BUDDHIST ART IN ANDHRA

Thought the feet of Gautama, the Buddha, never touched the soil of Andhra, it was in this youngest State of the Republic of India that Budhist art and sculpture, especially the latter, had its finest flowering. The Andhras embraced Buddhism long before that era of Asoka and as Prof. K.R.Subramaniam has stated in his excellence monograph, Buddhist Remains in Andhra, “it cannot be doubted that Andhra Buddhism was pre-Asokan.”
Being a highly emotional people, the Andras are known even to-day for their quick and strong reactions. If they love they love ardently, and when they hate they hate violently. Taken as a whole they are kind, affectionate, hospitable and though sometimes prone to be irritatingly capricious, they have a genius for friendship, and are instinctively attracted by any progressive idea or ideology. Given this temperament, it can be taken for granted that they must have welcomed the gospel of Buddhism with its broad humanity, its emphasis on compassion, its message of universal love and brotherhood, its total rejection of all superstitions and its direct appeal to all that is sublime in human nature.
Anyone with imagination could certainly penetrate the thick fog of the intervening centuries and see the tall, slim, rather fair and wide-eyed Andhras in their million flocking to Buddhist shrines with their offerings of fresh and fragrant flowers; one may even here every hill and dale in the ever-green valleys of the Krishna, the Godavari and the Vamsadhara resounding to the incantation of Buddham Saranam Gacchami (which means “I take refuge in the Buddha, in the Gospel and in the Order”), That this is no idle speculation of mine is attested by scores of the remains of the Buddhist sites that are scattered throughout the length and breadth of the Andhra State from Salihundam in the north to Chinna Ganjam in the south, and from Gooty in the west to Ghantasala in the east. These ancient sites, in the words of Mr.A.H.Longhurst” are of far more real archaeological value than many of the great Hindu monuments of the South.” We owe their rescue from centuries of oblivion to the pioneering efforts of a brilliant band of officials, both civilian and military, and archaeologists, the most prominent of whom are Mackenzie, Elliot, Burgess, Sewell, Rea, Longhurst and Ramachandran.
I cannot claim to have seen all the sites of Buddhist remains in Andhra. I have, however, had the good fortune of visiting Amaravati, Nagarjunakonda, Jaggayyapeta, Ghantasala and Bhattiprolu. Of these, the first two are well-known. They are both in Guntur District on the banks of the Krishna, the blue Danube of India, and the second biggest river of the Deccan. Though Amaravati is today a rather dusty village and not the seat of a great university that it was for some centuries, and though Nagarjunakonda is now practically a deserted valley and not the centre of another famous university as in ancient times, even casual visitor would not fail to sense in them some of the limpidness and sparkle of the Krishna river together wit the calm and peace and beatitude associated with Buddhism. Being a layman, I cannot, of course, speak wit authority, but as one who in his wanderings over India has covered almost all the major centers of ancient and mediaeval Indian art, I may venture my opinion for what it is worth that even after centuries of neglect and vandalism, the sculptures still to be seen both at Amaravati and Nagarjunakonda are second to none for their lyrical beauty, their divine grace and their depth of feeling.
Amaravati, as most of you are no doubt aware of, has an important place in the history of not only Andhra but Indian and world Buddhism. Situated within half-a-mile of the Satavahana capital, Dhanyakataka, it was the home of a special school of Mahayana philosophy. It was, however, more popular on account of the magnificent stupa that rose there majestically to a height of about 100 feet, and had at its base a diameter of about one hundred and sixty-two feet. (Comparative figures for diameter are; Bhattiprolu, one hundred and forty-eight feet; Ghantasla, one hundred and twenty-two feet and the main stupa at Nagarjunakonda, one hundred and six feet.) “The original chaitya of Amaravathi”, according to Dr. Ananda K. Coomaraswamy, “dates from 200 B.C. and some reliefs are of the first or second century B.C. The casing slabs and the great railing and also the few Buddha figures date from the latter part of the second century A.D., or at any rate not later than A.D. 250.” Of this railing, which was the supreme glory of the Amaravati stupa, Mr. James Fergusson says that “although the rail at Bharhut is the most interesting and important in India in an historical sense, it is far from equal to that at Amaravati, either in elaboration or in artistic merit.” “Indeed in these respects.” Continues the same authority who, along with Mr.E.B.Havell and Dr. A.K.Coomaraswami, was largely responsible for bringing to the notice of the outside world the beauty and the glory of Indian art and architecture, “the Amaravati rail is probably the most remarkable monument in India. In the first place, it is more than twice the dimensions of the rail at Bharhut, the great rail being 195 feet in diameter the inner 165 ft. or almost twice the dimensions of that at Bharhut; between these two was the procession-path, which in the earlier examples was on the tope itself. Externally, the total height of the great rail was about 14ft., internally it was two feet less, while the inner rail was solid and only six feet in height.” I need not go into the other architectural details of this great Amaravati stupa-a plaster model of which re-constructed according to a plan suggested by Mr. Percy Brown can be seen in the Madras Museum – but I should perhaps mention that it is estimated that “the railing alone provided a superficial area of nearly 17,000 square feet covered with delicate reliefs.”





Most of these reliefs are now unfortunately lost. Even by the time of Col. Colin Mackenzie who saw the great Amaravati stupa at the end of the 18th Century many of the sculptured marbles ad been destroyed. They had been dug up and burnt into lime by a local chieftain who in 1797 shifted is head-quarters to Amaravati, the very dust of which was rich with history and hallowed by tradition, and made a feeble attempt to find a new city about the Amareswara temple. And even those marbles that escaped this vandalism are now widely scattered. A large majority of them have been removed to the London, Paris, Calcutta and Madras museums; just a few only are left on the original site. More than a hundred of them – 125 to be exact- are now in the British Museum. Named after Sir Walter Elliot, who was mainly responsible for sending them to London, they are known as the “Elliot Marbles.” Rivaling even the Elgin marbles and the Assyrian reliefs in their grace and elegance, their power and poignancy, the Amaravati sculpture greeted me in the entrance hall of that great treasure house of world art in an uncommonly quite street in London. Across the Channel in Paris, I have again found in the Musee Guimet three, may be four, reliefs from Amaravati, while I recently counted fourteen of them in the Indian Museum at Calcutta. I need not, I suppose, add that the Madras Government Museum has more than three hundred and fifty of these art treasures from Amaravati, including, of course, quite a few fragments. While regretting this wide dispersal of the invaluable creations of the Andhra sculptors, I must admit that everywhere I found them well housed, and properly cared for except at the place of their origin. Two years ago when I was at Amaravati for the second time, I found the few marbles still left there dumped in an ugly shed, though even the smallest fragment deserves nothing short of a palace for its ineffable beauty and infinite grace.
As Dr. Coomaraswamy says, the sculpture of Amaravati which is mostly in relief and only rarely in the round, “is very vigorous and full of movement, sometimes passionately devotional, sometimes humorous, always voluptuous and decorative.” He also thinks that all of its is “a masterpiece of pure design charming in every detail”. Indeed, the art of Amaravati is a glorious product of the Andhra genius. Mr.Fergusson’s expert opinion is that the sculptures of Amaravati mark “the culmination of Indian art.” Even while disputing this estimate, Mr. Havell admits that the Amaravathi marbles present “delightful studies of animal life, combined with extremely beautiful conventionalized ornament.” He also acknowledges that at Amaravati “the most varied and difficult movements of the human figure are drawn and modeled with great freedom and skill.
Great freedom in expression and unfailing skill in making every line and curve and contour of a sculpture speak eloquently – these, indeed, are the two distinctive characteristics of the art of Amaravati. And what is equally important, it is essentially indigenous; it arose out of the inner urges of a people; it was the response to a challenge, and a pouring forth of the heart for finding fulfillment. The Gandhara or Graeco – Roman influence on Indian sculpture, if it was really strong at any earlier period, was negligible by the time it reached the banks of the Krishna in the early years of the Christian era. “The Amaravati sculptures”, Sir John Marshall has rightly stated, “indeed appear to be a as truly Indian in style as those of Bharhut and Ellora. They follow as a natural sequence on Mauryan art when that art was finding expression in more conventionalized forms. They have inherited certain motifs and types which filtered in from the north – west (i.e. Gangadhara), but these elements have been completely absorbed and assimilated without materially influencing the indigenous character of these sculptures.”





Though I am not one of those who feel ashamed to acknowledge that we have borrowed and assimilated something from others, it is asserted by competent authorities that outside influences are yet more negligible in the case of the Buddha image at Amaravati. According to Mr. Douglas Barrett (I am quoting from his recent publication, Sculptures from Amaravati in the British Museum.) “few, if any, of the Amaravati images of the middle and late phases are identical with those of Mathura….. There is, as it were greater naturalness about the Amaravati image. It is less of an ikon that the image of the north. Indeed, if the short curly hair, ushnisha, and halo are added to the figures of monks, which are frequently represented in the middle phase, the result is an Amaravati Buddha. The monks have shaven heads and both shoulders covered with the robe, which is naturalistically rendered.” “The Buddha image at Amaravati”, continues Mr. Barrett, “was carved not to express the abstract thought of the philosopher or theologian, but to satisfy the personal adoration or bhakti of the common laity and the simple monk, a need displayed by the other contemporary religions of India.” I may add that even if the Andhra sculptor derived much more than the idea of making an image of the Buddha from Madhura, he succeeded abundantly in infusing his creation with the spirit of the Andhras whose approach of life and reactions to their environment are essentially emotional.
The emotional impact of the Amaravati sculptures could really be profound. If I may strike a personal note, the sculpture of the four worshipping women, which is preserved in the Madras Museum, stirs me to the depths of my soul. With what simplicity and directness does this masterpiece show the utter abandon and the total surrender of these devotees bowing before the feet of the Lord !
Another Amaravati sculpture – also in the Madras Museum – always fascinates me with its dramatic effect. It represents the taming of the fierce elephant, Nalagiri, by the Master. How eloquently does it portray the transformation wrought in the wild beast by the commanding presence and the pervasive influence of the Prince of Compassion. Let loose into the crowded streets of Rajagriha by the palace mahouts, who were secretly bribed by Devadatta, the jealous cousin of the Buddha, it rushes forth to attack the Lord. In its mad progress through the fleeing crowds, it tramples under its cruel feet every one that fails to clear out of its path. Killing and maiming, Nalagiri proceeds on and on. A few more steps; a few more seconds – and it would be within reach of the Sakyamuni. Helplessly some people scream; desperately one of the disciples of the Lord tries to ward off the attack. Devadatta’s evil plan seems to be assured of complete success. But – lo and behold ! – even as Nalagiri approaches the Master it begins to soften and to relent, to hesitate and to falter, until finally it becomes meek as a lamb and salutes the Lord, whose august presence is represented by a pillar of fire. At this unexpected turn – this magical transformation – what should have been the feelings of Devadatta ? Through unrepresented in the sculpture, we can visualize him lurking behind some vantage point, with his face resitering in, quick succession feelings of expectancy, elation, doubt, disappointment, incredulity coupled with important range.
Before I pass on to other centers of Buddhist art in Andhra, may I crave your permission to say a few more words about the marbles of Amaravati? It is generally believed that the Amaravati sculptures were “originally covered with a thin coat of fine plaster and painted.” If it were so, we may safely presume that they once rivaled in the beauty and delicacy the paintings of Ajanta and Bagh. Even without these fine colurs, “it is only in the paintings of Ajanta and Bagh”, as Dr. James Burgess remarks. “that we find anything comparable to the rich variety and excellence of art displayed in these (Amaravati) sculptures.” In fact, Mr. Havell believes that the bas-reliefs of Amaravati (forming the decoration of the railing and the marble casing of the stupa itself) should properly be studied in connection with the fresco-paintings of Ajanta. I may be pardoned if I hazard the guess that the painters of Ajanta were no other than the sculptors of Amaravati working in a different medium.





Of equal merit are the marbles of Nagarjunakonda or the Sri Parvata (as it was known formerly), in the protective shadow of which once nestled the magnificent city of Vijayapuri, the capital of the Ikshvakus. While the Ikshavakus flourished and held away over Vengi as the successors of the Satavahanas, this lovely valley of the Sri Parvata - it has green hills on three sides, the deep blue stream of the Krishna constituting the fourth – was a great seat of Mahayana Buddhism, second perhaps only to Amaravati. Though the ruling kings were mostly Hindus, their consorts patronized Buddhism. According to inscriptions found at Nagajunakonda. One such royal patroness – indeed the very first – was Chantisin, another was Adavi Chantisiri, whild the name of the third lady that has come down to us is Chula – Chanti-sirimika. Though not related to the Ikshvakus, Upasika Bodhisiri who, I presume, was a fabulously rich heiress that donned the yellow robe, vied with the ladies of the royal family in her magnificent gifts. There may be some doubt as to her nationally – on the strength of their identification of her birth – place Govagama with Gongamaka, which is mentioned as a Ceyloness port in the Mahavamsa, some research scholars believe that she hailed from Ceylon – but as to her numerous endowments to te Buddistic establishments, not only at Nagarjunakonda, but at other places too, there is no doubt whatsoever. To quote from Early History of the Andhra Country by Sri K. Gopalachari, Bodhisiri helped to build at Vijayapuri “two Chairtanya grahas (one on the Lesser Dhammagiri by the side of a vihara as the special property of the nuns of Ceylon), and another at Kulaha-vihara, a shrine for the Bodhi-tree (i.e., a railing around it) at the Sihala vihara, one cell at the Great Dhammagiri, a mandava pillar at the Mahaviara, a hall for religious practice at Devagiri, a tank, verandah, and mandava at Puvasela, a stone mandava at the eastern gate of the Mahachaitya at Kantakasela, three cells at Hirumthuva, seven cells at Papila, a stone mandava at Puphagiri, and a stone mandava at the … vihara” We need not pause here to wonder as to what could be the modern names of the various places that received such varied gifts from Bodhisiri; it is enough for our purpose to note that such was the deep devotion of this and other ladies to the message of the Buddha that they poured out unstintingly all their treasures to adorn Vijayapuri with innumerable stupas, chaityas and viharas.
Great must have been the splendour of this citadel of the Ikshvakus for it attracted from far and wide not only merchants with wares to sell, but students seeking knowledge, both religious and secular. Even before the time of the Ikshavakus, Vijayapuri must have gained wide reputation as a seat of learning for that great philosopher. Nagarjunacharya, the profounder of Madhyamika or the Middle Path, spent (according to Tibetan traditions) the closing years of his life on Sri Parvata. But lured by his history and traditions of Vijayapuri, I should not lose sight of my main theme, viz., Buddhist Art in Andhra.
Well, unlike those found at Amaravai, the marbles of Nagarjunakonda are not dispersed (except for the four or five that have somehow found their way into Musee Guimet) and in their fullness they proclaim to the world the glory and grandeur of the Buddhist art of Andhra. Perhaps I should not fail to mention here that the excavations at Nagarjunakonda are not yet complete and that there is every likelihood of more sculptures as well as inscriptions and remains of ancient buildings being found there. There further excavations are being carried out now on a large scale for the site – I regret to say – is going to be inundated under the major irrigation project of Nagarjuna Sagar, work on which is now proceeding apace. Though it is rather unfortunate that an ancient site of great religious, artistic, cultural and historical value should soon be submerged under a vast sheet of water as a result of te new project. I, for one, would not bewail the event as the great Nagarjuna Sagar is expected to irrigate millions of acres of land, thereby bringing plent and prosperity to vast areas which are now periodically subject a famine conditions. And I am sure the great Buddhist divine and philosopher. Nagarjuna, would, in the largeness of his heart, bless the project.
During Nagarjuna’s time and for some centuries after him, Vijayapuri was slaking the thirst for knowledge of thousands of students that were flocking there from “Kashmira, Gangadhara, Cheena, Chilata, Tosali, Aparanta, Venga, Varnasi, Yavana, Palura, Damila, Tambapanni”. From now on instead of standing as mere shadow of its past glory, it would serve as a great reservoir for watering thirsty lands, thereby bringing happiness into thousands of homes; homes that are now steeped in poverty and are devoid of all decencies of a civilized life. Nagarjuna peached the gospel of life, not of the graveyard. His mission was to bring light into the dark recesses of the mind and to abolish ignorance and suffering. He would, therefore, be the first to assert that grinding poverty – poverty that is not voluntary, but enforced – with all the degeneration it inevitable bring about, leaves no scope whatsoever for an intellectual life, not to speak of a life the spirit. He would, I feel, not only not regret the conversion of the dead valley into life-giving reservoir, but would welcome it as a noble venture worthy of his teachings and his traditions.




Let me not, however, pursue this point further; all that I need to say is that the present sculptures at Nagarjunakonda and any that may be found as a result of the current excavations, will be treasured somewhere as a great national heritage. According to a recent report, an expert committee appointed by the Government of India seems to prefer the location of the Nagarjunakonda sculptures and other finds at the top of the Sri Parvata itself, for that reputed hill would continue to hold its head aloft in spite of its base as well as its flanks being totally submerged in the great lake that would be formed once the Nagarjuna Sagar project is completed. This appears to me to be a good idea, and I hope that it will be implemented. If, however,any practical difficuilties are encountered in putting it through and an alternative site is chosen, even then that new place would, I am confident, become another Nagarjunakonda. For the gospel so brilliantly interpreted and so vigorously taught by the great Nagarjuna is writ large on every frieze.
How deeply did one of the Nagarjunakonda sculptures move me during my last visit! It depicts the great wave of sorrow that swept through the royal court of Kapilavastu when the news of the sallying forth- the Mahabhiniskramana – of Prince Siddhartha in search of the Dharma is brought back by Channa, the dutiful charioteer. King Suddhodana’s head is bent down in grief and he is almost frozen on his seat. Prince Yasodhara is falling down unconscious as if struck by lightning. Channa, who is kneeling at the feet of the king, is a picture of sorrow. The faces of the royal attendants are masterly studies in sadness.
And the most suggestive, poignant touch of all, the eyes of that noble steed, Kantaka, who had overnight carried the Lord on his back ut of Kapilavastu, are glistening with tears. For a moment I was wondering wheather the very stone on which this scene was depicted was not itself melting into tears ! Such indeed is the marvel of the art of Nagarjunakonda !! It is rich without being elaborate, moving without being sentimental, meaningful without being didactic. Even a broken piece from Nagarjunakonda is evocative as I realized when I noticed a small fragment representing the fingers of a hand. The moment I saw it I felt sure that it must have been a fragment of a statue of the Buddha, for who can mistake the luster and loveliness-the power and elegance of-the fingers that set the Wheel of Dharma in motion.
I have dwelt on Amaravati and Nagarjunakonda at some length because they undoubtedly represent the two highest peaks of Buddhist art in Andhra. Though of lesser importance, the finds at Goli, Jaggayyapeta, Bhattiprolu, Ghantasala, Guntupalli, Garikipadu, Salihundam, Ramatirtham and many other sites of Buddhist remains in Andhra are remarkable in their own way. The stupas at some of these places are said to be earlier than those at Amaravati and Nagarjunakonda. Either as a result of vandalism or pilfering by the agents of foreign governments, not many sculptures from these monuments are available for study. Still the few marbles left after centuries of depredation and destruction clearly bear the stamp of that genius that was to find its spring-tide at Amaravati and Nagarjunakonda.
Even broken pieces of the freizes of the much neglected stupa at Jaggayyapeta, which I visited recently for the first time, are things of beauty. Fourteen sculptures recovered from Jaggayyapeta – all of them either broken or mere fragments, the only exception being a standing Buddha – are in the Madras Museum. This standing Buddha is exceptional, not merely because it was found undamaged, but also because it differs both in age and style from the rest of finds. It has an inscription on its lotus base in characters of the sixth century – the gist of the inscription being that the image was made under instructions from Jayaprabhacharya. A disciple of Nagarjunacharya – it is concluded that it belongs to a much later age than the rest of the sculptures which are akin to those of the first face of the Amaravati stupa, and hence are dated as early as 200 B.C.
The most interesting as well as important of the Jaggayyapeta marbles is a slab representing a Chakravarti. The seven jewels which surround him – the queen, the prince, the minister, the elephant, the horse, the wheel, and the gems – proclaim him to the world as a king of kings. Noteworthy features of this sculpture are not only the square coins that are showered on the emperor from the sky and the jewels worn by the human figures, but also the elongated structure of those figures which constitute a marked departure from the stunted representations of the Gandhara School. It is this elegant attenuation of the figures the subsequently led to the “towering and graceful forms” in the sculptures of the middle phase of Andhra sculpture at Amaravati. Another interesting find in Jaggayyapeta is the “punyasala,” a beautiful sculpture showing a two-storied shrine.
My visit Bhattiprolu, a village in the Republic Taluk of the Guntur District, was in my teens; hence my memories of the stupa there are extremely vague. But I gather from the report of Mr.Alexander Rea on his excavations of Buddhist mounds in the Krishna District that even by 1820 the stupa at Bhattiprolu was denuded of most of its bricks and all of its marbles. “The bricks being of large size and good quality” says his report, “were used for road-making, and the marbles variously utilized in the construction of a sluice in the Krishna canal”. There is however, some doubt as to whether the marbles had any carvings on them. Mr. Robert Sewell, who visited the place the earlier than Mr. Rea was of the opinion that they had carvings. In a report which he made out to the Madras Government in 1878, Mr. Sewell said : “That they really were carved marble sculptures is tolerably conclusively proved by the fact that in the walls and floor of this very Vellatur sluice marbles have been extensively used. Some sculptured stones bear carving assimilating in type to those at Amaravati though they do not appear to have been so beautifully executed.” I have no hesitation in agreeing with this opinion. The greenish white limestone quarried in Palnad in Gutur District and widely used in adorning the stupa in Andhra has no intrinsic beauty. It has no gloss, no variegated hues; it is dull, drab, cold. Now-a-days it is used as raw material by our cement industry. Only the masterly hadn of the Andhra sculpturs gave this flimsy limestone a life and a message; a life of unsurpassed beauty and a message of love for all sentient beings. This intrinsic lack of any beauty in the lime stone of Palnad makes me believe that It could not have been used in the stupa at Bhattiprolu, or for the matter of that, at any other place. Without some sculpture or other on it-be it a lotus, a dharma chakra, a naga with an out-stretched hood, a bodhi tree or the Sri Padas. Well, whatever sculptural wealth the Bhattiprolu stupa had, which by the way was constructed of solid brickwork unlike those at Ghantasala and Nagarjunakonda, is now totally lost.
An identical fate seems to have over taken the Buddhistic stupa at Gudivada, a taluk centre in the Krishna District. “About 1840 a mound of brick-work was demolished here to obtain material for repairing the high road between Bezwada and Bandar.” Referring to this vandalism, Mr.Rea says: “It is to be regretted that all these works have suffered at the hands of those who required material for the construction of roads and other such works. Though among the oldest existing monuments of an ancient civilization, their great antiquity was no protection to them from the despoiling hands … Such being the case we can only unearth and endeavour to piece together such remains that escaped the notice of the despoilers. We have been able to gather from these – in many cases seemingly shapeless mounds – that the architectural works of the Buddhists have never been excelled by any of later date existing in India. Unlike the later architecture of the Dravidians, their buildings not only contained masterpiece of detail, but the buildings were themselves perfect examples of architectural composition.”
For quoting here Mr.Rea at some length my only excuse is tht his report published in 1894 with a pretty long title, South Indian Buddhist Antiquities, Including the Stupas of Bhattiprolu, Gudivada and Ghantasala and Other Ancient Sites in the Krishna District, Madras Presidency; With Notes on Dome Construction, Andhra Numismatics and Marble Sculpture, has now become extremely scarce, though I have been lucky in obtaining a copy of it only the other day from Poona. While it is hard to resist the temptation to quote more passages from this rare report. I would merely add that all that Mr.Rea could recover from Bhattiprolu were two caskets with sacred Buddhistic relics and from Gudivada a large and valuable hoard of ancient coins, some of which date back to the Satavahana Empire. A very interesting coin from the same hoard “bore the figure of a Roman or Greek galley, with a rather crescent shaped hull, two masts and a large oar-shaped rudder”. Mr. Rea certainly deserves our grateful thanks for these valuable finds, but it must be mentioned that it was rather unfortunate, that he narrowly missed unearthing the marbles of Ghantasala; how this happened we shall see presently.
Though it is a debatable point whether Bhattiprolu and Gudivada could lay claim to any sculptural wealth, there is no such doubt regarding Ghantasala, a village sixteen miles west of Masulipatnam. When I visited the place a few years back I found there some uprights of the rail of the local stupa with finely – chiseled dharma chakras. The original name of Ghantasala is said to be Kantakasaila; in fact, Ptolemy refers to it as “Contocossyla” It is surmised that the place was named after Kantaka the renowned horse of Buddhist lore. The frieze from Ghantasala depicting Kantaka is preserved in the Madras Museum. The rest of the marbles of Ghantasala are now in far-off Paris in Musee Guimet. One of these which fascinated me during my visit to Paris in 1954 is a masterly depiction of three storied building with adorer; another is an exquisite sculpture vividly portraying the happiness of Suddhodana, when he heard the news of the birth of his son, Siddhartha.
According to Mr. Douglas Barrett, Assistant Keeper in the Department of Oriental Antiquities in the British Museum, “the most important slab” from Ghantasala is in the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. “It is carved on both faces. The palimpsest shows an elaborate stupa similar to those on the late drum slabs at Amaravathi. On the other face is the scene of the Buddha at the Niranjana river, there is a fragmentary pilaster up the left-hand edge.” Could the importance of this relief be that it is carved on both faces? I do not know. But I am convinced that the Mahachaitnya at Ghantasala was one of the most important in Andhra. The art of Ghantasala vied with that of Amaravati at its best. A slightly damaged head of the Buddha, a sculpture in the round, found in Ghantasala, is in my opinion definitely superior in certain respects to those which I have seen in Amaravati and Nagarjunakonda. It has more repose and profundity, and just a suggestion of a smile reminding one of the crescent moon that faintly glimmers in the sky and makes the young night all the more mysterious and bewitching.



It is, indeed, a great pity that most of the sculptures of Ghantasala are lost to our country for ever. Mr. Alexander Rea, who carried on excavations in the village somewhere around 1980, confined his attention to the main stupa, which in its dilapidated condition is locally known as Lanja Dibba, i.e., the harlot’s mound. It is really amazing, and not a little saddening, Chinna Ganjam, Pedda Ganjam and quite a few other places the remnants of the sacred shrines of Buddhism came to be given such filthy name as Lanja Dibba and Bogamdani Dibba. The only exception to this which I know of is the stupa at Amaravati. Its local name is Dipala Dinne, i.e., the mound of lamps. But even this reference to lamps may not after all be a very complimentary one, for practically at all places where there is a Buddhistic mound there is a local tradition that prostitute had her residence on it and used a lamp for signaling. May be the bad name often given to the Buddhistic mounds is an index of the fanatiscism with which Buddhism was perhaps suppressed by later day Hindu Zealots, or may be it denotes the low levels to which Buddhism had probably sunk in its last day when it assumed the forms of Vajrayana and Sahajayana, forms in which it hardly differed from unbridled tantrism. Of these two reasons I, for one, give greater credence to the former. But let me not drift from the main theme; I mean the excavations of Mr. Rea at Ghantasala. Obvisouly attracted by the large size of the main mound, he confined his operations to that only. Though it showed up the foundations of a large stupa as also a relic casket, it had no sculptured marbles. The sculptures of Ghantasala were, in fact, elsewhere in a mound called the Kota Dibba. i.e., the mound of the fort. Mr. Rea did make a note of this, as also of a third one in the village which is locally known as Polimera Dibba. His report runs thus : “On the south, just over the village boundaries is a low mound on the bank of a tank. It measures about seventy feet across, and is roughly circular in plan. The foundations of brick walls appear at places, and brick debris lie all over it. It may possibly be the remains of a stupa.” Here Mr. Rea was on the brink of a great discovery. Had he made it, it would have been his supreme achievement as an archaeologist. But he narrowly missed it. Subsequently in the twenties of the present century, a peasant, while cultivating his fields bordering on this very mound, Kota Dibba, uncovered as many as thirty sculptures each rivaling the other in its masterly portrayal f scenes from the life of the historical Buddha or from the Jataka stories. These wonderful marbles, according to a reliable account given to me by some leaders of the Village, wre dumped under a tree and left there uncared for until someone from Pondiherry appeared on the scene and furtively bought up the whole lot for an insignificant sum of less than Rs.5000/-. Thus did we lose for good the art treasures of Ghantasala, which today occupy a place of pride in the Musee Guimet.
As I have not visited the rest of the Buddhist sites in Andhra I cannot speak about them from personal knowledge. But I should, perhaps, mention here in passing that fresh excavations are now taking place at Salihundam, situated on the south bank of the Vamsadhara in the Srikakulam District, and it is reported that some very important finds have come to light. Buried in known and unknown mounds yet to be dug up, there are, I am sure, invaluable treasures of the period when the saffron robe was adding its rich and resplendent colour to the Andhra scene. I am not a Buddhist either by birth or by persuasion, but I am proud of Buddhist art in Andhra, as it is inherently Indian without confining itself to the religion that inspired it or to the region where it found expression. It is a rich heritage of which India, nay the world, could be proud. It does, indeed, transcend all boundaries of nationality and time. Created mostly on the banks of the Krishna at the dawn of the Christian era, it attracts and influences us even today, as it did most of Asia two thousand years ago. With Amaravati as its main base, it shed its light far and wide. It crossed the seas to inspire the sculptures of South East Asia as re-affirmed by the latest book of Dr. Reginald le May, The Culture of South-East Asia. The influence of Amaravati, according to this writer, “was felt architecturally in Ceylon and in Lower Central Siam, and possibly reached as far as Sumatra in the south. “Disagreeing with the traditional view that Buddhism reached Java and Borneo from Gujarat and the mouths of the Indus, he draws pointed attention to the fact that “the earliest images of the Buddha found at Sempaga in the Celebes, in the south of the province of Jember (Eastern Java) and on the hill of Seguntang at Palembang in Sumatra are all in the Amaravati style of Eastern India.” Another recent book. The Art and Architecture of India by Mr. Benjamin Rowland, also speaks of this wide-spread influence of Amaravati. Says Mr. Rowland : Owing to its commercial and religious affiliations, the influence of the Andhra Empire was enormously wide-spread : not only was the style of Amaravati extended to Ceylon, but Buddhist images in the Andhra style of the second and third centuries A.D. have been found as far away as Dongduong in Champa (modern Indo-China) and at Sempaga in the Celebes.” Could it be a mere accident that the region of Dong-duong lso bears the name of Amaravati ? Indeed, the age of Amaravati and Nagarjunakonda is the golden age of Indian art and its luster would remain imperishable as long as even a broken piece of their wonderful friezes is left to beckon us to a just society that is free from caste and cruelty, and to a new world that is above hate and strife.