Barkur is a group of 3 villages (Hosala, Hanehalli, and Kachoor)
in Udupi district of Karnataka (KA) on the banks of the Seeta River. It is the
village I grew up in. I lived there from Class 4 to my Post-Graduation. That amounts
to 15 years of my life. It is a village I ferociously hate now and never want
to go back to – ever.
Historical records say it was once the capital of the Tulu
kingdom that ruled coastal KA. In the 15th and 16th centuries, it was also a thriving
port! The Alupa rulers made Barkur their capital. It was a province under the Vijayanagar
Empire in 14th century A.D and an important administrative unit. It was a sub capital of the Hoysala kings. The
city had 365 temples. The King visited a temple every day, and on the last day of
the year, he visited the most important Panchalingeshwara Temple. There are
also Bhutastanas (spirit worshipping centres). Evidences of Megalithic and Mesolithic
ages have been discovered. Nearly 100 stone and copper plate inscriptions have
been found here.
As you enter Barkur the first thing you see is the Kallu chappara, or roof of stone. A nandi is seated in it. The Kalikamba Temple was built in the 14th century. Barkur is the holy place for Mogaveera community. The Kula Maha Sthree Amma Temple is visited by Mogaveeras from all over the world. The temples here do not have gopurams, found in the Dravidian style South Indian temples. The Chowlikere Ganapathy Temple was built 900 years back, during the Chola Period.
Barkur’s
largest and oldest temple is the Panchalingeshwara Temple dedicated to Lord
Shiva. Katthale Basadi consists Shiva, Vishnu and Jain deities proving the
existence of changing kingdoms with different rulers controlling the city -
politically and through religion.
I should be proud of the village. But I am not. I have erased
its memory from my mind. After my mother passed away in Oct 2003, I never went
back to that village. For 12 long years I refused to set foot on its soil. The
house without my mother was not my home anymore! 12 years of not turning back to the place that
has a lot of childhood memories is something many cannot comprehend.
It is a village of conservative, narrow-minded people, resentful
of other’s success, actively gloating and sneering when someone fails in their
educational or employment pursuits, not helping others even when one has the
power to do so. It is still a highly caste conscious town where the first look
is to ascertain which caste you belong to from the way you dress, speak or the
jewellery you wear. Or on good days, brace yourself for direct questions like
what is your father’s (full) name which will give away your caste. This then
decides how much importance they give you, what type of utensils they use to
serve you tea or even think it worthy of serving you at all. It is a place
where I have witnessed all kinds of discrimination – rich against poor, high
caste against low caste, educated against illiterate, the haves against the
have-nots.
I briefly went there last year, exactly around this time (Oct
2015). I was astonished to see that the village hasn’t progressed or modernised
at all. Except for few shops here and there that have renovated themselves, the
whole village is caught in a time warp. Many have settled in Middle Eastern
countries or in big cities like Bombay and Bangalore earning handsomely, yet
the money has not been pumped back into the village. 12 years later I go there
and the questions I get asked are how much gold I’ve made in all these years,
is the house I live in, in Bangalore our own or rented!
How do I explain to
them that, materially I’ve not accumulated much but life experiences and
exposure-wise, I am a treasure house? Do I even make the effort? I don’t. I’ve
no energy left. None of them matter to me.
I don’t really care for what they think. I have bid adieu to the place. And in my choice, I have found peace.
I don’t really care for what they think. I have bid adieu to the place. And in my choice, I have found peace.
