The one and only Ashoka

I happened to go to Koppal (in north Karnataka) a couple of months ago to see some Ashokan inscriptions maintained by ASI. As one who hated, nay abhorred, history in school, precious little of what I had 'by-hearted' about Ashoka remained in my memory - fought a war in Kalinga, was filled with remorse, converted to Buddhism, planted trees on roads.

There are two inscriptions at Koppal, one at Palkigundu and the other at Gavimath. You can barely make out the writing from the rock. And it doesn't help that at Palkigundu, some idiot has scribbled his name right on the inscription. But despite all that, the two 2300-year-old messages incised into the rocks stirred something in me. Not the usual All-hail-to-the-all-conquering-king. Nothing about the enemy submitting at the lotus feet of the ruler. Instead, a humble admission that he, Ashoka, had been a worshipper for a couple of years but had only applied himself for about a year, with dramatic results. And then an exhortation to all, whether exalted or not, to do the same so that "gods and men might mingle." In inscriptions elsewhere in the country, Ashoka talks of how he had given up military conquests and wanted only dhamma conquests! And all this because of a war.

Think about it. Have you heard of any other ruler in world history humane enough to recognise the costs of war and repent after one? I know of none. Not one. Even today, you still hear more of the "you're either with us or against us" kind of talk from world leaders, and only lip service, if at all, about the devastation brought about by war...

And talk about being progressive - Ashoka even had ministers for women's welfare!

So yes, as you can see, I came back from Koppal with an addition to my list of favourite people in Indian history!

Palkigundu is beautiful, by the way: hills, goats, goatherds, one dog, birds, quiet all along the way; and history waiting at the end of a lovely trek. What more could one ask for?

Today's Deccan Herald has my article on the Ashokan edicts at Koppal and Maski.

St Thomas's Town

Did you know that we have a tomb of one of Jesus Christ's disciples right here in India? St. Thomas is said to have lived and died in Chennai around 72 AD. The apostle is also called Doubting Thomas for it is said he refused to believe Jesus had been resurrected until he could put his finger through the risen Christ's crucifixion wounds. I visited some of the places associated with the apostle in Chennai recently. One thing that struck me was how in death, as in life, St. Thomas' name is associated with doubts...

A severely edited version of an article I wrote on Thomas in Chennai appeared in Deccan Chronicle. Not only did they edit the piece badly (IMO), they also forgot to give credit to the photographer Arul Jegadish. All in all, a bit of a mess :(

Here's more on the apostle’s Chennai connection:

Our exploration began where St Thomas died, at St. Thomas Mount. The peripatetic Italian, Marco Polo, who visited Chennai in the 1290s, says that Church brethren told him how the saint had been killed when a hunter aiming at some peacocks accidentally hit the apostle. Another Italian traveller, Bishop John de Marignolli, who came by about a hundred years after Polo, corroborates this and adds that St. Thomas continued “throughout the night to preach, whilst his blessed blood was welling from his side; and in the morning he gave up his soul to God.”

Incidentally, the story more commonly given today is that St. Thomas was killed by a Brahmin, because the Brahmins were agitated by how popular the apostle was becoming...

At the summit is the Church of the Expectation of the Blessed Virgin, a simple church that is devoid of ostentation but rich in myth and legend. It was first built by Armenians and rebuilt by the Portuguese in 1521 and again in 1547. The Armenian influence is evident in the 14 beautiful paintings (dating to the 1700s) of Jesus and the apostles that line the walls. You can also see many Armenian inscriptions in and around the church.

The altar here is believed to mark the spot where St Thomas fell. The cross embedded in the wall behind the altar has an interesting story. It was unearthed by the Portuguese during excavations here. The large granite slab bears a cross and an inscription on top, and once had red stains on it. This is the famous bleeding cross which has been reported to sweat blood several times between 1556 and 1704. Tradition has it that it was fashioned by St Thomas himself and that he died holding it.

But controversy and doubts seem essential ingredients of all stories associated Doubting Thomas. The strange lettering incised on the cross definitely added to its aura of mystery. Although it was first assumed to relate to St Thomas, in the late 1800s, historians realised the inscription was actually in Pahlavi and, somewhat anti-climactically, had nothing to do with St Thomas, but recorded only the name of the person who fashioned the cross. Paleographically, the inscription and hence the cross were dated to about 650 AD, making it the oldest among only about half a dozen such Nestorian crosses in India.

Next to the bleeding cross is a beautiful oil painting on wood of the Madonna with baby Jesus, which according to legend was brought to India by the apostle himself and was painted by Luke the evangelist. Most historians scoff at this claim but I was thrilled to see a painting which could well be over 1,950 years old… sometimes, myths left unexamined through the rationalist’s lens are so much more satisfying!

Our next stop was to the stately Santhome Cathedral Basilica, near Marina beach, built over the spot where St. Thomas was buried. Thomas is believed to have built a chapel near the seashore where he prayed and preached, and on his death, was buried there. The church’s fortunes seem to have waxed and waned through the centuries for although a magnificent church stood here in the 1200s, by the 1500s, it was languishing. The Portuguese rebuilt it in the 1600s. In 1893, this building was demolished and the church in its present form came up and was consecrated in 1896.

Today’s cathedral is a grand Gothic edifice, complete with nave and transept, soaring towers and spires. Light streams in through exquisite stained glass windows in the clerestory. One set of three large stained glass windows depicting the episode where Jesus appears to Doubting Thomas, was made in Germany in the 1870s. Recent renovation work removed the paint covering the vaulted ceiling to reveal the beautiful, warm, brown tones of the original teak ceiling.

Signs of antiquity are everywhere. Lining the walls on either side of the walls is a row of ornate hand-carved chairs. In the transept on the right is a statue of Mary, brought here from Portugal in 1543. Called Our Lady of Mylapore, this 3-foot statue is said to be the one St. Francis Xavier used to pray to when he visited Mylapore in the 1500s.

At the very heart of the church, in the basement, is the apostle’s crypt and a tomb chapel. I learned that the soil around the grave has always been renowned for its miraculous powers. Bishop Marignolli, Marco Polo and other European travellers speak of several miracles wrought by the sacred soil. The church even sells small parcels of sand from the grave embedded in a small card which devotees can conveniently carry.

But the crypt itself is empty. According to some texts, the saint’s relics were transferred to Edessa in Syria sometime in the 4^th century and from there to Ortona in Italy in the 1200s. But here again, doubts persist: Were his remains completely removed to Edessa? Or were some relics left behind?

If they were removed, why, in the late 800s, did the English king Alfred the Great send alms “to India to St. Thomas”? Several other European travellers over the next few centuries, including the redoubtable Marco Polo, describe “the place containing the body of the apostle St. Thomas”.

In the early 1500s, after strenuous efforts, the Portuguese claimed to have located the tomb and relics of St. Thomas in Chennai. They had planned to transfer the relics they found to Goa but eventually stored them in Cochin before sending them back to Santhome. Yet, when the tomb was opened in 1887, all it contained were a piece of a lance that killed the apostle and a fragment of his bone.

But the church does have some relics of St. Thomas. In 1952, the then Pope gifted a portion of Thomas’s finger from the relics at Ortona to commemorate 1900 years since the arrival of St. Thomas in India. You can see portions of this relic in the tomb chapel and in the church museum. I felt a shiver run through me as I gazed at the fragment of bone from the very hand that is believed to have touched the risen Christ. And I recalled how Doubting Thomas’ had said, “Unless I put my finger in the nail marks in his hands and place my hand in his side, I will not believe." And Jesus had let Thomas do so and had said, “Blessed are they that have not seen and have believed.”

Lakkundi

I was in Lakkundi (12 km from Gadag, about 60 km from Hubli) a few weeks ago - hot, dusty, typically bucolic, incredibly charming.

This picture was taken at the Manikeshvara temple, my favourite spot in Lakkundi (it is actually just outside it). The temple is in a small clearing in the midst of trees, and is utterly empty of people. Well, almost. The solitude, peace and quiet, and the large sheltering trees make this an ideal spot to contemplate on the higher things in life, as this man seems to be doing.

The railings that you see the man leaning against are along the Musukinabavi, one of the most beautiful kalyanis I have seen in Karnataka. It has a rather unusual design, complete with an underpass - no, not the ugly variety that you see on Bangalore' s roads, but a rather elegant design. A 'bridge' leads from the temple to where the man is standing. Under this is another 'bridge' - a set of beams that connects chambers (changing rooms?) on two sides of the tank. Underneath both these bridges is a long flight of steps leading to the water. There are small decorative shrines all around the kalyani's steps.

There are other interesting temples in Lakkundi - some with only walls, some with nothing more than a linga left, the rest having long been absorbed into adjacent dwellings. The small square houses, with their white plastered walls contrasting with the deep blue of the sky, reminded me of photos of Majorca. Of course, to my (admittedly biased) eyes, I found Lakkundi much more appealing, what with its cows lounging in the shade, its brightly painted wooden carts, the old men sitting on their haunches watching me...

Lakkundi has a shepherding community who make blankets and durries. I was on a tight schedule on this visit (on a project for the Archaeological Survey of India) and so didn't get to chat with too many people this time. That will have to wait for the next time...

UPDATE:
Today's Deccan Herald has an article I wrote on Lakkundi.

Ah Chitradurga!

I had the pleasure of working on a project for the Archaeological Survey of India at Chitradurga recently: some colleagues and I installed some heritage interpretation panels there. What a vast and impressive fort this is!

On one of our visits, hubby and I managed to get to the fort at the unearthly hour of 6:00 am! And incredibly, we were not the only ones hanging about there, waiting for the gates to open. There was actually a rather interesting motley crowd, made up of two sleepy tourists (that's us), a lot of barefoot sari-clad women and dhoti-clad men - these were devotees who come to pray at the temple's many forts - and then there was a group of men in sneakers and shorts. It was only when we reached the Hidimbeshvara temple at the top of the fort that we realised what this last bunch was there for...Let me put it this way: who would want to work out in a stuffy old gym, when you could instead exercise in the brisk, invigorating air, in front of a 1000-year-old temple in a medieval fort atop a hill with a glorious view of a pink sunrise?

Apart from the many visits to the fort (which, of course, were the best parts of the project!), I really enjoyed researching this fascinating fort - its history, its design, its water-harvesting systems, its battles, the redoubtable Onake Obavva...

Of course, only a fraction of all this made it into our interpretation panels. Here are some photos of our panels. We wanted the panels to have a strong visual element so that people could have something to look at as well as read. The panels are all at waist height so that they are easy to read for adults, but can be read by children too. We've also kept the language simple so that anyone who has studied up to the 6th or 7th Std can read and understand the panels.

If you have been to Chitradurga recently and have seen our panels, I would love to know what you thought of them. And if you haven't been to Chitradurga, well, what are you waiting for?

Bidar

I always thought of Bidar as a hot and dusty, centre-of-remoteness kind of place ...I shudder at my ignorance now. For Bidar is really a must-visit kind of place for any heritage enthusiast, teeming with diverse architectural and cultural remnants that mirror its chequered history.

And there is no better place to start than in its sprawling, huge, grand fort that is full of palaces, halls, wells, underground chambers and other nooks and crannies just asking to be explored.

Check out the massive fort walls and the one-of-a-kind triple moat.

The picture below was taken behind the Gagan Mahal, where you can find exciting underground rooms and passages that seem straight out of Famous Five.


Today's Deccan Herald has an article on Bidar that I wrote recently. A rather nice way to start the new year, I must say - having one of your articles published in the first week of January!

Mystery of the sands

For a really unique mix of history, mystery, archaeology and a lovely dose of nature, you can do no better than head to Talakad (variously spelt as Talakkad, Talkad and Talakadu).

Talakad is an ancient town, dating back to at least 2000 years ago, judging by megalithic remains found here. In the early 1600s, Alamelamma, wife of the defeated Vijayanagar viceroy jumped into the river Cauvery here, but not before famously cursing the Mysore Wodeyar dynasty and the town of Talakad itself. You can see a documentary made by Sashi Sivramkrishna about the curse here. Of course, what is really intriguing about the story of the curse is how it seems to have come true. Many Wodeyar kings have indeed not borne male heirs and have had to adopt to continue their line; and the town of Talakad has indeed been deluged by sand.

So what does the scientific community have to say about this remarkable coincidence? Check out my article in today's Deccan Herald about this. I had a good time researching this article, including an enjoyable talk with MB Rajani, a postdoc at NIAS.

Today, most people know of Talakad either as a place of pilgrimage, for the Panchalinga darshana that is held here (to be held next week), or as a picnic spot, to frolic in the sun and sands along the Cauvery. But the next time you visit there, take time to go off the beaten track to see signs of the city (or cities?) that lies buried beneath the sand under your feet. Trust me, you can see them...

The Nallur tamarind grove

Deccan Herald carried an article I wrote on the Nallur tamarind grove last week. There is something quite alluring about the grove of gigantic ent-like tamarind trees and the little Gopalaswamy temple that lies in their midst. As someone has commented on the article online, the carving of Krishna eating butter is enchanting. And though Dr Anuradha from Maharani College prefers the carvings on the Devanahalli Gopalaswamy temple, to my uneducated eye, the carvings at Nallur were truly remarkable. All in all, it makes for a quiet picnic spot...but watch out for the innumerable monkeys!

Keladi

Another post on Malnad, a continuation of the previous post, if you like. A version of it appeared in Deccan Herald a while ago.
Most people know of Sagar in Shimoga district as the nearest town to the world-famous Jog Falls. But did you know that a mere 6 km from Sagar is a village that was the capital of one of Karnataka’s great empires, a village, moreover, with relics of a 1000 year old history?

In the early 1500s, a certain Chaudappa Gauda of the village of Keladi discovered some hidden treasure. In a dream, he was told that the treasure was his to take provided he offered a human sacrifice. Luckily for him, two of his servants volunteered for the task. Chaudappa used the treasure to build a fort at Keladi and put together an army. Thus began the dynasty that was initially a tributary of the Vijayanagar empire but was independent by the 1600s. At its zenith, the Keladi empire covered most of south-western Karnataka and parts of northern Kerala, commanding the ports of Honnavara, Bhatkal, Bekal and Mangalore, and also included portions of the Ghats and extended to within 60 km of Mysore. The Nayakas were finally defeated by Hyder Ali in 1763, who often cited this win as having established his fortune.

A good place to start exploring the area’s history is the Keladi Museum and Historical Research Centre, established in 1978 by the scholar Keladi Gunda Jois. This museum houses artifacts from the region, including ancient coins (some as old as 2nd Century BC), manuscripts and copper plate inscriptions. The curator is historian Venkatesh Jois. Earnest, committed and supremely knowledgeable (he holds 3 masters degrees and a doctoral degree!), Jois showed us some of the palm leaf manuscripts and the museum’s huge collection of kadatas or ‘black books’ – cloth manuscripts made by seasoning with tamarind paste and charcoal.

Jois spoke passionately about the Keladi empire and its valiant Queen Chennamma, who ruled for 25 long years from 1671 to 1696, no mean feat in those ancient times. Chennamma ruled wisely and ably and earned the love of her subjects. It was during her reign that a special bond was formed between the Marathas and the Keladi kingdom. In those tumultuous times, Rajaram, son of Chhatrapati Shivaji, was fleeing for his life. Mughal emperor Aurangzeb had already killed his brother Shambhaji when Rajaram came to Keladi asking for protection. Unwilling to spurn an asylum-seeker, Chennamma granted him refuge, knowing this would invite Aurangzeb’s ire. As expected, the mighty Mughal army soon bore down on the Nayaka kingdom. But amazingly, the local army vanquished the Mughals, who floundered in its hilly terrain.

Keladi served as the Nayaka capital for the empire for fourteen years after which the capital was shifted to nearby Ikkeri. Today, with its 400-year-old houses, all with sloping tiled roofs and moss-covered compound walls, Keladi is a village that exudes the charm so typical of beautiful Malnad. Everyone walks, everyone smiles and everything looks and smells green.

Life here revolves around the earliest monument built by the Keladi Nayakas, the Ramesvara temple complex. Situated opposite the museum, it is a large, long building with pale yellow walls that looks most like a government high school. Inside is a spacious courtyard with two wells and only a handful of people and our first impression was that we had stepped into someone’s house, albeit a very beautiful hou se. The temple complex houses three shrines – the Ramesvara, the Veerabhadresvara and the Parvati shrines, of which the Ramesvara is the oldest and the Parvati the newest. There is a common mantapa for the Ramesvara and Veerbhadra garbha-grihas. The temple is built in a mixture of styles. Whereas the use of granite pillars and the gargoyles are characteristically Vijayanagar, the ceilings, for example, seem to incorporate Islamic influences with their delicate floral and geometric patterns. The Veerabhadesvara temple ceiling has a prominent Gandabherunda, the two-headed eagle that Jois informed us was the symbol of the Vijayanagar kings, the Keladi empire and the Wodeyars, with minor variations. Another notable figure in the temple is a rare representation of Vastupuruva, beside which is an upright, marked rule: the measures of length on this rule were used in land assessment, as also in the geometry of the temple itself.

The adjacent Parvati s hrine is an unusual combination of wood and stone. Severely plain from the outside, it has some uncommon, remarkable wooden sculptures and pillars inside. Venaktesh Jois informs us that the wood used here is the prized red sandalwood (rakta-chandana, Pterocarpus santalinus). The intricately carved wooden ceiling, still retaining a glossy sheen, and the dark red wooden sculptures lining the wall near the ceiling are stunning.

In the temple courtyard is a dwajastambha (victory pillar). At its base is a panel that Queen Chennamma had installed, showing herself, wearing a widow’s garb, flanked on one side by Shivaji’s son Rajaram and his attendant, and on the other by two hand maidens. There is also a figure depicting Shivaji on a horse in the Veerabhadraswamy temple.

There is an other ancient monument at Keladi, a 900 year old Jain temple. Tucked away in a small buildi ng hidden inside a large garden, it is an unprepossessing structure, little more than a single room housing some idols.

Yet its antiquity is palpable. Here, busy preparing for the temple’s renovation by the Dharmothana Trust of Dharmasthala, were the temple priest and GV Kallapur, head of Research and Publications at the Keladi Museum. Kallapur told us about the bronze images of Parsvanath Tirthankara that were found here earlier this year. Inscriptions on one of the images recorded the installment of the image in the Basadi in 1172 AD, well before the Vijayanagar periods. But even that is not the oldest relic here: Kallapur enthusiastically showed us a well behind the Basadi, made of bricks characteristic of the Ganga period, indicating that Keladi has probably been inhabited for at least 1500 years, if not more.

Beautiful Ikkeri

I can never get enough of the Malnad area - hills, winding roads, and everything drenched and saturated green. Here's a piece I wrote for Deccan Herald on Ikkeri, the erstwhile capital of the Keladi/Ikkeri/Nagara Nayakas.

In the 1600s, an adventurous Italian traveller named Pietro della Valle set off from Venice to travel the world. After spending some time in Turkey, Egypt and Arabia, the peripatetic della Valle came to India and in 1623, visited Ikkeri, the capital city of the Ikkeri Nayakas. The beautiful Malnad vistas seem to have soothed his eyes greatly for he writes rapturously of its “delightful verdure”. Of the Nayaka capital, he says its numerous lakes, fields and “goodly Trees” all blended pleasantly, so that it seemed “to consist of a City, Lakes, Fields and Woods mingled together, and makes a very delightful sight”. Visiting Ikkeri nearly four centuries later, I could see why della Valle had been bewitched by the place. Shorn of its status as a capital city and reduced to a mere village, Ikkeri still gently seduces the senses.
In della Valle’s days, the city was enclosed within three lines of fortifications, the first two of impenetrable bamboo and the third a mud wall. No sign of the first two exists now, of course, but historian Venkatesh Jois, curator at the Keladi Museum and Historical Research Centre in nearby Keladi, informed us that traces of the Nayakas’ fort and its moat still exist and that archaeological excavations are underway at the site.
Ikkeri was neither the first capital of the Nayakas nor their last. The dynasty was founded in 1499 at Keladi, near Ikkeri, because of which they are also called the Keladi Nayakas. After some fourteen years at Keladi, the capital moved to Ikkeri, which is 3 km south of Sagar. Incidentally, the legend behind the location of Ikkeri should sound familiar to Bangaloreans – Sadashivappa Nayaka chose the site for his capital when he saw a hare begin to chase his hounds, which is exactly what made Kempe Gowda choose the site for his new fort in Bangalore in 1537. Ikkeri remained the Nayaka capital for 125 years, after which the centre of power shifted to Nagara and then to Kavaledurga.
Inside the fort at Ikkeri, della Valle describes in minute detail the impressive citadel and the palaces of the Ikkeri Nayakas, all made of mud and timber. But he was distinctly unmoved by the houses which, he said, “stand thinly and are ill-built”. We couldn’t have disagreed more. Many of the houses we saw were built of laterite bricks, all had sloping, red-tiled roofs, many had a faint hint of green that bespoke years of standing in the rainy Malnad weather. Without exception, all were exceedingly handsome, adding charm to a landscape that was already intoxicating in its beauty. Venkatesh Jois, whose beautiful abode we visited in Keladi, told us his house was close to 400 years old. Quite possibly then, at least some of the houses we saw at Ikkeri were the same ones that della Valle dismissed so inexplicably.
Ikkeri is best known for its splendid temple, dedicated to Aghoreshvara, the non-fearful Shiva. It is believed to have been built in the early 1500s, probably at the time the capital was moved here. It is built on a slight mound in the midst of a large courtyard and a lawn dotted with colourful wildflowers that seemed to have escaped a careful gardener’s notice. The temple itself stood on a high platform, giving an effect of grandeur to the whole building. It is a remarkable structure for the way it gracefully combines various architectural elements. The temple’s indented platform, for example, brought to mind the Hoysala temples at Belur and Halebid, while its gopura with its small doorways echoed Chola influences. The cavernous pillared hall in the main temple and the pillars in the adjacent small Parvati temple are all typical of the Vijayanagar style of architecture. The resulting blend is a unique style that historians refer to as the Ikkeri school of architecture. Another example of this style is the open Nandi pavilion just outside the main temple. With arches on four sides, a parapet running along the roof, and a large Nandi seated inside the pavilion, this unusual structure is unique to Ikkeri.
During his two-week stay at Ikkeri, della Valle had the good fortune of being present during the celebration of a festival here, possibly Deepavali, for he writes that “an infinite number of torches and candles were lighted” inside the temple, on its outer walls and in the courtyard. The then king, Venkatappa Nayaka, accompanied by two grandsons, arrived at the head of a procession heralded by much singing and dancing, says della Valle. The royals spent an hour inside the temple hall and after more music, dance and presumably prayer, left. Things were far more subdued when we visited the Aghoreshvara temple. No lights adorned its walls and no girls danced around a king, yet the temple was quietly impressive. We admired the temple’s grand doorways, the sculptures chiselled into the hard stone, and marvelled at the size of its hall. Dusk fell as we left the Aghoreshvara temple that evening, and though there were no lights, we could see in our mind’s eye, a king and his retinue leaving the magnificent temple after an evening of celebration and prayer.

The Sultanpet cemetery

A version of this piece appeared in Deccan Herald some months ago.

There is something appealing about cemeteries – it is as if the past adheres to them, unwilling to let go. On the road from Sultanpet to Nandi Hills, about 55 km from Bangalore, is a 200-year-old graveyard that is particularly alluring, perhaps because it feels like the place has not had a visitor in a 100 years. With no sign to suggest its existence, nor any defining compound wall, it is easy to miss, though it lies only a few feet off the road. The cemetery is tiny, with only 12 graves. The oldest marked grave dates back to 1805, the most recent, to 1904. Together, the graves evoke nostalgia, sadness and a sense of mystery, besides providing a glimpse of British life in the area 200 years ago.
The (British) Indian army had a presence here since 1791, when Cornwallis successfully ousted Tipu from the almost impregnable fort at Nundydroog, now known as Nandi Hills. They were stationed at Sultanpet and at Nandi Hills between 1799 and 1808. With Tipu’s defeat at Srirangapattana in 1799, the British set about the business of empire building in earnest. But life for ordinary soldiers and the intrepid wives who traveled to India with them was hardly a bed of roses. If the heat and mosquitoes didn’t get them, diarrhea, cholera and host of other tropical diseases probably would.
Is that what happened to Elizabeth, wife of William Prichard, who died in 1807 and lies buried in Sultanpet? The curt epitaph provided no details and I wondered if Elizabeth had been in India for long? Did she die of dropsy, hysterical mania or some other affliction peculiar to those times? I stumbled through the weeds to the oldest marked grave, that of Lt Col Ridgeway Mealy, who died at Nundydroog on 19 Sept 1805, aged 44. The newest grave, marked by a cross, was of William Henry Price, a driver in 25 Battery, Royal Field Artillery, who drowned in Wonaikal Tank in 1904, aged 28. The epitaphs of these soldiers were brief, yet poignant. Was it because the dead were all snatched early, in the prime of their lives? Nearby, lay Major John Edward Gabriel of the Wallajabad Light Infantry, who died in 1815, aged 35, and whose grave was “erected as a tribute of affection and respect by his disconsolate widow.” As I read the simple words of the brokenhearted widow written some 200 years ago, I could almost hear the ancient echoes of her sobs, and I felt a lump rise in my throat.
A family seemed to be buried here, with a group of one adult (parent?) and three children buried next to each other, their graves sharing walls. We will probably never know what took their lives since their memorial plaques have long been gouged out by vandals hungry for the granite or metal. Although all 12 graves in the cemetery are still intact, no trace of any ornamentation remains on any of them. All but five have lost their tablets or headstones and some are in a state of disrepair. The cemetery appears to have gone to seed, quite literally. Eucalypt saplings thrive around the graves and dot the spaces between them, and weeds grow wild everywhere. According to Barry Lewis, Professor of Anthropology, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, the UK High Commission in India abandoned the cemetery in 1963. Lewis, who is currently researching the history of medieval chieftains in the Mysore region, visited the cemetery in 2003, and in the hope of making contact with descendants of those buried here, put up a webpage on the cemetery at his site. But though thousands of genealogists and family researchers from the UK explore their links with the subcontinent, none have so far contacted him about the twelve graves here. The trail of the Sultanpet soldiers and their families appears to have gone cold.
As I left the cemetery that afternoon, it was with a sense of foreboding that the little cemetery would not exist much longer. The dead would fall prey to the thirst for land. Would the graves still be there the next time I passed by or would a small piece of our history have been built over?

Aretippur

Here’s an article I wrote about a little village called Aretippur, near Kokkrebellur. We went there earlier this year. This piece appeared in Deccan Herald a couple of months ago. I thought I’d start with this because I really loved Aretippur. It is beautiful - haunting, sad - but beautiful.


A lone statue stands atop a little hill, aloof from the rest of the world, wearing an expression of such serenity, such calm detachment, it almost causes envy. Nearby, on another hillock, beheaded statues, legless idols and broken pillars lay scattered among the rocks and thorns on the banks of a little lake. These are the remains of one of the most important Jain pilgrimage centres of a millennium ago, a site unique in all of Karnataka for its carvings and sculptures, but one where, for want of care, history is rapidly being lost.
Karnataka has had a strong Jain tradition ever since Chandragupta famously came to Shravanabelagola with his preceptor 2300 years ago. For several centuries after this, Jainism enjoyed the patronage of the courts. Several royals built Jain temples or basadis, which were places of worship but also living quarters for monks.
Three kilometers from the world-famous Kokrebellur Bird Sanctuary, the village of Aretippur has the remains of several such basadis, dating back to the Gangas. The hamlet of about 150 houses does not figure in any modern map but finds mention in several inscriptions including some that are 1,500 years old. In the early 10th Century, during the reign of Nitimarga II, a certain Manaleyara built a basadi at Kanakagari hill in Tippeyuru as it was then known. The basadi flourished and was patronized by the Gangas and later, the Hoysalas and the Vijayanagar empire.






The collapse of Vijayanagar spelt the doom of Aretippur. Only merest traces of the once-thriving Jaina tirtha have survived the centuries of neglect. Perched precariously on a pile of rocks atop the partly-quarried Kanakagiri hill is a beautifully proportioned Parsvanath idol that looks out onto Aretippur. It is one of the few idols here that is almost intact. Not far from the blue board proclaiming the monument’s protected status, a beheaded statue of a tirthankara lies among thorny bushes. A legless torso of a tirthankara, the torso-less legs of a seated person, the head and torso of a chauri-bearer, all lie strewn about the hill. Interestingly, none of the figures are of females, which experts believe could indicate the site belonged to an early orthodox Jain tradition that avoided female representations. A long stone inscription from Hoysala King Vishnuvardhana’s times also stands on top of the hill. Remarkably unbroken, the Kannada inscription records the grant of the village to a Jaina teacher.

Despite the easy availability of stone and the Gangas’ mastery over stone-building techniques as evidenced elsewhere, Nitamarga II chose to continue with a brick building tradition here. According to the renowned scholar of Jainism, Dr Hampa Nagarajaiah, Aretippur once had four brick basadis. These were oriented north-south, with a spacious garba-griha, open pillared mantapas and brick walls that were neatly plastered with stucco finish. There may also have been some square-roomed monasteries. But while these details could be gleaned from the site even 20 years ago, today, the extensive constructions of yore have been reduced to broken bricks scattered over the hillside.
At the bottom of Kanakagiri hill is a little pond which historians believe served the ritual needs of the Jain monks. Thimmegowda, a resident of Aretippur, corroborated this when he told us that although there were no Jains in Aretippur anymore, swimming in the pond or otherwise defiling it was still prohibited as it was used only for puja purposes. On the western rocky face of this pond are fourteen bas-relief sculptures of tirthankaras, some seated, some standing, some left unfinished. Although we did not know of it when we visited Aretippur, I later learned that there are also some shallow caves cut into the rocks, some with carvings of Adinatha and other Jain deities. According to historians, these rock-cut carvings as also the statues on the hillside are in a style of Ganga art datable to the late eighth or early ninth century, suggesting than when Nitimarga II built a basadi here, he was adding to what was already a sacred site. Significantly, this specimen of Ganga period rock-cut architecture is the only one of its kind in Karnataka.

About half a kilometre from Aretippur is a bigger hillock which also houses a historical treasure. Neither path nor steps lead to the summit. A short climb of about 30 minutes ending in a scramble up a steep rock face took us to the top. And there stood a relief sculpture of Bahubali, about 10 feet high, with an aureole etched around his head, and an arresting expression of calmness on his face. With neither a roof over his head, nor walls on his sides, the solitary statue nevertheless imparted a sense of sanctity to the place. The sculpture beautifully depicted the countenance of one so immersed in contemplation, he did not notice the creepers twining up his legs. Where Shravanabelagola’s Bahubali is grand and imposing, Aretippur’s is humble and approachable, yet beautiful. According to Dr NS Rangaraju, Professor of Ancient History at Mysore University, there could be some truth to the common belief that this relief carving was a prototype for the statue at Shravanabelagola. “Although there is no inscriptional evidence to support this, the style appears to be of an earlier period than the matured style seen at Shravanabelagola,” he explains.
Although it felt like we were the first to set eyes on Bahubali, unpleasant inscriptional evidence proved otherwise. Devraj, Muniswamy, Sommanna and a few other blighted souls had recorded their names and dates of arrival for posterity on the rock, right in front of the divine image. Bahubali also receives occasional visits from worshippers as shown by the stray packets of milk and broken coconut shells they had thoughtfully left behind. Conspicuous by its absence was a board proclaiming the monument’s protected status, by either the ASI, or the State Archaeology Department – the statue appears to be entirely unprotected. The base of the hill is currently abuzz with quarrying activity. I wondered how long it would be before the entire hill was quarried away and recalled the impassioned plea of Dr Hampa Nagarajaiah, “All ancient sites belonging to all religions need to be preserved.” Amen.