Dasara Festival in Mysore

Dasara Festival in Mysore

Mysore

South India (or at the least the road from Bangalore to Mysore and the road from Mysore to Somanathpur) is endless rice paddies and coconut trees. So soon after monsoon the rice fields are a lush green, and the water that fills each square paddy to the base of the plants shines in the late afternoon sun. I am on the Deccan plateau, so the steps of the terraced fields are subtle, exactly showing the mild contours of the almost flat terrain. The land is interrupted occasionally by large, red, moundy hills.

Mysore during Dasara has been day after day of cultural events. After investigation I can find the location of the venues listed in the paper. It's usually a guess as to what the event actually is: the listing may just have the name of the place and the name of the event; the lister assumes the reader knows what the name means and it is up to me to ascertain whether it is singing, instrumental music, dance, theatre, or a religious ceremony. Usually I find out by just showing up. The events have been hit-or-miss; some have been very good and others not very exciting.

Today is the big day: the last day of the ten day festival. In great ceremony the royalty of Mysore mount elephants on the palace grounds and then proceed through the streets to a stadium at the edge of the city. The religious holiday celebrates the conquering of a good hero over an evil demon; to me it seems to be as much about the glorification of the Mysore maharaja and family. My American Mark Twain blood has difficulty accepting the respect with which most Indians pay to royalty, or anything deemed greater than themselves. During the week I have seen people file through the palace looking with awe upon the Maharaja's things; look above with respect at an airshow at both model airplanes and a fighter jet; and pay tribute at a goddess temple built into the side of a dam.

Mysore is crowded with Indian tourists for Dasara. There are only a handful of foreigners. Each day I might see four or five. In the center of the city the touts are aggressive. The most devious ones are young. They walk up beside you and say "What country?" "Where are you staying?" One student about fifteen years old was unreally bright-eyed and inquisitive. He wanted to show me the best internet cafe. It is late in the evening and the streets are dark. After leading me in the opposite direction from my hotel , where I actually wanted to be headed, out of the blue he said, "No cheating!" I said: "Why are you saying this? I never said anything about cheating." The truth comes out slowly: he wants to take me to an incense market. I realize of course that he's not a student.

Away from the center of the city people seem quite ordinary. They walk slowly. The auto-rickshaw drivers don't seem intent on cheating me out of money. Yesterday, on the ninth day of Dasara, people bless ordinary household instruments to show gratitude for their usefulness. On the streets all of the auto-rickshaws and motorcycles are adorned with flowers after presumably pujas have been performed in their honor.

Tomorrow I leave for Hampi.

Dasara Festival in Mysore