Ganesha: The Unforgettable Idol

Years ago, for my birthday my ex-wife — this was before she became my ex-wife — presented me with a rather hefty, green-patinated bronze statuette of the Hindu deity Ganesha (or just Ganesh to his friends). The four-armed figure is immediately recognizable for its elephant head. As a struggling writer, my ex thought the god’s divine ability to remove obstacles and his status as the patron of arts and sciences/intellect and wisdom would serve me well, whilst sitting there in front of me collecting dust on my desk (and, briefly, serving as a curtain holdback).

This is my Ganesha. There are many similar to it, but this one is mine.

To be honest, while it looks cool and I could certainly use all the obstacle-removal I can get, I never really gave my Ganesha much thought. I just presumed he would do his thing on his own, no special care required other than the occasional Swiffering. But upon closer inspection (as I am wont to do with stuff to put off actually writing anything), I noticed the flashy fellow sports a few puzzling accoutrements. His right hand appears to wield a hatchet, and the left… is that a folded-up snake? My curiosity piqued, I dove into learning more about my desktop companion.

SUNDRY SYMBOLISM

I first wanted to know about the icon’s manifold components. Here’s the breakdown of Ganesha’s parts and their symbolic meanings:

· Big Head: Think Big (but don’t become arrogant, no matter how freakishly elephantoid your head gets)

· Large Ears: Listen More (just not to Creed or Nickelback)

· Small Mouth: Talk Less (doesn’t apply to politicians)

· Small Eyes: Concentrate (because squinty-eyed people are always deliberating about some noble act they will soon perform)

· Trunk: High Efficiency and Adaptability (elephants use their trunks to drink water, grip objects, and greet other elephants — who knows what diabolical purpose they will conjure up next for the appendage?!)

· One Tusk: Retain Good, Throw Away Bad (keep the Star Wars DVD set your brother gave you; donate to Goodwill the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer sweater your aunt foisted upon you)

· Large Belly: Peacefully Digest All the Good & Bad in Life (I imagine lethal poisons would be an exception, yes?)

· Axe: To Cut Off All Bonds of Attachment (though if you’re especially attached to your axe, you might have a problem)

· Rope: To Pull You Nearer to Your Greatest Goal (the rope is most often looped — i.e., a noose — which might be sending the wrong message)

· Blessings: For Those on the Right Spiritual Path (for those who are not, another hand gesture may be offered)

Mmmmodaka

· Modaka (an Indian sweet dumpling): Rewards of Accomplishment; Wealth and Prosperity (this can sometimes be a lotus blossom, symbolizing the awakening of consciousness, though my Ganesha looks like he’s just honking the end of his trunk)

Most depictions of Ganesha, though not mine, also feature fruits, meaning the whole world is before you and for your asking, and a mouse, meaning controlled desire, at his feet (sometimes, rather comically, he’s riding the mouse). Additionally, most Ganeshas, though once again not mine, are portrayed in a seated position with one leg bent and the other on the floor, reminding people that while enjoying worldly pleasures they should be in constant search of their inner selves, i.e. their souls.

You can find other variants of the figure — e.g., different items held in different hands — and divergent interpretations of the symbolism behind its attributes. He can on occasion also been seen dancing, heroically battling demons, and playing with his family as a child, his varying forms branded with such descriptors as “Two-Faced Ganesha,” “Mother’s Beloved Son Ganesha,” and “Quick-Acting Ganesha.” Yet the primary significance of the deity has remained unchanged for millennia.

GANESHAS EVERYWHERE!

Ganesha, also known as Ganapati and Vinayaka, emerged as a dominant deity in 4th and 5th centuries AD, eventually gaining acceptance as one of the five principal deities of Brahmanism. By the 6th century his image in sculpture and paintings had become a fixture in Hindu temples and homes, not unlike the Virgin Mary in many Christian dwellings. The influence of the “Lord of Success” has spread outside the Hindu faith as a kind of lucky charm.

His is not the only emblematic icon I own: my apartment also displays a Jin Chan (Chinese Money Toad) and a Pennsylvania barnstar. But my Ganesha is by far the most striking of these, standing a foot high and weighing over five pounds. This made me wonder about how prevalent Ganesha iconography is throughout the world, so I did a little research.

FUN FACTS

· Tallest Ganesha: 85 ft. (Kolhapur, Maharashtra state, India)

© All Rights Reserved by Rajendra Patil

· Smallest Ganesha: .68 mm (created by Anil Kamble from Ahmednagar, Maharashtra; smaller than a mustard seed, the idol is not discernable to the naked eye)

· Earliest known iconic image of the modern Ganesha is found at the Shiva temple in Bhumra, India, dating back to the Gupta Empire (320 to 550 AD).

· Ganesha Chaturthi: Hindu festival honoring Ganesha, celebrated throughout India and Nepal, lasting 10 to 12 days; clay images of Ganesha are installed in temporary shrines, then immersed at the end of the festival in a lake or other body of water (along with medicinal herbs) where it dissolves, purifying the water.

· In addition to India and Nepal, ancient Ganesha statues have been found in Afghanistan, Iran, Sri Lanka, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, China, Mongolia, Japan, Indonesia, Bulgaria, Mexico and other Latin American countries.

· Ganesha is the presiding deity of Silicon Valley, CA. (Software engineers are particularly fans of the mouse part of the icon, for “Ganesha’s vehicle is the mouse and, as you know, for software engineers the mouse is the vehicle that they use to take their ideas and innovations from one place to the other.” Sounds logical.)

· Between the first and third centuries BC, images of Ganesha (then known as the demigod Vinayaka) appeared on Indo-Greek coins.

Completing its global reach, the deity frequently shows up in artwork and artifacts in museums throughout the United States and Europe. The vast majority of depictions of Ganesha, be they painted on canvas, carved into stone, or molded from metal, are rendered with a great attention to aesthetics. Nearly every image of the icon exhibits ornate detail and eye-catching design. Often, Ganesha is pictured in brilliant, psychedelic colors. (Seriously, Timothy Leary could’ve commissioned a bunch of these.)

…my brain…it’s melting…

The beautiful craft employed by the artists impressively glorifies Ganesha and his importance in Hindu culture. For an elephant-headed god, he’s quite the handsome devil.

GETTING A-HEAD

How does a god come by an elephant’s head? Deities with the heads and/or bodies of animals are commonly encountered in other cultures. Ancient Egypt, especially, had its fair share — the jackal-headed Anubis, lion-headed Sekhmet, and falcon-headed Horus, to name a few — and they all have intriguing origin stories, because if you possess the head of an animal there’s likely a compelling reason for it. Ganesha is no exception.

While some Sanskrit texts called Puranas, narrating the abundance of Hindu myths and legends, claim Ganesha was born with an elephant head, most stories say he acquired it later. In the most popular version, Ganesha was created with clay by Parvati, the Hindu goddess of love, fertility, and devotion, to protect her. Shiva, a major Hindu deity and Parvati’s husband, decapitated the too-alluring Ganesha out of jealousy. Shiva then replaced Ganesha’s pretty head with that of an elephant. That showed him, Shiva!

HERE’S LOOKING AT YOU, GANESHA

After becoming more acquainted with him, I’ve cultivated a newfound appreciation for Ganesha. Frankly, I feel a little neglectful, hardly paying him any mind standing there behind the wireless speaker. Maybe my subpar idol worship explains why my marriage didn’t work out and there’s less than $200 currently in my bank account. So I’ve decided I need to give the Lord of Success the respect due him. My Ganesha merits his own shrine!

The important thing was to construct the shrine correctly. After using my Ganesha for so long as no more than a paperweight — and most times it wasn’t even that functional — I didn’t want to further upset the god by botching his sacred spot in my apartment. I first learned what essential items I required: an altar platform, an altar cloth, a meditation cushion, traditional worship items such as a candle, incense, flowers, an offering bowl, and of course, my Ganesha statuette. The good news was I had a fair degree of leeway about how to set up my shrine. The vital element was giving Ganesha a dedicated space to honor him.

I began by picking out a spot. It had to have enough room for the altar and an area for me to pranam (that distinctive type of low bowing you see New Agers do on mats). The location of the altar was also consequential. According to the Vastu shastra, the Hindu version of Feng Shui, the most auspicious direction for Ganesha is facing south, thus the altar should be placed in the north section of the room. Fortunately, my bedroom has an empty area by the bay window that faces north. Perfect.

I cleared any clutter and cleaned the floor of the space, which afforded me the opportunity to tidy my place overall. Supposedly, painting the walls a pastel color would’ve enhanced the ideal natural light for the space, but since pastels only conjure up awkward memories of me in grammar school, I chose to forego this. My windows allow plenty of daylight to enter so I wasn’t too concerned.

GOING ALL GANESH UP IN HERE

I set down a wood stool (the Bekväm by Ikea) in front of the middle bay window to serve as the platform for the altar. It was recommended to cover the surface with some decorative cloth like embroidered silk; I only had a woven white cotton blanket. Though not especially elegant, it was soft and draped the stool nicely. It almost looked like a snow-covered mountain.

I next positioned my Ganesha in the center of the altar, at a height greater than my head when seated before him. (I had to stick a box beneath the stool’s legs to raise it to a sufficient elevation.) During devotions, the statuette is what’s called a murti, an “enlivened being through which flows the living grace of the god,” according to the eHow article.

I then surrounded Ganesha with my items of worship: a black orchid and amber scented candle, a Sheesham wood incense holder, a glazed vase with fresh-cut roses from my yard, a ceramic bowl filled with Oreo cookies (Ganesha has a sweet tooth), and, as a meaningful object from my ambitious past that I wish to recapture, a promotional water pistol labeled with the name of the feature film I produced in the 90s. Finally, I laid a folded comforter on the floor where I would mediate. (No shoes permitted; Ganesha apparently hates shoes).

So here I pranam and wait for the riches of life to be bestowed upon me, or at least have my way paved to them. Am I a believer? I prefer the well-trodden appellation ‘agnostic.’ But I figure paying reverence to a fashionable, centuries-old deity can’t hurt, and I do owe my Ganesha the centerpiece-of-attention role after years of treating him like a petty knickknack. And he seems like a fine god, flamboyant and unique with a positive attitude about life. He’s the sort of elephant-headed motivational figure I can get behind.

Ganesha mantra: “Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha.”