Pixelated Memories: How to reach

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October 26, 2016

Emperor Aurangzeb's Grave, Khuldabad, Maharashtra

“I am grown very old and weak. I know not who I am or what I have been doing. I have not done well for the country or its people. My years have gone by profitless. God has been in my heart; yet my darkened eyes have not recognized His light. Every torment I have inflicted, every sin I have committed, I carry the consequence with me. Strange that I came with nothing into the world, and now go away with this stupendous caravan of sin! Alas, life is transient, and the lost moment never comes back. There is no hope for me in the future, and I know not what punishment be in store for me to suffer. Though my trust be in the mercy of God I deplore my sins. Come what will, I have launched my bark upon the waters! Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!”

– Emperor Aurangzeb’s last letter to his son Azam

In the middle of nowhere

The unchallenged reign of Emperor Aurangzeb Alamgir (AD 1658-1707) stands forth as such an unprecedented epoch in the annals of Indian history that his own life story practically mirrors the chronicle of the enormous subcontinent for 50 years. 300 years later, he unarguably remains the most despised sovereign, especially for the saffron brigade, so much so that an arterial road in the national capital was rechristened recently in an endeavor to erase his life and times.

And why shouldn’t it be so?

His deliberate reversal of his predecessors’ religious policies towards his non-Muslim and unorthodox Muslim subjects, and his fiercely bigoted discrimination in matters of religious co-existence and taxation and revenue collection remains uncontested. Not only that, he prohibited by royal decree the celebration of Holi and Diwali and the marking of Muharram.

In his famous “Benaras Firman” of AD 1659, he decreed that though no long-standing, legally authorized temple henceforth be demolished or desecrated nor the inhabitant Brahmins be disturbed or persecuted in any way, new temples should not be allowed to be constructed without permission nor should Hindu religious education be disseminated from any shrine. Several temples in Benaras, Sindh and Multan were thus destroyed and Brahmins imprisoned and punished for using them for purposes of instruction.

In AD 1665, he ordered officials in Gujarat to demolish all those shrines, including the famed Somnath temple, which the Governor had previously devastated but Hindus had had renovated or reconstructed. The beautiful stone railings of Keshav Deo temple of Mathura were dismantled the next year since the same were financed by Dara Shukoh. In AD 1669, the Governor of Orissa was obliged to destroy all Hindu shrines that fell in his dominions. Vishwanath and Gopinath temples in Benaras and Keshav Rai temple in Mathura were also totally devastated the same year and mosques raised at their sites.

The ninth Sikh spiritual preceptor Guru Tegh Bahadur and his closest associates were imprisoned, barbarically tortured and decapitated in AD 1675 for refusing to convert to Islam and protesting the anti-Hindu barbarities.

In AD 1679, over 300 temples were destroyed in Udaipur, Jodhpur, Jaipur and Amber – Rajputs resisting the same were brutally slaughtered. Numerous Hindu shrines were also destroyed in Dwarka, Ayodhya and Haridwar.

Not relenting yet, a special “Daroga-i-Beldar” (“Superintendent of Laborers”) was appointed to the armies to oversee the razing to ground of all Hindu shrines encountered on the march through Deccan, Maharashtra, Golconda and Bijapur.

In an unpretentious compound

Though his disastrous religious policy is generally held responsible for the swift downfall of the empire, for the Emperor however it wasn’t merely a matter of personal caprice or earthly gains, but consideration of the Quran's orthodox interpretations which exhort every pious Muslim to exert him/herself to wage Jihad against non-Muslim countries (“Dar-ul-Harb”) to transform them into realms of faith (“Dar-ul-Islam”). To him, the religion of the great majority of his subjects was an abomination and a mischief which he fervently abhorred and considered his sovereign and personal duty before heaven to persecute and, if possible, stamp out through iconoclastic sacrilege, judicial persecution, economic repression, forced conversions and restriction of worship.

But did he ever regret his decisions and proclamations? We know not.

We do however know that until his demise at the ripe old age of 89 years, he remained distinguished for his religious dedication, personal chastity and public austerity. So much so that he willed to be interred not in Aurangabad where rests in eternal repose his beloved queen Rabia-ul-Daurani, but in nearby Khuldabad (“Abode of Eternity”) close to the hallowed mausoleums of 1,500 Sufi philosopher-dervishes including the illustrious 14th-century saints Hazrat Zainuddin Saiyyid Shirazi and Hazrat Burhanuddin Garib (disciple of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya of Delhi, refer Pixelated Memories - Hazrat Nizamuddin Dargah). Not only that, he also refused to appropriate royal funds for personal expenditures, and paid the Rs 14.75 due for the minuscule space where his grave is located from the proceeds of the sale of the prayer caps he hand-stitched and had sold anonymously! Not unsurprisingly, though he also had assimilated Rs 350 from the sale of the calligraphic Qurans he copied, he forbade the use of this money for any personal purpose, simply stating that he’d be answerable to Allah if he had committed any mistakes in the copied renditions and profited from the same.

Such was the unadorned and uncovered grave's austerity that it stunned Governor-General Lord Curzon (officiated 1899-1905) so much so that he immediately requested the then Nizam of Hyderabad to have it enclosed with a delicate marble lattice screen. Vis-à-vis the monumentally magnificent mausoleums of his predecessors, the grave still retains its heartrending simplicity, unpretentiously shrouded only by a scanty layer of grass and stunted herbs like his sister Jahanara Begum’s unembellished tomb in Delhi (refer Pixelated Memories - Jahanara Begum's Tomb). That this is how the exceedingly powerful master of India’s unparalleled wealth, the man whose empire extending from Ghazni to Chittagong and from Kashmir to Karnataka yielded Rs 3 billion annually in revenues (in AD 1700!), decided to be buried is certainly bewildering!

“Though under Earth and throneless now I be, Yet, while I lived, all Earth was under me!”

– C.S. Lewis, “The Chronicles of Narnia”

In an austere grave, rests “the dervish clad in imperial purples”

Stepping through the massive whitewashed gateway and exploring the colossal courtyard of the adjoining mosque, one cannot help feel overwhelmed by the impermeable silences, the terrifying solitariness. Neither birds flutter overhead, nor do the ubiquitous palm fronds whisper their frighteningly eerie secrets. Time, ceaseless elsewhere, seems to have come to an unheralded standstill. In Delhi, the saffron brigade might be restlessly deleting the signs of the Emperor’s existence, but here he appears to have already been irretrievably forgotten! Wonder what he would have made of that!

Location: Khuldabad is located 27 kilometers (an hour by car) from Aurangabad. One can hire a private taxi for 12 hours (costs approx. Rs 1,500-2,000) and explore the nearby located fortress-citadel of Daualatabad and the rock-cut caves at Ellora as well on the same day. The highway connecting Khuldabad and Aurangabad is exceptionally well-maintained, however expect vehicular congestion and human overpopulation within Khuldabad itself.

Open: All days, sunrise to sunset

Entrance fees: Nil

Photography/Video charges: Nil

Time required for sightseeing: 30 min (though the whole of the Khuldabad funerary zone will take considerably more)

Suggested reading -

Mausoleums of Emperor Aurangzeb's siblings and other Mughal sovereigns -

Pixelated Memories - Humayun's Tomb complex, Delhi (where is interred Dara Shukoh as well)
Pixelated Memories - Jahanara Begum's Tomb, Delhi
Pixelated Memories - Moti Masjid, Delhi (where is interred Emperor Bahadur Shah “Zafar” II)

Other monuments/landmarks in Maharashtra -

Relevant links -

May 16, 2016

Dadabari Jain Temple, Mehrauli, Delhi

“No man can encompass all that is to be known. The wisest among us can hold no more than a mustard seed’s weight of knowledge in his heart. But nevertheless each follower of the path has his own particular understanding, and each person’s understanding has value.”

– Thalassa Ali, “Companions of Paradise” (2006)

The streets blistered and roasted like fiery furnaces and not the slightest draught stirred, while the sun, an insufferable ball of fire in the clear sky, transformed into intense searing white and ceaselessly endeavored to incinerate all existence. It was a day not unlike any other in Delhi’s scorching summer.

Amidst the multitudes of singed brown-green hues of Mehrauli Archaeological Park manifests mirage-like Dadabari Jain temple – dedicated to the erudite Jain mystic-saint Manidhari Dada Gurudeva Sri Jinachandra Suri ji – whose flawless white profile unfailingly soothes dreary eyes and beckons fatigued souls.

Jewel in the wilderness

At the very outset, I insist that only believers read on, and skeptics and cynics skip these few paragraphs.

A prodigious scholar, inquisitive philosopher and excellent social reformer, Sri Jinachandra Suri, born Surya Kumar in AD 1140, is said to have renounced the comforts of conventional life at the tender age of 6 years, and thereafter arduously trained and distinguished himself in Jain religious philosophy and metaphysics.

He compiled numerous scholarly tomes on comparative religious theology and spirituality, and soon afterwards became so illustriously renowned that he was entrusted by Acharya Gurudeva Jindutta Suri ji, his transcendentally accomplished spiritual mentor, with delivering intellectual spiritual discourses on religious mysticism, universal brotherhood and philanthropic magnanimity throughout the country.

Although Acharya Jindutta and he himself had prophesied his arrival and subsequent demise in Yoginipur (Delhi), he nonetheless resolved to temporarily reside in the province to discourse on religious equality, tolerance and amicability upon receiving deferential invitations from the sovereign Raja Madanpal Tomar.

Inviting

During his residence in Yoginipur, he is said to have also commissioned a beautiful temple, dedicated to the legendary twenty-third Tirthankara Parshvanatha (BC 872-772), at the present-day site of the Qutb Complex (refer Pixelated Memories - Qutb Complex).

At the age of 26, prompted by clairvoyant visions only slightly prior to his mournful demise, he resolutely cautioned his emotionally-besieged disciples to not stop his funeral procession anywhere except where they wished to cremate his earthly remains, for if they did they would never be able to relocate his body again. Fatigued and desirous of allowing fellow devotees to pay their last respects and condolences for the demised, the faithful followers carrying the funeral pyre did however stop in the village square and, as portended, failed to move the remains again! Reminiscent of the childish tale of Humpty-Dumpty, subsequently the king’s soldiers, horses and even elephants are said to have failed in their endeavors to budge him, and thus was Dada Gurudeva ji cremated on that very spot and a commemorative shrine reverentially constructed over the consecrated site.

Blinding!

Additionally, it’s said that he had also portended that the sacred site where he’d be cremated shall remain barren for 800 years, and indeed a magnificent shrine was only consecrated here in late 19th-century. Repeatedly embellished and reconstructed since, an intricately ornamented silver-and-glass memorial gracefully protrudes over the hallowed site today, symmetrically enveloped by covered walkways for faithful devotees to circumambulate.

Only a stone’s throw away, the massive central shrine is elegantly fabricated of exquisitely sculpted white marble. Within, the glittering glimmering sanctum is in its entirety composed of a spellbinding agglomeration of meticulously reverse-painted glass shards whose myriad shimmering hues compliment and yet jostle with each other for visual supremacy amidst a whole that remarkably, without being even in the slightest bit incongruous or disproportionate, succeeds in delineating several visual depictions of Jain mythological fables and remembrances of Dada Gurudeva’s enthralling, albeit possibly highly embellished, life and times. As the photographs here testimony, magnificently does the whole chamber metamorphose, upon incidence of even the minutest sliver of sunlight, into an extraordinarily effervescent explosion of vivacious colors.

One from the folklore

Perhaps endeavoring to plagiarize the spatial scheme of the venerable Parasnatha Hill in Jharkhand (at least to me it appeared so!), adjacently has been conceived a large artificial hillock whose constricted veins secure a labyrinthine network of tiny interconnected cell-like sanctuaries, each individually dedicated to Jain mendicant-teachers and Tirthankars (lit., “ford-maker”, omniscient spiritual teachers who attained liberty from the terrible cycle of rebirths and worldly attachment by fierce contemplative meditation, unremitting emphasis on non-violence, and the renunciation of worldly relationships and responsibilities).

Though the shimmering vividness of the shrine’s reverse-painted glass art might be commonplace in most north Indian Jain/Hindu temples, yet given its impeccable history and the singular network of shrines defining the artificial hill, it is surprising that not many are aware of the existence of this multicolored sparkle enveloped within its soothing white cocoon adjacent the perceptibly interminable wilderness of Mehrauli Archaeological Park.

Cherubs, blossoms and wreaths - Unusual for a Jain shrine!

In every direction one turns to are located innumerable medieval monuments and devoutly revered shrines, some world-renowned, others even more disappointingly obscure. The simplistic yet alluring Madhi Masjid is barely a stone's throw away (refer Pixelated Memories - Madhi Masjid). More prominent is Ahinsa Sthal, another Jain shrine, and its neighbor mausoleum of Azim Khan, both constructed upon adjacently situated towering outcrops appealingly overlooking the green-brown expanse of Mehrauli (refer Pixelated Memories - Ahinsa Sthal and Pixelated Memories - Azim Khan's Tomb). No wonder then amidst this deluge of enthralling ruins and forgotten monuments, the Dadabari is only half-remembered and occasionally frequented.

Open: All days, sunrise to sunset

Nearest Metro station: Qutb Minar

How to reach: The temple is located in a nondescript street on the other side of Mehrauli-Gurgaon highway immediately opposite the metro station. If coming by bus, get down at Lado Serai crossing (at the junction of Mehrauli-Gurgaon and Mehrauli-Badarpur highways) and walk for barely half a kilometer to reach the metro station.

Entrance fees: Nil
Photography/video charges: Nil
Time required for sightseeing: 45 min

Note: Footwear isn’t allowed within the temple complex and can be deposited at the small kiosk across the road from the entrance.
Relevant links -
Other monuments/landmarks located in the immediate vicinity -

March 16, 2016

Mehtab Bagh, Agra, Uttar Pradesh

“Herding in India is one of the laziest things in the world. The cattle move and crunch, and lie down, and move on again, and they do not even low. They only grunt, and the buffaloes very seldom say anything, but get down into the muddy pools one after another, and work their way into the mud till only their noses and staring china-blue eyes show above the surface, and then they lie like logs. The sun makes the rocks dance in the heat, and the herd children hear one kite (never any more) whistling almost out of sight overhead, and they know that if they died, or a cow died, that kite would sweep down, and the next kite miles away would see him drop and follow, and the next, and the next, and almost before they were dead there would be a score of hungry kites come out of nowhere. Then they sleep and wake and sleep again, and weave little baskets of dried grass and put grasshoppers in them; or catch two praying mantises and make them fight; or string a necklace of red and black jungle nuts; or watch a lizard basking on a rock, or a snake hunting a frog near the wallows. Then they sing long, long songs with odd native quavers at the end of them, and the day seems longer than most people’s whole lives, and perhaps they make a mud castle with mud figures of men and horses and buffaloes, and put reeds into the men’s hands, and pretend they are kings and the figures are their armies, or that they are gods to be worshiped. Then the evening comes and the children call, and the buffaloes lumber up out of the sticky mud with noises like gunshots going off one after the other, and they all string across the gray plain back to the twinkling village lights.”

– Rudyard Kipling, “The Jungle Book” (1894)

Spot the cattle! - Mehtab Bagh perspectives

Although no longer the glittering capital of the vast subcontinent, Agra, quintessentially languid and laidback, has eminently served over the centuries as the magnificent epicenter of several empires, its most remarkable transformation manifesting itself during the glorious reign of Emperor Jalaluddin Muhammad Akbar (ruled AD 1556-1605).

On a sweltering bright afternoon not many days past, contemplating the enchanting bluish-white outline emanating opposite as if straight from a fascinating fairy tale, I wordlessly stood on the very perceptible edge of the painstakingly manicured “Mehtab Bagh” (“Moonlit garden”) only a few short steps away from the lethargically slithering narrow stream of Yamuna, the meandering “black river” of mythology, while the great ball of fire in the sky ruthlessly scorched the majestic expanse of passionately constructed sepulchers, imaginatively ornamented fortress-palaces, and thoughtfully designed pleasure garden complexes, each relentlessly seething with its own enormous share of historically diverse folklore, amidst an unbearably parched landscape composed almost entirely of vividly blazing red sandstone.

Impressively conceived by the exalted Emperor Shihabuddin Muhammad Shahjahan (reign AD 1627-57) and deliberately sited in close geographical and contextual relationship with the otherworldly breathtaking Taj, his unparalleled magnum, the immaculately landscaped garden complex, with its colossal octagonal fountain and riverside pavilions, is the conspicuous source of seductive legends conjuring the tyrannical Emperor Aurangzeb Alamgir (reign AD 1657-1707) contemptuously scuttling his formidable father’s extravagant idea of commissioning a flawless “Black Taj” at that very site wherein would've been interred his mortal remains.

Sculptural orgasm!

“That it was Shah Jahan’s intention to duplicate the entire scheme of the Taj, by the erection of another mausoleum in black marble to enshrine his own remains, on the opposite bank of the Jumnan and to connect the two by a bridge, seems fairly well established. Tavernier, the French traveller and trader, who visited the Mughul court during the regimes of both Shah Jahan and Aurangzebe stated that the former emperor “began to build his own tomb on the other side of the river, but the war which he had with his son interrupted his plan, and Aurangzebe, who reigns at present, is not disposed to complete it.”… Whether this monarch even with all his vast resources could have carried out such an extravagant and spectacular project will never be known, but that he had the vision to contemplate it is an indication of the unlimited extent of his architectural ambitions.”

– Percy Brown, British art critic-scholar-historian-archaeologist,

“Indian Architecture, Volume II: Islamic Period”

Owing to the blistering heat, an unending, irregular column of cattle-herds, their directionless drifting animals appearing unbelievably minuscule vis-à-vis the gargantuan shimmering mausoleum opposite, defined the sole human presence except for the company of two mirage-like CISF guards diligently and discernibly doing the rounds. The unexciting atmosphere seemed to be monotonously alive with all the intermittent noises that, taken together, make one big uneventful silence – the drowsy drone of uninterrupted afternoon wind and the consequential soundless whispers carried amidst flailing fronds of dry grasses brushing against each other, the rustle of something alive in the undergrowth, and the occasional shrieks and chirrups of birds diving and swooping acrobatically and singing paeans of inextinguishable love to each other.

Is it a cliche to say “Waah Taj”?

The symmetrically designed garden was probably existential, by another name, as a tiny constituent of the gargantuan “Hasht-Bihisht Bagh” (“Eight Paradises' garden”) laid by Emperor Zahiruddin Muhammad Babur (reign AD 1526-30), Emperor Shahjahan’s great-great-grandfather. Afterwards, it passed into the compensatory “jagir” (land grant in lieu of military service) of Raja Man Singh Kacchwaha of Amber (Jaipur) who bequeathed it to his grandson Mirza Raja Jai Singh from whom it was regally purchased eventually for horticultural development as visualized by Emperor Shahjahan.

The tenderly-maintained immensity was severely submerged by the torrentially brimming river in AD 1652 and, owing to continuous flooding, was afterwards grievously abandoned, incomprehensibly forgotten and contemptuously relegated to being existential as a mere pitiable sand-submerged, weed-shrouded mound interspersed with ruinously devastated corner-towers. Nonetheless, its erstwhile prestige miraculously survived for centuries in local mythology and eventually metamorphosed into its being the fabled, albeit historically unacknowledged, site of the mythical “Black Taj”.

It was excavated by Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) in 1993-94 and thereafter subjected to meticulous architectural and horticultural restoration. The archaeological remains, although minuscule, are interesting – expansively hemmed in by soaring corner octagonal towers (of which only the south-eastern one survives) and enveloped by presently near-indiscernible pleasure pavilions and exquisitely planned lower pools, there existed near the riverfront a gigantic octagonal pool with twenty-four fountains embedded within it. Through the center of the sprawling garden ran a large ornamental water channel surrounded by fragrant flower beds and thick carpets of vibrant green grass. Near the extremities have been discovered ruinous remains of extensive waterworks and storage tanks.

Sigh! No moonlit views now!

The mesmerizing view experienced on full moon nights would have been unrivaled – creating beautiful illusions of shimmering waterfalls, water would have perennially cascaded into stepped lower pools whose sides are perforated with small arched niches in which, it's said, were placed slender white candles picturesquely appearing like twinkling stars in obdurately dark nights. The soothing gurgle of gently falling water and the enthralling fragrance and subdued blue-white iridescence of night-blooming jasmine flowers would have completed the fascinatingly dreamy scene.

Incomprehensibly, despite its sterling reputation, the beautiful garden is very nominally advertised by the ASI and UP tourism, and it remains, for reasons only explicable to the authorities, one of Agra's little known secrets, a virginal patch nearly untouched by tourists and locals alike, when it should have been among the magnificent city's crowning glories. And I was there, endeavoring to imagine what the matchless emperor witnessed.

A solitary visitor

Location: The garden is situated on Yamuna riverbank immediately across from Taj Mahal. Road distance between the two is 7.5 kilometers.

How to reach: Although the road network is very well-connected to the garden and surrounding urban villages, public transport facilities are near negligible, especially for the return trip, since only the rare tourist heads this way. One can avail a shared auto-rickshaw from Agra Cantt. Railway station or Agra Fort for Bijli-ghar crossing (Rs 15/person either way) and from there avail a shared auto-rickshaw, again for Rs 15/person, for Yamuna ghat (or simply “Ghat”) on the other side of the river. From here, auto-rickshaws charge Rs 50 till Mehtab Bagh, however the price quoted would generally be several times this figure and one is compelled to bargain. It is advisable to book the auto-rickshaw for a round trip which will cost Rs 150, inclusive of the waiting time.

Open: All days, sunrise to sunset (ticket window closes 30 minutes before the sunset)
Entrance fees: Indians and SAARC country nationals: Rs 5; Others: Rs 100. Free entry for children up to 15 years of age.
Agra Development Authority (ADA) toll-tax (applicable on all days except Fridays): Indians and SAARC country nationals: Rs 10; Others: Rs 500 (remains valid (only for foreigners) for an entire day and can be presented at other major monument complexes too).
Photography/Video charges: Nil/Rs 25 respectively
Time required for sightseeing: 45 min
Relevant Links -
Another monument located on this side of the river - Pixelated Memories - Itimad-ud-Daulah's Tomb

Suggested reading -

February 17, 2016

Loharheri Baoli, Dwarka Sector-12, Delhi

“Hogi is dher imaarat ki kahani kuch to,

Dhund alfaz ke malbe me ma’ine kuch to”

(“Surely a story hides behind these ruins somewhere,

Search the debris of words, the meaning is there somewhere”)

– Shahpar Rusool, Urdu Professor,

Jamia Milia Islamia University, Delhi

Bubbling with fantastically-conceived hyperbolic tales and mythology, oral folklore always conceals within its spellbinding florid exaggerations thoroughly disguised minute kernels of truth which resiliently resist, and often irreversibly shatter, even the most endeavoring communal forgetfulness and/or malicious attempts to whitewash history.

Comprised of huge staircases leading down to deep vertical shafts of associated wells, “baolis” (step-wells) are massive medieval water-management and congregational monuments majestically scattered throughout northern and western-central India. Considering their limited numbers and unparalleled ornamental adornments, they are unquestionably and quite conspicuously the most cherished monuments vis-à-vis the multitudes of contemporaneous religious and funerary edifices, extravagantly opulent palaces and formidable fortress-strongholds littering the immense landscape.

Substantially smaller than most of its magnificent counterparts intermittently peppering the city, the recently-discovered Lodi-era (AD 1451-1526) baoli in Dwarka’s Sector-12 is historically believed to have been christened “Loharheri Baoli”, deriving from the contiguous presence of a small settlement of ironsmiths (“lohar”) whose hydrological and congregational requirements the tiny edifice was to fulfill. Perplexingly though, this satellite suburb would have been considerably distant from the extensive settlements of medieval Delhi whom the ironsmiths would have professionally catered. Fortunately for the enthralling step-well, this historical anomaly renders it one of the few medieval monuments in this part of the city (the only other, that too several kilometers away, is the desolately forgotten and grievously brutalized Hastsal Minar delineating the ruinous remains of Mughal Emperor Shahjahan’s hunting estate (refer Pixelated Memories - Kaushal Minar, Uttam Nagar)).

Lost and found

Walking the unclogged, strangely sanitized streets of Dwarka – almost reminiscent of post-apocalyptic, post-humanity scenes from science fiction movies – feels singularly bizarre and a tad bit bewildering. Unlike the rest of terribly overpopulated, thoroughly urbanized and ubiquitously commercialized west Delhi, minutes pass here before one spots another pedestrian walking purposelessly or expectantly sniffing around buildings, vehicles seldom blare horns, and the colossal multi-storied soaring residential buildings too are unbelievably distantly spaced and uniquely designed.

Accessed via a narrow wicket-gate puncturing the high walls enveloping the towering Gangotri Apartments whose peripheries it discreetly, in fact almost invisibly, adjoins, presently the extensively restored and impeccably maintained three-tiered baoli is existential within a vast garbage-carpeted barren tract of land sporadically shrouded here and there by sorry-looking miserable tufts of weeds and grass irrepressibly rising from amidst the collected assortment of foul-smelling plant and vegetable waste, an overabundance of cow dung and dog droppings, innumerable polythene bags filled with domestic non-biodegradable rubbish, discarded construction material, and worthless shards of glass and plastic glinting in the sunlight.

Although the Gangotri complex and Dwarka International School prominently located barely a stone’s throw away are not insignificant landmarks, the bewildered locals, it seemed, faced insurmountable difficulties either comprehending my modest intentions or offering directions, consequentially sending me on a to-and-fro walk in search of the elusive baoli which being an unadorned, rubble masonry-built underground monument is easy to miss even from the immediate vicinity.

“In India it is not a good idea to ask just one person’s opinion, especially as far as directions are concerned. Not wishing to appear discourteous or unhelpful, they will say the first thing that comes into their head rather than honestly and far more usefully admitting that they do not know. It is best to ask as many people as possible and opt for the majority view. This does not necessarily mean that you will then be going in the right direction – it just gives you a slightly better chance of doing so. We therefore asked as many people as possible but we still ended up lost.”

– Josie Dew, “The Wind in My Wheels” (1992)

First impressions

Moderately proportioned and truly parched owing to the disastrous lowering of water-table over the centuries, the mesmerizing edifice was conveniently forgotten and interred underneath layers of earth and thick undergrowth, which culminated in its unsurprising obscurity and disappearance from contemporary literary records and monument censuses. Like its almost similarly designed cousin associated with the Wazirpur group of monuments in R.K. Puram (refer Pixelated Memories - Wazirpur Monument complex), this beautiful rectangular edifice too possesses immaculate rows of ornamental alcoves lining the longer sides along its two levels. There isn’t however any other functional feature or artistic adornment perceptible, except the presence of the likewise-dry circular well-shaft hugging its rear. Unexpectedly though, especially considering the perennial paucity of heritage enthusiasts and touristic visitors and the wretched uncleanliness of its surroundings, not the slightest trace of garbage can be noticed anywhere within the baoli's earmarked area – certainly a most commendable achievement on the part of Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) and Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage (INTACH) which restored the edifice and Delhi Development Association (DDA) to whom this tract of land belongs.

Isolated case?

Location: Pocket-1, Sector-12 Dwarka

How to reach: Walk/avail an auto/rickshaw to Gangotri Apartments/Dwarka International School from Dwarka Sector-12 Metro station which is about a kilometer and a half away. If walking, head towards Hotel Radisson Blu and take a left turn from there. The small baoli is located about a kilometer from this point on the right side of the arterial road in a vast barren expanse in the very shadow of Gangotri Apartments.

Entrance fees: Nil

Photography/Video charges: Nil

Time required for sightseeing: 20 min

Relevant Links -

Another monument located in the neighborhood - Pixelated Memories - Kaushal Minar, Uttam Nagar

Other baolis in the city -

Suggested reading -

February 09, 2016

30th Surajkund Crafts Fair, Faridabad, Haryana

“Journalist and professional sociopath A.A. Gill wrote, “If New York is a wise guy, Paris a coquette, Rome a gigolo and Berlin a wicked uncle, then London is an old lady who mutters and has the second sight. She is slightly deaf, and doesn't suffer fools gladly.” Delhi, then, might be an ageing tsarina: ruthless, capricious, avaricious, paranoid – and fond of bright colours, pretty trinkets, and sex scandals. Like all grandes dames, she's showy, cash-splurging, hard to love, easy to photograph. Or perhaps, given her recent reinvention, she's more like a nouveau riche socialite – exactly as above, but on Twitter. The whole city jingles with theatricality, bling and the so-bad-it's-good.”

– Elizabeth Chatterjee, “Delhi: Mostly Harmless” (2013)

Traditional meets capitalism

Inimitably gorgeous paintings, meticulously designed sculptures, dexterously crafted handicrafts, mouthwatering delectable snacks, brilliant explosions of traditional attires and dance performances, myriads of vibrant colors, spellbinding sights, dizzying aromas and the rush of shopping frenzy-induced happiness amidst a terrifying deluge of aimless humanity at the very boundaries of Delhi – Surajkund Crafts Fair is back in its 30th edition and, quite gratifyingly, there doesn’t seem to be an end to the enchanting extravaganza of traditional handicrafts, matchless heritage and mouthwatering food on offer. And if the several kilometer-long traffic jams leading to-and-fro to the event location (especially on weekends!) are any evidence, the millions of spoiled-for-choice visitors thronging wide-eyed fascinated throughout the unbelievably enormous arena still cannot get enough!

I had previously been to the 28th edition (documented here – Pixelated Memories - 28th Surajkund Crafts Fair), and yet nothing could prepare me too for the incredibly immense crowds, the impeccably distinguished artistic designs and the delightful presence of at least a dozen traditional visual artists (“Behrupiya”) deviously attired in sparkling outfits and flawlessly masquerading as mythological divinities and traditional dancers.

This year, China-Japan and the newly-formed state of Telangana have been designated as the unique partner country(s) and theme state respectively for the enthralling cultural festival and consequentially present are several contingents of celebrated craftsmen-sculptors from these places to showcase their unparalleled artistic skills and cultural traditions.

Glitter glimmer - Dhokra tribal handicrafts (Chattisgarh)

Besides these, also in participation are craftsmen, sculptors, painters and handicraft merchandise traders from numerous other Indian states and countries like Kazakhstan, Afghanistan, Egypt, Seychelles, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Bhutan, Tunisia, Malaysia and Nepal – however, as the craftsmen from Seychelles pointed out, not every spellbound, bargain-hungry visitor is eager to purchase anything, and most of those wandering about are there just to absorb the impeccably vibrant sights, hypnotic sounds, vivid textures and multitude of tastes (not all of them mouthwatering or even worth contemplating upon though!) that the mesmerizing fair promises.

For the discerning, there are tremendously swamped craftsmen from Karnataka offering illustrious Bidri artworks (black copper very delicately inlaid with shimmering silver) and Channapatna toys (handcrafted wooden, painted with brilliant natural colors and polished to perfection), soft-spoken Japanese artists (enticing hundreds of selfie-seekers to wantonly click photos alongside gigantic kites imprinted with cartoon samurais), polished-looking Onyx traders from Pakistan (with massive vases almost as high as me!), conscientiously hard-nosed craftsmen from Chattisgarh offering consummate Dhokra artworks (thoroughly-detailed tribal figurines produced by pouring molten metal in baked clay casts), muscular Rajasthani traders with bristling mustaches lining the arena with exquisite cloth puppets in myriads of sartorial choices and accessory designs, diligent painters from Maharashtra selling the celebrated tribal Worli paintings depicted on earthen wares and showpieces, very kindly old ladies from Malaysia selling otherworldly beautiful handmade paintings and intermittently delving into impromptu drawing-painting lessons for little kids, and, among others, bored Bengali craftsmen stocking coarse jute accessories and simplistic decorative tapestries and religious figurines.

Colors of Surajkund - Channapatna wood toys (Karnataka)

Also in attendance are several hundred more merchants dealing in vibrantly multi-hued utensils, glittering hookahs, appealingly-patterned textiles, enviably intricate religious sculptures, temptingly fearsome tribal masks, delicate ornamental glass lamps and accessories, tantalizing papier-mâché accessories and hundreds of thousands of types of scintillating jewelry adorned with glittering beads and shimmering sparkles. Until last year, there were unmanned drones and numerous helicopters flying high above the immense premises for security purposes; impressively this time, the prime attraction available for joyrides are several helicopters conspicuously twirling about very low overhead and banking and swerving midair with dazzling impunity!

The only drawbacks, as far as I can gauge of course, are the gastronomic avenues – the overall quality of the assorted savories as well as the unsurprisingly exorbitant prices (a glass of jaljeera for Rs 50, a smaller-than-the-smallest Domino’s pizza for Rs 200!!). Thankfully, the marvelous handicrafts do make up for everything. Five hours and a couple of thousand rupees later, clutching a heavy bag of finely polished Dhokra artworks and wonderfully bright Channapatna toys, I was already planning on items I shall be purchasing the next year!

Learning - A Malaysian artist tutoring children about how to paint

How to reach: Surajkund is located in Faridabad, approximately 8 km from south-east Delhi. The nearest metro station/bus stop is NHPC on the arterial Mathura road. Free to-and-fro shuttle services are available between the fair arena and NHPC, Badhkal Chowk and Badarpur metro stations. Interstate buses and autos also ply throughout the day along Mathura Road and one can get down at Badhkal/NHPC and avail a shared auto from there. If driving from Delhi, one can access Surajkund past the Karni Singh Shooting Range near Tughlaqabad.

Entrance fees: Rs 120/person (Rs 60 for senior citizens and college students upon showing photo ID card; free entry for girl students and children below the age of 10 years). Tickets are also available at 31 metro stations including Badarpur, Neelam Chowk Ajronda, Escorts Mujesar, Badhkal, Tughlaqabad, Sarita Vihar, Rajiv Chowk, ITO, Mandi House and Central Secretariat.
Photography/Video charges: Nil
Time required for sightseeing: 3-4 hrs

Relevant links -
Nearby attractions - Pixelated Memories - Tughlaqabad - Adilabad - Nai-ka-Kot Fortress complex

Organizational details about the annual fair - Pixelated Memories - 28th Surajkund Crafts Fair

Another amazing place to shop for handicrafts and textiles - Pixelated Memories - Dilli Haat

Suggested reading - Wikipedia.org - Behrupiya

January 03, 2016

Kaushal Minar, Hastsal village, Delhi

“I do not deny the glamour of the name of Delhi or the stories that cling about its dead and forgotten cities. But I venture to say this, that if we want to draw happy omens for the future the less we say about the history of Delhi the better... We know that the whole environment of Delhi is a mass of deserted ruins and graves, and they present to the visitor, I think, the most sorrowful picture you can conceive of the mutability of human fortunes.”

– Lord Curzon, Viceroy and Governor-General of India, 1899-1905

Reminiscent of the monolith from Arthur C. Clarke's "Space Odyssey" series!

According to numerous convoluted mythological tales as recorded in Mahabharata, unquestionably the most enigmatic of the ancient Hindu epics, Delhi was the enviable site of “Indraprastha” (literally “City of Indra” (Indra being the God of war, lightning and thunderstorms and the chief of the numerous deities collectively invoked in the Hindu pantheon)), the magnificent fortified capital of the mythical Pandava brothers. Its contemporary twin citadel was “Hastinapura” (“City of Elephants”) whose very nomenclature indelibly references the widespread presence of immense hordes of massive pachyderms roaming about and being extraordinarily well-domesticated as majestic beasts involved with religion, warfare and royal impressionism. Surprisingly though, remarkably few inhabitants of the rapidly urbanizing metropolitan are aware that vast territories within the city’s expansionist peripheries were even in medieval ages densely vegetated forestlands thickly inhabited with hundreds of fascinating species of flora and fauna. Nonetheless, tales of this long forgotten environmental history do survive in popular folktales and local lore – point in case, the tranquilly laidback, commercially underdeveloped and visually kaleidoscopic urban village of Hastsal (a corruption of “Hast Sthal” (“Land of Elephants”)) where it’s said existed enormous lakes encircled by impenetrable woodlands which constituted an immense elephant corridor.

No elephants anymore! - Hastsal village

Presently accessible via Uttam Nagar metro station and regular bus and Grameen Seva cab services from the soaring residential enclaves of Uttam Nagar, Janakpuri, Vikaspuri, Nangloi Jat and Najafgarh, the urban village, essentially an agglomeration of vividly painted, box-like multistoried residential buildings intermittently interspersed by hole-in-the-wall shop stores, painstakingly endeavors to vertically dominate and entirely camouflage its viciously avaricious brutality towards what might be considered its golden egg-laying goose – the Kaushal Minar, also otherwise referred to as Hastsal Minar and Chota Qutb Minar, a 17-meter (55 feet) high minaret commissioned in AD 1650 by Mughal Emperor Shahjahan (reign AD 1627-57) which is wretchedly enveloped in its entirety by urban encroachments, rubble remains of obliterated residential annexes and a perennially multiplying rubbish dump so much so that it is next to impossible to observe and photograph its physical enormity from the immediate vicinity and one has to eventually resort to sneakily climb up peoples’ rooftops to better appreciate its mammoth proportions.

Caged beauty!

Access to the high platform on which toweringly rises the precariously ruined monument is now restricted to a grimy half meter wide staircase littered with plastic garbage and domestic vegetable refuse, however what the archaeological authorities forgot to take into account was the resourcefulness of the ingenious locals, many of whom have imaginatively designed their dingy warren-hole of houses such that the staircases and balconies literally skirt the soaring tapering structure. Considered originally to be five floors high and constituting a not insignificant fraction of a gorgeous hunting pavilion where rested the royally-entertained emperor and his immediate retinue following adrenaline-tripping chase and hunt in the forsaken center of all-encompassing wilderness, the colossal minaret, locally known as “Laat” (pillar/staff), is a very sorry picture of its erstwhile regal grandeur – a deplorable condition it grievously shares with its better renowned Shahjahan-era cousins, the Red Fort and the Jama Masjid, which too are sadly existential as heartlessly degraded mere skeletons of their original opulent splendor (refer Pixelated Memories - Jama Masjid and Pixelated Memories - Red Fort).

Yes, it is indeed a protected monument! Why would you think otherwise?!

The upper two floors and the chattri (umbrella dome surmounted on slender pillars) crowning the majestic tower are said to have collapsed somewhere in the 18th-century. Notwithstanding the epithet “Chota Qutb Minar” referencing the more renowned, ethereally ornamented victory tower in another distant part of the city (refer Pixelated Memories - Qutb Minar), the Hastsal minaret doesn’t really invoke any particular visual or historic reminiscences of the former and doesn’t share any transcendental decorative features except that it too, like all minarets, is a minaret. Adorned with a single row of flawless white marble highlights, the vibrant red sandstone tapering structure was conceived fluted throughout with alternate circular and angular projections, however it can unquestionably be considered the most modestly ornamented both architecturally and artistically, in fact almost soberly bare, vis-à-vis the aforementioned dazzlingly flamboyant monuments that Shahjahan conceived and commissioned as well as his magnum at Agra, the unparalleled Taj Mahal which mere words are explicably hard put to describe.

Enroute to the minaret, there are bustling bazaars not any different from most others that dot Delhi’s other residential enclaves and sectors, thoroughly crowded with pedestrians, shoppers and motorcyclists and teeming with multi-hued shops (festooned unerringly with glittering glimmering hoarding and shimmering tinsel) offering stationery, confectionery, gold jewelry, everyday necessities, pharmaceuticals, utensils, brassware and the like.

Piercing the skyline

The strangely sanitized scene within the small urban village is however vastly different from the rest of the perpetually crowded city – as if relentlessly endeavoring to smother it in concentric hugs, most of the narrow streets curving around the monument are so congested that automobiles cannot possibly whizz about and thus in their absence there exists an undisguised crystalline silence, an unusual bubble of undisturbed tranquility in the midst of ceaseless noise and remorseless destruction and recreation. At least for me, following an often frustratingly indecipherable zigzagging treasure hunt, it proved to be indescribably exciting to spot the colossal sandstone enormity peeping from behind differently colored buildings and then circle the seemingly concentric, narrow streets and promising looking cul-de-sacs in an eventually fruitful attempt to discover the minaret’s base. Only an infinitesimal number of people outside Hastsal are privy to the existence of this medieval monument – sadly however, as irrefutably evidenced by the beautiful structure’s pitifully aggrieved existence as a dump yard mercilessly encroached upon on all extremities, the locals irresponsibly take for granted the privileged view appreciable only from their terraces.

Howdy, neighbor?

Open: All days, sunrise to sunset

Location: Hastsal village, near Uttam Nagar in west Delhi (Coordinates: 28°38'01.9"N 77°03'26.1"E)
Nearest Metro station: Uttam Nagar (West), approximately 1.2 kilometers away

Nearest Bus stop: Hastsal village. Regular bus and Grameen Seva shared cab services are available from nearby Uttam Nagar, Janakpuri, Vikaspuri, Nangloi Jat and Najafgarh.
How to reach: Walk/avail a rickshaw from the bus stop/metro station. Ask locals for the "laat" and they will quickly provide the requisite directions.
Entrance fees: Nil
Photography/Video charges: Nil
Time required for sightseeing: 20 min
Relevant links -
Other landmarks located in the vicinity -

Other Shahjahan-era monuments in Delhi -

Suggested reading -

December 01, 2015

Talakadu, Mysore, Karnataka

“I travelled a lot once, but you can go on doing that and not get anywhere. Wherever you go or whatever you do, most of your life will have to happen in your mind. And there’s no escape from that little room!”

– Ruskin Bond, “Our Trees Still Grow in Dehra” (1991)

A city, no matter how miniscule or how fervently explored, can rarely ever be entirely depleted of its numerous spellbinding tales – some endearingly regaling, others unforgettably horrific, almost all of them ceaselessly striving to explain the commissioning of a medieval edifice, or the continuation of an ancient custom, or the destruction and devastation of others. Nor can a city ever truly be exhausted of its myriad visual compositions, gratifying gastronomic corners and haunting portraitures both of the melancholy of socio-economic oppressions and the sudden brimming jovialness of life that it is undeniably composed of. And an individual even ever so slightly grazed by the travel-bug can rarely ever stop seeking not just the magnificent edifices and the mouthwatering gastronomic hubs but also the perplexing folktales and the seemingly implausible myths for one gradually dawns on the blissful enlightenment that every single place, no matter how superficially regular or conventionally unstimulating, is always brimming just slightly below the surface with a perennial supply of bewildering lore and the remarkable shared wisdom of the communities that relentlessly demands to be meticulously discovered and lovingly shared.

Ancient grandeur recreated - Keertinarayana temple

Of course there are by-passes and escape routes for whenever one does eventually decide to terminate the dream-like sojourn, but how can one ever stop exploring, stop discovering both the mesmerizing country and one’s own deep philosophical self? How can one not look forward to the next (hopefully everlasting) journey, the next multihued sunset, the next tranquil beach front and the next unbelievably sensational tale? Soon enough one begins to derive indescribable pleasure from living out of tiny suitcases, the soothing cradle-like locomotion of buses and trains legitimately lulls one to peaceful slumber better than any bed can and the thrilling provocation in the knowledge of one’s own steadfast endurance associated with the intermittent terrifying vulnerability arising from not understanding a language or a place’s milieu, geographic, socio-cultural or otherwise, becomes an interminable addiction.

But continuous ceaseless travel can often become harrowingly lonely. One is obliged to surrender the comforts of a conformist life, the cherished company of family and friends and, indeed, it demands the investment of a considerable sum of time and capital without any particularly conspicuous dividends except of course what one carries within one’s own self – and yet, the sudden irresistible conversations with complete strangers commuting on public transport, the exploration of myriads of cuisines, fragrances, visual compositions and monumental edifices, the enviable ability to hop on/off buses and trains and run off unrestricted wherever one wishes to, one becomes bewitched so irrevocably that one can never log off. Ever. There always are more embellished myths to be unraveled, intriguing narratives to be interwoven, cities and states to be charted, medieval artistic and architectural accomplishments to be marveled at – soon enough superfluous conversations begin to seem disagreeable, life becomes a continuous adventure and, despite the occasional heartfelt pangs at not having someone one can curl up with over long-distance journeys, one comes to realize that all one actually requires in this pursuit of happiness are earphones, cameras, a bucket load of money, lots of well-detailed maps and full-fledged travel ideas!

Small wonder - Nandi pavilion, opposite Veerbhadreshwara temple

In the enviably indomitable shadow of the elegant city of Mysore, the incredibly unassuming and terribly underdeveloped historic village of Talakadu on the serene banks of the mighty river Kaveri is where I explicably found myself waddling in endless stretches of orange-brown sand this past weekend – unsurprising of course, considering that the place epitomizes a seamless assimilation of implausibly far-fetched medieval folklores and ancient mythological legends with emotionless history and cataclysmic geographical turbulence. Said to originally have been a densely forested fertile land, the spiritually hallowed site suffered spontaneous irreversible devastation in AD 1612 when the pious noblelady Alamelamma, unnervingly aggrieved and infuriated when Maharaja Raja Wadiyar I (reign AD 1578-1617) arrogantly schemed to deprive her of her fabulous royal jewels after crushingly defeating her mortally ailing husband Tirumalaraya, the viceroy of his liege-lord Emperor Sriranga Raya I (reign AD 1572-86) of the Vijayanagar empire (ruled the modern states of Karnataka, Telangana, Seemandhra, Goa, Tamil Nadu, Kerala and minute portions of Maharashtra, AD 1336-1646. For further details, refer Pixelated Memories - Hampi), catastrophically cursed the place prior to committing suicide (festooned indisputably with the invaluable jewelry) in the dreaded waters of torrential Kaveri –

“Talakadu maralagi, Malingi maduvaagi, Mysuru Arasarige makkalagadirali!”

“Let Talakadu be submerged under creeping sands, let a cruel whirlpool be the scourge of Malangi and let the Mysore kings bear no offspring!”

Irrevocably cursed? - Pataleshwara temple

The atrocious curse promptly evoked for me thoughtful ruminations of the one formerly uttered by the saintly Hazrat Nizamuddin to categorically chastise Delhi’s megalomaniac Sultan Ghiyasuddin Tughlaq (reign AD 1320-25) and his gigantic fortress at Tughlaqabad (refer Pixelated Memories - Tughlaqabad Fortress complex). Spookily enough, the two uniquely geomorphic villages Talakadu and Malangi (originally located opposite each other on either side of the river) have since been completely buried respectively under an inestimable amount of sand and furious vortexes of the treacherous river Kaveri, perpetually perplexing acclaimed archaeologists, geologists, genealogists, historians, rationalists and visitors alike. Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) concludes that over 30 temples (dated between 6th and 17th century AD) of varied historical origins, artistic and architectural features and spatial measurements lie intriguingly submerged underneath an infinite amount of all-pervading sand at Talakadu and has undertaken an ambitious project to entirely excavate and conscientiously restore as many of these as feasible. What is however infinitely more baffling is the ruinous consequence of the punitive curse on Mysore’s extravagant Wadiyar sovereigns – since then, the Maharajas have ceaselessly failed to beget heirs and interestingly therefore the regal bloodline continues such that a reigning Maharaja adopts an illustrious heir from his immediate family to succeed him, however the new Maharaja’s otherwise prodigious sons too afterwards fail to beget heirs and the entire cycle reiterates when they succeed to the throne.

Extensively restored! - Vaidyanatheshwara temple

Of course, like most inexplicable folklore this one too seems extravagantly embellished and full of numerous glaring inconsistencies – firstly, to his credit, Maharaja Raja Wadiyar was merely demanding the retrieval of sanctified ornaments belonging to the fanatically revered deities at beautiful ancient Srirangapatnam which were then in the secure custody of the queen, secondly, why consider a queen, notwithstanding how religious, as pious if she avariciously covets sacred ornaments and miserably proceeds to curse ancient temple towns with irreversible annihilation for no apparent fault of theirs? Repenting afterwards, Raja Wadiyar had a realistic sculpture of Alamelamma deified in a small personal shrine within the regal palace at Mysore (refer Pixelated Memories - Mysore Palace) which is till date annually venerated by his blue-blooded descendants to mollify the so-called “Curse of Talakadu”. The last Maharaja Srikantadatta Narasimharaja Wadiyar (titular reign only to fulfill straightforward cultural and religious obligations sans administrative authority, 1974-2013) too died without any biological heirs.

In any case, numerous medieval shrines have already been unearthed in Talakadu and it wretchedly needs be noted that ASI as well as the local religious committees supposedly entrusted with managing these have in a severely harebrained manner ridiculously subjected most of these in the name of conservation and restoration to an unbearable application of conspicuous slabs of featureless granite and painted plasterwork and insufferably drenched what remained with an excruciating overdose of paint in flamboyant shades of sunshine yellow, mottled blues and blazing orange so much so that most of these hallowed shrines, the larger ones significantly so, easily resemble modern unromantic constructions and do not in any way retain most of their original subdued, and yet glorious, artistic ornamentation and sculptural accomplishments!

Worshiped by Lord Brahma?! - The Shivalinga at Maruleshwara temple

The unquestionably magnificent Vaidyanatheshwara temple is physically the largest and artistically the most majestic amongst the extensive cluster and constitutes the widely renowned and passionately celebrated “Panchalinga” (“Five divine Lingas”, a “linga” being the terribly austere rounded cylinder representation of Lord Shiva, the Hindu Lord of death and destruction) in association with the Pataleshwara, Maruleshwara, Arakeshwara and Mallikarjuneshwara shrines. The majestic shrine, composed throughout of painstakingly sculpted granite and surmounted by a brick and plasterwork pyramidal superstructure (of fairly recent origins and soaked with the ubiquitous blinding brilliant yellow), bears the telltale architectural and artistic idioms of the Vijayanagar empire and also possesses pillared hallways, gorgeous subsidiary shrines (most notably that of Goddess Parvati, the consort of Lord Shiva) and highly ornamented and bejeweled embossed depictions of benevolent heavenly sentinels, celestial deities, anthropomorphic entities, mythological creatures and numerous geometric and floral scrollwork patterns of discernibly diverse motifs and imaginative designs. Realistically however, the evocative sculptures cannot even be remotely considered as impressive as their elegant counterparts at Belur-Halebidu or Hampi (refer Pixelated Memories - Hampi, Pixelated Memories - Hoysaleswara Temple complex, Halebidu and Pixelated Memories - Sri Chennakesava Temple complex, Belur), undoubtedly as a terrible consequence of calamitous exposure to moisture and the elements having been land-submerged for several centuries.

Be dazzled! - Goddess Parvati, Vaidyanatheshwara temple

Local belief postulates that Talakadu, historically chronicled as “Gajaranya” (“Elephant forest”), derives its present nomenclature from two legendary forest-dwelling hunter siblings Tala and Kadu who, having sneakily witnessed an ancient gnarled tree being deferentially worshipped with fragrant flowers and sacred river water by massive wild elephants, severely mutilated it with axes only to see copious blood horrifically sprout through it and realize that in it had incarnated Lord Shiva for the spiritual gratification of his affectionate devotee Sage Somadatta who had been reborn as an elephant. The gorgeous shrine too has its derivations in this remarkably convoluted mythology and is said to have been expanded and embellished around a tiny primordial temple conceived around this mythical sacred tree. The blessed tree is said to have automatically healed itself immediately afterwards, thus the self-explanatory nomenclature “Sri Vaidyanatheshwara” or “Lord of the Healers”. How did the ancient Hindu poet-writers conceive such fabulous fables, teeming with every sort of marvelous wildlife, everyday professions and mythological chimeric entities, is entirely beyond comprehension!

Sands of Time! (Oh, how could I not have used this cliche!)

Not once failing to capture the imagination of visitors to this horribly underdeveloped, geographically besieged town, from here on begins the strangely sanitized wilderness zone where wide serpentine paths have been cleared in the rugged midst of tall eucalyptus trees whose mottled brown-green bark discontinuously peels away to reveal the glistening silver underneath, and scores of unnaturally shy monkeys peeping from behind the trees and hopping on to the corrugated iron roofs sheltering the pathways from sweltering summer sun near-continuously create a shocking, clattering commotion. It is singularly demanding to tread the bottomless sands which instantaneously swirls and realigns itself into frustrating eddies around one’s feet and suffuses into the shoes as soon as one pushes forward another fatigued step. Scores of wrinkled, indeterminably old beggars with cataract-clouded eyes line these pathways and intermittently one also comes across small makeshift shops offering tiny stone idols, packets of sugarballs, clarified butter-drenched sweets, brilliant red vermillion, multi-hued flowers and incense to appease the deities.

Sculpted (and restored!) to perfection - Keertinarayana temple

The remaining shrines are predominantly unremarkable single-celled simplistic structures buried encompassed within enormous craters as if recently constructed within an urban construction zone (unquestionably the presence of shimmering multihued paintwork and ubiquitously modernistic superstructures is to be blamed!) and accessible via sets of staircases delineated by glinting steel cordons. ASI has built brick and cement embankments to restrict sand accumulation, however the same aren't as efficient as one would have liked them to be. The massive Shivalinga in Maruleshwara temple is said to have been established by Lord Brahma (the Hindu God of universal creation, profound knowledge and learned enlightenment), while the diminutive Shivalinga in Pataleshwara temple, festooned with fragrant jasmine garlands, is said to miraculously transform from red in the morning to black in afternoon and white in the evening! There are several other smaller, relatively architecturally/artistically unremarkable shrines dedicated to Lord Shiva too scattered around, and a large rectangular water tank (“pushkarni”) only a stone’s throw away from the Vaidyanatheshwara temple.

Several shrines are also located amongst thick eucalyptus tree forests spanning vast sand plains and rock undulations in the immediate vicinity of the majestic Kaveri where gather tourists and locals alike for fun frolic (there even are tourist-laden coracle boats sashaying to-and-fro!). Catering to the tourists near the beatific riverfront exists a vividly colorful, perennially boisterous bazaar lined with cheap roadside eateries (offering fried fritters, steamed rice cakes (idlis), greasy noodles, tea/coffee, cold drinks, cigarettes and meals comprising servings of steaming boiled rice and watery vegetables and lentils) and makeshift shops (offering stuffed toys, cheap plastic playthings, faux-leather hats, vividly multi-hued stoles and the occasional souvenirs).

Submerged! - Gaurishankara temple

Mysteriously peeping from its unintended entombment, the exceedingly tiny, single-celled Gaurishankara temple, constructed when Maharaja Chikka Devaraya Wadiyar (reign AD 1673-1704) ruled over the area, despite also being painted over with faded yellow and hideous silver, is almost entirely concealed and can be regarded a perfect exemplar of how physically punishing the advent of these shifting sands was to the architectural and religious heritage of the laidback village.

Despite its unostentatious appearances and uncultivated, almost untouched atmosphere (even the majority of signboards here are in Kannada!), Talakadu is not just any other miniscule village next door – though its medieval prestigious impressions are presently indiscernible, it was an important religious township throughout the supremacy of the Western Ganga Dynasty (reign over parts of Karnataka and Seemandhra, AD 350-1000) and the Chola Dynasty (reign over the modern states of Tamil Nadu, Kerala, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh and Orissa and the islands of Sri Lanka and Maldives, 300 BC – 1279 AD), two of the most prominent kingdoms of southern India! Originally referred to as “Dalavanpura”, it was developed as the outstanding capital of the Ganga dynasty, an honor it retained over a course of 600 years from AD 390 to 1000. Later, it came to be recognized by the name “Rajarajapura”, christened after the remarkably distinguished emperor Rajaraja Chola I (reign AD 985-1014), and was afterwards seized from the Cholas by the formidable Hoysala sovereign Bittideva Vishnuvardhana (reign AD 1108-52) in AD 1117 who celebrated this outstanding military conquest by assuming the title of “Talakadugonda” (“Victor at Talakadu”) and gratefully commissioned the construction of the notably matchless Sri Chennakesava Temple at his capital Velapuri/Belur (refer Pixelated Memories - Sri Chennakesava Temple complex, Belur). Historically, it is believed that the Keertinarayana temple at Talakadu was also ordered to be constructed by him to commemorate this significant achievement upon the request of his spiritual mentor Sri Ramanujacharya, the celebrated interpreter of Hindu Vishishtadvaita Vaishnavism texts – indeed the staggered square-shaped grandiose shrine heralded by an equally handsome gateway is the only one discovered at Talakadu to be conceived and executed in the traditional Hoysala style of architecture.

All dressed up and nowhere to go! - Lord Vishnu, Keertinarayana temple

It needs be noted that the magnificent shrine was commendably transported stone by stone from its marshy submerged location, painstakingly recreated in its entirety and impeccably restored to flawless perfection by the ASI. The exceedingly skillfully finished, variously patterned delicate pillars of the shrine's associated hall gracefully frame the sanctum where is consecrated an eight-feet tall idol of Lord Vishnu, the Hindu God of life and nourishment, flanked by relatively smaller sculptures of his two consorts – the earth Goddess Bhudevi and Lakshmi, the Goddess of wealth and prosperity – each deferentially adorned with brilliantly glittering silk and exquisite gold-tinged ornaments.

The exquisite shrines exhumed so far, despite being physically moderately-proportioned and predominantly artistically unremarkable, conclusively prove to be a mysterious phenomenon in themselves, attracting several million wonder-struck visitors and faithful devotees annually from all over Karnataka and neighboring states, especially for the spiritual Panchalingam Darshan festival, a prominently renowned cultural extravagance organized every 12 years. What is however most remarkable about the enigmatic place is that one cannot shake off the extraordinary, somewhat unnerving, consciousness that one might actually be treading centuries-old superlative civilizational and architectural heritage while walking around here! Surely, these unusual thoughts and destinations are reason enough to travel!

Talakadu's secret fun zone - Kaveri riverfront

How to reach: Talakadu is located approximately 45 kms from Mysore and 185 kms from Bangalore. Private autorickshaws and shared cabs ply between T. Narsipur and Talakadu villages (15 kilometers – 20 minutes – Rs 20/person). Regular government buses are available from Suburban bus stand, Mysore to T. Narsipur bypass flyover (35 kilometers – 30 minutes – Rs 15/person) from where one can walk to T. Narsipur village bus stand. The roads between Mysore and T. Narsipur, although terribly pockmarked, wind through vast water-logged paddy plantations that alluringly glisten soothing blue-green early morning and brilliant blinding green in the afternoon. From T. Narsipur onwards, the route is simple and the roads perfect, and the combination can pretty easily lull one to an undisturbed slumber, especially on slightly cold, extremely pleasant days when it is gently drizzling!
Entrance fees: Nil for all the shrines
Photography/video charges: Nil for all the shrines
Note: All temples are open everyday for people of all socio-economic and religious backgrounds and genders from 8.30 am – 5.30 pm. Footwear are not allowed within the individual shrines and have to be left outside. It is advisable to carry sufficient drinking water and wear comfortable shoes since one has to walk considerably long distances across undulating topography and punishing sand plains to cover all the monuments.
Relevant Links -
Other monuments/landmarks in/around Mysore -

Another cursed location - Pixelated Memories - Tughlaqabad Fortress complex, Delhi
Suggested reading -

October 26, 2016

Emperor Aurangzeb's Grave, Khuldabad, Maharashtra

May 16, 2016

Dadabari Jain Temple, Mehrauli, Delhi

March 16, 2016

Mehtab Bagh, Agra, Uttar Pradesh

February 17, 2016

Loharheri Baoli, Dwarka Sector-12, Delhi

February 09, 2016

30th Surajkund Crafts Fair, Faridabad, Haryana

January 03, 2016

Kaushal Minar, Hastsal village, Delhi

December 01, 2015

Talakadu, Mysore, Karnataka

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