Ganesha from the Market: A Journey Remembered

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia — 1986

This is a small brass statuette of the Hindu god Ganesha that I acquired at Kuala Kumpur’s Petaling Street (Chinatown) market sometime in 1986. Seated in repose, his head tilted in gentle wisdom, the elephant god holds the tools of spiritual navigation: a goad to urge us forward, a noose for us to gather stray thoughts, a sweet modaka dumpling representing the rewards of our spiritual effort, and a raised hand offering us protection. At his feet, a mouse waits patiently, reminding us that even the smallest being can be a support vehicle of grace.

I have to admit that when I first found this figurine, I knew little about the god or the Hindu religion. I was living in the Kuala Lumpur (KL) suburb of Petaling Jaya at the time, not far from the busy street Jalan SS2/24, where I had boarded a public bus, one of those rectangular shaped diesal-scented rides that rattled through the neighborhoods with a rhythm all its own. The route wound its way toward central Kuala Lumpur, past the old shophouses and walled-off bungalows and eventually along the Universiti Malaya campus, until I stepped off near Chinatown. Once into the Petaling Street area, among the bustle and clatter of vendors and shoppers, I wandered past tables of shoes, knock off designer watches, VHS tapes and everything else under the sun and into a covered sidewalk area where a couple small time hawkers laid out their wares on blankets. This is where the Nepali traders could regularly be found, some also offering watches but one guy in particular who had devotional items from both the Buddhist and Hindu traditions, including statues of various deities, ornately carved wooden incense holders, and other paraphernalia.

It was on the edge of this fellow’s blanket that I found the tiny figurine of the god known by hundreds of millions as the Lord of Wisdom, Patron of the Arts and Literature and Destroyer of Obstacles.

The story of how Ganesha got an elephant’s head is simple: Prince Ganesha received his elephant head after the god Shiva, unaware that Ganesha was his son, beheaded him in a moment of fury and later replaced it with the head of the first creature he found—an elephant. The elephant head symbolizes wisdom, strength, and the ability to overcome obstacles with grace and intelligence.

I don’t remember the vendor’s face at all —just the pull I felt toward the figure. He didn’t press the sale. The Ganesha lay quietly among other items. I picked it up, felt its light weight in my palm, and knew it would come home with me.

Symbolism and Significance

Etched into the back of the statue are what I have been told are Khmer-influenced Thai yantra characters NaMoPhutYa, นะโมพุทธายะ, a mantra invoking Buddha (rather than Ganesha!) as a protector, wise sage and spiritual guide. It’s a call to begin, to trust, to clear the path ahead. That’s been a mantra I’ve followed for many years, I guess ever since I left my hometown of Thornville, Ohio, over 50 years ago.

According to what I’ve read, each element of the Ganesha statuette carries meaning:

• Elephant head: Wisdom, discernment, and deep listening

• Four arms: Divine reach and multidimensional action

• Goad and noose: Tools to guide and gather the mind

• Modaka (the sweet dumpling): Joy earned through spiritual effort

• Abhaya mudra: Gesture of protection and reassurance

• Mouse companion: Humility and subtlety as spiritual vehicles

• Seated posture: Balance between repose and readiness

I've also been told that the rounded backdrop behind Ganesha may echo the Buddhist prabhamandala, a halo of enlightenment.

It frames Ganesha as a spiritual guide seated within a sacred place. The merging of both Hindu and Buddhist elements is clear in this tiny amulet.

I've read that the usual mantra spoken with Ganesha is ॐ गं गणपतये नमः (Om Gam Ganapataye Namah), invoking his blessings. It’s traditionally recited at the start of journeys, rituals, or creative acts. It suggests that such a representation is meant not just for decoration, but for devotion—perhaps placed on a home altar, carried during travel, or gifted to mark a new chapter in someone’s life.

And for me, it began on that humid trip to a KL market in 1986.

Since then, this Ganesha has traveled far—from Malaysia to Japan, back to Malaysia, then to Singapore, and now the Philippines. He’s watched over my academic office work, sat quietly on bookshelves, seen me go through the ups and down of multiple personal and professional relationships, and he now rests among other artifacts in my collection. But he’s more than brass and mantra. He’s a reminder of my wanderings in the markets and other social spaces of Asia, of learning about Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism, Islam, Shintoism and other belief systems over the years, and of being inspired to learn more. (Coming from a Christian family of the Protestant tradition, I felt I knew quite a bit about that, and still in the university I took a course entitled The Bible as Literature that gave me an even deeper perspective.)

Reflection

We don’t always know when a meaningful talisman enters our life. Sometimes it’s not the object that’s sacred, but the moment it marks. A bus ride, a bike ride, a memorable day, a quiet pull toward something that feels familiar before we understand why.

This Ganesha didn’t come with some long sales pitch. He came with a story that I had to learn. And over time, as I learned more about Hinduism in general and Ganesha in specific, the figurine became layered with meaning and memory. He reminds me that the first step toward understanding doesn’t always loudly announce itself. Sometimes, it waits patiently, quietly on a hawker’s blanket, ready to be found. 

 

This slightly larger, more colourful statue of Ganesh was acquired in a shop in Little India, Singapore.