As the relentless rain lashes against the forest, shrouding it in darkness, an abhisarika nayika ventures bravely on her journey. Despite the treacherous conditions, nothing can deter her from meeting her beloved. Her only solace amidst the storm is the faint jingling of her anklets, a symbol of her determination and resilience.
The allure of ankle ornaments has captivated the imagination of poets and kings throughout history. These ornaments, known by various names such as gejje, salangai, muvva, and ghungroo, have been depicted in exquisite detail on temple sculptures and in ancient texts, such as the Tiruvempavai of Manickavasagar. The delicate sound of these ornaments, reminiscent of a gentle breeze, is said to enhance the beauty of a dancer’s movements, making them a coveted accessory for performers.
The earliest documented anklets emerged from the repertoire of Buddhist terracottas and sculptures, with a notable example found on the famous Mauryan Didarganj Yakshi. This stunning sculpture, now at the Patna Museum, sports thick, tyre-like anklets that are more reminiscent of ankle weights at our local gym than of the delicate nupura described in the texts. In contrast, foot ornaments depicted in temple sculptures across India often seem to contrast their delicate and artistic descriptions in the literature and scripture.
In Belur, we are confronted with graceful and languid darpanikas wearing several types of layered, chunky anklets. Even in photographs of courtesans from Tanjore and Mysore, we observe multiple, stacked anklets. Some scholars are very particular about the distinction between ornaments. The manjira, it is argued, is clearly distinguished from the prakshepya by the former’s thinness. If one were to collate all of the words used in Sanskrit alone for the anklet, it is likely that the survey would yield more than 24 terms for different nuances of the ornament. If vernacular languages were to be considered, the count would sail well over a hundred.
The sheer variety of anklet designs and forms begs the question: why was it so crucial to differentiate between a salangai, a golusu, and a silambu? The answer, perhaps, lies in the unique sonic value of each ornament. In his book Nupura, S.P. Tewari suggests that it was the chiming of anklets that indicated female quarters in the palaces of yore. Epigraphs from the Edilpur Copperplate of Bengal clearly delineate the enjoyment of the “dulcet music arising from the anklets of courtesans every evening” by the 12th-century Sena monarch, Lakshmanasena.
It is well-documented that favored courtesans would often receive anklets in precious metals, sometimes studded with gems, as imperial gifts. The ethereal sound of the ghungroo wasn’t restricted to the court, however. Literature often uses the sound of the anklet as a character in itself. In Jayadeva’s 12th-century magnum opus, the Gita Govinda, Radha says to her friend, “Take off these dangerous enemies, your ankle-bells. They talk loudly when you walk and enjoy union.” Saint-poet Meera refers to dancing in abandon (possessed by her affection for Krishna) with anklets on in the famous song ‘Pagh ghungroo baandh Meera nachi re’.
While these stories were told from the perspective of having an intimate relationship with the divine, the temple was a crucial site of the anklet’s history too. An essential aspect of the devadasi tradition was the gajjela puja or salangai puja, which marked the preparedness of a young dancer to takeover the ritual performances at the temple and consecrate her formal dedication to the patron god. While the context of this ritual was rooted in an ancient system that has little relevance to classical dance today, many believe that they are continuing the tradition of anklet puja by making it a mandatory element of a dancer’s debut (arangetram).
Further, the devadasi tradition documented the fashioning of anklets out of several different materials — namely gold, silver, and bronze. Dancers of today rely on brass bells to serve a metronomic function on stage, but what could have been the hereditary dancing community’s reason for utilizing anklets of different materials? How did it change?
In an exhibition by the Museum of Performing Arts, legendary dancer Balasaraswati’s ankle bells rested within a glass case. Tiny motifs were engraved on each brass bell, and the viewer could get a sense of the weight of the ornament just from looking at it. Balasaraswati was one of the last hereditary dancers to practice the form in its authentic context. She frequently discussed the need to tune her ankle bells. The sruti, she claimed, was an important aspect of the performance at large. She hailed from a tradition where the dancer provided vocal support for her own performances and thus we must ask whether the original purpose of the ankle bell was to serve as an instrument in its own right.
Perhaps the anklet is a study in itself — steeped in tradition yet completely customisable.
