pleasing to the European eye; but when once the eye is accustomed to it, it has a singularly solemn and pleasing aspect. It is a solid, and would be a plain square tower, but for the slight curve at the top, which takes off the hardness of the outline and introduces pleasingly the circular crowning object (Woodcut No. 233). As compared with that at Tanjore (Woodcut No. 191), it certainly is by far the finer design of the two. In plan the southern example is the larger, being 82 ft. square. This one is only 66 ft.[419] from angle to angle, though it is 75 ft. across the central projection. Their height is nearly the same, both of them being over 180 ft., but the upper part of the northern tower is so much more solid, that the cubic contents of the two are probably not very different. Besides, however, greater beauty in form, the northern example excels the other immeasurably in the fact that it is wholly in stone from the base to the apex, and—what, unfortunately, no woodcut can show—every inch of the surface is covered with carving in the most elaborate manner. It is not only the divisions of the courses, the roll-mouldings on the angles, or the breaks on the face of the tower: these are sufficient to relieve its flatness, and with any other people they would be deemed sufficient; but every individual stone in the tower has a pattern carved upon it, not so as to break its outline, but sufficient to relieve any idea of monotony. It is, perhaps, not an exaggeration to say that if it would take a sum—say a lakh of rupees or pounds—to erect such a building as this, it would take

three lakhs to carve it as this one is carved. Whether such an outlay is judicious or not, is another question. Most people would be of opinion that a building four times as large would produce a greater and more imposing architectural effect; but this is not the way a Hindu ever looked at the matter. Infinite labour bestowed on every detail was the mode in which he thought he could render his temple most worthy of the deity; and, whether he was right or wrong, the effect of the whole is certainly marvellously beautiful. It is not, however, in those parts of the building shown in the woodcut that the greatest amount of carving or design was bestowed, but in the perpendicular parts seen from the courtyard (Woodcut No. 234). There the sculpture is of a very high order and great beauty of design. This, however, ought not to surprise when we recollect that at Amravati, on the banks of the Kistnah, not far from the southern boundary of this kingdom, there stood a temple more delicate and elaborate in its carvings than any other building in India,[420] and that this temple had been finished probably not more than a century before the Kesari dynasty was established in Orissa; and though the history of art in India is written in decay, there was not much time for decline, and the dynasty was new and vigorous when this temple was erected.

Attached to the Jagamohan of this temple is a Nat-mandir, or dancing-hall, whose date is, fortunately, perfectly well known, and enables us to measure the extent of this decay with almost absolute certainty. It was erected by the wife of Salini between the years 1099 and 1104.[421] It is elegant, of course, for art had not yet perished among the Hindus, but it differs from the style of the porch to which it is attached more than the leanest example of Tudor art differs from the vigour and grace of the buildings of the early Edwards. All that power of expression is gone which enabled the early architects to make small things look gigantic from the exuberance of labour bestowed upon them. A glance at the Nat-mandir is sufficient for the mastery of its details. A week’s study of the Jagamohan would every hour reveal new beauties.

The last woodcut may convey some idea of the extent to which the older parts were elaborated: but even the photograph hardly enables any one not familiar with the style to realise how exquisite the combination of solidity of mass with exuberance of ornament really is.

During the four centuries and a half which elapsed between the erection of these two porches, Bhuvaneswar was adorned with some hundreds of temples, some dozen of which have been photographed, but hardly in sufficient detail to enable the student to classify them according to their dates. On the spot[422] it probably would be easy for any one trained to this class of study, and it would be a great gain if it were done. The group nearest in richness and interest is that at Khajurâho, mentioned above (p. 245); but that group belongs to an age just subsequent[423] to that of the Bhuvaneswar group, and only enables us to see that some of the most elaborate of the Cuttack temples may extend to the year 1000 or thereabouts. It is to this date that I would ascribe the erection of the Raj Rani temple. The names of those of which I have photographs, with their approximate data, are given in the list at the end of this chapter; but I refrain from burdening the text with their unpronounceable names, as I despair, by any reasonable number of woodcuts, of illustrating their marvellous details in anything like a satisfactory manner.

The Raj Rani temple, as will be seen from the woodcut (No. 235), is small; but the plan is arranged so as to give great variety and play of light and shade, and as the details are of the most exquisite beauty, it is one of the gems of Orissan art. The following woodcut (No. 236), without attempting to illustrate the art, is quoted as characteristic of the emblems of the Kesari line. Below the pillar are three kneeling elephants, over which domineer three lions, the emblems of the race. Above this a Nagni, or female Naga, with her seven-headed snake-hood, adorns the upper part of the pillar. They are to be found, generally in great numbers, in almost all the temples of the province. Over the doorway are the Nava

Graha, or nine planets, which are almost more universal, both in temples dedicated to Vishnu and in those belonging to the worship of Siva. Indeed, in so far as any external signs are concerned, there does not seem to be any means by which the temples of the two religions can be distinguished from one another. Throughout the province, from the time we first meet it, about A.D. 500, till it dies out about A.D. 1200, the style seems to be singularly uniform in its features, and it requires considerable familiarity with it to detect its gradual progress towards decay. Notwithstanding this, it is easy to perceive that there are two styles of architecture in Orissa, which ran side by side with one another during the whole course. The first is represented by the temples of Parasurameswara and Mukteswara (Woodcuts No. 230, 231); the second by the great temple (Woodcut No. 233). They are not antagonistic, but sister styles, and seem certainly to have had at least partially different origins. We can find affinities with that of the Mukteswara group in Dharwar and most parts of northern India: but I know of nothing exactly like the great temple anywhere else. It seems to be quite indigenous, and if not the most beautiful, it is the simplest and most majestic of the Indo-Aryan styles. It may look like riding a hobby to death, but I cannot help suspecting a wooden origin for it—the courses look so much more like carved logs of wood laid one upon another than courses of masonry, and the mode and extent to which they are carved certainly savours of the same material. There is a mosque built of Deodar pine in Kashmir, to be referred to hereafter, which certainly seems to favour this idea; but till we find some older temples than any yet discovered in Orissa this must remain in doubt. Meanwhile it may be well to point out that about one-half of the older temples in Orissa follow the type of the great temple, and one-half that of Mukteswara; but the two get confounded together in the 8th and 9th centuries, and are mixed together into what may almost be called a new style in the Raj Rani and temples of the 10th and 11th centuries.

Kanaruc.

With, perhaps, the single exception of the temple of Juganât at Puri, there is no temple in India better known and about which more has been written than the so-called Black Pagoda at Kanaruc; nor is there any one whose date and dedication is better known, if the literature on the subject could be depended upon. Stirling does not hesitate in asserting that the present edifice, “as is well known, was built by the Raja Langora Narsingh Deo, in A.D. 1241, under the superintendence of his minister Shibai Sautra;”[424] and every one who has since written on the subject adopts this date without hesitation,[425] and the native records seem to confirm it. Complete as this evidence, at first sight, appears, I have no hesitation in putting it aside, for the simple reason that it seems impossible—after the erection of so degraded a specimen of the art as the temple of Puri (A.D. 1174)—the style ever could have reverted to anything so beautiful as this. In general design and detail it is so similar to the Jagamohan of the great temple at Bhuvaneswar that at first sight I should be inclined to place it in the same century; but the details of the tower exhibit a progress towards modern forms which is unmistakeable,[426] and render a difference of date of two or possibly even three centuries more probable. Yet the only written authority I know of for such a date is that given by Abul Fazl. After describing the temple, and ascribing it to Raja Narsingh Deo, in A.D. 1241, with an amount of detail and degree of circumstantiality which has deceived every one, he quietly adds that it is said “to be a work of 730 years’ antiquity.”[427] In other words, it was erected in A.D. 850 or A.D. 873, according to the date we assume for the composition of the Ayeen Akbery. If there were a king of that name among the Rois fainéants of the Kesari line, this would suffice; but no such name is found in the lists.[428] This, however, is not final; for in an inscription on the Brahmaneswar temple the queen, who built it, mentions the names of her husband, Udyalaka, and six of his ancestors; but neither he nor any of them are to be found in the lists except the first, Janmejaya, and it is doubtful whether even he was a Kesari king or the hero of the ‘Mahabharata.’[429] In all this uncertainty we have really nothing to guide us but the architecture, and its testimony is so distinct that it does not appear to me doubtful that this temple really belongs to the latter half of the 9th century.

Another point of interest connected with this temple is, that all authors, apparently following Abul Fazl, agree that it was like the temple of Marttand, in Kashmir (ante, p. 287), dedicated to the sun. I have never myself seen a Sun temple in India, and being entirely ignorant of the ritual of the sect, I would not wish to appear to dogmatise on the subject; but I have already expressed my doubts as to the dedication of Marttand, and I may be allowed to repeat them here. The traces of Sun worship in Bengal are so slight that they have escaped me, as they have done the keen scrutiny of the late H. H. Wilson.[430]

In the Vedas it appears that Vishnu is called the Sun, or it may be the sun bears the name of Vishnu;[431] and this may account, perhaps, for the way in which the name has come to be applied to this temple, which differs in no other respect from the other temples of Vishnu found in Orissa. The architectural forms are identical; they are adorned with the same symbols. The Nava Graha, or nine planets, adorn the lintel of this as of all the temples of the Kesari line. The seven-headed serpent-forms are found on every temple of the race, from the great one at Bhuvaneswar to this one, and it is only distinguishable from those of Siva by the obscenities that disfigure a part of its sculptures. This is, unfortunately only too common a characteristic of Vaishnava temples all over India, but is hardly, if ever, found in Saiva temples, and never was, so far as I know, a characteristic of the worship of the Sun god.

Architecturally, the great beauty of this temple arises from the form of the design of the roof of the Jagamohan, or porch—the only part now remaining. Both in dimensions and detail, it is extremely like that of the great temple at Bhuvaneswar, but it is here divided into three storeys instead of two, which is an immense improvement, and it rises at a more agreeable angle. The first and second storeys consist of six cornices each, the third of five only, as shown in the diagram Woodcut No. 124. The two lower ones are carved with infinite beauty and variety on all their twelve faces, and the antefixæ at the angles and breaks are used with an elegance and judgment a true Yavana could hardly have surpassed. There is, so far as I know, no roof in India where the same play of light and shade is obtained with an equal amount of richness and constructive propriety as in this instance, nor one that sits so gracefully on the base that supports it.

Internally, the chamber is singularly plain, but presents some constructive peculiarities worthy of attention. On the floor it is about 40 ft. square, and the walls rise plain to about the same height. Here it begins to bracket inwards, till it contracts to about 20 ft., where it was ceiled with a flat stone roof, supported by wrought-iron beams—Stirling says nine, nearly 1 ft. square by 12 ft. to 18 ft. long.[432] My measurements made the section less—8 in. to 9 in., but the length greater, 23 ft.; and Babu Rajendra points out that one, 21 ft. long, has a square section of 8 in. at the end, but a depth of 11 in. in the centre,[433] showing a knowledge of the properties and strength of the material that is remarkable in a people who are now so utterly incapable of forging such masses. The iron pillar at Delhi (Woodcut No. 281) is even a more remarkable example than this, and no satisfactory explanation has yet been given as to the mode in which it was manufactured. Its object, however, is plain, while the employment of these beams here is a mystery. They were not wanted for strength, as the building is still firm after they have fallen, and so expensive a false ceiling was not wanted architecturally to roof so plain a chamber. It seems to be only another instance of that profusion of labour which the Hindus loved to lavish on the temples of their gods.

Puri.

When from the capital we turn to Puri, we find a state of affairs more altered than might be expected from the short space of time that had elapsed between the building of the Black Pagoda and the celebrated one now found there. It is true the dynasty had changed. In 1131, the Kesari Vansa, with their Saiva worship, had been superseded by the Ganga Vansa, who were apparently as devoted followers of Vishnu; and they set to work at once to signalise their triumph by erecting the temple to Juganât, which has since acquired such a world-wide celebrity.

It is not, of course, to be supposed that the kings of the Ganga line were the first to introduce the worship of Vishnu to Orissa. The whole traditions, as recorded by Stirling, contradict such an assumption, and the first temple erected on this spot to the deity is said to have been built by Yayati, the founder of the Kesari line.[434] He it was who recovered the sacred image of Juganât from the place where it had been buried 150 years before, on the invasion of the Yavanas, and a “new temple was erected by him on the site of the old one, which was found to be much dilapidated and overwhelmed with sand.”[435] This, of course, was before the arrival of the Ayodhya Brahmans alluded to above, who, though they may have retained possession of the capital during the continuance of the dynasty, did not apparently interfere with the rival worship in the provinces.

It would indeed be contrary to all experience if, in a country where Buddhism once existed, those who were followers of that faith had not degenerated first into Jainism and then into Vishnuism. At Udayagiri we have absolute proof in the caves of the first transition, and that it continued there till the time when the Mahrattas erected the little temple on the southern peak. In like manner, there seems little doubt that the tooth relic was preserved at Puri till the invasion of the Yavanas, apparently, as before mentioned, to obtain possession of it. According to the Buddhist version, it was buried in the jungle, but dug up again shortly afterwards, and conveyed to Ceylon.[436] According to the Brahmanical account, it was the image of Juganât, and not the tooth, that was hidden and recovered on the departure of the Yavanas, and then was enshrined at Juganât in a new temple on the sands. The tradition of a bone of Krishna being contained in the image[437] is evidently only a Brahmanical form of Buddhist relic worship, and, as has been frequently suggested, the three images of Juganât, his brother Balbhadra, and the sister Subhadhra, are only the Buddhist trinity—Buddha, Dharma, Sanga—disguised to suit the altered condition of belief among the common people. The pilgrimage, the Rât Jutra, the suspension of caste prejudices, everything in fact at Puri, is redolent of Buddhism, but of Buddhism so degraded as hardly to be recognisable by those who know that faith only in its older and purer form.

The degradation of the faith, however, is hardly so remarkable as that of the style. Even Stirling, who was no captious critic, remarks that it seems unaccountable, in an age when the architects obviously possessed some taste and skill, and were in most cases particularly lavish in the use of sculptural ornament, so little pains should have been taken with the decoration and finishing of this sacred and stupendous edifice.[438] It is not, however, only in the detail, but the outline, the proportions, and every arrangement of the temple, show that the art in this province at least had received a fatal downward impetus from which it never recovered.

As will be seen from the annexed plan[439] (Woodcut No. 237), this temple has a double enclosure, a thing otherwise unknown in the north. Externally it measures 670 ft. by 640 ft., and is surrounded by a wall 20 ft. to 30 ft. high, with four gates. The inner enclosure measures 420 ft. by 315 ft., and is enclosed by a double wall with four openings. Within this last stands the Bara Dewul, A, measuring 80 ft. across the centre, or 5 ft. more than the great temple at Bhuvaneswar; with its porch or Jagamohan, B, it measures 155 ft. east and west, while the great tower rises to a height of 192 ft.[440] Beyond this two other porches were afterwards added, the Nat-mandir, C, and Bhog-mandir, D, making the whole length of the temple about 300 ft., or as nearly as may be the same as that at Bhuvaneswar. Besides this there are, as in all great Hindu temples, numberless smaller shrines within the two enclosures, but, as in all instances in the north, they are kept subordinate to the principal one, which here towers supreme over all.

Except in its double enclosure, and a certain irregularity of plan, this temple does not differ materially in arrangement from the great ones at Bhuvaneswar and elsewhere; but besides the absence of detail already remarked upon, the outline of its vimana is totally devoid either of that solemn solidity of the earlier examples, or the grace that characterised those subsequently erected; and when we add to this that whitewash and paint have done their worst to add vulgarity to forms already sufficiently ungraceful, it will easily be understood that this, the most famous, is also the most disappointing of northern Hindu temples.[441] As may be seen from the preceding illustration (Woodcut No. 238), the parts are so nearly the same as those found in all the older temples at Bhuvaneswar, that the difference could hardly be expressed in words; even the woodcut, however, is sufficient to show how changed they are in effect, but the building itself should be seen fully to appreciate the degradation that has taken place.

Jajepur and Cuttack.

Jajepur, on the Byturni, was one of the old capitals of the province, and even now contains temples which, from the squareness of their forms, may be old, but, if so, they have been so completely disguised by a thick coating of plaster, that their carvings are entirely obliterated, and there is nothing by which their age can be determined. The place was long occupied by the Mahomedans, and the presence of a handsome mosque may account for the disappearance of some at least of the Hindu remains. There is one pillar, however, still standing, which deserves to be illustrated as one of the most pleasing examples of its class in India (Woodcut No. 239). Its proportions are beautiful, and its details in excellent taste; but the mouldings of the base, which are those on which the Hindus were accustomed to lavish the utmost care, have unfortunately been destroyed. Originally it is said to have supported a figure of Garuda—the Vahana of Vishnu—and a figure is pointed out as the identical one. It may be so, and if it is the case, the pillar is of the 12th or 13th century. This also seems to be the age of some remarkable pieces of sculpture which were discovered some years ago on the brink of the river, where they had apparently been hidden from Mahomedan bigotry. They are in quite a different style from anything at Bhuvaneswar or Kanaruc, and probably more modern than anything at those places.

Cuttack became the capital of the country in A.D. 989-1006, when a certain Markut Kesari built a stone revêtement to protect the site from encroachment of the river.[442] It too, however, has suffered, first from the intolerant bigotry of the Moslem, and afterwards from the stolid indifference[443] of the British rulers, so that very little remains; but for this the nine-storeyed palace of Mukund Deo, the contemporary of Akbar, might still remain to us in such a state at least as to be intelligible. We hear so much, however, of these nine-storeyed palaces and viharas, that it may be worth while quoting Abul Fazl’s description of this one, in order to enable us to understand some of the allusions and descriptions we afterwards may meet with:—“In Cuttack,” he says, “there is a fine palace, built by Rajah Mukund Deo, consisting of nine storeys. The first storey is for elephants, camels, and horses; the second for artillery and military stores, where also are quarters for the guards and other attendants; the third is occupied by porters and watchmen; the fourth is appropriated for the several artificers; the kitchens make the fifth range; the sixth contains the Rajah’s public apartments; the seventh is for the transaction of private business; the eighth is where the women reside; and the ninth is the Rajah’s sleeping apartment. To the south,” he adds, “of this palace is a very ancient Hindu temple.”[444]

As Orissa at the period when this was written was practically a part of Akbar’s kingdom, there seems little doubt that this description was furnished by some one who knew the place. There are seven-storeyed palaces at Jeypur and Bijapur still standing, which were erected about this date, and one of five storeys in Akbar’s own palace at Futtehpore Sikri, but none, so far as I know, of nine storeys, though I see no reason for doubting the correctness of the description of the one just quoted.

Although it thus consequently happens that we have no more means of ascertaining what the civil edifices of the Indo-Aryans of Orissa were like, than we have of those of the contemporary Dravidians, there is a group of engineering objects which throw some light on the arts of the period. As has been frequently stated above, the Hindus hate an arch, and never will use it except under compulsion. The Mahomedans taught them to get over their prejudices and employ the arch in their civil buildings in later times, but to the present day they avoid it in their temples in so far as it is possible to do so. In Orissa, however, in the 13th century, they built numerous bridges in various parts of the province, but never employed a true arch in any of them. The Atarah Nullah bridge at Puri, built by Kebir Narsingh Deo, about 1250, has been drawn and described by Stirling, and is the finest in the province of those still in use. Between the abutments it is 275 ft. long, and with a roadway 35 ft. wide. That shown in the above woodcut (No. 240) is probably older, and certainly more picturesque, though constructed on the same identical plan. It may be unscientific, but many of these old bridges are standing and in use, while many of those we have constructed out of the ruins of the temples and palaces have been swept away as if a curse were upon them.

Conclusion.

The above may be considered as a somewhat meagre account of one of the most complete and interesting styles of Indian architecture. It would, however, be impossible to do it justice without an amount of illustration incompatible with the scope of this work, and with details drawn on a larger scale than its pages admit of. It is to be hoped that Babu Rajendra’s work may, to some extent, at least, supply this deficiency. The first volume can only, however, be considered as introductory, being wholly occupied with preliminary matters, and avoiding all dates or descriptions of particular buildings. The second, when it appears, may remedy this defect, and it is to be hoped will do so, as a good monograph of the Orissan style would convey a more correct idea of what Indian art really is than a similar account of any other style we are acquainted with in India. From the erection of the temple of Parasurameswara, A.D. 500, to that of Juganât at Puri, A.D. 1174, the style steadily progresses without any interruption or admixture of foreign elements, while the examples are so numerous that one might be found for every fifty years of the period—probably for every twenty—and we might thus have a chronometric scale of Hindu art during these seven centuries that would be invaluable for application to other places or styles. It is also in Orissa, if anywhere that we may hope to find the incunabula that will explain much that is now mysterious in the forms of the temples and the origin of many parts of their ornamentation. An examination, for instance, of a hundred or so of the ruined and half-ruined temples of the province would enable any competent person to say at once how far the theory above enunciated (Woodcut No. 124)—to account for the curved form of the towers—was or was not in accordance with the facts of the case, and, if opposed to them, what the true theory of the curved form really was. In like manner, it seems hardly doubtful that a careful examination of a great number of examples would reveal the origin of the amalaka crowning ornament. I feel absolutely convinced, as stated above, that it did not grow out of the berry of the Phyllanthus emblica, and am very doubtful if it had a vegetable origin at all. But no one yet has suggested any other theory which will bear examination, and it is only from the earliest temples themselves that any satisfactory answer can be expected.

It is not only, however, that these and many other technical questions will be answered when any competent person undertakes a thorough examination of the ruins, but they will afford a picture of the civilization and of the arts and religion of an Indian community during seven centuries of isolation from external influences, such as can hardly be obtained from any other source. So far as we at present know, it is a singularly pleasing picture, and one that will well repay any pains that may be taken to present it to the English public in a complete and intelligible form.

Tentative List of Dates and Dimensions of the Principal Orissan Temples.

CHAPTER III.

WESTERN INDIA.

Among the oldest and most characteristic of the Dharwar temples is that of Papanatha, at Purudkul, or Pittadkul, as it is now spelt. As will be seen from the plan of this temple given above (Woodcut No. 122, page 221), the cell, with its tower, has not the same predominating importance which it always had in Orissa; and instead of a mere vestibule it has a four-pillared porch, which would in itself be sufficient to form a complete temple on the eastern side of India. Beyond this, however, is the great porch, Mantapa, or Jagamohan—square, as usual, but here it possesses sixteen pillars, in four groups, instead of the astylar arrangements so common in the east. It is, in fact, a copy, with very slight alterations, of the plan of the great Saiva temple at the same place (Woodcut No. 189), or the Kylas at Ellora (Woodcut No. 186). These, with others recently brought to light, form a group of early temples wholly Dravidian in style, but having no affinity, except in plan, with the Temple of Papanatha, which is as essentially Indo-Aryan in all its architectural arrangements. This, in fact, may be looked upon as the characteristic difference between the styles of Dharwar and Orissa. The western style, from its proximity to the Dravidian and admixture with it, in fact, used pillars freely and with effect whenever wanted; while their use in Orissa is almost unknown in the best ages of the style, and their introduction, as it took place there, showed only too clearly the necessity that had arisen in the decay of the style, to supply with foreign forms the want of originality of invention.

The external effect of the building may be judged of from the above woodcut (No. 241). The outline of the tower is not unlike that of the Parasurameswara temple at Bhuvaneswar, with which it was probably contemporary—circa A.D. 500—but the central belt is more pronounced, and always apparently was on the west side of India. It will also be observed in this tower that every third course has on the angle a form which has just been described as an amalaka in speaking of the crowning members of Orissan temples. Here it looks as if the two intermediate courses simulated roofs, or a roof in two storeys, and then this crowning member was introduced, and the same thing repeated over and over again till the requisite height was obtained. In the Parasurameswara there are three intermediate courses (Woodcut No. 230); in the great tower at Bhuvaneswar, five; and in the more modern temples they disappear from the angles, but are supplied by the miniature temple-forms applied to the sides. In the temple at Buddh Gaya the same form occurs (Woodcut No. 16) on the angle of each storey; but there it looks more like the capital of a pillar, which, in fact, I believe to be its real original. But from whatever form derived, this repetition on the angles is in the best possible taste; the eye is led upwards by it, and is prepared for the crowning member, which is thus no longer isolated and alone, but a part of a complete design.

The frequency of the repetition of this ornament is, so far as is now known, no bad test of the age of a temple. If an example were found where every alternate course was an amalaka, it probably would be older than any temple we have yet known. It would then represent a series of roofs, five, seven, or nine storeys, built over one another. It had, however, passed into conventionalities before we meet with it.

Whenever the temples of this district are thoroughly investigated, they will, no doubt, throw immense light on the early history of the style.[446] As the case now stands, however, the principal interest centres in the caves of Badami, which being the only Brahmanical caves known that have positive dates upon them, they give us a fixed point from which to reason in respect of other series such as we have never had before. For the present, they must make way for other examples better known and of more general architectural interest.

Brahmanical Rock-cut Temples.

Although the structural temples of the Badami group[447] in Dharwar are of such extreme interest, as has been pointed out above, they are surpassed in importance, for our present purposes at least, by the rock-cut examples.

At Badami there are three caves, not of any great dimensions, but of singular interest from their architectural details and sculptures, and more so from the fact that one of them, No. 3, contains an inscription with an undoubted date upon it. There are, as pointed out above, innumerable Buddhist inscriptions on the western caves, but none with dates from any well-ascertained era, and none, unfortunately, of the Brahmanical caves at Ellora or elsewhere have inscriptions that can be called integral, and not one certainly with a date on it. The consequence is, that the only mode by which their ages could be approximated was by arranging them in sequences, according to our empirical or real knowledge of the history of the period during which they were supposed to have been excavated. At Ellora, for instance, it was assumed that the Buddhist preceded the Brahmanical excavations, and that these were succeeded by the Jaina; and various local and architectural peculiarities rendered this hypothesis extremely probable. Arguing on this basis, it was found that the one chaitya cave there, the Viswakarma, was nearly identical in style with the last of the four chaityas at Ajunta (No. 26), and that cave, for reasons given above, was placed at the end of the 6th century, say A.D. 600. The caves next it were assumed to occupy the 7th century, thus leading on to the Rameswara group, about A.D. 700, and the Jaina group would then have occupied the next century. The age of the Kylas or Dravidian group, being exceptional, could only be determined by extraneous evidence, and, as already pointed out, from its extreme similarity with the great temple at Pittadkul, belongs almost certainly to the 8th century; and from a similar chain of reasoning the Jaina group is brought back to about the same age, or rather earlier, say A.D. 650.

The inscription on the No. 3 cave at Badami is dated in the twelfth year of the reign of a well-known king, Mangaliswara, in the 500th year after the inauguration of the Saka king, or in 79; the date therefore is A.D. 579. Admitting, which I think its architecture renders nearly certain, that it is the earliest of the three, still they are so like one another, that the latest must be assumed to have been excavated within the limits of the next century, say A.D. 575-700. Comparing the architecture of this group with that known as the central or Rameswara group at Ellora, it is so nearly identical, that though it may be slightly more modern, it can hardly now be doubted they too, including perhaps the cave known as the Ashes of Ravana, must have been excavated in the 7th century. Instead, therefore, of the sequence formerly adopted, we are forced to fall back on that marvellous picture of religious toleration described by the Chinese Pilgrim as exhibited at Allahabad in the year A.D. 643. On that occasion the King Siladitya distributed alms or gifts to 10,000 priests (religieux), the first day in honour of Buddha, the second of Aditya the Sun (Vishnu?), and the third in honour of Iswara or Siva;[448] and the eighteen kings who assisted at this splendid quinquennial festival seem promiscuously to have honoured equally these three divinities. With this toleration at head-quarters, we ought not to be surprised if we find the temples of the three religions overlapping one another to some extent.

The truth of the matter is, that one of the greatest difficulties an antiquary experiences before the 8th century, is to ascertain to what divinity any temple or a cave is dedicated. In the three caves, for instance, at Badami, the sculptures are wholly Vaishnava, and no one would doubt that they were dedicated to that deity, but in the sanctuaries of all is the lingam or emblem of Siva. It has been suggested that this may have been an afterthought, but if so the cave must have been without meaning. There is no sinhasan or throne on which an image of a deity could be placed, nor is the cell large enough for that purpose.

Unfortunately there are no Buddhist buildings or caves so far south as Badami, and we are consequently deprived of that means for comparison; and before anything very definite can be laid down, it will require that some one familiar with the subject should go over the whole of the western caves, and institute a rigid comparison of their details. Meanwhile, however, the result of the translations of the inscriptions gathered by Mr. Burgess, and of his plans and views,[449] is that we must compress our history of the western caves within narrower limits than originally seemed necessary.[450] The buildings in the Dharwar district seem all to be comprised between the years 500 and 750 A.D., with probably a slight extension either way, and those at Ellora being certainly synchronous, must equally be limited to the same period of time.

Pending a more complete investigation, which I hope may be undertaken before long, I would propose the following as a tentative chronology of the far-famed series of caves at Ellora:—

The cave at Elephanta follows of course the date here given for the Dhumnar Lena, and must thus date after the middle of the 8th century.[451]

These dated caves and buildings have also rendered another service to the science of archæology, inasmuch as they enable us to state with confidence that the principal caves at Mahavellipore must be circumscribed within the same limits. The architecture there being so lean and poor, is most misleading, but, as hinted above, I believe it arose from the fact that it was Dravidian, and copied literally from structural buildings, by people who had not the long experience of the Buddhists in cave architecture to guide them, for there seems to have been no Buddhists so far south. But be that as it may, a comparison of the Hindu sculptures at Badami with those of Ellora on the one hand, and Mahavellipore on the other, renders it almost absolutely certain that they were practically contemporary. The famous bas-relief of Durga, on her lion, slaying Mahasura, the Minotaur,[452] is earlier than one very similar to it at Ellora; and one, the Viratarupa,[453] is later by probably a century than the sculpture of the same subject in cave 3 at Badami.[454] Some of the other bas-reliefs are later, some earlier, than those representing similar subjects in the three series, but it seems now impossible to get over the fact that they are practically synchronous. Even the great bas-relief, which I was inclined to assign to a more modern period, probably belongs to the 7th or 8th century. The great Naga king, whom all the world are there worshipping, is represented as a man whose head is shaded by a seven-headed serpent-hood, but also with a serpent-body from the waist downwards. That form was not known in the older Buddhist sculptures, but has now been found on all the Orissan temples (for instance Woodcut No. 236), and nearly as frequently at Badami.[455] This difficulty being removed, there seems no reason why this gigantic sculpture should not take the place, which its state of execution would otherwise assign to it—say A.D. 700—as a mean date, subject to subsequent adjustment.

In a general work like the present it is of course impossible to illustrate so extensive a group as that of the Brahmanical caves to such an extent as to render their history or affinities intelligible to those who have not by other means become familiar with the subject. Fortunately, however, in this instance the materials exist by which any one may attain the desired information with very little difficulty. Daniell’s drawings—or rather Mr. Wales’—made in 1795, have long made the public acquainted with the principal caves at Ellora; Sir Charles Malet’s paper in the sixth volume of the ‘Asiatic Researches;’ Seely’s ‘Wonders of Ellora,’ published in 1820, and numerous other works, with the photographs now available, supply nearly all that can be desired in that direction. The same may be said of Elephanta, which has been exhaustively treated by Mr. Burgess in the work above referred to. Chambers’ paper in the second volume of the ‘Transactions of the Royal Asiatic Society,’ supplies, with Dr. Hunter’s photographs, a vast amount of information regarding the Mahavellipore antiquities; and Mr. Burgess’s recent report on the Dharwar caves completes, to a great extent, the information wanted to understand the peculiarities of the group. Notwithstanding this, it is well worthy of a monograph, insomuch as it affords the only representation of the art and mythology of the Hindus on the revival of their religion, which was commenced by the Guptas A.D. 318-465, but really inaugurated by the great Vicramaditya, A.D. 495-530, and which, when once started, continued to nourish till the great collapse in the 8th century.