he raised his arm weakly and the very next instant found a glass of cool water in his fist.
After drinking deep he waved his slave away and saw him back out with his head bowed low to the ground.

There was a buzz in his ear now. Sometimes it was very faint but if he concentrated hard he could hear it. It was always there in the background and sometimes it roared. He felt very agitated at such times. He had not confided this to anyone but had furtively tried to find the reason for this.While talking with the Learned or travellers from other lands ( who were always pestering him for something or the other) he would casually allude to this unwelcome buzzing in his ear. He would say something like "I heard about a noble in Mandu who gets a ringing in his ear for no apparent reason...isn't that funny ?" and he would laugh loudly all the while hoping somebody in the group could explain why. But no one had any clue.

The Sultan realised with a pang of terror that he was skirting the real issue. He had to face it once for all. He was a true soldier. Anybody who had seen him in battle would vouchsafe it. He could sever a Man's head from his body with one stroke of his sword. He could out race anyone in the entire sub-continent on his steed.

Yes, he had to face it. There was a serious problem in the South. There was definite information that Zafar Khan in Daulatabad was planning to establish his own rule independent of him. "Ungrateful bastard" thought the Sultan. This Zafar Khan was planning to fortify Gulbarga down south, planning to make it his Capital. Sufi Pirs there could crown him and give him legitimacy. There was information from a very credible source in Persia that already a Pir, well known in the entire islamic world, had left for Hindustan.

The Sultan weighed his options.

An expedition to the South with his army involved lot of planning. More than that it required lot of money. With a sinking heart the Sultan realised his Coffers were nearly empty. His troops too were demoralised and he could not count on all his commanders to unwaveringly support him.......

He did not want to think about Money. Issuing Copper coins instead of Gold & Silver was a grand Idea far ahead of it's time. He knew that for sure. But they started to make counterfeits almost immediately. He had put many of the counterfeiters to Death but fakes only increased.

"One day people will definitely use token currency" thought the Sultan. He had to give back Silver coins for all the Copper coins that were brought to the treasury.There was no way to determine if the copper coins that the people brought in for exchange were minted at the Royal Mint or in their own kitchens. At the end of it all he was driven nearly to bankruptcy.

A prolonged drought had set in soon after making it difficult to collect taxes from Land owners which only made matters worse.

The Sultan by now had receded far into himself. He had bent forward and there was spittle at the corner of his mouth. He pulled it in with a loud snort and immediately regretted making the noise. This would bring in his slave and he did not want to see him just now. He wanted to be alone.But surprisingly the Slave did not venture inside.

Far away he could hear the Muezzin at the mosque calling the faithful to evening prayers. He was sweating but felt a slight chill and wanted to hug himself closer. He did not move and went on gazing at the tip of his sandals. Suddenly it dawned on him that his time was over. There was no point in struggling. He would have to hold on to whatever he can and pretend everything was fine..............