Day 107 - Chamunda

December 5, 2018

Gallery 241 holds stone sculptures dating from the 8th through the 13th centuries that come from a number of different regions of India. A particularly appealing work shows an amorous couple. She is seen in profile and stands on her right foot, while her left leg is raised and thrown over her partner's right thigh; her right hand circles his shoulder, and her eyes appear to be closed. For his part, his right hand supports  her upraised left thigh. Light smiles play on both figures' lips.  Many statues are of elaborately jeweled goddesses and other female figures, all with the same high, rounded breasts and many with impossibly narrow waists  In contrast to these is a statue of a Jain enlightened person sitting in a yogic pose; it is made of white marble and is distinctive in its simplicity. 

The most haunting image for me, however, represents aging and death, not life. Presumably a full-length figure -- the legs below the thighs have been lost -- it now stands perhaps 4 1/2 feet high and  was made in 10th or 11th century Madhya Pradesh. The statue depicts Chamunda, described in the caption as the "horrific destroyer of evil." She appears as fearsome as death itself. Her emaciated face, with its huge eye sockets, sunken cheeks, and grimacing mouth,  conjures up the skull beneath the skin, and indeed, a skull is at the center of her headdress.  Snakes appear to coil around her arms, and a scorpion, which I learn is a symbol of sickness and death, sits above her navel.

Of all the works I've seen, this is the one I would most like to know more about (perhaps enough to rent an acoustiguide, which I have yet to do in my explorations of the Met's permanent collection).  A bit of research on the web tells me that Chamunda was a manifestation of Devi, of Kali, and of Durga. Apparently she was originally a tribal goddess who was later subsumed into Hinduism and was worshipped through both animal and human sacrifices, which explains something of the horror she evokes. Statues of her were commonly placed on the exterior of temples. How did this make worshippers feel, I wonder? Gratified that a powerful goddess was available to protect them? Or terrified by the prospect of mortality and death so vividly personified here?