Nandagopal Rajan
It was around noon when we reached the Lakshmi Narasimha temple in Mangalagiri, a sleepy town famous for its handloom sarees and the twin temples of the Narasimha, an hour's drive from Vijayawada.
Mangalagiri has two temples, one at the foothills dedicated to Lakshmi Narasimha and the other on the Mangalagiri hill dedicated to Pankala Narasimha.
We scampered barefoot on the hot granite towards the temple, empty except for a gaggle of girls playing inside the mandapa. The sanctum sanctorum was quite dark, except for the radiance of the Laxmi-Narasimha deity. It is said only the Laxmi on his lap can neutralise Narasimha.
We were exiting the sanctum sanctorum, our minds set on reaching the hill shrine before the sun became more brutal, when our eyes fell upon a small rusted board in a dark corner besides the main corridor. Maybe it was the Varma in it that caught the attention of us Malayalees. When, on closer inspection, it turned out to be Raja Ravi Varma, we were thrilled.
The thrill, however, turned to despair, as we panned up to see the object that the board was meant to tout. The saffron wall it hung on was in far better shape than this untidily framed masterpiece of the Narasimha tearing into the belly of Hiranyakashipu spiralled out on his thigh.
The picture slanted towards the right. We too bent our necks to see more clearly through the iron bars. The unrelenting heat and over a century of neglect had definitely taken its toll on this forgotten Varma. But there was no doubt about the style. After all, it was these very brush strokes that defined how we Indians visualised our Gods.
The board had more to tell. The now-forgotten painting was 'Painter Prince's' offering to the temple during a visit in the late 1800s. The Raja must have stopped here while hopping princely states completing royal assignments. We were sure the temple touched a chord in him – there is something about the place even now; why else would he put its main deity to canvas with his deft strokes. Or was there more to it? We will never know.
We left the temple thinking more about the discovery we had made than the climb ahead. Did anyone know about this Varma? Shouldn't it be restored and sent to the Shri Chitra Art Gallery, which houses his other works?
But the prince might have differed. Maybe he wanted his humble offering to go unnoticed. You never tell what you offer the Gods.
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