The document summarizes the author's trip with family to Solapur-Wadi-Bijapur in India. They visited the author's ancestral deity in Wadi, which had a black idol with silver embellishments. They found the temple peaceful with few visitors. They then took a train to Bijapur, passing simple folk on the journey. In Bijapur they visited the Gol Gumbaz tomb with its large dome and whispering gallery. They briefly saw a large statue of Lord Shiva before going to the author's aunt's village to spend the night. The author also visited their grandparents' village of Maindargi and recalled memories from their childhood there during school breaks. The author hopes they have not exceeded
1. 2 Issue 09 Volume 01
Iwould not chose the word
pilgrimage, but rather a small journey
by a small Indian family to describe
my trip with family to Solapur-Wadi-
Bijapur. Our little itinerary when we
planned our journey to these places
included a visit to my ancestral deity
at Wadi, a junction 150 kms from
the District Solapur. This district is
characterized by continuous plains,
interspersed mainly with sunflower
plantations and sugarcane fields.
It was early November, and the
weather was cold but pleasant. For
Mumbaikars nothing could be more
welcome than such weather. We crave
for such cool air.
Once we alighted at Wadi
Junction, we walked till we
reached the point where one could hire
a conveyance to get to the temple of my
ancestral deity, Halkatti Veerbhadra,
a black-colored idol with silvery eye
and moustache cutouts embellishing
the face. The deity resides in a marble,
stone and tiled altar surrounded on top
by a designed silver arch. This deity is
reputed to have a fierce personality.
There may be many stories supporting
this too. The idol did make a reassuring
impression with its appearance.
We happened to be there on a
relatively peaceful day, as there were no
festivities or special commemorating
occasions when we see crowds throng.
I wouldn’t have asked for any other
day. A welcome tranquility pervaded
the whole temple, peopled by just the
regular inhabitants, like the priest and
maybe a few local devotees. The aura
was soothing. The roofs, the walls, the
floor all seemed to be inquiring mildly
about our general well being. The
morning rays of sunlight were revealing
the incense smoky, stony indoors. The
sunrays provided a soothing warmth in
contrast to the touch of the cold stone
of the textured walls. Just the perfect
ambience for me. Such an aura certainly
remains suppressed and hidden on
festive days when countless people
throng the shrine.
We touched Nandi’s head, bowed
before the other idols while doing the
inner rounds, and left the place wishing
we could spend some more time. But,
being tired, or shall I say aligned, to the
clock, we picked ourselves up and went
to the station in time to catch a train
back to Solapur.
Aday of rest, and then the next
day we were off on a three to four-
hour train ride to Bijapur. The train did
notseemtobeinahurry.Itwasokaywith
us, as we were not the working people
that day. To journey in a passenger train
while travelling between small towns
has its own charm, albeit there are
certain peak hours and peak days when
there are at least three people for every
one seat, not to mention the corridors
full of men, women, and kids of all ages,
jostling with more men, women, and
kids of all ages. But we found ourselves
in a very comfortable position, as the
trains were relatively uncrowded that
day, as could be expected on an odd day.
Unlike on our journey to Wadi, there
was no 9 to 7 working crowd that has
SOLAPUR - WADI - BIJAPUR
Days away from Mumbai.
ANIL RAO
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3. 4 Issue 09 Volume 01
to fight every morning and evening to
secure itself some place to sit, or stand
or at least lean.
This whole rush is something
characteristic of bigger metros, and
the whole idea has always been to turn
villages into towns, and towns into
metros. Effects of modernization, I
pondered. On the other hand, on our
way back to Solapur from Wadi, amidst
this horde which had its individuals
sticking tightly to each other in the
corridor of the train, Mohini, my
younger daughter, still managed to
make space for herself and sleep.
Most of the people on this journey
to Bijapur seemed straight, simple folk,
uninhibited, and matter of fact. These
folks’ demeanour leaves me with a lot of
self-analysis to do. It’s a pleasure to see
all such who are different from the city
men like us.
Well, we got off at Bijapur
station, a historical place,
ruled by the Adil Shah’s dynasty in
the seventeenth century. The obvious
visitors’ attraction to this place was the
Gol Gumbaz, an edifice constructed to
house the tombs of Muhammad Adil
Shah, his wives and daughters, which
he is said to have got built during his
lifetime once he had ascended the
throne. A few seconds of googling might
give you all the particular information
you may need on this.
The huge dome shape at the top is
characteristic of the many monuments
built by the Muslim rulers of that
period. There is evidence in the diagrams
exhibited in the musuem of one of the
galleries of this palatial monument that
there was a lot of research and study
into the Roman civilization structures
while building this huge ‘tomb edifice’
with a ‘whispering gallery’ at the top,
i.e. the dome.
Surrounding the Gol Gumbaz
and sprawling across a large area are
maintained green lawns, where people
relax, lie down and gaze at the sky. After
having seen and walked through all that
there is to see in and about this edifice,
one is generally bound to relax, and these
lawns serve as a perfect landing place to
reflect just a bit and adjust perspective.
We just managed to spend a very little
time at the feet of the huge statue of Lord
Shiva, which was at a distance of about
fifteen minutes from Gol Gumbaz. This
enormous statue is such a fascinating
spectacle. The anatomy overall of the
Lord Shiva and the mudra touched us.
After this we wrapped up and set
about to reach my Aunt’s village,
Chadchan in Bijapur, where we would
spend the night and get back to Solapur
the next day.
When we had exhausted most of
the days we had, and were left
with hardly two more, we took a break
and I went on a ride with my cousin
on his motorcycle to Maindargi, my
grandparents’ village.
In Maindargi, the stony lanes and
the age-old tamarind trees with stone
platforms constructed outside every
house never fail to leave me wistful. My
grandparents aren’t there now. But not
only the view of the house, but even the
thought of it, takes me instantly back to
the days when they were very much the
life and soul of the family. And now I
sometimes reflect whether I shall wake
up one morning to find myself still
small, back in that house, having come
to spend my school vacation with my
grandparents and other cousins.
There was no thing such as electricity
in the village then. The memories of
trying to read a chapter from a Marathi
school book belonging to a boy who
lived in one of the little rooms rented
among the many in the house, burning
lamp oil, have remained quiet vivid ever
since.
Also the lovely food cooked by
grandma for grandpa and everyone in
that dimly lit kitchen in the evenings
and served in plates with tripod stands
to be placed upon, seems so precious
now. How I long to be there! That was
real wealth to me.
I also happened to witness the sugar
corporation elections, which are held
at a district level.We happened to visit
one of the booths where we saw farmers
faithfully queuing up to vote. It’s very
difficult to describe the expressions
on each of the electorate’s faces. They
seemed to have forgone a day’s labor in
order to dutifully exercise their vote.
Talking about real wealth, I am
reminded of ‘real estate’ in the
context of space on websites. I hope
I haven’t exceeded the brief space
available, at the same time I do hope
that I have been able to say something
at least in the words I have used
above. This note cannot end without
mentioning someone due to whom the
whole trip above was conducted with as
few worries as possible. My dear cousin
Raja, of Solapur. Dhanyavaad.
