In 2023 a colossal 18-tonne sculpture of Nataraja—Shiva as the King of Dance—was installed at New Delhi’s Bharat Mandapam during the G20 Summit. Over the last century, Nataraja has become the most iconic symbol of Hindu art. Bronze sculptures of him are prized possessions in many Western museum collections, and he can be found on the covers of dozens of books about Hinduism. What you might not know, however, is that Nataraja’s popularity owes a great deal to a single Chola queen from over 1,000 years ago: Sembiyan Mahadevi.
Humble beginnings
Sembiyan first emerges in historical records in the early 10th century, when the Chola dynasty was taking its first steps toward political superstardom. She was married to a younger son of King Parantaka I (c. 907–955 CE). Her father was a hill-chief from Kongu, the region between the Western Ghats and the Kaveri floodplain. She was the first in her family to marry a Chola prince, so she came with a very modest dowry—mostly a herd of sheep and goats. Her sisters-in-law from wealthier families retained their birth names, but we don’t know what Sembiyan’s original name—‘Sembiyan’ was a title granted by the Cholas. While her richer sisters-in-law built new temples to showcase their devotion and status, all Sembiyan could do was donate her sheep to older shrines.
Yet, even in these earliest gifts, we can already see Sembiyan’s mind at work. As historian Nicolas Cane writes, she chose her gifts intelligently. One was made in the Chola heartland, near present-day Kumbakonam, while the other was in the north, in the newly conquered hinterland of Puducherry. Through such gifts, she and, by extension, her in-laws earned the support of local devotees, exhibited their piety, and solidified their fledgling authority.
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Sembiyan’s road to power
Sembiyan’s first stint as queen came unexpectedly. In 949, the Rashtrakuta Empire—a powerful upland Deccan polity—invaded the Chola kingdom, killing the heir-apparent, Sembiyan’s brother-in-law, in battle. Her husband became king but died young, leaving her alone to raise their son. Unable to rule by herself, she gave the throne to one of her brothers-in-law.
For the next two decades, Sembiyan disappears from historical records, but we can make some guesses as to what she was up to. At some point, she and her husband had visited the sacred shrine of Tillai (present-day Chidambaram), believed to be home to a powerful form of Shiva. “Our king [Shiva],” her husband had composed, “abides in the dancing hall of southern Tillai [Chidambaram]… Shrine radiating light like a blaze of lightning… When shall I attain him?” (Translation by Indira Viswanathan Peterson).
Like Sembiyan herself, the god of Tillai had an interesting history. Scholars generally agree that Tillai, a wild mangrove swamp, was once home to a martial, dancing deity, but the timeline of his identification with Shiva is not really clear—perhaps by the 8th century CE, 200 years before Sembiyan. Well before that, Shiva too had been imagined as a dancer across South Asia.
By the 9th century, Tamil sculptors in Tillai had nearly perfected the iconography of Shiva as Adavallan, the Expert Dancer (the term ‘Nataraja’ is, in fact, a later Sanskrit addition). The sculpture featured Shiva extending his left leg across his body, radiating dreadlocks, surrounded by flame, and holding an axe, fire, and a gesture. The most famous such sculpture, in bronze, was at Chidambaram—and Sembiyan and her husband had worshipped him and been awestruck by him, though this form of Shiva was not yet well-known in their homeland along the Kaveri floodplain. So, when widowed, it seems Sembiyan developed her connection to Chidambaram’s dancing Shiva.
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Sembiyan as dowager queen
In the early 970s, after a period of familial convulsions, Sembiyan’s son Uttama was crowned Chola king. Now middle-aged and with access to a large royal treasury, she could finally build temples in her own right. This had both devotional and political implications. As art historian Vidya Dehejia writes in The Thief Who Stole My Heart: The Material Life of Sacred Bronzes from Chola India, “Was Sembiyan herself devout? Possibly, although she may have astutely realised that devotion was a widowed queen’s chief avenue to power and prominence.”
While earlier Chola queens patronised only one temple over their lifetimes, Sembiyan, from 972 to 985 CE, either built or renovated over a dozen. Her choices were strategic: at first, her projects were mostly concentrated in the Cholas’ Kaveri backyard. As her confidence grew, she focused her attention further north, into territories where the Cholas were still trying to establish themselves—generally at prominent market towns or famous sacred sites. Inscriptions reveal that Sembiyan often requested local leaders or village assemblies to handle these temple projects, giving them jobs and patronage. Her son, king Uttama, also recruited them as his officers, building direct ties between local elites and the royal court. This two-pronged strategy significantly boosted Chola power.
Sembiyan encouraged popular religious practices, especially the singing of Tamil poet-saints’ hymns dedicated to Shiva. Singers congregated in her court; she then sent them across Chola territories and had them settle there. This tradition became integral to South Indian Hinduism. To this day, Tamil temples chant these hymns during morning and evening rituals.
Sembiyan also stood out because of her signature artistic style. In all of her temples, a stone Nataraja sculpture is positioned in a grand niche facing south—just as the deity at Chidambaram does. No previous Chola ruler, king or queen, had done this. The style made it immediately clear if a temple had been built by Sembiyan Mahadevi. Thanks to her patronage, Sembiyan’s popularity soon reached superstar proportions: we know of cases where local notables often halted their own temple plans to incorporate Nataraja, bringing their shrines in line with the ‘Sembiyan style.’ Once the god of a wild swamp, Nataraja had come to represent the Cholas themselves, his image spreading all over the Kaveri floodplain. With him came a popular acknowledgement of Chola devotion, Chola patronage, and Chola power.
The political integration that earlier kings had failed to accomplish through wars for 150 years, Sembiyan Mahadevi achieved in less than fifteen. When her son died in 985 CE, she was once again bereaved, but the the Chola dynasty’s patronage of Nataraja continued under the next ruler, Rajaraja I. As he became the richest king in the world, Rajaraja enshrined Nataraja as the primary bronze deity in his colossal Brihadisvara temple at Thanjavur. Nataraja soon became a symbol not just of the Cholas but of Tamilness itself.
According to Prof Dehejia (The Thief Who Stole My Heart), Tamil elites commissioned over 3,000 bronze Nataraja sculptures during the Chola period. This profusion made Nataraja highly sought-after by Western museums during the colonial era. Displayed prominently, he was studied by famous sculptors and scholars such as Auguste Rodin and Ananda Coomaraswamy. By the 20th century, Nataraja had become the most famous Hindu icon—a status he still holds today.
Sembiyan Mahadevi’s visit to Chidambaram a thousand years ago, which left such a deep mark on her life, ultimately changed the history of Hinduism and Indian visual culture forever.
Anirudh Kanisetti is a public historian. He is the author of ‘Lords of Earth and Sea: A History of the Chola Empire’, and the award-winning ‘Lords of the Deccan’. He hosts the Echoes of India and Yuddha podcasts. He tweets @AKanisetti and is on Instagram @anirbuddha. Views are personal.
This article is a part of the ‘Thinking Medieval‘ series that takes a deep dive into India’s medieval culture, politics, and history.
(Edited by Prashant)