Tessa Cunliffe

It is dawn in Hampi and the Tungabhadra River is already alive with activity. The sun is only just beginning to emerge over the rocky skyline but the air is already thick with morning heat and the smell of freshly brewed chai.

Children are splashing around in the shallows, playing and laughing excitedly, while their mothers are bathing the infants. Everywhere I look, groups of people are crowding upon the huge, flat boulders that surround the large body of still water. An old man is slowly soaping his hair with a look of utter delight on his small, wrinkled face. Groups of woman are chatting animatedly while busily washing their brightly coloured saris, before laying them out to dry in the shimmering morning sunlight.

A young elephant, being ridden by a teenage boy, slowly lumbers down to the riverbank. The boy hops off with practiced ease and begins talking and signaling to the monstrous creature before him. The elephant does not need much encouragement and quickly lowers itself into the water with a surprising amount of effortlessness and grace. The boy then begins to tenderly wash down the animal, slowly working his way down the length and breadth of its body, with gentle, even strokes. The elephant is calm and peaceful, as though sedated by the cool water that laps around its creased and hardened body. When the boy is satisfied with his work he takes a step back and allows the elephant some time to drink and enjoy the fresh water. As the boy turns away, the elephant playfully showers him with a stream of water that erupts from its long, nimble trunk. The boy lets out a gleeful giggle and jokingly scolds his enormous companion.

I lift my gaze to look beyond the river ritual that is being carried out below, and the sheer magnificence of the landscape overwhelms me. Colossal boulders scatter the horizon. Some precariously stacked in clusters and others, lone monstrosities formed by millions of years of erosion. Smooth and perfectly rounded: the ultimate skipping stones for the gods.

Suddenly I am engulfed by the sweet smell of sun-ripened fruit wafting its way towards me from a street vendor just beginning to set up his stall. I buy a large, juicy mango, as orange as the morning sun, which the vendor slices up for me with an ear-to-ear smile. As I bite into the sweet flesh, streams of mango juice trickles down my chin. This seems to further delight the vendor, who begins to joyously wag his head from side to side.

Before I leave to discover the sacred ruins of the Vijayanagar Empire that surround the village, I take one last, lingering look at the magic taking place in front of me. The hub of activity is beginning to die down as people start to move off to start their daily duties.

I stand in awe and marvel at the beauty of a culture, built around a river that runs through the heart of Hampi.