During the early hours of Thursday the 26th of March right after my exams I left of to the Kepegowda International airport in the BluSmart taxi that was waiting for us. Then after all the security procedures we boarded the IndiGo flight right to Bhubneshwar. After all the onboard entertainment thanks to my phone and Amazon music we landed in the Biju Patnaik airport in Bhubneshwar.
A driver was waiting for us. With a flower bouquet. We had actually booked a sedan but he had arrived with a bigger car...A Toyota Chrysta.
Then we directly left to Konark. Konark is a heritage site noted even by Unesco. It is a shrine dedicated to the sun god and the deity used to be flowing in the air due to 2 magnets. It has been closed for 120 years. As per many sources it's been closed to prevent the temple from falling and internally restoration projects are in place. But only the Archaeological Survey Of India knows the reason.
This temple is more than 800 years old. It was built during the Ganga period. It was designed by a person name Bisu Maharana. As per regional folklore, he left his house when he had newborn child named Dharmapada. He newborn had never seen the face of its father. After 12 years when the newborn too was 12.
Then after going in search ohf his father he saw a bunch off people sitting below a magnaninmous structure feeling very depressed. His father was also one month those people. He talked to himm for the first time after 12 years. Then he found out that there is a mistake in the temple and if temple is not complete before the specified time there hardowok of 12 years would be gone and they all would also be beheaded. So this kid fixed it and the king did not find any mistake. That night all the artisans discussed on one thing. It was about if the king found out that the work of 12 years and 1200 work men could not solve a simple mistake then again the king would behead everyone. So the boy Dharmapada jumped into there river to save those many people.
From there we left to Puri for the Darshan of Jagannatha that is the major dham of india. Right, so after Konark's mind-blowing history lesson, we hit the road to Puri, ready to dive headfirst into the Jagannath Temple experience. And let me tell you, it was a sensory overload, in the best possible way. This wasn’t just a tourist stop; it was like stepping into a whole other dimension of devotion.
First off, the kitchen. Man, the kitchen! It's like a small city in itself. We're talking hundreds of cooks, mountains of ingredients, and these massive earthen pots stacked high, where the top ones somehow cook first. It’s a full-on operation, churning out the Mahaprasad that feeds thousands daily. And it’s not just about quantity; it’s quality too. This blessed food is a serious business, a huge part of the temple’s economy, and it's all done with this incredible, ancient system. You can see the business mind and the devotion working hand in hand.
Then, there's the whole 'no VIP' thing. It's refreshing, honestly. Everyone's in the same queue, from the richest to the poorest. No special treatment, no cutting lines. Just pure, unadulterated devotion. It's a level playing field, which, given the sheer number of people, is a miracle in itself.
And the ‘Neelachakra’ flag? Still blowing my mind. We were lucky enough to see it being changed, this crazy ritual where a guy climbs the temple dome, no safety gear, just sheer guts and faith. It's like watching a real-life legend unfold. And yeah, it still blows my mind that it flies against the wind. If this ritual is not done for even one day it's closed for 18 years. This is in practice from more than 1800 years each day the flags are change!
The deities, Jagannath, Balabhadra, and Subhadra, those wooden figures with their big, intense eyes, they’re just… powerful. Every few years, they go through Nabakalebara, this ritual of rebirth, The Nabakalebara. This ritual, where the deities – Jagannath, Balabhadra, Subhadra, and Sudarshana – get brand-new wooden bodies, is something else. Every 12 to 19 years, depending on the astrological alignment, these sacred neem trees are found, and the old deities are replaced. It’s a secret, intense process, shrouded in mystery. They say the Brahma Padartha, the very essence of the deities, is transferred from the old idols to the new ones. It’s a cycle of renewal, a physical manifestation of rebirth. It’s not just a ritual; it’s a profound spiritual event. Think about that: these ancient deities, reborn, renewed. It adds a whole other layer of mystique to the temple, making it feel like a place where time itself bends and shifts. And to think, we were standing in the very place where these ancient traditions continue. Puri Jagannath, it’s not just a temple; it’s a living, breathing miracle. The stories swirling around them, King Indradyumna’s dream, the Rath Yatra with its giant chariots, it's all so deeply ingrained in the culture.
Walking through the temple, you can feel the energy, the sheer weight of centuries of prayers. It’s a chaotic, beautiful, overwhelming experience. It’s not just a temple; it’s a living, breathing testament to faith, a place where miracles feel almost ordinary, and where everyone, regardless of who they are, stands equal before the Lord. And you know what? That’s something pretty special.
Then we went to our train themed hotel named Chanakya, our room's name was Howrah. Had good sleep and woke up early in the morning for a visit of the huge Chilka Lake.
after the whirlwind of Puri's spiritual intensity, we headed out to explore the vast expanse of Chilka Lake. We set off into the early morning light. The air was crisp, a welcome change from the temple's incense-laden atmosphere. Chilka, I’d heard, was India's largest brackish water lagoon. But the reality, as it often does, had its own twist. We took a boat ride, a solid three hours of gentle rocking, a soothing rhythm after the temple's bustling energy. The lake stretched out, seemingly endless, a shimmering expanse of blue and green. Instead of the promised flamingos, though, we were greeted by a chorus of cawing crows and the ever-present squawking of seagulls, their white wings flashing against the blue.
Our first island theme was dolphins. We saw a flicker of excitement! A local dolphin, just the back portion, a flash of grey, breaking the surface. Not a proper, full-on dolphin sighting, more like a fleeting shadow, a hint of marine life in the vast expanse. These are Irrawaddy dolphins, unique to Chilka. They are really rare. These dolphins live in brackish water. Now, brackish water is basically a mix of fresh and saltwater. It's not as salty as the ocean, but it's saltier than a river or lake. Think of it like a watery middle ground, where the sea meets the land, often in estuaries or lagoons like Chilka. And these dolphins have rounded foreheads. They are very shy and avoid boats.
We also took a walk through another island, a bit of a wander, really. We got a little confused with the route back, for a while there it looked like we were going to get lost. But eventually, we got back on track, no dramas. The fishermen, their nets cast wide, were still a testament to the lake's bounty, a reminder of the life it sustained. No temples, no vibrant flocks of pink, just the raw, unadorned beauty of the lake, its vastness and the subtle, fleeting moments of wildlife, and the intriguing local dolphin. Chilka, in its own way, was a quiet, understated experience, a reminder that nature often reveals its treasures in unexpected, and sometimes, subtle ways.
Then after Chilka we headed back on long journey to Bhubaneshwar. We stayed at a good hotel where we later on walked for a while and later I was awake till 11:30 pm. not for traveling but just seeing the CSK vs RCB match.
Then the next morning we woke up got ready ate in the hotel's buffet system itself. Then left to the first stop of the day, a bunch of caves called Udayagiri and Khandagiri caves.
Right, so, initiating our exploration, we commenced with the Udayagiri and Khandagiri caves. These sites represent ancient rock-cut shelters, dating back to the 2nd century BCE, and served as residential and meditative spaces for Jain monks. They are in fact, two distinct hills, each housing separate cave complexes, requiring short, but moderately challenging treks.
Udayagiri, the "sunrise hill," is notable for the Hathi Gumpha (Elephant Cave), featuring inscriptions that provide historical context, detailing the reign of King Kharavela. It's not just the inscriptions, but the strategic placement of these caves that's interesting. The hill itself seems to have been chosen for its natural defensive advantages, a fact often overlooked. The carvings, though weathered by time, retain a level of detail that offers insight into the socio-political landscape of the period, hinting at royal patronage and the establishment of Jainism in the region. There are also less visited caves, that show signs of early water management, with channels carved into the rock.
Khandagiri, the "broken hill," situated opposite Udayagiri, presents a multi-tiered arrangement of caves. This architectural design facilitated both communal and individual spaces for the monks, reflecting a structured monastic lifestyle. The elevated position of these caves also provides panoramic views of the surrounding landscape, indicating a strategic consideration of the environment, not just for aesthetics, but potentially for surveillance and defense. A hidden aspect is the presence of some unfinished caves, suggesting a sudden halt in construction, perhaps due to political or economic shifts. There are also smaller, less documented carvings, some of which are believed to depict early forms of Jain iconography.
These caves, beyond their architectural significance, offer a tangible connection to the ancient Jain monastic tradition. They serve as a historical record, illustrating the transition from natural shelters to more formalized, carved structures, and provide a glimpse into the daily lives and spiritual practices of the monks who inhabited them. The two hills also suggest that this region was of significance to the Jain community, and that the caves were not isolated, but part of a larger network of monastic settlements.
Right, so, after the Udayagiri and Khandagiri caves, we went to the Lingaraja Temple. And let me tell you, that Lingam wasn't getting any rest. Random families, kids, grandparents, everyone, was queuing up with milk, pouring it over the Lingam, each offering a silent prayer to the lord. It was a constant, fluid devotion, a real insight into the temple's living heart.
Now, the interesting thing about the smaller shrines, and even the main Lingam, is the level difference. If you were a priest, you'd be stepping down into these little sanctums, almost like descending into a well, to get face-to-face with the deity. For us mere mortals, we were peering down from above, like looking into miniature temples, each with its own carved deity, and its own little scene of worship. It gave the whole place this layered, almost hidden feel, a bit like those old stepwells.
And outside, right the road, they were building this massive Rath, a chariot. Not just a small one, a proper, towering wooden structure. You could see the carpenters working, fitting pieces together, the smell of fresh wood mixing with the incense. It was a reminder that this temple wasn't just a relic, it was a living, breathing part of the city, constantly evolving, constantly preparing for the next festival, the next ritual that was coming soonn in April, maybe during the time I am writing it.
Then we went to a bunch of temples that was close by. They too built by the Kalingas. One of the temples had no idols and the other was being demolished for it to stay intact for centuries to come so only one of the temples featuring Shiva was in function and the other was a totally demolished temple of Hanuman.
Then after all these visits we went to the Rajarani Temple. An 11th-century sandstone structure, it stands with a warm, reddish glow, a distinct look from its "Rajarani" stone, and a quiet, architectural marvel. It's known for its detailed carvings, particularly the nayikas, elegant female figures engaged in everyday activities, and carvings of couples, which have led to local interpretations of it as a "love temple," though this isn't historically confirmed. The architecture is Kalinga style, featuring the jagamohana(viewing hall) and the vimana (main shrine), but notably, the sanctum is empty, devoid of a deity, an unusual feature for temples of this period. The exterior, however, is richly decorated with sculptures, a testament to the artisans of the time. The temple's history is somewhat unclear, likely built by the Somavamshi kings, with the name "Rajarani" debated, ranging from the stone's colors to a royal association, though concrete evidence is lacking.
The empty sanctum, the absence of a deity, is the real puzzle of the Rajarani Temple. Several theories attempt to explain this anomaly. One possibility is that the temple was never fully completed. Construction might have been halted for unknown reasons, perhaps due to political instability, lack of resources, or a shift in royal patronage. Another theory suggests that the deity was deliberately removed or destroyed at some point in history. This could have been due to religious conflicts or changes in the ruling dynasty. A more speculative idea is that the temple was dedicated to a cult or deity that is no longer practiced or recognized, leaving behind an empty space where worship once occurred. It's also possible that the temple was intended as a purely architectural or artistic expression, rather than a place of active worship. However, this is less likely given the prevalence of deity worship in that era. Without definitive historical records, the absence of a deity remains an intriguing mystery, adding to the temple's enigmatic charm.
Today, it's more of an architectural and historical site, maintained by the ASI, and hosting the Rajarani Music Festival every January, showcasing classical Indian music. It's a striking contrast to the active worship of Lingaraja, offering a glimpse into the art, architecture, and lingering mysteries of the period.
That day the temperature in Bhubaneshwar was the highest of the year, a whopping 38℃ so the plan was to stay indoor completely but our driver did not agree. After having lunch I had to make a quick decision go out in the boring section of only learning in a museum or what? After thinking for a while I had an idea, go to a mall but not for shopping jut for a walk for 21 and half hours so we did that and we left to the airport where we had to wait for a long time as even flight was delayed by half an hour so had some cold coffeee flavored with French vanilla then my mom packed some sweets to take back home then when the flight arrived, we boarded it and I ate noodles on the way and landed in Bengaluru and ate in the new CTR in the airport and went back home.
Right, so, amidst all those ancient temples, you keep hearing "Utkal." By the way, to clear doubts on what Utkal is, just recite our national anthem: "Jana Gana Mana..." See that glorious line? "Utkala Banga." Utkal is right there, a vital thread in India's national tapestry, ancient Odisha, a land of temples and stories. It's not just a place on a map; it's a piece of our national soul, a thread woven into the very fabric of India. And that, in a nutshell, is the heart of our journey. From the ancient caves to the towering Lingaraja, to the mysterious Rajarani, we've walked through centuries of history, felt the pulse of devotion, and witnessed the enduring power of art and architecture. That's Utkal, that's Odisha.
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