Behind the main bazaar street of Bodhgaya is a rundown palace. Typically recognised architecture, huge elephant doors guard the entrance, though they have not been moved in some time. Boarded by an extensive and fertile market garden the narrow road opens into a forecourt where milking cows are lazily chewing on bales of hay.
Another set of wooden elephant doors lead to the interior. On the portico an old watchman slumbers. Shoes removed and the interior is havelli style, a large courtyard. The centre has a temple and a place for the resident holy man. Two tigers heads stick out the front of the padded mat that is his seat with large bolsters either side. This is in front of the temple entrance proper and here discourse must occur. The old sadhus killed and made tiger skin rugs and these moth eaten relics have had a long life.
More cow stables and arches overflowing with feed occupy one end of the court which once would have acted as the reception area. The palace is occupied. The space between the pillars has been bricked in to create rooms and I learn that about one hundred live within the confines. Whether they have claim by birth is uncertain.
One lower verandah remains and houses some very old statues of Buddha. These are visited by those in the know as small patches of gold leaf have been applied over the statues and the walls. They are almost hidden away.
Climbing the narrow staircase, the small inbuilt alcoves are overflowing with small clay deepaks indicating that the temple still operates. The staircase opens to a landing where the holy man resides. He is asleep curled up on padded flooring. Another religious throne of tiger skins is located here with ears falling off and colour almost bleached away. More bolsters for comfort and several very old photographs document the previous holy men who resided here.
Another floor up is the roof. Surprisingly it is filled with potted plants, flowering, holy - such as basil, and decorative. There are many succulents and cacti healthily thriving. Roses, small and giant marigold and dahlias flourish, yet looking east, the river bed is sand and dry. A warm breeze blows at this height, atop the Bodhi trees that are along the bank and to the north where a forest of mango and citrus have been overtaken by lantana and wines.
The forest is accessed through a compound of Shiva Temples, white tall exterior, small dark cavernous interiors with a Shivalinga in each. Some are covered with flowers, others sparse. At the end of the compound a gate leads into a deteriorating fenced courtyard housing a hand pump and some freshly harvested broccoli and greens being washed by wrinkled hands. Through a crumbling archway, that has been penetrated by the roots of the nearby fig tree, into what once was an orchard. Several trees have become sacred wishing trees. Thousands of pieces of red,orange,yellow dyed thread have been tied around the trees and a puja performed, asking the various gods for a good husband. The area specifically around these threes has been cleared and remnants of offerings evident. Layer upon layer of thread, the ones underneath show decay and colour leeching, so much energy instilled in prayer and hope.
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