Shashishekhar Gavai

Arunachal Pradesh is India’s easternmost state and borders 3 countries – Bhutan , China and Myanmar . 80% of the Himalayan state is forest and it has bounteous water resources with several rivers flowing through , including the mighty Brahmaputra . Arunachal is sparsely populated and its infrastructure , including tourism related facilities , are in a nascent stage – more so in the eastern part . And that is precisely what makes it so alluring as a travel destination . Indeed Eastern Arunachal has been on my bucket list for long . It has held out the promise of taking me as much off the beaten track in India as may be possible . It was time to redeem that promise and so I set off on my first real journey since the invasion of the Chinese Virus . In the absence of facilities that the average tourist takes for granted this journey can be challenging – unless you are young and adventurous or government agencies lend a helping hand . I owe my trip to the latter .

With the prospect of a third Covid 19 wave looming over the horizon , I embark for Dibrugarh confidently armed with masks , sanitizer , 2 shots of Covishield flowing through my veins and a certificate to prove it . At the check-in counter , the airlines staff verify personal particulars on the vaccination certificate against my photo ID . I jokingly tell the man not to worry if the photographs on the two documents do not match , because I have shaved off my long white beard post vaccination . ( On the plane though I feel inadequately prepared as I see two ladies across the aisle wearing double masks , face shields , hair coverings and gloves which they keep smearing at regular intervals with sanitizer . The one in the aisle seat cringes whenever a passenger moves past . Woe betide any virus that dares to attack these formidable ladies). My younger sibling Satish is also with me . He quite fancies his skills with the camera ( my eternal scepticism notwithstanding ) and has appointed himself the official photographer for the trip . He , however , misses the opportunity of capturing on camera the two female Corona Warriors .

The highway from Dibrugarh , which later merges with NH 15 , offers a pleasant drive through the tea estates of Assam for considerable part . About half way to the Arunachal border , if you veer off southwards , you would soon be in Digboi where oil was first discovered on the Sub Continent in the late 19th century . The wells here still continue to produce small quantities of oil . A little further down at Ledo you would be at the beginning of the legendary Stilwell Road constructed by the Allies during the Second World War as a critical supply route for Chiang Kai Shek’s Nationalist Chinese forces fighting the occupying Japanese army . The road ran for about 1700 kilometres through Burma and China with only a very small section on the Indian side . But that’s not my destination so we continue eastwards along NH 15 . At the Arunachal border the Inner Line Permits (ILP) , which are required for entering the state , are checked . While accepting that Arunachal Pradesh is a sensitive area given the Chinese territorial claim on it , I find it mildly irritating that as an Indian citizen I should require a “visa” to travel through a state that is an integral part of my country . Some other states bordering China have done away with the ILP which in my opinion serves little purpose other than inconveniencing the traveller . It has to be applied for online and interestingly the website refuses to accept the Aadhar card , which I had assumed was sine qua non for anything that required you to prove that you were indeed who you claimed to be . Passports , or PAN cards or Voter IDs are welcome though .

The night is to be spent at the Ninashi Homestay just outside the small town of Wakro . Ninashi , the charming and hospitable owner , runs the place with her daughter and an aunt . She is of the Mishimi tribe , one of the several tribes of Arunachal . She speaks fluent Hindi as do most Arunachalis . I ask her about her tribe and its customs . Mishimis are the principal tribe of eastern Arunachal and are mainly animists in belief . They eat rice and all forms of meat . The food is lightly spiced and seasoned with local herbs as I discover . Ninashi has made us a traditional dinner which includes river fish , local rice and vegetables of banana flower and bamboo shoots , all served on a large leaf with a bowl of ginger flavoured soup on the side . The dinner is preceded by Apong – a pleasant , home brewed , sweetish rice wine which is akin to milk in looks and Sake in flavour . Earlier , Satish’s recital on the harmonica has drawn much applause from Ninashi and her family . I assume it is genuine because much as I hate admitting it , he does play the instrument rather well .

We are at Parasurama Kund the following morning . This is a pilgrimage spot on the Lohit river . Legend has it that Parasurama , an avatara of Lord Vishnu , killed his mother on his father’s command and travelled here to cleanse his sins in the river . Incidentally , Parasurama is also credited with exterminating the Kshatriya warrior caste …..not once , not twice but all of 21 times . Contemporary law would prescribe the gallows for one committing the act of matricide compounded by genocide . But then Parasurama was the incarnation of a god and gods work in mysterious ways I guess . There is also a temple here dedicated to Parasurama ….I give it a miss .

Leaving Parasurama Kund behind , the Toyota Innova labours ita way upwards through the Himalayan foothills . I have now lost the mobile network which will continue to elude me until my return to the plains . BSNL is the service provider here but from my own experience and that of local residents , its services are patchy and even non existent – true to the reputation that it enjoys in other parts of the country . From the village of Tidding we also lose the road . From here onwards for a considerable part of the 150 kilometres to the final destination , the “road” will be just stones , earth and potholes and the going will be painfully slow . My bones rattle , as does the vehicle . The Assamese driver Dipen is spooked and is reluctant to keep going . I egg him on with the assurance that the road will improve …..it doesn’t . But what is lost by way of the network and the road is gained with the spectacular scenery – the fast flowing Lohit with its jade green waters guarded by thickly wooded mountains and small waterfalls and streams , will be our constant companions right through to the border with China as we travel through valleys at about 1300 metres with the high Himalayan ranges in the far distance . We have finally crossed the town of Hayuliang . This is where you need to fill up your fuel tank because there is no petrol station for the next 120 kms until the end of the road .

After a long and tiring ride of almost 10 hours we are at the township of Walong . We are staying at the Anu Nimai Homestay run by a local Mishimi family . The original Walong village is some distance away and the township has grown around a Brigade headquarters and a military landing strip on the banks of the Lohit . Walong falls in the Anjaw district which is amongst the least populated of India’s 718 districts . With an area of over 6000 sq kilometres , Anjaw has a population of just about 20,000 . (To put this in perspective , Maharashtra’s easternmost district of Gondia which is smaller in size , has a population of 1.3 million). Walong , and the area around it , is hallowed ground . The battle for the defence of Walong , where the Brigade headquarters was located , was fought mainly at Namti Plains a few kilometres away . It is a tragic yet inspiring chapter in Indian military history . On October 21 1962 Chinese troops attacked and overran the Indian Military outpost at Kibithoo , about 40 kilometres from Walong . On November 12 they launched a full scale attack at Namti Plains on the ill equipped and heavily outnumbered Indian troops . Yet the Indians fought and held out for 3 days , inflicting heavy casualties on the invading Chinese and suffering almost 700 of its own . The Chinese captured Walong but withdrew a few days later after paying a heavy price . By some estimates they may have suffered almost 4000 casualties – dead or wounded . The tragic story of Walong was repeated in all sectors of the ‘62 India-China War . It is the story of dismal failure of top political and military leadership on the one hand and of the extraordinary bravery of Indian soldiers and their young officers fighting against impossible odds on the other . Time magazine then wrote : “ At Walong , Indian troops lacked everything . The only thing they did not lack was guts”.

The following morning I am at the War Memorial to honour the soldiers who made the supreme sacrifice at the Battle of Walong . Their names are inscribed in gold on polished granite . They are men from all parts of India , from several regiments of the Indian Army – Sikhs , Kumaonis , Gorkhas , Mahars , Dogras , Assam Rifles …. Apart from the fighting soldier I see that even army clerks , cooks , barbers and sweepers picked up the gun , fought and died on the battlefield . It is deeply moving . I try to remember what the ‘62 War meant to a 10 year old schoolboy then . It was not the humiliation of defeat but the heroism of our soldiers that had captured the imagination of my generation . I recall penning a poem in honour of Major Shaitan Singh who single handedly faced a horde of Chinese at Rezang La in the Ladakh sector and eliminated several of them before being killed . He was awarded the Param Vir Chakra , India’s highest military honour for valour . To a young mind the very name Shaitan Singh was evocative of a devil may care attitude while facing the enemy . Sadly the poem has been lost in the passage of time . We spend the evening with the young civilian officers of the central government organisation which monitors this highly sensitive area . They live by the river , in wooden cottages dating back to the mid 60s and with the barest of amenities . I introduce them to a rustic , spicy Maharashtrian chicken curry cooked in the open on a wood fire . They say it’s great …..they are perhaps too polite to say otherwise !

While having breakfast at the Homestay , I hear shouts of “ Bharat Mata ki Jai” from the lone street of the township . I ask Sahil , one of the owners who has been taking good care of us , as to what was happening . He tells us that the the community is celebrating Gandhi Jayanti . He is holding a packet of samosas which have been distributed on the occasion and offers some to us . I have lost track of dates and it is indeed October 2nd today . It is touching that these simple people still celebrate the Mahatma’s birthday with genuine enthusiasm while the rest of the country looks forward to it only because it’s a holiday . Tipplers on the other hand complain because it’s a “Dry Day” with all liquor shops and bars closed .

We are now headed for our final destination . The scenery is breathtaking . We stop for a while at Namti Plains to pay homage to the soldiers who fought the Battle of Walong . The only evidence of the great battle fought here is a small memorial with a plaque and some shrapnel found at the site . The beautiful vistas of pine clad mountain slopes , the verdant plains stretching forwards from the memorial and the absolute tranquility provide no clue to what must have happened here 59 years ago – the thunder of guns and the cries of dying men . We move on and about an hour later arrive at the village of Kaho . It is the easternmost village of India with just over a dozen or so households and the road ends here . It is here that the sun rises first – an hour and thirty minutes ahead of Mumbai . The Line of Actual Control or LAC here runs over mountain ridges and is clearly discernible , although disputed in part by the Chinese . (The LAC here as in the rest of Arunachal , broadly follows the McMahon Line agreed to between India and Tibet in 1914 but not recognised by the Chinese). The Chinese side of the border looks deceptively close and their military establishment can be seen quite clearly through binoculars . The tri – junction between India , China and Myanmar is just a few kilometres to the south east but there is no connecting road to it from anywhere , just trekking paths . We walk to the bridge over the small river at the end of the village . Only authorized persons from the armed forces can cross over and we have to be content with taking pictures . This has been the goal of my journey and here I am ….finally !!!

The ‘62 War was a national tragedy and a slap in the face for the Indian establishment . So were the appropriate lessons learnt ? Our troops are certainly much better prepared and equipped . If Chinese guns speak again or if their hordes attack , they will be given a befitting reply . I recall the words on the plaque at the Namti Plains Memorial : “Walong will never fall again”. Infrastructure and communications in the border areas have improved to an extent but a lot of work lies ahead . Road conditions can be a challenge , particularly during the monsoons . Our railways terminate at Tinsukia , about 350 kilometres from the border beyond Walong , while the Chinese have extended their bullet train upto Nyingchi , not far from their border with North Arunachal . While the landing strip at Walong can accommodate only small military aircraft , the Chinese reportedly have large airfields proximate to the border . I am told that their drones , capable of operating at high altitude , regularly hover over Walong . I am not told if ours go across too . But I hope they do . Hopefully Chinese incursions over the years , the fairly recent bloody confrontation in Ladakh and their behaviour in general has enabled our policy makers to see China for what is has always been – not a benign neighbour but an aggressive , hostile and expansionist power looking to redraw its boundaries with India .

We are now back in Walong . And the next morning we are on our way home . We camp for a night at the Border Roads Organisation (BRO) Officers Mess at Hayuliang . The attendant on duty is Sumeet , an Assamese of Nepali origin . He was working in Mumbai for 6 years before he lost his job to the pandemic and had to return home . He was , however , able to get employment with BRO which pays better than the Mumbai job . He is also happy that he is now much closer to his home in Assam and hopes that he will be made permanent in the job which will entitle him to a life long pension . Coming out of the pandemic , Sumeet’s story is a rare one with a happy ending .

On the road from Hayuliang the following day , we find ourselves stuck along with other vehicles at a sharp hairpin bend with an unusually steep gradient , made more difficult by slush caused by rain . Despite several attempts the Innova fails to negotiate the obstacle and I fear we may have to spend the night in the vehicle in the middle of nowhere . A truck driver , also in a similar predicament , suggests that the car may be able to make it if greater weight is put on the rear wheels . And so he and his pal climb into the luggage compartment . The jugaad works and we heave a sigh of relief after being held up for over an hour . Our benefactor suggests “ kuch chai pani ke vaste “ …meaning a tip . We are quite happy to oblige and make our way to Dibrugarh via Tezu and the longest bridge in India , the 9.15 km Dhola-Sadiya bridge over the Lohit . The turbulent , fast flowing Lohit that accompanied us from the mountains , is now a vast , calm mass of water here in the plains . Opened in 2017 , the bridge connects North Assam with Eastern Arunachal and is a vital security asset for movement of tanks and other heavy military equipment to the border areas .

We are now at Dibrugarh airport waiting to take the flight back home . It has been a truly memorable trip .

Shashishekhar Gavai

You are in lockdown within the safe confines of your home . Like the best laid plans of mice and men , yours too have come to naught – sabotaged not by some mighty force but by invisible , microscopic creatures . Your peregrinatory agenda on hold , you try to make the best of a bad situation by more intensive pursuit of your hobbies , discovering in the process yet one more path to butter chicken or mutton biryani . Your desire to travel put paid by your forced confinement , you draw up a list of places to go as soon as the shackles are removed . Your frustrated wanderlust even conjures up dreams about them . But there is also the sobering thought that you are lucky to be home and not stranded in some remote – or even not so remote place , with no means of getting back .

And that brings forth other sobering thoughts about the only travellers these days . Theirs is a trek as arduous as any expedition to himalayan peaks or through the burning sands of the Sahara . And they have undertaken it under conditions which would challenge even the most intrepid of explorers . The migrant workers are heading for home hundreds of kilometres away in Madhya Pradesh , Rajasthan , Uttar Pradesh, Bihar , Bengal ….. Their travel is without hope , motivated by utter helplessness . They travel not to a better life but to be refugees in their own home without any means of livelihood . This is what they had escaped from and they will be back where they started . They are travellers without choice , the victims of callous employers and an uncaring state . They are nobody’s people who will be somebody’s votebank come election time , to be forgotten again . They travel in groups , many with families , even infants . They are packed like sardines in containers , in open trucks , in auto rickshaws , on motorbikes , on bicycles and many even on foot . Social Distancing is a meaningless term here. You wonder how they will reach their destinations .You try to imagine you are one of them , walking with them . It’s a frightening thought . The cops speak with lathis ; the summer heat is killing ; many walk in chappals with bundles and suitcases on their heads ; and food and water are not easy to come by . Some will perish from dehydration , others from exhaustion and yet more will be victims of accidents . A few will rest their scarred and wearied bodies on railway tracks in the mistaken belief that no train will come by ………!

Are we really a modern state or a medieval kingdom ? …. you wonder . Is this a 21st century democratic republic or the 14th century autocratic Sultanate of Muhammad bin Tughlaq where the entire citizenry of Delhi was forced to trek to the new capital of Daulatabad 1300 kilometres to the south with thousands perishing on the way ? You imagine your foreign friends asking you if this is the way the presumptive Vishwaguru treats its children . Your mind squirms with embarrassment at the thought . You are ashamed for your country . We could have have done the right thing by these unfortunates . We have done it before , about fifty years back . With a war on its hands and far less resources the nation took care of far more people in distress – 10 million refugees fleeing Pakistani atrocities in erstwhile east Pakistan .

You reflect upon your own travels . The inconveniences and irritants you experienced – be it the absence of food of your choice in Gujarat , or the summary denial of your hotel booking in Sundarban in Bengal or the general state of affairs in Bihar – all seem trivial . You are ashamed of your bellyaching . The poignancy of the images of your fellow travellers is heartbreaking even if your journey with them is only of the mind . So you let them trudge on while you fade out but the images will persist and their mute eloquence will need no captions .

Eighty years ago American author and Nobel laureate John Steinbeck published ‘ Grapes of Wrath ‘ – a moving tale about the plight of migrant workers during the Great Depression . The following extract speaks for itself : ” I see hundreds of men come by on the road an’ on the ranches , with bindles on their back an’ the same damn thing on their heads ….every damn one of ’em got a little piece of lan’ in his head . An’ never a God damn one ever gets it . Just like heaven . Ever’body wants a little piece of lan’. I read plenty of books out here . Nobody ever gets to heaven and an’ nobody gets no lan’ .” Steinbeck’s book was suppressed on several occasions by the establishment precisely because it told the bitter truth . It’s a familiar story !

Shashishekhar Gavai

The three hour drive from Aurangabad airport to Lonar takes you through the Marathwada countryside and then into Buldhana district of Vidarbha . On the way are fields of jowar , gram and cotton and well manicured vineyards growing quality table grapes . As I enter Lonar I do not recognize the village I had seen in the mid 70s . It is today a town of 20 ,000 souls with a bustling main street full of shops . The only place you could stay forty years ago was a small , cosy government rest house built during the Raj , perched on the rim of the crater with a spectacular view of the lake below . It now lies abandoned and dilapidated with its tiled roof misshapen and hanging precariously from the rafters . I am sorry to see it in this state . The town has a few hotels which do not look very promising but a couple of hundred metres from the crater , on a hillock , is the resort of the Maharashtra tourism department where I am staying . The accomodation is clean and comfortable and the restaurant serves food that is edible , although the menu is limited . But with a bit of prodding the cook is capable of rustling up some excellent local delicacies .

The man squats close to the mouth of the cave fastening a length of leather thong around a flat , sharp piece of flint held in the cleft of a stick . He would have to venture out into the forest soon . A short distance away his woman turns their last bit of venison from the tribal hunt two days ago , over embers of a dying fire . If the tribe fails to find a kill tonight , she and the other women would have to forage for berries and roots tomorrow . Her six year old girl child chews on a piece of bone with a bit of fat on it as she plays with some sticks and pebbles not far from the mother . All of a sudden the girl cries out and points animatedly to the darkening sky . Others of the tribe have also seen it and shouts and cries emanate from the neighbourhood as a large shining object zooms across the skies and strikes ground with a blinding flash . The earth trembles , there is a deafening explosion and a mountain of dust rises high . The humans spellbound by this cosmic drama , now run desperately for shelter inside their caves as the debris flies in their direction . Many don’t survive but the few who do , including the little girl , will tell their children and grandchildren of the day the gods decided to punish them by sending a huge thunderbolt from the skies . A scene from a Hollywood Sci Fi thriller ? Minus the stone age characters this is conceivably what may have happened at Lonar over 50,000 years ago . If any of our Palaeolithic ancestors did witness the event , it would have seemed like the end of the world to them , an apocalypse .

The Lonar crater with its lake is a unique geological heritage . It is the largest of the four hyper velocity impact craters in the world ( the rest are in Brazil ) It was formed as the result of an asteroid strike over 50,000 years ago . The two million ton asteroid hit the earth at an angle at the tremendous speed of 90,000 kilometres an hour creating the massive crater almost perfectly oval in shape , eight kilometres in circumference and 180 metres deep . The crater and its lake find mention in the ancient Puranas and pilgrims have visited its temples for centuries . Its many minerals were also a source of income for the state . The Ain e Akbari written by Emperor Akbar’s court historian Abul Fazl records that the crater supplied all the ingredients for producing soap and glass and the saltpetre works yielded considerable revenues for the state . It was the British who carried out detailed explorations and scientific studies in the 19th and early 20th centuries establishing the origin and nature of the crater .

At the head of the stone steps which take you into the crater is the Gomukh temple . At the centre of the temple complex a fresh water spring collects in a tank considered holy by the devout . A small group is enjoying a dip in the tank while a family of four dries itself outside . They come from a town a hundred kilometres away . I seek the father’s opinion on the origins of the crater . According to him the crater was the den of the demon Lonasur . Lord Vishnu broke open the lid and slew the demon hiding inside . I suggest the more mundane scientific explanation . He smiles and shakes his head – kind of ‘I rest my case’.

The lake at the bottom of the crater , formed over several thousand years , has a circumference of 4.8 kilometres . The water is said to be seven times as saline as sea water , somewhat less than the Dead Sea between Israel , Jordan and Paletine which scores a ten . But like the Dead Sea you could probably float on its waters if you were permitted the adventure . An unusual feature of the lake water is that it is saline in the outer section and alkaline at the centre. Also it contains a number of micro organisms that are unique to it . As you circumambulate the lake you have forests on one side and some ancient temples mostly in ruin close to the banks . The most prominent of these , and in relatively good shape , is the Kamalja Devi temple where pilgrims congregate yearly for a religious festival . ( But the largest temple , and archeologically the most interesting , is the Daitya Sudan temple in Lonar town itself . Dedicated to Vishnu , the temple was built over a thousand years ago in the Hemadpanthi style during the Chalukyan period . It has interesting sculptures resembling those in Khajuraho and is well worth a visit )

What has survived for over 50 millenia , the past few decades threaten to destroy . Deforestation through illegal felling of trees , indiscriminte construction activity , pollution caused by modern agricultural methods and the pressures from the booming town population have all posed an existential threat to the delicate eco system of the crater , the lake and the flora and fauna . While it has been granted the protection of a wildlife sanctuary a few years ago , a lot more clearly needs to be done .

As I leave behind ground zero of a cataclysmic event of extra terrestrial origin from the distant past , little do I know that just a few days ahead lies a man made apocalypse of global proportions , the Chinese Virus – or COVID 19 if one prefers euphemisms . A comparison would drive home the brutal truth that nothing that nature or space hits us with can match the disasters we inflict upon ourselves .

Shashishekhar Gavai

Aurangabad in Maharashtra is home to two great archaeological wonders of ancient India , Ajanta and Ellora , both UNESCO World Heritage sites . These overshadow other monuments in the district which are significant by themselves . The most spectacular of these , and historically important , is the fort of Daulatabad , about 15 kilometres from the city of Aurangabad .

The fort of Devagiri was built by the Yadava king Bhillana V in 1187 CE on a 200 metres high hill . It was captured by the eunuch Malik Kafur the brilliant general of Sultan Allauddin Khilji ( of Padmawat fame ) in 1308 CE . In 1325 CE Muhammad bin Tughlaq ascended the throne of Delhi . He was a mixture of opposites – brilliant , learned and cultured on the one hand and cruel and capricious to the extreme on the other . His radical reforms included incentives for cultivation of fallow land and high value crops , a token currency to replace gold and silver coins and relocation of the capital of the empire from Delhi to Devagiri (which he renamed Daulatabad ). But his unstable character bordering on insanity ensured the failure of them all .

In 1328 CE Muhammad initiated the moving of the capital , on the face of it a rational decision . Delhi was vulnerable to invasions from the north ( as would become evident time and again in the future ) whereas Daulatabad around the centre of the empire and reinforced by a formidable fort , was strategically much more secure . But his madness ruined the venture. He forced the citizens of Delhi to move to Daulatabad , a forty days march , inflicting untold misery upon them , with many dying on the road . According to a story , surely apocryphal , one blind and reluctant gentleman was literally dragged all the way and all that arrived of him at Daulatabad was a leg . Muhammad’s new capital of Daulatabad is said to have rivalled Delhi in size and population . But the deranged and unpredictable Sultan was incapable of sustaining such a huge undertaking and he moved the capital back to Delhi eight years later . The move from Delhi to Daulatabad did however produce an unintended culinary bonus . Some inventive cooks accompanying Muhammad’s troops created for them a fluffy ‘naan’ brushed with turmeric and jaggery water for a long shelf life together with ‘Qalia’ a slowly cooked , spicy , yoghurt based , oil rich meat curry as the accompaniment . These signature dishes are even today served by the Muslim community in Aurangabad at weddings and other functions.

His empire disintegrating around him Muhammad bin Tughlaq died in Sindh in 1351 CE . The medieval historian Badayuni wrote caustically that Muhammad’s death liberated him from his people and his people from him . Could the history of India have been different had Muhammad been more capable and mentally stable and had Daulatabad remained the capital of the empire with strong and competent rulers at the helm ? Would Babar in 1526 CE have taken the risk to venture another 1300 kilometres into the heart of India to take on the Sultanate and its intimidating fort ? If not the Mughals may never have ruled over India . One can go on speculating endlessly …………..

Following the decline of the Delhi Sultanate , Daulatabad fell to the Bahamani Sultanate of the Deccan . The latter broke up into five successor principalities and Daulatabad became part of the Nizam Shahi sultanate of Ahmednagar . In the 17th century , during Shahjehan’s reign , the Mughals captured it . Successive conquerors embellished Daulatabad and added to the fortifications according to their requirement or fancy . A fort is invincible only until the next time it is conquered . And so it was with Daulatabad . Yet it was a formidable fort and I can see why as I make my way through it .

The outer wall of Daulatabad is almost 4.5 kilometres in circumference . Between this and the base of the fort are three defensive walls . Within them are a number of significant structures including the 200 feet Chand Minar erected in 1445 CE by the Bahmani sultan Allauddin to commemorate his capture of the city and the Chini Mahal , once a handsome building but now in ruin . As you go up the hill fort you you encounter a complex arrangement of true gates , false gates , a maze , tunnels , curved passages and a moat at the foot of a sheer cliff – all designed to confuse and trap the invader . And near the top an iron grating was placed over an entranceway where a large fire was lit to guarantee a ‘warm’ welcome to the enemy . Large cannons were placed at strategic points to bombard enemy positions below . Daulatabad was unique among Indian forts with its multiple and varied defensive and offensive systems .

After a strenuous climb I retrace my path downwards , stopping midway to catch my breath . It’s a Saturday and groups of children on a school trip are on their way up . They stop for a breather too and I strike conversation in Marathi with a girl in school uniform who seats herself on the stone platform near me . She is nine and in class III of primary school . I ask her if she’s enjoying the trip . She shakes her head and says it’s too hot and there are too many steps to climb . I recall my own childhood visit to Daulatabad with my parents ages ago and empathize with the girl – my mother had kept prodding me to keep climbing much against my will . I amuse myself with the thought that my feelings then must have been similar to that of the blind man who was dragged from Delhi to Daulatabad on Muhammad bin Tughlaq’s orders . The school teacher calls out to his flock to reassemble . The girl gets to her feet reluctantly and joins her friends .

Khuldabad is a short drive away , about midway between Daulatabad and Ellora with roadside vendors selling figs and guavas grown in the neighbourhood . Khuldabad has several monuments , the most important being Aurangzeb’s tomb . The emperor had died in Ahmadnagar in 1707 CE at the age of 89 . He had wished to be buried , in absolute simplicity , at Khuldabad near the tomb of a muslim saint he revered . Religious zealot though he may have been , Aurangzeb had at least one endearing attribute – his genuine asceticism in life and in death . Despite the unimaginable riches at his disposal his personal expenses were met from the sale of the caps that he stitched and the copies of the Quran that he wrote in his own hand . Yet is not easy to comprehend that this is indeed the final resting place of the last great mughal emperor , the richest man in the world of his time . The grave is open to the skies , covered only with soil , a lone ‘sabja’ plant growing on it . It is in a courtyard which until the early 20th century was shorn of any ornamentation . George Curzon , Viceroy of India and a great patron of its archaeological monuments , felt that Aurangzeb deserved better and had marble flooring laid and carved ‘jaalis’ erected around the tomb .

Adjacent to the emperor’s tomb sits a muslim vendor of assorted items , antiques and old coins . He shows me coins going back from the Mughal era to the Chalukyan period about a thousand years ago . They have been discovered around Khuldabad . He names a reasonable price and I am tempted to buy but I am not a numismatist . The vendor complains that visitors are few and business slack due to fears created by NRC ( National Register of Citizens , a controversial proposal of the central government which many fear could unfairly target the Muslim community and also cause harassment to the common man ) . I do not see the connection between decline in the number of tourists and NRC but the anxiety of the man over the proposed measure is palpable . His family has lived in Khuldabad for generations and surely deserves to be spared the insecurity that NRC has generated .

Aurangzeb had spent the last twenty six years of his life , just over half his long reign , in the Deccan fighting a relentless war with the Marathas and other adversaries . His victories were pyrrhic and any territorial gains were offset by losses elsewhere . His wars had drained the finances of the empire , which though larger in area than under any of his predecessors, was crumbling from the inside . Indeed within just a few years of Aurangzeb’s death the great Mughal empire would be in terminal decline . A principal cause had been the rulers religious intolerance which exacerbated the religious divide , alienating large sections of his subjects and sparking off rebellions impossible to douse . This is indeed a valuable lesson from history which should not be lost on us present day Indians . A sobering thought as I exit the monument to return to Aurangabad .

Shashishekhar Gavai

Patna airport evokes nostalgia . It reminds me of airports in tier II cities in India 30 years ago or more with all their squalor and chaos . This airport would make a good set for a retro Bollywood film , I think . There is also a rather ominous government notice , prominently displayed , warning incoming passengers about the dire consequences of bringing alcohol into the strictly ‘dry’ state of Bihar.

As I am being driven to my destination I quiz Mukesh the driver on how prohibition works in his state . He laughs telling me that there is no problem at all getting hold of the stuff , it’s just more expensive than before . Liquor is lucrative business now for gangs and entrepreneurial individuals who smuggle it in from neighbouring states . The constabulary is of course in cahoots . If the cops catch you bringing in a consignment they keep half and release the rest in the true spirit ( pun unintended ) of live and let live . But woe betide the poor if caught trying to drown the sorrows of their miserable lives in a glass of spirits – they are marched off to prison . There are as many as 200,000 such cases pending in courts and several thousand imbibers languish in jail awaiting bail . And this is only one aspect of the problem – the desperately poor state can ill afford to lose the considerable revenues , so vital for development , that would have accrued from taxes on liquor had it not embarked on the quixotic quest for the impossible .

As I reach the town of Gaya the traffic comes to a standstill – and then starts moving at snail’s pace . 30 minutes is what it takes to cover a distance of about 300 metres to reach a tri junction where all modes of transportation try to hustle their way through utter chaos without much success , while the air is dead with diesel fumes and alive with the cacophony of horns . My attention is drawn to the street corner where stand a group of four or five traffic cops seemingly oblivious of the mayhem around them . A couple of them have ears clamped to mobile phones while the others nonchalantly ruminate on paan . And behind them is a police post where a custodian of the law sits at a desk wearing slippers , khaki uniform trousers and a dirty vest . None of the public caught in the traffic jam ask these worthies to do their duty . Nor do I ! After all I am only an outsider . One of India’s better performing chief ministers has been quoted as saying that Indians are a first class people with third class governance . But can first class people absolve themselves of the responsibility for the third class governance they are subjected to if they do not rise against it ? Incidentally that Gaya tri junction was the only place where I saw police presence during my travel in Bihar over a couple of days – The Force is perhaps fully occupied with enforcing prohibition at the borders and other disreputable places . But I have digressed enough !

I have reached Rajgir about ninety kilometres south of Patna . It has a few mediocre hotels and I have checked into one of them – Diamond Inn . Any diamond like qualities that it may possess elude me , except perhaps the hardness of the bed . Rajgir is a non descript town which belies its glorious past – Rajgriha of ancient India was a major centre of religion , political power and learning . Mahavir , the founder of Jainism , spent several years here and the vicinity is home to many Jain monuments and holy places including Pavapuri . Buddha too preached here and his first royal disciple was King Bimbisara of Magadha whose capital was Rajgriha . The king was deposed by his son Ajatashatru and imprisoned . I visit the site of the royal jail , the only indicator of which is a recently constructed wall which marks its borders . It is said that Buddha frequently walked up the hill , which is visible from the prison site , to preach to his disciples while Bimbisara would pay homage from a distance from his place of confinement . Given its association with Buddha , Rajgir also has many Buddhist monuments in close proximity . The First Buddhist Council was held in the Sattapani caves around 400 BCE following the death of Buddha . There is also the Stupa said to have been built by Emperor Ashok in the 3rd century BCE .

A short drive from Rajgir is Nalanda , site of the eponymous university . Nalanda and the considerably older Taxila near today’s Islamabad were the Oxbridge of ancient India . It’s raining as I enter the UNESCO World Heritage site . There are just about a dozen other visitors . Nalanda Mahavihara was established in the 5th century by Emperor Kumaragupta of the Gupta dynasty as a Buddhist centre of learning . Though Hindus themselves , the Guptas also supported the Buddhist and Jain religions . Nalanda , like Oxford which came into being more than 600 years later , was primarily a university of religion but also taught subjects like grammar , classical literature , logic , astronomy , medicine and Samkhya , a rationalist school of Indian philosophy . The famous Chinese Buddhist pilgrim Xuanzang who visited Nalanda twice and spent some years here in the 7th century during the reign of Emperor Harshavardhan , has left detailed accounts of the university .

Xuanzang describes a brick wall enclosing the complex , within which are located a great college and eight other halls of learning . According to him Nalanda had 1500 teachers on its rolls ( the number of students would correspondingly have run into thousands ) Nalanda’s reputation as a great centre of learning transcended the borders of India . Student-monks and scholars came from China , Korea and Sri Lanka . The Sri Vijaya empire of Indonesia built its own monastery here . Nalanda’s library was said to have a million manuscripts .The original structures of the Gupta period were later overlaid by new construction by the Pala empire from the 9th century , but some portions uncovered during excavations undertaken by the Archaeological Survey of India since the 19th century can still be seen. These excavations have unearthed 11 monasteries and 6 temples on a 30 acre site . The university during its existence , however , occupied much larger ground which today lies under the neighbouring town and so further excavations may not be possible .

I walk around the hallowed grounds of this ancient temple of learning , immersing myself in its magic and imagining saffron-clad monks hurrying to their classes 1500 years ago . My guide then brings me back to present times , telling me about a Bollywood hit song that was shot here . I recall the film from my college days with the Evergreen Hero wooing the Dream Girl on the walls of Nalanda . I conclude the tour with a visit to the museum which has interesting artefacts recovered from the ruins of Nalanda .

Nalanda went into gradual decline in the post Gupta period . The Pala kings from the 9th century tried to restore its eminence but only with limited success . So they established another university at Vikramshila , about 250 kilometres east from Nalanda , which also became an institution of excellence . And then catastrophe struck in the form of Bakhtiyar Khalji . A general formerly in the service of Kutb ud din Aibak of the first Slave dynasty in Delhi , Khalji had carved an independent principality for himself in Bihar and Bengal by the end of the 12th century . Around then he attacked Nalanda and destroyed as much of it as he could . The faculty and students were massacred and the library with its precious manuscripts was burnt down . The fire continued to smoulder for 3 months , it is said . A centuries old beacon of knowledge and learning had been extinguished . The university at Vikramshila also suffered the same fate at the hands of Bakhtiyar Khalji .

Not far from the ruins of the ancient university an effort is being made to resurrect it . Nalanda International University was established by an act of the Indian Parliament in 2006 as a research oriented institution . It started functioning in 2014 . It’s new campus is expected to be ready soon .

I am back at Patna airport with its crumbling infrastructure and stifling spaces . As I eagerly await the boarding call I review my recent travel in Bihar . It was here in the space occupied by modern Bihar that two great religions were born . This was also the ‘karmabhoomi’ of their two great founders Buddha and Mahavir who preached from here their message of compassion and non violence . This land was the centre of two of India’ s greatest empires under outstanding rulers – Ashok of the Mauryas , whose vision was centuries ahead of his times and the Guptas who gave India its golden age . It was here that two of the greatest centres of learning that the ancient world has known were established and continued to impart knowledge for centuries . And so Bihar’s evolution to its present state is truly one of the great ironies of history …. indeed its tragedy .

Shashishekhar Gavai

South Konkan correponds geographically to the area covered by the Sindhudurg district of Maharashtra bordering Goa . The town of Vengurla is just north of Goa , a 2 1/2 hour drive from Dabolim airport . As you leave Goa and enter Konkan the traffic thins out and the vegetation thickens . Your drive takes you through swaying coconut palms , crossing densely wooded backwaters , sparsely populated villages and sleepy towns . On the serpentine hilly road a little further , the Arabian Sea reveals itself in bursts through afforested undulations . And invisible from the road are a string of unspoilt ,uncrowded beaches stretched all along the Konkan coast.

Vengurla is an old harbour with a lighthouse on a hillock above its entrance . The area around the jetties becomes an impromptu fish market as the fishing boats dock with their catch . I am staying in a village some distance from the town . It’s a cottage on the side of a hill , directly above a secluded beach . On a clear day with the help of a pair of binoculars you may spot dolphins engaged in their daily round of acrobatics . During high tide the beach provides an inlet to the waters of the sea into a lovely lagoon ringed with coconut palms , mangroves and wooded hills . And the sunset is just spectacular.

India is an intensely religious country and a polytheistic one . Indians celebrate their country ‘s wonderful diversity by not confining themselves to a single object of devotion – hence the 33 crore gods and goddesses . Come to Konkan to understand how this works . Every village here has its own special deity to which its main temple is dedicated ( Vengurla being a town has as many as eight gods ) . I walk to the temple of the deity Khavaneshwar not far from my cottage . The idol appears to be an ancient one , probably a Buddha statue discovered in the vicinity . The priest is from the village and is dressed in shorts and a shirt – not the priestly attire you expect to see in temples . He offers his prayers to the deity in the language of the people of the village , not in an abstruse tongue unintelligible to the village folk . All of this makes eminent sense to me .

I am headed towards the fort of Vijaydurg about a hundred kilometres from where I am staying . En route I cross Malvan , a town popular with the tourist for its beaches , resorts , several homestays and countless eateries . “Malvani ” is now also the generic term for the delicious but underrated Konkani cuisine . Konkan is mango , cashew , coconut and seafood country – all of which are abundant here . A few kilometres short of Vijaydurg is Devgad . The area around here produces the very best of the king of fruits , the Alphonso or Hapus mango. The Devgad Hapus is mainly exported and commands the highest price . It’s still January , the mango season is a couple of months away and regrettably I will miss out on this delectable fruit in its home .

Vijaydurg is the oldest sea fort in India . Built around 1200 CE by King Bhoj of the Shilahara dynasty , Gheria fort as it was then known , was captured by the great Maratha king Shivaji in 1653 from Adil Shah of Bijapur . Shivaji restructured and extended the fort substantially , renaming it Vijaydurg . It became a major base for Maratha ships . The fort was virtually unconquerable and I can see why as I walk its ramparts . The 17 acre fort was earlier surrounded by the sea on all sides and its massive walls rise vertically from the sea . At regular intervals are strategically angled loopholes to greet any wall-scaling invader with arrows , fire and brimstone .

With the decline in power of Shivaji’s successors the Marathas became a confederacy owing nominal allegiance to the king in Satara . Its de facto ruler was the Peshwa , the king’s prime minister , with considerable autonomy enjoyed by local chieftains and warlords . One of the latter , Kanhoji Angre , adventurer and brilliant sailor , established his dominance over the Konkan coast . He gained control over several sea forts and the position of admiral of the Maratha navy or Sarkhel following an agreement with the king in Satara and the Peshwa in Pune . Earlier the relationship had been marked by suspicion , even hostility . It was a marriage of convenience .The Marathas were vulnerable on the coast – confronted by the Portuguese on their southern flank in Goa , further north by the Siddi of Janjira , an ally of the Mughals and the growing power of the East India Company with their base in Bombay . They needed a powerful maritime force which Angre provided , while Angre gained legitimacy through the supreme naval title which the Maratha king bestowed upon him . The Marathas couldn’t have done better. Kanhoji Angre during his long career at sea holds the unique distinction of having won every single battle of the many he fought with the enemy – be it English , Portuguese , Dutch or the Siddi of Janjira . Three of these battles were fought at Vijaydurg . It is therefore hardly surprising that Admiral Kanhoji Angre is the Indian Navy’s principal icon – its western headquarters in Mumbai is named after him .

Angre’s sons , legitimate and illegitimate , succeeded him after his death in 1729 . Some of them were competent but none possessed the father’s genius and they steadily lost power , possessions , prestige and the patronage of the Peshwa . In 1756 a large British naval force assisted by the Peshwa’s troops attacked Vijaydurg , by now the only fort in the possession of Tulaji , Kanhoji Angre’s illegitimate son . Tulaji’s ships were destroyed and Vijaydurg fell to the English . This marked the end of Maratha naval power and Britannia now ruled the waves . Ironically the Peshwa had actively helped in achieving the transition . Interestingly also , a young officer Lieutenant Colonel Clive commanded a contingent of East India Company troops during the battle of Vijaydurg – the very same Robert Clive who subsequently laid the foundations of the British empire in India .

As I exit the fort a man standing in the strong afternoon sun with a photo album approaches . Abhay Parab B Sc ( name changed ) is promoting his wife’s restaurant close to the fort and which I have noticed on the way in . Apart from mouth watering photographs of food , the album also has one of Mr and Mrs Parab in the kitchen . The latter is seen as a large , formidable woman holding a rolling pin somewhat threateningly – or so it appears to me . The husband urges me to visit his restaurant with the guarantee that there will be no charge if I do not approve of the food . It’s lunchtime so I stop at the restaurant and order a vegetarian thali . I pay for the meal . The food is good but even if it weren’t , the image of the tough-looking lady proprietor with her rolling pin is incentive enough to cough up rather than invoking her husband’s guarantee .

My final destination is the eponymous capital of the erstwhile princely state of Sawantwadi . This minor Maratha principality was ruled by the Sawant Bhosale dynasty until its accession to the Indian Republic . Sawantwadi is a small , quaint town with the palace of its former rulers overlooking the picturesque Moti Lake . The palace has a museum and an outlet for local handicrafts which are open to visitors . Colourful handmade wooden toys are a speciality of Sawantwadi and are worth a look . Then there is Bhalekar Khanaval , a wildly popular eating place offering a range of seafood delicacies . I try the whole fried crab . Consuming this crustacean is messy business but at Bhalekar’s it is well worth the effort .

Goa is of course on everyone’s radar , a well worn destination for the domestic a well as the foreign tourist . Its beaches are nice if somewhat overcrowded . Its food is interesting if a tad overhyped . (There is of course no quarrel with its plentiful and cheap booze) So if you feel a bit jaded by the overfamiliar charms of Goa and its hordes of tourists , consider heading just a bit up north – to South Konkan .

Shashishekhar Gavai

Angkor lies in Cambodia which is separated from India by 2000 kilometres and 2 countries , Myanmar and Thailand . No Indian conqueror has ever stepped on its territory . Yet there is an essence of India here , a strong cultural influence that goes back almost two millenia , a civilisational link that extends off the beaten track .

Siem Reap is a short fifty minute flight from Bangkok , the most convenient transit point from India . It is a compact , efficient airport and the visa on arrival facility for Indians and others is expeditious as are the immigration and customs formalities . There is a foreign exchange counter here but the US dollar is the preferred currency for transactions by foreign tourists . Prices are quoted in dollars and the Cambodian Riel is encountered only when small change is tendered by a vendor.

My hotel is comfortable and well located . A Tuk Tuk , a four seater contraption attached to a motorcycle , takes me from the hotel to Angkor , a short drive of about twenty minutes if you went directly . But on the way , or rather a few kilometres out of the way , entrance tickets have to be bought from a ticket office in a shopping plaza .The guide explains later that the plaza is owned by the family of a prominent politician , now deceased . The reason behind the longish detour is a little clearer .

According to ancient Chinese texts corroborated by other sources , the kingdom of Funan was established around the 1st century by Candana or Kaundinya , a traveller from India , with Hinduism as the religion and Sanskrit as the official language . Indians were also employed by the Funan kings on administrative posts . The kingdom had extensive links with the Chola and Pallava empires in India . It was in the 9th century that the Shaivite king Yasovarman I started building Yashodharapura some distance away from Funan . It came to be known as Angkor , derived from the Sanskrit ‘nagara’ which of course means city . The core of Angkor is spread over about 200 square kilometres and houses its most impressive monuments which are either in ruin or have been restored . Much of the area around them has been reclaimed by the jungle over centuries of its abandonment . There is also archaeological evidence that the expanse of the city including its suburban sprawl may have covered as much as a thousand square kilometres with good infrastructure including efficient irrigation systems .

With my guide Teddy I stand before the most spectacular of the Angkor monuments – Angkor Wat . Built in the 12th century by the Vaishnavite king Suryavarvan II , the temple is dedicated to Vishnu . It was also the king’s personal mausoleum . It is not difficult to see why Angkor Wat is not only the largest hindu temple in the world , but is also the largest single religious monument anywhere. Indeed ,French explorer Henri Mouhot who is credited with the rediscovery of Angkor Wat in the mid 19th century wrote : “ …it is grander than anything left to us by Greece or Rome”. And so it is .

As you walk over the causeway across the moat towards the main temple , the various stages of the monument unfold like petals of a gigantic flower . The moat which encircles the monument is over 5 kilometres long . There is then the outer wall which runs for 3.6 kilometres enclosing the massive 400 acre temple complex . Within the wall are three rectangular galleries each raised above the other . You find here exquisite bas reliefs depicting stories from the Ramayana , the Mahabharata and the Puranas . And finally you are at the breathtaking ‘Temple Mountain’ with its five iconic towers representing Mount Meru the centre of all universes . It is today a symbol of Cambodia and appears on its national flag . Angkor Wat is truly a wonder of the world .

Angkor Wat is of course the most magnificent of all the monuments at Angkor. But what is most remarkable about this ancient city is the fact that several other structures here can be listed as world class monuments . This is evident as you move on to Ta Prohm a short distance away and then to Angkor Thom .

Ta Prohm was built by King Jayavarman VII as a Buddhist temple in the final decades of the 12th century . With this monarch begins the Buddhist age of Angkor and of Cambodia which continues to date except for a very brief interlude .The jungle had taken over large parts of this temple and even today many trees sit over the ruins like huge reptiles . Hollywood action movie buffs ignorant of Angkor will easily identify Ta Prohm from the 2001 film Tomb Raider – an unremarkable production redeemed partially by Angkor and Angelina Jolie . The Archaeological Survey of India has carried out restoration work on Ta Prohm and appears to have done it well unlike its controversial involvement in the restoration of Angkor Wat .

Jayavarman VII built Angkor Thom in the early years of the 13th century as his new capital .At its centre sits the grand Bayon temple dedicated to Buddha .Its most distinctive feature are the stone faces of bodhisattvas that cast a benevolent eye on you from several towers . Apart from Bayon the Angkor Thom complex has at least a dozen other impressive monuments including ruins of the royal palace .

Angkor flourished from the 9th to the 15th century – about 500 years . At its peak the area may have supported a population of a million . Its end came in 1431 when the city was sacked by the Ayutthyan kingdom of Siam .The capital then shifted to present day Phnom Penh . Ayutthya itself was destroyed by the Burmese in 1767 and the capital of Siam was relocated to present day Bangkok . Poetic justice ….. ? Or the revenge of history ?

The National Museum in Siem Reap is well curated . The artefacts are carefully chosen and there is no clutter. It offers a chronological tour of Cambodia’s rich history and culture which the lay tourist would not find difficult to absorb . It is well worth a visit . And then there is the dark chapter in Cambodian history – the rule of the murderous Khmer Rouge in the 1970’s with their concentration camps and ‘killing fields’ . A small museum on the outskirts of Siem Reap and on the site of a killing field documents this tragic period . The remains of some child victims of the Khmer Rouge are also on display here . Edward Gibbon , the great 18th century historian , describes history as “ little more than the crimes , follies and misfortunes of mankind”.The Khmer Rouge in pursuit of their own brand of communism, succeeded in perpetrating the most horrific act of genocide in the latter half of the 20th century as the world watched mutely . To counter Vietnam , the Americans and the Chinese cynically backed the Khmer Rouge regime while it exterminated 1.5 million of its own people . The horror stopped only after the Vietnamese invaded and ousted the Khmer Rouge in 1979 .

Seeking some cheer after the rather depressing atmosphere of the museum I escape to the brightness of the tourist quarter of Siem Reap . It has all the trappings of a tourist haven – Bright lights , haggle – friendly shops selling garments , curios and leather goods , pubs with loud music , restaurants with food from across the world , massage parlours and vendors of ‘delicacies’ like dried locusts and even scorpions . I settle for a beer and sample a piece of grilled crocodile which I have never tasted before ……. and will never do so again . It tastes like rubbery chicken . But apart from the crocodile , the tourist quarter is a fun place . I even try the fish massage where little fish nibble at the dead tissue on your feet for a dollar . I admire the entrepreneurship of the proprietor – you let his fish feed on you and pay him for the privilege .

I leave Siem Reap with some regret – that I should have spent some more time here . The abundance and richness of these ancient monuments has to be savoured unhurriedly much like a table full of gourmet food . But I have been here before and I will come again .

Shashishekhar Gavai

A three hour drive from Nagpur over a well maintained highway brings you to the district headquarters of Amravati . From here your destination is two hours away. As the road winds its way up the hills the weather gets cooler and soon you are in Chikhaldara the only hill station of Vidarbha . It is at an altitude of about four thousand feet , a small town of about five thousand permanent residents and fifteen minutes is all that it takes to walk through the main town and its bazaar . I am staying at the government rest house which is well located with sprawling grounds and overlooking a thick forest . It has the added advantage of a good cook on its rolls . A visitor has a choice of accommodation in Chikhaldara . It has several hotels catering to different budgets . There are also many eating places offering the ubiquitous butter chicken and dal makhani but also the spicy curries of Vidarbha accompanied by jowar bhakri . The small bazaar has Korku tribal women selling fresh local produce and I purchase sweet and creamy sitaphal or custard apples at less than half Mumbai prices . Its a delicacy I cannot resist . Being relatively distant from major metros , visitors to Chikhaldara are mainly from neighbouring districts . For someone looking for peace and quiet this is a boon because there is no wild and reckless growth here unlike most other hill stations in India . Chikhaldara still retains enough of the old world charm.

Chikhaldara‘ s charms as a hill station were discovered by the English in the 1820 ‘s . But Bhim , hero of the great epic Mahabharata , was here first . If local legend is to be believed it was here that he killed the villainous Keechaka for trying to molest Draupadi . He threw Keechaka’s body in the valley below and washed the blood off in a water tank . Keechaka paid dearly for his crime but gained in return a place named after him – Keechakdhara , which became corrupted to Chikhaldara over time . The moral of the story being that if you are reckless enough to invite your own death make sure it is at the hands of a celebrity .

Apart from its salubrious climate Chikhaldara offers other attractions . The fort of Gawilgarh was built in the 15th century by Ahmad Shah I , the Bahmani sultan . Its walls run several kilometres along the hilly terrain and it dominated the surrounding region which gave it considerable strategic value . The fort changed ownership a few times until it fell into the hands of the Marathas following the demise of the Mughal empire in the 18th century. It was then still important enough to be besieged in 1803 by East India Company forces during the Second Maratha War under the command of Arthur Wellesley , known to later history as the Duke of Wellington , the man who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo . After pitched battles Wellesley’s forces captured Gawilgarh . The death score was East India Company -132 , Marathas – 1200 . This depressing story of disproportionate Indian war casualties versus English losses is a recurring one – from the Battle of Plassey in 1757 which gave the English a firm foothold in India to the great uprising of 1857 when they almost lost it . Not long after their victory , however , the English returned Gawilgarh to the defeated Marathas . The Marathas too abandoned the fort after some time .

The subsequent disdain of the English as well the Marathas for Gawilgarh appears to be shared by the Archaeological Survey of India which holds its charge today . This is quite evident as I trek precariously for over two kilometres through the fort , negotiating a poorly maintained track of rocks , crossing a couple of lakes with bathing buffaloes to reach the neglected and decaying Jami Masjid . Having got there in one piece I do not relish the prospect of struggling back over the same path but it has to be done .

The Melghat Tiger Reserve is another major attraction of Chikhaldara . Besides a fair number of the elusive tigers the reserve is home to bisons , leopards , bears , sambhar deer and other wildlife . The forest department controls the safaris which are conducted in Maruti gypsies with local guides . I was the only visitor that afternoon in the Semadoh section of the sanctuary and savoured the opportunity for solo communion with nature . The fact that I did not encounter any wildlife did not bother me . I knew they were there because I had seen enough of them during an earlier visit . I was more than happy just cruising through the dense forest interspersed with water bodies , the silence disturbed only by the sound of the car engine , an occasional bird call and gratuitous commentary by the guide .

Chikhaldara also boasts several ‘ Viewpoints ‘ like other hill stations . I visit two for the sake of record but what has really attracted my curiosity is the presence of a missionary station . A few kilometres from the town lies the Roman Catholic missionary community of Mariampur . Father Simon a soft spoken , unassuming priest from Kottayam , Kerala is in charge . He enlightens me about the history and the activities of the mission . It was founded by a French priest Ernest Thevenet in the 19th century who died in 1951 and is buried here . A school was established which today has five hundred students and a hostel for Korku tribal children . A coffee plantation thrived in the temperate climate providing livelihood to local tribals . Standing in front of his neat church Father Simon speaks sadly but without rancour of the withdrawal of government food subsidies to the hostel . He speaks with greater passion of the dwindling coffee production due to deforestation and climate change which has adversely affected employment in the plantation . Climate change deniers would do well to have a chat with Father Simon . He will explain to them why his mission grows coffee today on a mere seventy acres – a drastic decline in acreage from some years ago . Before I leave I am served a cup of coffee from the plantation . I also buy some . It’s good stuff – the Arabica variety , not Robusta which is reputed to taste like burnt rubber .

As I leave its cool climes for the heat and the dust of the plains it occurs to me that Chikhaldara will draw me to it again as it has in the past . It is certainly a great destination for those seeking a small , quiet hill station with forests , wildlife , some history and a hot cup of locally grown coffee as bonus .

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Shashishekhar Gavai

A 3 hour drive from Ahmedabad brought me to the town of Patan . Hotel Apple Residency had been booked online and was unbelievably priced for the facilities it claimed to offer . So on the way I had visions of a seedy , rundown affair and had wondered if I would have to abandon it and find shelter elsewhere . I was happy to have been proven wrong . I was escorted to a large , clean , airy suite with facilities one would associate with a more upscale establishment . And the service was prompt and efficient .

Those travelling in Gujarat know that a non vegetarian meal is not an easy find , particularly on the highway and even in many hotels . The farsan , the undhiu ,the kadhi ,the rotlis are all very nice at decent intervals but after two days of vegetarian fare , my carnivorous instincts resurfaced and I ventured into the muslim quarter of Patan in search of some animal protein . A brief exploration of the area brought me to Akbari Restaurant which looked like a family run affair with women ” manning ” the kitchen . This held the promise of something close to a home cooked meal and I wasn’t disappointed . The discreet red masala on the fried fish complimented it’s delicate flavour and a wholesome curry of tender mutton with chapaties made for a very satisfying main dish . Travellers who like a drink to precede their meal should note that the burden of being Mahatma Gandhi’s birthplace does not rest lightly on Gujarat . It doggedly continues with its insistence on being a ‘dry’ state – although my Gujarati friends who enjoy a tipple claim with some justification that the stuff that cheers flows in plentifully from neighbouring states and union territories .

The car engine rattled noisily as I was driven back to the hotel . I thought it was the fan belt but Pragnesh the owner-driver felt it was the 300,000 kilometres old engine that was in the process of packing up . This was certainly a cause for concern . A car cruising on the highway with an engine of that vintage was akin to an 80 year old woman running a marathon . I said so to Pragnesh who merely chuckled . But all was well the next morning . The culprit was indeed the fan belt and a mechanic had set it right . The old girl still had some juice left in her .

Patan is the original home of the renowned Patola ikat silk sari . It doesn’t come cheap as its manufacture by hand takes ages and production is limited . The Patola sari is said to have originated many centuries ago and was later even exported to Sumatra where it influenced local ikat designs – an early example of Make in India . But it is not the sari that has drawn me to Patan .

If you spare a moment to open your wallet and pull out a new hundred rupee note , you will be looking at Rani ki Vav on the reverse . A short fifteen minute drive from Patan brings me to this ancient stepwell or Vav , a UNESCO World Heritage site since 2014 . Stepwells built over centuries have fulfilled a critical need in the water scarce regions of Gujarat and Rajasthan , and there are scores of them . What makes some of them special is the ornamentation . And Rani ki Vav , the Queen’s Stepwell is perhaps the most special of all – hence the UNESCO honour .

Rani ki Vav was built a thousand years ago by Queen Udayamati and dedicated to the memory of her husband Bhima I . It was later flooded by the Sabarmati and was hidden by silt . It stood revealed in the 1940’s during excavations by the erstwhile Baroda state . But extensive excavations and restoration were undertaken only in the 80’s by the Archaeological Survey of India and what you see today is a result of that effort .

The park enclosing the site is well maintained with trees , lawns and pathways of sandstone . From the top you have a spectacular view of the monument which goes down seven storeys . As you walk down the steps you are greeted by exquisite carvings of religious , mythological and secular motifs on its walls and several pillars . Gods and goddesses , celestial beings , men and women going about their daily chores , animals .birds , trees all find place in the rich tapestry of stone . The sculptures must surely have provided a welcome diversion to women and men fetching water from the well below and would have eased their labours somewhat . The well has dried and certain sections of Rani ki Vav are out of bounds because of structural damage caused by the 2001 Gujarat earthquake .

Pulling away from the captivating multitude of art around me I make my way up the steps . A security guard with a gun slung on a shoulder and prayer beads in one hand greets me . I ask him what the gun is for . It is to counter terrorists who may try to destroy the monument , I gather from him . I express my doubts about the effectiveness of a single man armed with a cartridge – loaded gun against terrorists who would presumably carry automatic weapons . Expressing disdain for cops the guard says they are always the last to arrive so he is the first line of defence . Whatever happens he will put up a good fight even if it costs him his life , he says . Much as I admire his bravery I leave Rani ki Vav with the hope that such a situation never comes to pass – for his sake and that of this beautiful monument . I think the security guard shares my sentiments – hence the prayer beads .

Shashishekhar Gavai

If you were a resident of Bhopal you would want visitors to admire its beautiful lake , forget the horrible gas tragedy of 1985 and be impressed with its close proximity to two UNESCO World Heritage sites – the Buddhist Stupa at Sanchi originally commissioned by Emperor Ashok 2300 years ago and a lesser known archaeological treasure going back much , much further in time – Bhimbetka .

Travelling on a train traversing the foothills of the Vindhya mountain range in central India , the curiosity of a passenger is aroused as he looks out of his window towards the rock formations in the surrounding forest . They remind him of the formations housing Stone Age rock shelters he has seen in Spain and France during his professional visits . Dr V S Wakankar is an eminent archaeologist . He returns a year later in 1957 with a team of experts and makes a momentous discovery . The rest is history or rather……pre history .

Dr Wakankar’s discovery led to further exploration of the area . From the 70’s over 750 rock shelters have been discovered , of which the Bhimbetka group accounts for 243 . Legend has it that Bhim , one of the heroes of the great epic Mahabharata , rested here for a while -hence the name Bhimbetka . But mythology apart , archaeological evidence ,including the finding of Stone Age tools , suggests that this may be the site of the earliest human inhabitation in the sub continent , going back perhaps a million years or more . And what is equally remarkable is that the evidence also establishes continuous human presence here from the Stone Age to the medieval , a period spanning about 100,000 years. So the earliest humans who lived here were not of our species , Homo Sapiens , but some other . Their identity remains a mystery . Present day Man would have arrived here a few thousand years after the exodus from Africa about 70 millennia ago.

Driver Majid Khan picks me up from Bhopal airport . On the way he speaks stoically of the gas tragedy where he has lost some members of his family as well as friends . Time is indeed a great healer . He is guarded in his opinion of the past political dispensation in the state as well as the present one . He is clearly not sure of my own preference. The 2 hour drive includes a short final stretch branching off from the highway and climbing gently through a forest . This brings me to Bhimbetka .

The first of the several rock shelters , the “ Auditorium Cave “ is the most impressive of the several caves at Bhimbetka , in terms of its massive size as well as the artefacts it houses . There are numerous ‘cupules’ or cup shaped depressions carved into the rock which experts speculate could be as old as 700,000 years – the world’ s oldest art . And then there are paintings ranging from an estimated 30,000 years ago to medieaval times . The paintings depict animals , human figures , hunting scenes with weapons such as spears , pointed sticks , bows and arrows and community events such as dancing . In the later paintings religious symbols and dresses can be identified . It is also estimated that paintings in several other rock shelters here may have eroded over time . Altamira in Spain was the first major discovery in the 1860’s of Stone Age cave paintings and Pablo Picasso is reputed to have remarked , “After Altamira all is decadence” . The great painter may have had something similar to say about Bhimbetka too had he visited . After all Bhimbetka is perhaps the oldest art gallery in the world – one founded by Stone Age men .

Only a small section of the several square kilometres that the Bhimbetka rock shelters occupy is open to visitors . But as you explore it even this limited area gives you a sense of the attraction Bhimbetka must have been to successive settlers over tens of thousands of years . The caves afforded much needed protection from the elements . Being numerous and in proximity of each other they accommodated a sizeable population providing the security and comfort of community . The thick forests around would be abounding in edible roots and wild life securing a guaranteed source of food for the hunter gatherer. It is in places like these that man must have discovered fire , crafted tools of stone and first gave expression to his artistic instincts . Would we be enjoying the comforts of modern living and technology had these long forgotten ancestors of ours not made these revolutionary discoveries ?

Few other places in the world chronicle the incredible journey of man over such an incredible length of time . Bhimbetka is truly one of the great heritages of mankind . A memorial to the evolution of man .

A

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