
I am looking forward to an illustrated talk in Delhi on February 6 by scholar Dr Vidya Dehejia on Chola bronzes in their social and material context. This is part of an ongoing series of talks at the India International Centre on Indian monuments. It is curated by eminent historian Dr Himanshu Prabha Ray, former director of the National Mission for Monuments. I was privileged to deliver a talk in this series on 'Kamakshi in Kanchipuram' last November. Let me wickedly add that it's refreshing that South India gets to be presented in Delhi.
This talk on Chola bronzes evokes several sentiments that are part and parcel of Indian identity, particularly Tamil identity. The talk is titled 'The Thief Who Stole My Heart'. This is the title of Dr Dehejia's book from 2021, The Thief Who Stole My Heart—The Material Life of Sacred Bronzes from Chola India, 855–1280.
It is described as "the first book to situate the sacred and sensuous bronze statues from India's Chola dynasty in a social context. From the 9th through 13th centuries, the Chola dynasty produced thousands of statues of Hindu deities, whose physical perfection was meant to reflect spiritual beauty and divine transcendence. During festivals, these bronze sculptures—including Shiva, referred to in a saintly vision as 'the thief who stole my heart'—were adorned with jewels and flowers and paraded through towns as active participants in Chola worship.
"Dehejia presents the bronzes as material objects that interacted in meaningful ways with the people and practices of their era. Describing the role of the statues in everyday activities, she reveals not only the importance of the bronzes for the empire but also little-known facets of Chola life. She considers the source of the copper and jewels used for the deities, proposing that the need for such resources may have influenced the Chola empire's political engagement with Sri Lanka. She also investigates the role of women patrons in bronze commissions and discusses the vast public records—many appearing here in translation for the first time—inscribed on temple walls.
"From the Cholas' religious customs to their agriculture, politics, and even food, The Thief Who Stole My Heart offers an expansive immersion in a community still accessible to us through its exquisite sacred art."
The memories of this subject are unmissable for those connected with the Shaiva Siddhanta tradition of Tamil Nadu. Let us take the words' the thief who stole my heart'. This is a translation of 'Yenn ullam kavar kalvan". This is from a 7th-century verse by the boy-saint Thirugnana Sambandar, which begins "Thodudaya cheviyan", describing his beautiful vision of Shiva. It is the first verse of the Thirumurai or Tamil' Shaiva Bible' as it is sometimes called. Here, I would like to share why this verse is so deeply ingrained and personally precious. It is the first thing I was ever taught at age four. Not 'Jack and Jill' or 'Humpty Dumpty'. My father, too, was taught this verse as his first learning, also at age four, and his father before him, going back many generations over hundreds of years.
I earnestly suggest that young parents teach their little ones this or some other verse in their mother tongue about whichever deity is close to their heart or their kula deivam, their family deity. If these options are unavailable, a simple prayer to Ganesha would be the ideal 'default setting'. I think those who belong to other religions are pretty particular about doing this, but perhaps not Hindus, always? Especially those who may be overly deracinated or, sadly, hostile to their own culture?
I recommend this because it forges a wonderful link with heritage, tradition and identity. It becomes a bedrock on which your feet are firmly planted no matter how far away you go or what ideas you may explore. It has undoubtedly 'worked' in my case, so I can confidently attest to its power.
Strangely, and nobody at home can explain why, my younger brother and sister were not taught this verse like I was. And they are disconnected from their Tamil identity. My brother is a North Indian, which is no bad thing, who describes himself as "an adoptive son of Western Uttar Pradesh". My sister is wholly American. She convulsed my father once by asking him to "pray to South Indian deities like Venkateshwara" on her behalf for something important to her.
Whereas, by the grace of God, South India sings in me, and I am deeply grateful for the emotional foundation thus granted. I remember Avvaiyaar's first poignant verse about trusting God for survival that ends, "Nenjame anjaade nee", meaning, "O heart, do not fear'. It became a personal anthem when facing, as anyone must, "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune". Many people have such talismans, and these verses by Sambandar and Avvaiyaar happen to be mine.
If you have missed doing so, I suggest a visit to the Chola bronze gallery at the Madras Government Museum to feast your eyes on the buttery, tactile appeal of bronze and the mystical smiles on the faces of those statues. Also, if your interest allows, explore Chola Nadu: Pazhaiyaarai, Thanjavur, Gangaikonda Cholapuram, Darasuram, and Chidambaram, described as 'Bhuloka Kailayagiri Chidambaram', meaning 'Chidambaram is Mount Kailash on earth'. Even before treating yourself to these sights, Dr Dehejia's book may well steal your heart.
(Views are personal)
(shebaba09@gmail.com)
Renuka Narayanan