Art is much like peeling an onion; only upon removing one layer does the next layer reveal. In the Indian tradition, the quality of a masterpiece lies in what it conceals; similarly, the quality of a connoisseur is defined by how many layers they can reveal of what is hidden. To the casual observer, the animal figures carved into temple walls may seem like mere decorations. But those who know how to “see”, will be able to map the sophisticated language to that of what is hidden as tendencies in our own human nature.
The three faces of the boar
To decode it, let’s travel back in time to understand how a temple artist approached the figure of an animal. Firstly, they are neither to be read as animals, or as Gods alone. The right approach to the visual grammar would be to know that the artisans had a vision and skill to express them as profound ideas. So they were merely choosing animals as a specific vessel to express their vision. This can be seen clearly in the representations of the Varaha (the Boar), which manifests in three distinct ways to speak to different types of our nature.
To begin with, in a Theriomorphic representation, the animal is used as a direct bridge to the divine. At Eran (Madhya Pradesh), a massive, 11-foot-long monolithic boar stands as a testament to a sculptor’s vision. Here, the animal’s body becomes a sacred geography, featuring 1,185 carved figures of sages and seers. This tells us that certain animals were considered so sacred that they could house the entire dimension of the “unseen”— the Gods and the wise — within their very skin.
Next, in a Zoomorphic form, the deity is seen entirely as a powerful, colossal boar to capture the raw, primal motive of nature. As seen in the magnificent Varaha of Khajuraho, this depiction celebrates the animal’s ability to dig all the way to the netherworld to save the Earth. It is the unadulterated force required to plunge into cosmic depths — representing our own foundational strength and the raw energy that grounds us.
As we peel another layer, we reach the Anthropomorphic form — the man-boar. Anthropomorphism is the act of giving human qualities to the divine or the natural world to make an abstract idea relatable. In the Udayagiri relief, the composition is a masterclass in balance. While the boar’s head looks upward with primal determination, the human body stands with the regal stability of a mountain. The kneeling figure at the base provides the ‘human scale,’ reminding the viewer that this cosmic rescue is also a terrestrial reality. Here, what is brought out is a complex dialogue between instinct and intellect. The animal’s unyielding drive is integrated into the upright, purposeful frame of a human, suggesting a union: the power of the beast directed by the discernment of the mind.
This relief serves as a portal into history. The smaller, kneeling figure beside Varaha — often identified as the Gupta King — mirrors the period’s political context. It suggests that just as Varaha rescued Earth from the depths, the King delivers his subjects from chaos, demonstrating how art accurately encodes civilisational history.
The paradox of ‘mrgah’: A tale of two deer
The “animal-ness” has always fascinated the intellect of an Indian artisan. Its root lies in the Sanskrit definition that translates to: “unless one searches for them, they do not appear.” Besides, while the word mrgah (animal) itself refers to deer, it metaphorically points to the elusive qualities in each animal-ness residing within us. These traits are triggers; they hide in the shadows of our consciousness, utilising the “foliage” of our daily distractions for concealment. They only reveal themselves when we begin a deliberate search — an inquiry into ourselves.
This search is nowhere more dramatic than in the dual representation of the cervidae, a species known for its sensitivity and its ability to mysteriously appear from, and disappear into the shadows.
In literature, Valmiki has used the deer to be “spotted” and “golden”. Gold, as well as the creature, both suggesting allure, was deliberately painted to highlight the “blind spots” in perception formation. For Sita and Rama, this deer was a restless desire that used shadows to cloud their judgment, leading to separation and sorrow. It is the animal nature within us that distracts us, pulling us away from our centre.
In stark contrast, the deer is held delicately in the palm of Lord Shiva. Here, the animal is no longer a distraction; it is mastered, at rest. The sculptor in this depiction conceals the fragrance, the deer’s musk, to convey the divine aura of the ultimate auspicious being and ruler of darkness. In other words, the great Yogi doesn’t merely destroy the deer’s nature; he tethers it.
Scripting your destiny
When we learn to engage with art this way, we move from being passive observers to active participants in our own lives. We learn to identify the “golden deer” of our restless impulses and move toward the “Shiva Deer” of mastered peace. By peeling back the layers of these ancient forms, we heal our own consciousness and learn to navigate difficult times.