...and eyes to see

You may think that the hole was just poked in the eye. Well, it literally was, but we have to perceive it in another way. The object is not “ruined”. The hole is a part of it now. We analyze and study the statue along with it. Actually, how could one possibly travel the seas without even a scratch? It’s impossible.

Now take a moment to appreciate the singha in full size and then come back. What do you see? Even if you know nothing about it, you can sense that it’s filled with meaning, symbolism and motifs. That’s exactly the case. The singha has another story to tell, this time a more “personal” one.

Its enormous eyes capture the viewer. They could remind us of the eyes of Jagannātha, an all-seeing, powerful, Kṛṣṇa-related deity worshiped in India and Bangladesh. His lion-face resembles that of Narasiṃha (literally, “lion-man”), the famous avatāra of Viṣṇu, coming down the earth to bring destruction, but also liberation by slaying an unkillable demon.

At the beginning, we saw the singha as “standing upright”. But this stance is a particular motif depicting a fierce, terrible leonine, or leon-hybrid creature in indian art, called “śārdūla.”Kramrisch, S., “Early Indian Ivory Carving”, Philadelphia Museum of Art Bulletin, Spring 1959, Vol. 54, No. 261, Philadelphia Museum of Art, pp. 55-66. It usually represents the leon-hybrid overcoming a demon as a symbol of fierce truth against evil (the connection with Narasiṃha here is apparent). This motif finds its first examples starting from ancient ivory carvings (Begram, Khajuraho) to more recent crafting and architecture. In fact, it’s common usage in India and especially in South India to apply the same artistic categories and proportions, both in sculpture and architecture, where groups of subjects are mounted next to or on top of each other, giving the well known and astounding effect of South Indian decoration. This whole process of “decoration” follows the methodology of the rhetoric of “alaṃkāra”: making ornaments, decorating, embellishments, but also the art of coloring. It’s a shame that now only the ivory remains, but it’s a happy coincidence that the last few traces of dyed colors are red. This could be connected with the indian aesthetic theory of the rasa, where red is the color of “raudram”, “fury”.

But here’s an interesting twist: most of the iconography in the śārdūla motif usually represents the hybrid as a terrible, fierce animal overcoming a vapid, tiny demon. Here the role played by the yakṣa, instead, brings śārdūla to mind, but now the creature is playful and doesn’t seem to succumb completely to the singha.

The hidden meaning behind it, is a benevolent one! It’s teaching a lesson as well. The singha here is trying to convey a secret message. Its terrific, monstrous appearance is only a facade, as usually is the case with ‘monstrous’ representations in India. It vanquishes demons. It’s supposed to make you feel uncomfortable, to strike you! But only if you have something to hide…

The mischievous yakṣa, on the contrary, is domesticated and salutes you gently.Padma, K. “Color and Sculpture in South Asia”, Notes in the History of Art, Spring 2011, Vol. 30, No. 3, SPECIAL ISSUE: SUPERFICIAL? APPROACHES TO PAINTED SCULPTURE, The University of Chicago Press, pp. 33-39 But we’ll see about that…