The Kondapalle artisans were starkly different from the Thathacharis of the villages surrounding Tirupati. Though the Indian government has recognized some of the Kondapalle toy maker’s efforts and started two schools for skill training, a lot of these artists told me a different story. They loved their professions and had chosen them voluntarily. This gave them a sense of pride and dignity for their occupation. Most were not following a tradition passed down from their fathers. Gopal Rao, a forty five year old doll maker told me, “My family has traditionally been farmers, we till the land. I love making these dolls, and I chose this out of my interest. I couldn’t work another day without doing something that made me happy.” However, he still wanted to pass on this craft to his children and all those who wish to learn. He told me a story of his Achari doll-making teacher from Kondapalle. About thirty years ago, he fought with his father to visit this doll-maker and eventually ended up becoming his pupil along with five neighborhood boys. Today he still maintains great reverence for that teacher and values his decision to go against his father’s wishes. He does add, “My parents were right, there is no money in making dolls. But, I love what I do and it isn’t about the money. We are able to get by comfortably.”

Another difference between the Kondapalle and Tirupati doll makers was that they allowed women to participate in the task of evaluating and painting dolls. Women in Tirupati Thathachari’s homes were not allowed to do the rough task of chipping and shaping wood. Here too in Kondapalle, men take the bulk of the sculpting work. They shape the wood, which is easily malleable by hand, and craft beautiful features, designs, and dioramas. Their wives step in to finish the job they have begun. Women paint these dolls. Gopal’s wife especially loves to paint dolls and her eyes light up when she describes the care she takes to finish each image her husband has begun. The paints used are mostly natural dyes from local flowers and berries that I saw, but some chemical paints are used for larger designs to protect the pieces and make them last longer.

Bhanumati is shy though, and didn’t wish to be photographed and rewarded for her efforts. She claimed that Gopal did all the major work. But I wondered how she could take a task such as painting the face of the doll so simply, when after all that is what gives beauty and finality to an image? Gopal stepped in here to voice his own pride for his wife’s work. “Bahnumati does the real work – she carefully proportions and paints the eyes and the torso, the most prominent parts of the dolls. Her hand is so good that it doesn’t make errors.”

Like the Tirupati doll makers, nothing can go to waste here in Kondapalle. No material, no paint, no chip of poniki wood, however cheap can be treated lightly. The doll making street is hidden in a picturesque valley overlooking the large hill ranges that made Kondapalle a famous martial center for the reigning Kings of the East. In earlier times, dolls were made to replicate the natural world. Bullock carts, village rituals, and King’s processions are quite famous images from Kondapalle. However today the market demands anything and everything be recreated for display. The doll makers are aware of this and gingerly respond that they will custom make any images desired by the huge Emporium owners of Tirupathi/ Andhra Pradesh.

I also asked them about Bommai Golu and what they knew about how their dolls are used in people’s homes. Most of them were aware of the large displays of Golu held by temples/ exhibition halls but none thought of it as a domestic ritual. While the women of Kondapalle may appear different than their Brahmin counterparts in Andhra Pradesh or even Tamilnadu, their fascination for dolls remains constant. The alankaram (adornment) is what defines how far the owner or creator cherishes her creation. While the Kondapalle women perform their own Golu, where they conscientiously paint and display their dolls for people to purchase; Brahmin women too carefully choose these dolls and decorate their homes for a public display. Each one wants their creativity to be showcased, their creation and its’ alankaram to be noticed.

After my supposed detour in Vizag, I did arrive at the real destination I was headed for – Vijayawada (one of the many cities in India named after “vijaya” or “victory” to commemorate the establishment of a kingship or its’ capital). I had selected Vijayawada for its proximity to Kondapalle, the city known for making martial toys and village landscapes. But Vijayawada had a lot more to offer than just dolls. The city is divided between the two sides of the bank of river Krishna. Connecting the two banks are two roadways and flanking the northern roadway is a large hill range upon which Kanakadurgamma’s temple is situated. Known for her immense strength in vanquishing demons, Mahisasuramardini (the slayer of the buffalo demon Mahisha), I can see why the goddess chose to live in this city. It is beautiful city, situated in a valley with plenty of rainfall, the goddess and her forms are everywhere. The city is covered with paddy fields, displaying the abundance of the fertile soil of the Krishna River. Not only the goddess or Hindu Kings, but every empire that has controlled India has left a mark in Vijayawada – the most prominent being – Buddhist, Hindu, and British owing to the famous Buddhist caves, the Durga temple, and a large St.Mary’s church upon the hilltop. As my driver told me in Hindi “everyone comes to our earth and leaves their mark upon it”.

Visiting Kanakadurgamma was no simple task; two bus rides and one short hike later, you find yourself at the entrance to a grand temple situated in the hills. From below all you can see at the top, is no temple tower, but a large “aum” symbol in glowing light with a large upside down trident symbolic of the goddess. Luckily I had arrived rather early. During my bus ride I had befriended a north-Indian family who was coming to visit the goddess thanking her for the birth of their baby girl, they had waited five years to conceive. According to the mother, if they got a baby, they were supposed to make a trip around the famous Durga temples across India. They had never been to south India and they didn’t speak Telegu so they were quite unfamiliar with the protocol. Every region in India has different prescribed rules for how to enter, where to leave your shoes, what types of ritual offerings to buy etc. I too had to learn my way around Andhra temples this summer but four weeks into this journey, I was certainly more adept than the family visiting with their baby girl.  

After leaving our footwear, we entered the temple premises and started a long winding set of climbs up and down into the sanctum of the shrine. The shrine itself was quite unique as the goddess was faced by a large tree covered in vermillion and turmeric upon which parents had hung little cradles in the anticipation of a baby. One had to make their way around the tree to visit the goddess. Young girls and married women also placed/ draped sarees over the tree and offered red bangles to it. A priest performs a puja on your behalf and offered me some vermillion to take home with me. The goddess herself is completely covered in turmeric and her face is drawn upon the turmeric alankaram (adornment). The most visible parts of her face are her eyes and her large red dot upon her forehead.

Departing her shrine I felt a sense of comfort and a sense of belonging among the women around me as we all looked with anticipation and placed vermillion on our own foreheads.
Durga’s jewellery, her yellow stained faced, her pretty saree, all indicated that she was one of us. Whether we had fashioned the goddess in our image or ourselves in the image of the goddess the resemblance was striking and as I said comforting. We are often not alone in this chaotic mess called life. The goddess is a woman just like us and faces the struggles and the respect that comes with being bestowed with that identity. One of the questions I was asked repeated during this trip in Vijayawada was “woman, did you come here alone?” I think I can safely say that though I came here alone, I didn’t leave alone.

Among the many Hindu sites I visited  in Vizag, I came upon Aastana Hazrat Baba Syed Tajuddin Shah Qadari’s Dargah (A Sufi Saint’s Shrine), nestled away on Dolphin Konda (hill). The Hindu newspaper even did a cover on this dargah two years ago and I can safely say that it looks intact and the existing Baba Mohammad Siddique is still alive and I met him. I wasn’t planning to visit the shrine but I had heard that there was a famous dargah there visited by Hindus and Muslims alike. Detouring down the road from the Dolphin Lighthouse I found the dargah a silent and secluded sanctum. The room pictured in the article by The Hindu is a newer construction, one where Baba Sheikh Fareed Shakarganj’s chilla (grave) rests and to which people offer their dua (prayers). The entire dargah plot consists of two rooms and seven nishanis (flag posts). Each flag post is dedicated to a Sufi Saint in the lineage of Baba Syed Tajuddin Shah Quadri. Having just taken a class on Sufism in the Spring and finally able to converse with someone fluent in Hindi, I decided to stop for a while and talk to the local keeper there, a young murid (student) of the living Baba Mohammad Siddique.

I was told that the first marker upon Dolphin hill was the little room I visited first (not pictured in the articles) where a little lamp burns. This room was the meditation chamber for Aastana Hazrat Baba Syed Tajuddin Shah Qadari, from the lineage of Abdul Qadar al-Jilani (a popular Sufi Master among south Indians). His meditation chamber was accordingly small, about 3 ft cuboid. Most Sufi masters believed that smaller rooms were perfect for initiating meditation chambers and little rooms upon secluded caves were an ideal choice. Today visitors (Hindus mostly) break coconuts in that room and offer incense to the lamp there.  Mughal Prince Salim was among the first to discover this spot and erected a nishani for Ali (The son of Prophet Muhammad) marking the spot for the future dargah. Every week dhikr is hosted in this dargah too and participants come from all over the country to seek counsel from Baba Mohammad Siddique who offers prayers, incense, and flowers on their behalf to the chilla. To enter the dargah one firsts performs ablutions (washing hands and feet) and one buys incense and/or coconut and visits each shrine to remember the saints. After completion one sits down to pray/ meditates beside the chilla. Finally a murid offers you tea and a meal (if available) before you go onward on your day.

Emblematizing the syncretism of two very distinct faiths (Hindu and Muslim) I found this dargah more peaceful than my visit to temples this trip. Not to privilege silence over noise or prioritize the peacefulness of the dargah over the chaotic worship in the Kalika Durgamma or Simhachalam Narasimha Temples visited earlier that day, however, there was something very distinct about the temples and the dargah that indicated the nature of the visits people make to ‘places of worship’. I have often wondered why Hindus go to the temple. Every home does have an elaborate altar housing deities and their favorite offerings.  It certainly isn’t “tranquility” that is sought in a temple especially when pressed up against foreign bodies struggling to catch a glimpse/ touch of a faraway god.  On second thought, perhaps Hindu temple visitors wish to seek something outside of their homes, an altar among altars, erected, demarcated as sacred, beyond the mundane home-world. Temples are also like amusement parks where families, neighbors, and like-minded community members meet and greet each other, like church on Sundays. Unlike the dargah I recently visited, the temple is not always a meditation space. What then is the relationship between tranquility and worship?

The visit itself is the journey, one that takes you through the gullies and gutters that eventually make its way to the womb (garbagriha/ inner sanctum) of the Hindu temple. You hardly feel clean while entering either. Having deposited your footwear somewhere and washed your hands, you slowly make your way into the ‘belly of the whale’. Your nose tickled with intoxicating smells, the soles of your feet wet with slimy and cool washed-off offerings, your eyes tear up in the smoke that rises from people’s homa yajnas, you hear chanting and bells resounding and  you slowly become aware of how much there is happening around you while you join in with your tongue softly whispering shlokas. It illuminates one of the sensory triggers that occur during worship. Maybe worship for Hindus isn’t about cleansing oneself of the world and entering a quiet place for praying but rather diving into the deep end using the senses while trying to remember who it is we are visiting.  I was especially reminded of this when I was lost in all the chaos around me, offering money to the priests, taking the various prasad and holy water they offered at the Durga temple that I had forgotten to see that I was facing Durgamma herself. To use another analogy, remember Arjuna from the Mahabharata, the excellent archer who always has his eye on the prize? During the archery competition set by Guru Drona for Kshatriya warriors, Arjuna is the only one who is able to shoot the rotating fish in the eye while looking down at its’ reflection in the water pool below.  Visiting Hindu temples makes more sense when you apply that principle of archery – always remembering  why you are there while getting lost in the little things around you is so much of life and its’ journey.