Part 9: January 22 (Saturday)

Monkeys take over our hotel (AT)

The day started with Emma running into our room and saying that there were monkeys all over the front of our hotel. This indeed was true, and, I suppose, not surprising. 

Jerri and hotel staff look over area map (AT)

  

Bilip then started out for the abandoned airfield, where we thought our army photographer might have been based. He clearly knew where he was going. He honked his horn incessantly, which in India is merely a way of letting other people know where you are. He turned off what passed as the main road, onto a tiny dirt path. 

We passed through groves of tall trees, the sunlight forming a foggy light that shone through the trees. It was a trip back in time—we passed by small mud homes with thatched roofs, with families living the way they have forever. 

 

On the road to Piardoba (AT)

Then we came to woods and despite the fact that there was nothing around us, the road became paved. Bilip turned and we were riding on the tarmack. 70 years ago, Spitfires took off and landed. Now it was overgrown and empty. There was no evidence of a base—no buildings that we could see, not even any foundations. Was this really our photographer's home? Today did not provide an answer. It's going to take a lot more research to find out.

Abandoned airfield, Piardoba, W. Bengal (AT)

We got back in the car and began the long drive to the town of Bhadutala, in the Mendinpur district. While only 80 kilometers away, Bilip thought it would take 3 hours. This too was true. The roads alternate between excellent and horrible within minutes. Plus, you have to avoid bicycles and motorcycles that carry up to half a dozen riders; overloaded trucks; ox-carts; peddle rickshaws; pedestrians; goats; chickens; dogs, and of course cows which are everywhere. We stopped to let a duck cross the road. It takes time.

Decorated truck, on road to Bhadutala (AT)

Subir had told us that the Karnagarh temple was about 4 km from Bhadutala and that it could be one of the temples we were looking for. As we drove, we passed scenes of overwhelming visual intensity—it is a recurring theme. Every passing image is a visual delight of color and form and interest. It can be dangerously “picturesque,” the postcard dilemma with an ethnographic bent. Indian people decorate everything, from walls to temples to the front and rear of trucks. It is as if the seeming chaos is a palette that touches every surface. 

We stopped in the middle of a bridge (“Silbati Setu”) because Jerri had noticed fishermen throwing their nets, a scene reminiscent of one of our photos. Bilip simply stopped the car on the bridge. When we got out, we saw a remarkable scene below. The straw figure we later found out is part of a ceremony for the goddess Durga. And the urn and flowers marked the site of a cremation.

Straw figure likely from Durga festival (JZ)

Ceremonial site (JZ)

We got back in the car, but shortly Emma noticed sculpted figures by the side of the road. We had seen several examples of this during the day and wondered what they were. We met the woman who crafted them and later learned that they were a central part of the Durga Puja pageantry celebrating the victory of the goddess Durga over the demon-king Mahishasur. She was coating the same type of straw figure we saw from the bridge with clay. This symbol of the goddess would then get painted, likely by another traditional artist.

Sculptor, West Bengal (JZ)

Finally, we reached the Karnagarh Temple. We weren't sure, but it looked promising. Armed with our historic photo, we entered the temple and began showing the photo to a few people. We were mobbed within minutes. Everyone had an opinion but it finally became clear that we had indeed identified negative number 1162! What confused us was that a new small temple had been built to one side, and a tree that obscured the front view. But this was it!

# 1162.  Temple near Piardoba. 

Karnagarh Temple today (AT)

Women reviewing 1945 photos (AT)

We have been overwhelmed with the friendliness and hospitality shown us throughout this trip. For some reason, we excite a great deal of interest. An elderly woman took an instant liking to Emma, who was similarly enthralled with her. She followed us for the next few hours we spent at the temple. At one point, she brought us to steps that led to holy water, cupped her hands and sprinkled some water on our foreheads, smiling constantly.

Emma and temple devotee (AT)

Getting holy water (JZ)

Then we were told that it was auspicious that we came on Saturday, when the temple was filled with devotees, and that in thanks for their prayers, anyone who came was invited to partake in a meal. We could hardly say no. Emma said that when she was growing up, we would often say that one day she might find herself in a situation where it would be an insult not to eat whatever was put in front of her. She said “It was only theoretical before...Now it's real!”

Temple lunch

They brought out banana leaf plates (dripping with water) and soon piled rice, potatoes, vegetables, dal, yogurt and rice pudding on top. Everything was delicious and we had faith that the temple goddess would prevent little microbes from destroying an otherwise incredible afternoon. It took forever to leave, with people asking for our autographs, and exchanging email addresses.

Emma drawing tattoo (AT)

One young girl wanted Emma, who has a leaf tattoo on her hand, to copy it onto her own hand. We will email and send prints to a contact person at the temple. We will also send them copies of our 1945 images. Many people took our home telephone numbers. I'm expecting calls in Bengali at any moment.

Emma with Indian young women (AT)

Holy Man, Karnagarh Temple (AT)

Devotees leaving temple (AT)

Our patient driver then sped back to Bishnupur, where we had dinner, then took a cycle rickshaw to the central market. It was quite romantic, going through dark and quiet streets (a real contrast to Mumbai or Kolkata), seeing shrines lit by moonlight, passing stalls and the quizzical looks of locals. Again, we were the only non-Indians in town. I bought myself a scarf and a few more for presents, then noticed a tiny stall where a man was sitting and sculpting clay heads. We introduced ourselves and met Kalo Sudrodhar, a trophy winning maker of traditional ceremonial sculptured figures. Jerri photographed him and his family. We wanted to buy one of his pieces, but they weigh far too much to take back on the plane. Every moment of this trip has been like this. It is a constant adventure.

Sculptor Kalo Sudrodhar, Bishnupur (JZ)

After days of being out of contact with Max, he finally called. He was in Bangalore, where there were riots. His cab navigated past burning tires and overturned cars; he saw mobs of men with nail laden sticks. He was fine, but it was a harsh reminder that wonderful though India may be, it is not paradise.


This blog chronicles our trip to India in 2011. For a blog describing our 2013-2014 Fulbright 'Following the Box' project, please see: http://alanteller.wordpress.com.