2 Issue 09 Volume 01

I would not chose the word pilgrimage, but rather a small journey

by a small Indian family to describe my trip with family to Solapur-Wadi-Bijapur. Our little itinerary when we planned our journey to these places included a visit to my ancestral deity at Wadi, a junction 150 kms from the District Solapur. This district is characterized by continuous plains, interspersed mainly with sunflower plantations and sugarcane fields.

It was early November, and the weather was cold but pleasant. For Mumbaikars nothing could be more welcome than such weather. We crave for such cool air.

Once we alighted at Wadi Junction, we walked till we

reached the point where one could hire a conveyance to get to the temple of my ancestral deity, Halkatti Veerbhadra, a black-colored idol with silvery eye and moustache cutouts embellishing the face. The deity resides in a marble, stone and tiled altar surrounded on top

by a designed silver arch. This deity is reputed to have a fierce personality.There may be many stories supporting this too. The idol did make a reassuring impression with its appearance.

We happened to be there on a relatively peaceful day, as there were no festivities or special commemorating occasions when we see crowds throng. I wouldn’t have asked for any other day. A welcome tranquility pervaded the whole temple, peopled by just the regular inhabitants, like the priest and maybe a few local devotees. The aura was soothing. The roofs, the walls, the floor all seemed to be inquiring mildly about our general well being. The morning rays of sunlight were revealing the incense smoky, stony indoors. The sunrays provided a soothing warmth in contrast to the touch of the cold stone of the textured walls. Just the perfect ambience for me. Such an aura certainly remains suppressed and hidden on festive days when countless people throng the shrine.

We touched Nandi’s head, bowed

before the other idols while doing the inner rounds, and left the place wishing we could spend some more time. But, being tired, or shall I say aligned, to the clock, we picked ourselves up and went to the station in time to catch a train back to Solapur.

A day of rest, and then the next day we were off on a three to four-

hour train ride to Bijapur. The train did not seem to be in a hurry. It was okay with us, as we were not the working people that day. To journey in a passenger train while travelling between small towns has its own charm, albeit there are certain peak hours and peak days when there are at least three people for every one seat, not to mention the corridors full of men, women, and kids of all ages, jostling with more men, women, and kids of all ages. But we found ourselves in a very comfortable position, as the trains were relatively uncrowded that day, as could be expected on an odd day. Unlike on our journey to Wadi, there was no 9 to 7 working crowd that has

SOLAPUR - WADI - BIJAPURDays away from Mumbai.

ANIL RAO

3January 2009

4 Issue 09 Volume 01

to fight every morning and evening to secure itself some place to sit, or stand or at least lean.

This whole rush is something characteristic of bigger metros, and the whole idea has always been to turn villages into towns, and towns into metros. Effects of modernization, I pondered. On the other hand, on our way back to Solapur from Wadi, amidst this horde which had its individuals sticking tightly to each other in the corridor of the train, Mohini, my younger daughter, still managed to make space for herself and sleep.

Most of the people on this journey to Bijapur seemed straight, simple folk, uninhibited, and matter of fact. These folks’ demeanour leaves me with a lot of self-analysis to do. It’s a pleasure to see all such who are different from the city men like us.

Well, we got off at Bijapur station, a historical place,

ruled by the Adil Shah’s dynasty in the seventeenth century. The obvious visitors’ attraction to this place was the Gol Gumbaz, an edifice constructed to house the tombs of Muhammad Adil Shah, his wives and daughters, which he is said to have got built during his lifetime once he had ascended the throne. A few seconds of googling might give you all the particular information you may need on this.

The huge dome shape at the top is characteristic of the many monuments built by the Muslim rulers of that period. There is evidence in the diagrams exhibited in the musuem of one of the galleries of this palatial monument that

there was a lot of research and study into the Roman civilization structures while building this huge ‘tomb edifice’ with a ‘whispering gallery’ at the top, i.e. the dome.

Surrounding the Gol Gumbaz and sprawling across a large area are maintained green lawns, where people relax, lie down and gaze at the sky. After having seen and walked through all that there is to see in and about this edifice, one is generally bound to relax, and these lawns serve as a perfect landing place to reflect just a bit and adjust perspective.

We just managed to spend a very little time at the feet of the huge statue of Lord Shiva, which was at a distance of about fifteen minutes from Gol Gumbaz. This enormous statue is such a fascinating spectacle. The anatomy overall of the Lord Shiva and the mudra touched us.

After this we wrapped up and set about to reach my Aunt’s village, Chadchan in Bijapur, where we would spend the night and get back to Solapur the next day.

When we had exhausted most of the days we had, and were left

with hardly two more, we took a break and I went on a ride with my cousin on his motorcycle to Maindargi, my grandparents’ village.

In Maindargi, the stony lanes and the age-old tamarind trees with stone platforms constructed outside every house never fail to leave me wistful. My grandparents aren’t there now. But not only the view of the house, but even the thought of it, takes me instantly back to the days when they were very much the life and soul of the family. And now I

sometimes reflect whether I shall wake up one morning to find myself still small, back in that house, having come to spend my school vacation with my grandparents and other cousins.

There was no thing such as electricity in the village then. The memories of trying to read a chapter from a Marathi school book belonging to a boy who lived in one of the little rooms rented among the many in the house, burning lamp oil, have remained quiet vivid ever since.

Also the lovely food cooked by grandma for grandpa and everyone in that dimly lit kitchen in the evenings and served in plates with tripod stands to be placed upon, seems so precious now. How I long to be there! That was real wealth to me.

I also happened to witness the sugar corporation elections, which are held at a district level.We happened to visit one of the booths where we saw farmers faithfully queuing up to vote. It’s very difficult to describe the expressions on each of the electorate’s faces. They seemed to have forgone a day’s labor in order to dutifully exercise their vote.

Talking about real wealth, I am reminded of ‘real estate’ in the

context of space on websites. I hope I haven’t exceeded the brief space available, at the same time I do hope that I have been able to say something at least in the words I have used above. This note cannot end without mentioning someone due to whom the whole trip above was conducted with as few worries as possible. My dear cousin Raja, of Solapur. Dhanyavaad.

5January 2009