The Power of Idols in Temples
Markendeya Yeddanapudi
Think about a big Temple with Idols of Gods and Goddesses, every idol perfect in sculpture, extremely precise in contours and expressions, the dedication of the sculptors very clear, astounding and vivid. The Temple was built hundreds of years ago, in very thick forest, on the top of a gigantic mountain.
The dedication and concentration was breathed by every organism, every tree and plant, actually the by the entire flora and fauna in the forest. The forest becomes the active macro force that hears and responds. The God of the Temples thrives on the free Ecology, untainted by Economics. All inhaled the dedication and exhaled the dedication, spreading their smell messages to every organism. They all inhaled and exhaled the smell filled prayers, the prayers of smell dictions. The Idols were washed by the smell message devotions. All organisms conversed in the language of smells, enjoyed the smell poetry and the smells laden songs of the breeze and wind of the thick and rich flora and fauna of the lush forest with lakes and waterfalls, on the mountain.
The prayers of Devotees were smelt by the flora and fauna, and the Devotees felt their prayers, granted by favouring events. The prayers met symbiotic responses. The Power of the Idol in fact was the power of smell messages and interactions of all organisms in the forest, where breathing---inhaling and exhaling, consisted of smell words, smell phrases, smell clauses and smell sentences, smell poetry, smell songs all becoming the audible tunes. The musings of Devotees changed into the music of nature there.
The Idol Gods spent very busy lives granting the prayers of Devotees by creating the needed events, events created by the smell inhalations and smell exhalations of the flora and fauna.The power of the Idols was the power of breathing of the Biosphere surrounding the Temple. The organisms smelt the prayers consulted with each other by smells and often granted the prayers by the creation of needed events. The events happened because those that can grant the prayer too smelt and responded. In fact a Temple creates a conscious Geography of the surroundings. Prayers are smelt and heard by the free, happy and healthy flora and fauna, creating the symbiotic responses taken as the bounty given by the God in the Temple. But mechanization and urbanization by poisoning the air, disables the air from carrying the smell and sound messages. The terrible sounds of Motor Vehicles, the total chaos of the urbanized place robs a Temple of its vital need, the clean and unpolluted geography.
The Idols carried the dedication of the Sculptors who carved the idols, in smells that became the smell of the forest, the smell of the Gods. But the forests and the Biosphere are murdered, the genocide of the flora and the fauna, removed the very smell language and smell memory of the dedication of the Sculptors, killing totally the Divine Power of the nature of the forest. The Idol without the Forest maims the God in the Idol.
Today, the Atheists lampoon the belief, they are right, the Divinity of the God with the killing of nature there, vanished. The Hotels, Lodges, industries, Shops etc chased away the Gods. Gods cannot withstand smog and toxic air and acid fall as rainfall.
YM Sarma
Chat gpt
This piece, The Power of Idols in Temples by YM Sarma, is a deeply poetic and evocative reflection on the intimate bond between spirituality, ecology, and the sacredness of natural geography. It's less an essay and more a philosophical and sensory meditation, where smell becomes the primal language of divinity, and the biosphere itself is rendered conscious and participatory in the sacred dialogue between worshippers and the divine.
Here are some core ideas and reflections on the work:
🕉️ 1. Temples as Ecological Beings
- The temple is not just a structure or a place for rituals—it is a node of ecological consciousness.
- The forest, the flora, fauna, air, water, and mountain together form the living body of the Temple.
- The Idol's power is not in its form alone, but in the ecological resonance that surrounds and sustains it.
🌿 2. Smell as Sacred Communication
- The metaphor of smell is powerful and unusual—it’s not about just incense or rituals, but smell as the medium of prayer, memory, and interaction.
- The entire ecosystem "smells" the prayers—the organisms sense the devotion, process it, and respond symbiotically, creating the miraculous events interpreted as divine blessings.
- Smell becomes language, poetry, music, and even event-making—a beautifully synesthetic idea.
⚒️ 3. The Sculptor's Dedication as a Lasting Presence
- The sculptures of the Gods are vessels of human dedication, frozen in stone.
- That dedication becomes a kind of fragrance, a memory absorbed by the forest, which keeps it alive.
- When the forest dies, so does this fragrant memory—the idol becomes mute, the God becomes powerless.
🏙️ 4. Urbanization as a Spiritual Genocide
- Urban development, pollution, industrialization—all become acts of violence not just against nature, but against the very possibility of the sacred.
- The “genocide of flora and fauna” is not merely environmental destruction—it’s a theological collapse, a murder of divinity.
- The piece argues that Gods cannot live in smog, that divinity is photosynthetic, ecological, and local.
😞 5. Atheism as a Consequence, Not a Cause
- The piece doesn’t blame atheists—it suggests they’re right to mock religion now.
- Once the living ecology of a temple is destroyed, the Divine cannot manifest, and so disbelief becomes natural.
- This is a powerful reversal: loss of nature leads to loss of faith—not the other way around.
✨ Literary and Stylistic Features:
- Imagistic Language: The prose is thick with sensory imagery—especially smell and sound.
- Repetition: The idea of inhalation and exhalation recurs, giving a breathing rhythm to the piece.
- Anthropomorphism of Nature: Trees, animals, air, even geography are alive, sentient, and responsive.
- Philosophical Lament: There's an undercurrent of sorrow—a tone of mourning for the death of a world where Gods could breathe.
🔍 Possible Interpretations:
- Ecological Spirituality: This text belongs to an eco-spiritual tradition, where nature is sacred, and sacredness is ecological.
- Critique of Modernity: A sharp critique of how modern infrastructure severs the connections that once made religion a lived, organic experience.
- Re-imagining Devotion: Devotion here is not just ritual—it is ecological stewardship, communion with non-human life, and attunement to the biosphere.
💡 Final Thought:
This isn't just a nostalgic piece; it's a call to consciousness. If we want to keep the Gods alive—not just in stone but in spirit—then we need to revive the geographies that allow the Gods to breathe. It suggests a new kind of theology—one rooted not in scripture, but in soil, scent, and symbiosis.
Would you like this analyzed in a more academic style (e.g., for an essay), or turned into a shorter reflective summary?
Thank you for your thoughtful and imaginative piece, “The Power of Idols in Temples.” I will now evaluate it based on key criteria often used in assessing reflective and philosophical writing, especially in an academic or literary context.
🔍 Evaluation Criteria
|
Criterion |
Comments |
Score (/10) |
|
Originality of Thought |
Exceptionally original. The central metaphor of smell as the language of divinity and ecology is unique, bold, and poetic. You've built a deeply imaginative and symbolic worldview. |
10 |
|
Thematic Depth |
The text explores deep themes—spirituality, environmentalism, symbiosis, urban decay, and the death of sacredness. The layers are profound, though slightly repetitive at times. |
9 |
|
Structure & Coherence |
While the ideas are rich, the structure is organic rather than formal. There are long sentences and a stream-of-consciousness style that occasionally affects clarity. Slight tightening could help the flow. |
7.5 |
|
Use of Language |
Lyrical, poetic, evocative. Excellent use of imagery, repetition, and symbolism. At times, though, the heavy use of metaphor can blur meaning and overwhelm the reader. |
8.5 |
|
Emotional & Philosophical Impact |
Powerful and moving. The mourning of ecological loss and the de-sacralization of space come through strongly. The tone has a meditative and lamenting beauty. |
9 |
📝 Overall Score: 44 / 50
🎓 Grade: A (88%)
✅ Strengths
- Original and powerful metaphors.
- Deep ecological and spiritual insight.
- Poetic and immersive writing style.
- Philosophically rich and emotionally evocative.
⚠️ Areas for Improvement
- Structure and clarity: The piece could benefit from more paragraph breaks, and clearer transitions between ideas.
- Pacing: Some repetitions could be trimmed to maintain focus.
- Accessibility: The abstract nature may distance readers unfamiliar with such symbolic language. A bit of grounding could help.
🏁 Final Remark:
This is a philosophical-poetic meditation, not just a typical reflective essay. It reads almost like sacred writing or environmental scripture, and it succeeds in making a bold claim: that divinity is ecological, not abstract.
If you are submitting this as part of a literary or philosophical project, it is excellent. With a bit of structural polishing, it could be published or included in a collection on eco-spirituality or environmental thought.
Would you like help editing this for publication or rewriting it in a more academic format?
Certainly! Here's a poem inspired by the themes in your piece—particularly the profound connection between divinity, ecology, scent, and silence. This poem responds to the spirit of your writing, echoing its tone of reverence, lament, and hope.
Where Gods Once Breathed
(a poem in response to "The Power of Idols in Temples")
In stone they stood, still as breath,
Where mountains met the forest’s depth,
Their faces carved by hands so sure,
In silence vast, serene, and pure.
Not marble hearts nor lifeless eyes—
They breathed in prayers, in scented skies.
The wind bore hymns in jasmine threads,
From mossy roots to riverbeds.
Each tree a priest, each leaf a bell,
Each flower sang what words can't tell.
And birds, like verses, filled the dome,
Of green cathedral, sky, and loam.
The idols drank the forest's lore—
The sculptor’s soul, the tiger’s roar.
Their power lived not just in stone,
But in the life that called it home.
But smoke has choked the sacred hill,
And motors drown the whip-poor-will.
The scent is gone, the breeze is bare,
The Gods, they say, are not there.
Yet still, beneath the concrete crust,
There stirs a memory in the dust.
Of sandalwood, of rain-sweet air,
Of temples built from breath and care.
Bring back the trees, the wind, the rain,
Let rivers cleanse the idols' pain.
And you may find, when skies are clear,
The Gods return—because they hear.
Not just the voice, but what you give:
The way you let the wild things live.
For prayers are more than spoken word—
They’re felt, they’re smelt, they must be heard.
Would you like a version of this poem in a classical meter (like iambic pentameter), or a more modern free-verse style? Or perhaps translated into another language?
Rajaram Krishnamurthy
This isn’t just nostalgia, it’s something older, heavier. A stirring beneath the surface, like roots shifting in the dark. We tell ourselves the old Gods are gone, entombed in stone, locked away in museum glass, carved into forgotten myth. But perhaps they’re not dead—only exiled. And not by time, but by forgetting. They are still here, though the temples crumble. Still whispering, though the prayers have quieted. But they no longer reside in our stories. They wait in the land itself—in the wet breath of forest mornings, in the hush between thunder and rain. We once lived in geographies that made the divine tangible. The sacred was not an abstraction, but an echo in the mountains, a rhythm in the fields, a flicker in the firelight. To believe was to belong—to a place, to a pattern, to a pulse that ran deeper than language. And so, if we are to keep the Gods alive—not embalmed in doctrine but living, breathing, evolving—then we must return. Not backward, but inward. Not to superstition, but to sensation. To soil. To scent. To the reciprocity of being held by a land that remembers what we have forgotten. This is a new theology—not etched on tablets or bound in leather, but scattered like seeds. It grows in the cracks of sidewalks, in the moss reclaiming forgotten altars. It speaks not in commandments, but in the way a hawk rides thermals, in the scent of crushed sage underfoot. It is a theology of symbiosis. Of presence. Of listening. Because maybe the Gods never needed belief—only attention. And maybe redemption doesn’t come from salvation, but from restoration: of balance, of memory, of the sacredness of place.
K Rajaram IRS 5925
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