It is Wednesday. Market day. People from all the surrounding villages gather here in the Hampi Bazaar from daybreak. The day traditionally starts with the prayer chants and hymns from the Virupakhsa Temple where the rich and poor rub shoulders in the presence of the divine. Once the holy flame is passed around and the business-class people have muttered their prayers for a successful day on the market under their breath, the day begins as though with a collective sigh of determined preparation.
The market place stretches from outside the temple compound to the end of the main road where sits the statue of Nandi, the bull. The stalls are situated on either side of the road within the plinths of stone erected to house them. Selling side by side are vegetables, perfumes, spices, cattle, gold and gems and slaves even. Customers in colourful clothes against the dusty brown backdrop of this ancient town throw the stone carvings and architecture into relief.
A small gathering of young men watch excitedly while two rams lock horns in a street fight. A little girl tries to imitate her older sister and mother by balancing a small clay pot on her head on the way to the river. An elderly farmer wipes the sweat off his brow with a red checkered cotton wipe-cloth.
Two of the eleven royal elephants are spotted in the distance making their ponderous way to take back supplies for the royal family from the market. All the sellers suddenly sit up and take notice....a few shoo their straggling customers away. The merchant who supplies goods for the royal family on market day is indeed lucky. Not only does he get paid handsomely in gold but also it is a matter of great honour for him as he is deemed to be standing head and shoulders above his fellow merchants and his produce is the most sought after for months.
This time the lucky man is someone who has never before been noticed. His stall is at the far end of the market but the aroma from his spice sacks wafts to the town gates. The elephants, whose mahouts trust their judgement, made their way through the gates and towards this unremarkable little stall. Goods and gold exchange hands and the merchant seems only to realise the gravity of what has just happened when the elephants turn their backs on his stall and begin moving in the direction of the royal enclosure.
A smile that holds pride and deference in equal measures spreads across the merchant's face as he thinks about his spices flavouring the food of none other than King Krishnadevaraya. He folds his hands into a namaskaram and with his eyes at the setting sun gives thanks to Lord Virupaksha. This Market Day has been exceedingly good for him.
The market place stretches from outside the temple compound to the end of the main road where sits the statue of Nandi, the bull. The stalls are situated on either side of the road within the plinths of stone erected to house them. Selling side by side are vegetables, perfumes, spices, cattle, gold and gems and slaves even. Customers in colourful clothes against the dusty brown backdrop of this ancient town throw the stone carvings and architecture into relief.
A small gathering of young men watch excitedly while two rams lock horns in a street fight. A little girl tries to imitate her older sister and mother by balancing a small clay pot on her head on the way to the river. An elderly farmer wipes the sweat off his brow with a red checkered cotton wipe-cloth.
Two of the eleven royal elephants are spotted in the distance making their ponderous way to take back supplies for the royal family from the market. All the sellers suddenly sit up and take notice....a few shoo their straggling customers away. The merchant who supplies goods for the royal family on market day is indeed lucky. Not only does he get paid handsomely in gold but also it is a matter of great honour for him as he is deemed to be standing head and shoulders above his fellow merchants and his produce is the most sought after for months.
This time the lucky man is someone who has never before been noticed. His stall is at the far end of the market but the aroma from his spice sacks wafts to the town gates. The elephants, whose mahouts trust their judgement, made their way through the gates and towards this unremarkable little stall. Goods and gold exchange hands and the merchant seems only to realise the gravity of what has just happened when the elephants turn their backs on his stall and begin moving in the direction of the royal enclosure.
A smile that holds pride and deference in equal measures spreads across the merchant's face as he thinks about his spices flavouring the food of none other than King Krishnadevaraya. He folds his hands into a namaskaram and with his eyes at the setting sun gives thanks to Lord Virupaksha. This Market Day has been exceedingly good for him.
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