Into the Throbbing Veins of Hampi


There is a Hampe,

Behind the Hampi of now,

Which stands just the same as ever,

Under the scorching summer sun,

Beneath the wintry twilights,

And the moonless night skies.


The temple gongs and chimes

Sing of the ancient grandeur.

Idols of the mighty Gods

Speak of human stories –

Untold, half-told, retold –

Stories that you will see

In the place of a missing forearm,

Read into an abducted statue,

And hear from the weathered pillars.


The starlight in the lapping waters of Tungabhadra

Croons of the plundered and pillaged wealth,

And extols of the glory that lingers,

Like a spirit expelled.


But what lie beneath

Are the dizzying hues of creation,

Of bashful curves of the stone-art,

And the magnificent structures

Carved out of rocks,

In their geometrical perfection

Of the hills that flaunt

The magic of sunrises and sunsets.


So you may touch the mysterious musical pillars,

And tremble to the sweet notes,

Send ripples through the sacred waters

With your charged fingertips.


These temples, mantapas, mahals, and statues

Are made of stories

In colours and poems.


For after all, we are creatures of melancholy,

Trying to tell tales

Waiting to be told,

And craving to be heard.

To tune in to the throbbing veins of Hampi and reminisce on her ruins, join our Photography Tour.

Categories: Articles, Featured, Photography, Travel
Sourabha Rao

Sourabha is a staff writer at Toehold who dexterously gives verbal form to the inexpressible, and with her passion for travel, weaves immersive stories that transcend space and dissolve time.

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