Lakshmana Temple, Khajuraho

Start with your feet. The stone under you is sandstone. It is warm in the sun, cool in the shade, and worn smooth by a thousand years of bare soles. Now lift your eyes. Rising in front of you is a mountain of carved rock. It is pale gold in the morning and almost pink as the sun goes down. Every surface you can see has been cut by hand. Parakeets call from the lawns around you. Somewhere a guide is murmuring in a language you may not know. Welcome to the Lakshmana Temple.

You are standing in the Western Group of Khajuraho, in the heart of central India. This is a small town in the state of Madhya Pradesh. Today it is a quiet place, but a thousand years ago it was a royal and religious centre of the Chandela dynasty. The Chandelas were a line of kings who ruled this region in the medieval period. Over a few centuries they raised dozens of temples here. Around twenty-five survive today. Together they became a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1986.

Of all the temples in this garden, this one carries a date we can trust. An inscription found at the temple records its completion. Scholars place it at around the year 954. The work began under a king called Yashovarman, and it was dedicated during the reign of his son, Dhanga. The temple's name is usually linked to Yashovarman himself, who was also known as Lakshavarman. That makes this one of the earliest of the great Khajuraho temples. Many of the later masterpieces follow the pattern set here.

The temple is dedicated to Vishnu, one of the principal gods of Hinduism, the preserver of the universe. But this is a particular form of the god. Inside the dark sanctum stands an image of Vaikuntha Vishnu. He has three heads. The centre face is human and calm. On one side is the head of a lion. On the other side is the head of a boar. Each face recalls a different avatar, or earthly form, that Vishnu takes to rescue the world.

Before you climb the steps, walk slowly around the base of the platform. This platform is tall, roughly the height of a person, and it is not decoration-free. A long band of carving runs along it at about knee and waist height. Here is the first surprise. These friezes are about ordinary royal life. You will see marching soldiers, horses, and long lines of elephants. There are hunting parties, musicians, and teachers with students. It is a picture of a court and an army on the move.

You will also find, tucked among the processions, some of the famous erotic scenes of Khajuraho. Look closely along this band and you may spot a small attendant who seems to cover his face. Visitors have smiled at him for generations. It is worth remembering that these intimate carvings are only a small share of the sculpture here. Most figures show gods, dancers, warriors, animals, and everyday human gestures. Scholars still debate their meaning, and no single explanation is accepted by everyone.

Now look at the four corners of the platform. Each corner holds a small shrine of its own. This layout is called panchayatana, which means five shrines: one main temple surrounded by four smaller ones. Several Khajuraho temples were built this way. But here is the second surprise. The Lakshmana Temple is the only one in the whole complex where all four corner shrines still stand. So this is the clearest picture you will get of how these sacred compounds were meant to look.

Step back and take in the outline of the main temple. It does not rise as one flat wall. It climbs in stages, like a range of peaks. Smaller towers cluster around a central tower over the sanctum. This style is called Nagara, the temple architecture of northern India. The idea is that the temple is a model of a holy mountain, home of the gods. As your eye moves from the entrance to the back, the roofs grow higher, step by step, until they reach the summit above the god.

Climb the steps and enter. The light changes at once. The temple moves from an open entrance porch into a series of halls. Each one is a little darker than the last. Massive pillars hold up ceilings carved with circles of flowers and petals. The final chamber is the sanctum, where the image of Vishnu stands. Around it runs a narrow passage for walking in a circle. Small balcony windows open from this passage to the outside, and they let in shafts of light and air.

Back outside, look up at the bands of sculpture on the walls. These are the figures that made Khajuraho known around the world. Gods and goddesses stand in tight rows. Between them are the celestial women called surasundaris, heavenly beauties of Hindu art. One looks into a mirror. One adjusts an anklet. One seems to pull a thorn from her foot. Their bodies twist and bend in poses that give the stone a sense of movement. The carvers turned a hard material into something that feels soft.

Turn around and face east. Opposite the temple is a small open pavilion. Inside stands a huge stone boar, carved from a single block. This is Varaha, the boar form of Vishnu, who rescued the earth from a cosmic ocean. His body is covered with hundreds of tiny figures. Just beside the Western Group is the Matangeshvara Temple, dedicated to Shiva. Unlike most of the temples here, it is still in active worship. You may hear bells and see marigolds there during festivals.

How did these temples survive? After the Chandela period, Khajuraho slowly faded from the main roads of power. Forest grew around many of the buildings. Some temples were lost. This isolation probably protected the ones you see today. In the nineteenth century, British surveyors described the site, and it gradually became known to the wider world. Since then, archaeologists have cleared, recorded, and repaired the temples. You can see patches of newer stone in places where old blocks were replaced.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment at the foot of the steps. Let your eyes travel once more from the processions of elephants at your feet, up through the dancers and gods, to the peak of the tower against the sky. Notice how the stone changes colour as clouds pass over. Listen to the birds in the trees around the lawns. As you walk on toward the next temple, glance back once. From a distance, all those thousands of figures blend into a single shape, a mountain made by human hands.