BY JAN HAAG
ELURA
It's hot,
as if the sand itself will burst into
flames.
The bushes are incandescent,
gold, and the rock is black.
I haven't
chiseled far,
but farther
than one would think. About a foot,
maybe -- there is
the barest hint of shade at noon. Three
days.
The
rock particles
choke me in the dancing
heat. I
breathe
through a cloth some of the time to avoid coughing.
But
my breath is okay, better than
some. I worked Badami,
too --
cutting rock ever
since I was
a boy. It's hard work, you sweat a
lot, but it's worth
it. When the temple starts, they've promised
me a
place on the roof.
They've been chanting
designs,
flourishes.
It's unbelievable what they plan -- right down
through
the mountain, a quarter million ton
to move. It's going to
stand
free, with side galleries,
courtyards. Black,
the whole
rock is black. Kailasa, they're calling it,
and it is. Already you can
feel
Shiva dancing, like great
gongs, like the sledging heat,
like
thunder.
Contributions, donations, pledges pour in. The
coffers
brim, so they say, and the head
chanter is in voice. I
hone my chisel
each day
on this niche,
this small hermit's cell. I sit with the
monks sometimes,
out there, in the dark beneath the stars.
Many
have come over
from Ajanta to chant
our joyous
beginning. Accomplished, they laugh away
problems.
The stone sounds and resounds, it's called "trap
rock,"
very porous. On
the full moon we will start
Kailasa.
I envy
them their belief, their stylized thought,
their art. But I do the carving,
I
have the craft, I sweat in
ebony rivulets
from my face
to
my toes. I provide the emergence from stone,
dance with Shiva, revel
with Shakti,
my arms are gurus, my
heart rings iron and rock.
I
exist.
Copyright © 2000 Jan Haag
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Jan Haag may be reached via e-mail: jhaag@u.washington.edu
Crossroads
Elura
Ellora
India
Khajuraho
Lung-gom-pas
Rwanda
Silence
Tibetan Chronicle
Vijayanagar
Passing Through Bodh Gaya
Vijayanagar
The Wedding in Mahabaleshwar
Asian Diary #2
Kalachakra
Mukra/Tukra/Chakradar
BY JAN HAAG