As the sun rode higher in the sky, we retraced our steps towards the obscure ruins, the veil of mysticism beckoning us back.We, self-proclaimed explorers imagining us to be archaeologists deciphering an ancient script went around the complex looking for clues. We searched for the customary placards, those stone epitaphs found in the grand monuments, determined to unlock the secrets of this forgotten place. But there are no mentions as if this place has disappeared from the pages of history. Feeling defeated we turned towards a comparatively well-preserved temple nestled beside the ruins thinking that we should at least pay our respects before leaving this place. The priest was still waiting patiently. He must have been used to city dwellers like us, some lost others looking for answers.
As our smiles met the priest’s, his countenance lit up as we asked him in our last-ditch effort to know more about these ruins. His words rushed out like the first drops of rain quenching the thirst of a parched earth. He revealed, there was once a mighty fort, the domain of the valiant king of Athagarahpatna. He narrated a story of courage, the king, in a grand act of defiance, had sheltered the Gajapati king of Puri, along with the revered idol of Lord Jagannath, shielding them from the onslaught of Muhammad Taqi Khan.
Our very own feluda, led us through the ruins, piecing together the fragmented past. He conjured a vivid image of the once-grand palace, the bustling court, & the two serene temples. The presiding deity of this sanctum, he revealed, was Maa Kanakdurga. Each morning, the king would pay homage to her before embarking on any endeavour. Even today, devotees from across Odisha flock to this temple, drawn by the unwavering belief that Maa, with her tenfold compassion, grants wishes whispered with a pure heart.
With a gentle hand, the priest beckoned us into the temple’s inner sanctum. Stepping inside, I was struck by a breathtaking sight. There, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, stood Maa Durga, not in the form I was accustomed to, but as a ten-headed marvel sculpted in black stone. I had witnessed her countless avatars during Durga Puja, but this ten-headed manifestation was a revelation. My mind drifted to Chandrapur, the ancient town in eastern Vidarbha of Maharashtra where a sculpture, once mistaken for the demon king Ravana, endured a barrage of stones until archaeologists revealed its true identity – a ten-headed Goddess Durga, revered as Dasavatari.
Curiosity, a relentless muse, painted vibrant pictures in my mind. I envisioned the king of Athagarahpatna, perhaps guided by a divine dream or a fleeting vision, commissioning a sculptor to craft this miniature statue. Maybe he had encountered the awe-inspiring 24-foot deity of Chandrapur during his travels, its image forever lodged in his memory.
As we looked back at the ruins for one last time, these questions filled my mind about a place forever shrouded in a veil of mystery.
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