Circa 1819. John Smith, a British officer of the Cavalry Division of the Madras Regiment had strayed from the patrol party that was travelling from Paithan to Daulatabad. Their stock of meat was depleted and on suddenly seeing a wild boar, he had, on an impulse, galloped after it. The eerie silence of the jungle, broken only by the sound of crickets rubbing their feet in glee to make a shrill cacophony, suddenly made him pull his reins in sharply. It was high noon, although the dense canopy of greenery hiding the blue could make anybody doubt that, and it was quite evident that he was lost. He thought fast, and decided that his priority was first to get promptly out of this jungle before sundown and to search for any Gond settlements that sprouted here and there, where he could look for food and shelter.
As he wandered, in the jungle, the track seemed to get a little wet. His ear picked up the sound of water and he remembered that the river Waghora was in the vicinity, and he could follow it to some human settlements. As he hastened, he came upon a small waterfall in a clearing that was running into a river, a few feet below the hillside. Here was the river he was looking for and he felt that he was in for luck, that day. He galloped by the side of the river upstream, and then it happened...The horse slipped and Smith just managed to jump off the horse before the poor animal fell into the ravine. As he brushed himself and stood up, the entire picture loomed like a scary dream in front of him. Without a horse, lost in this dense jungle, he was as good as dead. he rushed to the edge of the cliff, and peered down, he was surprised to see that there was a rocky ledge just a few feet from where the horse had slipped, and luckily, the horse had fallen on that ledge. Though the steed was hurt, its feet bent and was apparently in pain, it was alive.
Smith immediately proceeded to scramble down the side of the cliff onto the ledge and held on with his dear life to some dry vegetation growth, some clumps of overgrown grass on the cliff-side. When ultimately, he could reach down to the ledge, he tried to calm the groaning horse. All that mattered to him now was to get the steed back to its feet, even if it was limping. He did not stand a chance in this jungle at night without the horse. He tore off his sash, the pride of his regiment and tied it around the knee of the rear right leg of the horse. All this excitement had completely worn him out and he sat down on a a piece of rock nearby, to decide on his next course of action. As he sat down, his hand touched the rocky surface of his seat. It seemed a bit too smooth to him and as he looked down, he was amazed to see that he was sitting down on a perfectly smooth piece of square rock, almost like a seat. As he stared incredulously at it, he found that the rock was not an isolated one and there were others strewn around and not only that, there seemed to be, some engravings on the the side of certain rocks. His curiosity got the better of him and he squatted down to tear off the growth of dry grass, from these rocky sides.
His amazement was boundless when he found perfectly shaped statuettes, as well as flower emblems engraved on the rocks. He felt in his bones that he was on to something important. In the dying light, he was surprised to notice a flight of steps leading down to the river from the ledge-side and he hoped against hope that he had stumbled upon some sort of human settlement. As he climbed down the steps towards the river to quench his thirst, he noticed that the hill-side was queerly formed. It was as if he was standing in the middle of a horse shoe. Furthermore, he noticed a few openings on the sides of the hills, which looked like caves. He decided that it would be best for him to take shelter in the caves for the night, and to resume his search back home, the next morning, after his steed was rested. With this plan in place, He broke off, some dry branches from trees growing by the side of the river, attached a bit of his torn sash with some dried grass to them, sprinkled some gunpowder on it and lighted a torch. As he approached the entrance to the dark cave, holding his torch firmly, he was taken aback, by a colony of bats that screeched their way past him, their nauseating stench churning up his already empty stomach.
As he timidly moved in, looking for a dry place to spend the night, his knees folded and he gasped at the splendour of the spectacle that unfolded before him. The stature of his discovery hit him instantly and he was unfalteringly convinced that he had stumbled upon one of the most culturally as well as historically significant discoveries of the century.
Fast-forward, Circa 2015, month of March. A motley group of 6 people had set out from, Hotel Kailas opposite the Ellora caves in an Innova to cover the 100 odd kms to reach one of the finest Unesco, World Heritage sites, Ajanta. We reached a point near the caves from where, transport belonging to the state tourism department alone, was allowed to ply till the cave site. As we disembarked from the airconditioned buses, we were confronted by a hoarding, proclaiming 'Ajanta Restaurant', which promised to serve authentic Maharashtrian thalis and and a variety of fruit juices. We planned a rendezvous with this eatery as soon as we would return from our cave sojourn.
Encircling the Waghora river, is a horse-shoe shaped cliff, that is home to a spectacular testimony of human creativity, perseverence and dedication. Set in sylvan surroundings, there are about 29 elaborate Buddhist cave temples, believed to have been constructed in the time span between 200 BC to the VI th century AD. After the VII th century AD, Buddhism started to decline in India and these caves were abandoned. All these caves as well their intricately carved interiors, have been carved out of one giant rock, that is the 70 feet high, Sahyadri mountain itself. Built by devoted Buddhist monks, depicting the lives and times of Buddha, the enlightened one and those of the Jatakas, the depiction of stories of Buddha in all his previous lives.
This Unesco, World Heritage site is a marvel to watch. Rock was cut from this mountain-side, then it was chiselled out and after that, carvings of Buddha in different postures, flowers, figures, stupas, chaityas and viharas were all built inside these tunnels. To top it all, intricate and exquisite paintings were done on the ceiling as well as on the pillars inside the caves.
These carvings and sculptures are considered to be the beginning of classical Indian art. This form of Indian art has exerted considerable influence in India and elsewhere, in particular to South Eastern Asia, Like Cambodia, Thailand and Java. Basically 5 of these caves were temples and the rest served as monasteries, accomodating about 200 monks and artisans.
We walked up a winding road, that runs along a terrace towards the cave entrances. At one point of time, each of these caves were connected by a staircase to the edge of the river, most of which have disappeared now. The second group of caves, which were created at a later date, have a mark of the artistry of the Gupta and the post Gupta period. We could only visit the more significant of the caves, like, 9, 10, 19, 26 and 29 as it takes a very long time to go through them in details. By the time we could walk back the entire stretch, marvel at the sculptures and the frescoes, which were peeling away, complete a full circle, only allowing for intermittent breaks in between for water and snacks and photo and selfie sessions, we were completely drained out and were ready for some fresh pineapple juice along with an egg curry meal at the Ajanta restaurant. One reminder, for visitors. This is a good place to buy small rock cut statues of, Tathagata Buddha and the all time favourite deity of the Maharashtrians...Ganapati Bappa.
Soon we were speeding back towards Ellora, through a wide black road, flanked on either side by trees which seemed to be on flames, on the black soil of the Deccan. The palash was in full bloom on this part of the country. The friendly chit-chat and banter in the car was somehow silent now. Partly it was the tiredness, but, I feel, largely because of the enormity of the experience that we were all trying to grasp and to absorb, all in our own little ways.
Just about 5 kms before reaching Ellora, and about half an hour before sun down, Sandeep, our driver asked us, whether, we would like to visit, Khuldabad, which he said, had the mausoleum of Aurangzeb, the 6th Mughal emperor, and from where Aurangabad had derived its name. I certainly had no clue about Khuldabad and am sure, none of my fellow travellers did. Just like other lay people, I had assumed that all the tombs of the Mughal emperors were either in Delhi or in Agra. We readily agreed, to visit Khuldabad, and Sandeep screeched into a left u-turn and turned onto a dust road.
Suddenly, as if in a blink of an eye, the entire ambience changed. It somehow seemed that we had reached medieval Agra. Where, there were only vast stretches of farmlands, small shops, shacks and a few fruit vendors and wayside trees on the highway, the dirt road towards Khuldabad was lined with mosques, groups of middle-aged, slightly bulky ladies in black burkhas accompanying young giggly girls, with large colurful danglers in their ears, in colourful hijabs, lining the narrow road. Men in white kurtas, with white taqiyah or the skull cap on their head and colourful checked lungis were relaxing near paan shops. Their large guffaws could be heard from far off. It was time for the Maghrib namaaz. Ittr shops and shops selling mogra garlands and incense sticks, lined the place where we finally disembarked at the corner of the road.
I had read that the emperor Aurangzeb believed in austerity. however I was not ready for the totally inostentatious and nondescript building that stood before me in the name of the final resting place of Alamgir Aurangzeb, A person, who ruled Hindustan for 50 long years.
Abul Muzaffar Muhi-Ud-Din Mohammad Aurangzeb, the fanatic, unscrupulous, intolerant, religious zealot was one of the most hated names in our history books and not without reason. As a ruler of India, he was biased and discriminated against other religious beliefs. He destroyed temples, imposed the Jiziya tax, a discrimintory taxation system, against the hindus and the sikhs. Instead of consolidating his territories, he waged constant wars against the Marathas, Sikhs, Jats and the Bundelas, which, depleted the already depleting treasury, as well as added fuel and purpose to the resistance movements of these communities. With his death on March 3rd 1707, in Ahmednagar, he left a corrupt and crumbling empire which was too large to be handled by any single despot, he left behind alienated subjects, a demoralised army and a depleted treasury.
However, as I stood before the grave of this man, great or otherwise, I could not bring myself to believe, that, this unassuming cloth covered austere grave, with no enclosure fit for such a royal, was, where he lay in peace. This was the same man, who did not use the royal treasury for his own personal expenses. Instead, he used the money he earned from making the taqiyah, and writing the Quran to locate and buy a piece of land for his grave. Lord Curzon, ( the Governor General and Viceroy of India from 1899-1905) on visiting this grave, had instructed the Nizam of Hyderabad to build a marble screen around the grave.
Aurangzeb is buried according to his own wishes, in the courtyard, towards the right of the southern entrance at the Dargah of Sayyad, Zain-Ud-Din Sirazi, a muslim saint, he revered as his mentor and spiritual guide. The tombs of Azam Shah, Aurangzeb's son and that of his wife, lie to the east of Aurangzeb's tomb.
Sayyed Zain-Ud-Din Sirazi is a highly revered muslim saint, and at one point of time was the chief qazi of Daulatabad. Strains of sufi music caught my ear, as I was moving around the courtyard engrossed in photography. As I entered the main entrance to the Darga, dusk was slowly descending on this almost surreal world. The sufi singers were in a trance like state, and men, women and children were engrossed in the atmosphere of incense and mysticism. I got absorbed in the whole ambience too, as I was offered a scarf by one of the old ladies and was asked to cover my head. I sat down, cross legged with them and drank the beauty of the moment to my heart's content.
The sun had set, when we were leaving the Dargah. The day had taught me two diametrically opposite lessons. One, that of grandiosity and flamboyance in the creativity of Ajanta, where the basic tenet was simplicity...while on the other hand, the extravagance and pomposity of a much-hated emperor, subdued amidst unimposing and humble culminations. This was perhaps the essence of life, the existence of duality of simplicity amidst sophistication. Simplicity as the ultimate form of sophistication has always existed. One can never do without the other.
Author: Jayeeta Sinha Roy
Photos by author
As he wandered, in the jungle, the track seemed to get a little wet. His ear picked up the sound of water and he remembered that the river Waghora was in the vicinity, and he could follow it to some human settlements. As he hastened, he came upon a small waterfall in a clearing that was running into a river, a few feet below the hillside. Here was the river he was looking for and he felt that he was in for luck, that day. He galloped by the side of the river upstream, and then it happened...The horse slipped and Smith just managed to jump off the horse before the poor animal fell into the ravine. As he brushed himself and stood up, the entire picture loomed like a scary dream in front of him. Without a horse, lost in this dense jungle, he was as good as dead. he rushed to the edge of the cliff, and peered down, he was surprised to see that there was a rocky ledge just a few feet from where the horse had slipped, and luckily, the horse had fallen on that ledge. Though the steed was hurt, its feet bent and was apparently in pain, it was alive.
Smith immediately proceeded to scramble down the side of the cliff onto the ledge and held on with his dear life to some dry vegetation growth, some clumps of overgrown grass on the cliff-side. When ultimately, he could reach down to the ledge, he tried to calm the groaning horse. All that mattered to him now was to get the steed back to its feet, even if it was limping. He did not stand a chance in this jungle at night without the horse. He tore off his sash, the pride of his regiment and tied it around the knee of the rear right leg of the horse. All this excitement had completely worn him out and he sat down on a a piece of rock nearby, to decide on his next course of action. As he sat down, his hand touched the rocky surface of his seat. It seemed a bit too smooth to him and as he looked down, he was amazed to see that he was sitting down on a perfectly smooth piece of square rock, almost like a seat. As he stared incredulously at it, he found that the rock was not an isolated one and there were others strewn around and not only that, there seemed to be, some engravings on the the side of certain rocks. His curiosity got the better of him and he squatted down to tear off the growth of dry grass, from these rocky sides.
His amazement was boundless when he found perfectly shaped statuettes, as well as flower emblems engraved on the rocks. He felt in his bones that he was on to something important. In the dying light, he was surprised to notice a flight of steps leading down to the river from the ledge-side and he hoped against hope that he had stumbled upon some sort of human settlement. As he climbed down the steps towards the river to quench his thirst, he noticed that the hill-side was queerly formed. It was as if he was standing in the middle of a horse shoe. Furthermore, he noticed a few openings on the sides of the hills, which looked like caves. He decided that it would be best for him to take shelter in the caves for the night, and to resume his search back home, the next morning, after his steed was rested. With this plan in place, He broke off, some dry branches from trees growing by the side of the river, attached a bit of his torn sash with some dried grass to them, sprinkled some gunpowder on it and lighted a torch. As he approached the entrance to the dark cave, holding his torch firmly, he was taken aback, by a colony of bats that screeched their way past him, their nauseating stench churning up his already empty stomach.
As he timidly moved in, looking for a dry place to spend the night, his knees folded and he gasped at the splendour of the spectacle that unfolded before him. The stature of his discovery hit him instantly and he was unfalteringly convinced that he had stumbled upon one of the most culturally as well as historically significant discoveries of the century.
Fast-forward, Circa 2015, month of March. A motley group of 6 people had set out from, Hotel Kailas opposite the Ellora caves in an Innova to cover the 100 odd kms to reach one of the finest Unesco, World Heritage sites, Ajanta. We reached a point near the caves from where, transport belonging to the state tourism department alone, was allowed to ply till the cave site. As we disembarked from the airconditioned buses, we were confronted by a hoarding, proclaiming 'Ajanta Restaurant', which promised to serve authentic Maharashtrian thalis and and a variety of fruit juices. We planned a rendezvous with this eatery as soon as we would return from our cave sojourn.
Encircling the Waghora river, is a horse-shoe shaped cliff, that is home to a spectacular testimony of human creativity, perseverence and dedication. Set in sylvan surroundings, there are about 29 elaborate Buddhist cave temples, believed to have been constructed in the time span between 200 BC to the VI th century AD. After the VII th century AD, Buddhism started to decline in India and these caves were abandoned. All these caves as well their intricately carved interiors, have been carved out of one giant rock, that is the 70 feet high, Sahyadri mountain itself. Built by devoted Buddhist monks, depicting the lives and times of Buddha, the enlightened one and those of the Jatakas, the depiction of stories of Buddha in all his previous lives.
This Unesco, World Heritage site is a marvel to watch. Rock was cut from this mountain-side, then it was chiselled out and after that, carvings of Buddha in different postures, flowers, figures, stupas, chaityas and viharas were all built inside these tunnels. To top it all, intricate and exquisite paintings were done on the ceiling as well as on the pillars inside the caves.
These carvings and sculptures are considered to be the beginning of classical Indian art. This form of Indian art has exerted considerable influence in India and elsewhere, in particular to South Eastern Asia, Like Cambodia, Thailand and Java. Basically 5 of these caves were temples and the rest served as monasteries, accomodating about 200 monks and artisans.
We walked up a winding road, that runs along a terrace towards the cave entrances. At one point of time, each of these caves were connected by a staircase to the edge of the river, most of which have disappeared now. The second group of caves, which were created at a later date, have a mark of the artistry of the Gupta and the post Gupta period. We could only visit the more significant of the caves, like, 9, 10, 19, 26 and 29 as it takes a very long time to go through them in details. By the time we could walk back the entire stretch, marvel at the sculptures and the frescoes, which were peeling away, complete a full circle, only allowing for intermittent breaks in between for water and snacks and photo and selfie sessions, we were completely drained out and were ready for some fresh pineapple juice along with an egg curry meal at the Ajanta restaurant. One reminder, for visitors. This is a good place to buy small rock cut statues of, Tathagata Buddha and the all time favourite deity of the Maharashtrians...Ganapati Bappa.
Soon we were speeding back towards Ellora, through a wide black road, flanked on either side by trees which seemed to be on flames, on the black soil of the Deccan. The palash was in full bloom on this part of the country. The friendly chit-chat and banter in the car was somehow silent now. Partly it was the tiredness, but, I feel, largely because of the enormity of the experience that we were all trying to grasp and to absorb, all in our own little ways.
Just about 5 kms before reaching Ellora, and about half an hour before sun down, Sandeep, our driver asked us, whether, we would like to visit, Khuldabad, which he said, had the mausoleum of Aurangzeb, the 6th Mughal emperor, and from where Aurangabad had derived its name. I certainly had no clue about Khuldabad and am sure, none of my fellow travellers did. Just like other lay people, I had assumed that all the tombs of the Mughal emperors were either in Delhi or in Agra. We readily agreed, to visit Khuldabad, and Sandeep screeched into a left u-turn and turned onto a dust road. Suddenly, as if in a blink of an eye, the entire ambience changed. It somehow seemed that we had reached medieval Agra. Where, there were only vast stretches of farmlands, small shops, shacks and a few fruit vendors and wayside trees on the highway, the dirt road towards Khuldabad was lined with mosques, groups of middle-aged, slightly bulky ladies in black burkhas accompanying young giggly girls, with large colurful danglers in their ears, in colourful hijabs, lining the narrow road. Men in white kurtas, with white taqiyah or the skull cap on their head and colourful checked lungis were relaxing near paan shops. Their large guffaws could be heard from far off. It was time for the Maghrib namaaz. Ittr shops and shops selling mogra garlands and incense sticks, lined the place where we finally disembarked at the corner of the road.
I had read that the emperor Aurangzeb believed in austerity. however I was not ready for the totally inostentatious and nondescript building that stood before me in the name of the final resting place of Alamgir Aurangzeb, A person, who ruled Hindustan for 50 long years.
Abul Muzaffar Muhi-Ud-Din Mohammad Aurangzeb, the fanatic, unscrupulous, intolerant, religious zealot was one of the most hated names in our history books and not without reason. As a ruler of India, he was biased and discriminated against other religious beliefs. He destroyed temples, imposed the Jiziya tax, a discrimintory taxation system, against the hindus and the sikhs. Instead of consolidating his territories, he waged constant wars against the Marathas, Sikhs, Jats and the Bundelas, which, depleted the already depleting treasury, as well as added fuel and purpose to the resistance movements of these communities. With his death on March 3rd 1707, in Ahmednagar, he left a corrupt and crumbling empire which was too large to be handled by any single despot, he left behind alienated subjects, a demoralised army and a depleted treasury.However, as I stood before the grave of this man, great or otherwise, I could not bring myself to believe, that, this unassuming cloth covered austere grave, with no enclosure fit for such a royal, was, where he lay in peace. This was the same man, who did not use the royal treasury for his own personal expenses. Instead, he used the money he earned from making the taqiyah, and writing the Quran to locate and buy a piece of land for his grave. Lord Curzon, ( the Governor General and Viceroy of India from 1899-1905) on visiting this grave, had instructed the Nizam of Hyderabad to build a marble screen around the grave.
Aurangzeb is buried according to his own wishes, in the courtyard, towards the right of the southern entrance at the Dargah of Sayyad, Zain-Ud-Din Sirazi, a muslim saint, he revered as his mentor and spiritual guide. The tombs of Azam Shah, Aurangzeb's son and that of his wife, lie to the east of Aurangzeb's tomb. 
Sayyed Zain-Ud-Din Sirazi is a highly revered muslim saint, and at one point of time was the chief qazi of Daulatabad. Strains of sufi music caught my ear, as I was moving around the courtyard engrossed in photography. As I entered the main entrance to the Darga, dusk was slowly descending on this almost surreal world. The sufi singers were in a trance like state, and men, women and children were engrossed in the atmosphere of incense and mysticism. I got absorbed in the whole ambience too, as I was offered a scarf by one of the old ladies and was asked to cover my head. I sat down, cross legged with them and drank the beauty of the moment to my heart's content. The sun had set, when we were leaving the Dargah. The day had taught me two diametrically opposite lessons. One, that of grandiosity and flamboyance in the creativity of Ajanta, where the basic tenet was simplicity...while on the other hand, the extravagance and pomposity of a much-hated emperor, subdued amidst unimposing and humble culminations. This was perhaps the essence of life, the existence of duality of simplicity amidst sophistication. Simplicity as the ultimate form of sophistication has always existed. One can never do without the other.
Author: Jayeeta Sinha Roy
Photos by author
What can you say when you are absolutely out of word and astonished beyond limit! What a piece I have just gone through, I cannot describe here. I was taken to British India of 1819, and all my senses were tuned properly. I could hear the sound of the cricket glee , can smell the wild forest, can see the green freshness of the Shahyadri. The discovery of the caves is simply breathtaking. The art of slowly rising the multi layered curtain is perfectly demonstrate here. It was like I am in the discoverer here.
ReplyDeleteSuddenly I felt, everything is changing with a big bang. The time machine brought me back to 2015 March. Stepping out of the air conditioned tourist coach. Wow, what a twist. Now I can smell the aroma of the Marathi thali from the Ajanta restaurant. Splendid. The way the cave complexes are described it like, I am actually exploring each inch of the complex step by step.
The history described such a magnificent way, it never felt like I am actually reading something on history. It blended within the storyline so nicely, nobody could feel it. And from here, I was taken to Khuldabad, the resting place of the Emperor Aurangzeb. Oh boy, within such a small place, author described the emperor of India with all sides of his character.
Finally in the evening, something very rare. Something spiritual, some realization. The piece now excels much beyond a normal travelogue to a literature masterpiece. I am just taken abak. Eagerly waiting for the next part. This one, the second part, surpasses the first part in many aspects. I am expecting this in the third part too.
Am astonished beyond limit too....for such immense encouragement and appreciation...There are people whose, opinion matter a lot...Thank you
DeleteIt's probably a gift to be able to make the reader engrossed from the very first sentence. I felt good to read this as it tickled all my senses. Very interesting choice of words - brings the necessary weight in this writing.
ReplyDeleteAnd all of these apply to both the parts of this beautiful journey and experience.
The journey was beautiful indeed. The reader's involvement in the piece, pushes me on to create anew, further. Thank you and welcome to "the globe in my pocket"
DeleteAlmost a 200 years of time frame in a short size novel traversing people history and soul. Crisp. I can remember, one of the Bengali writer “Banaful” wrote some story with 2 to 3 lines. Now I have the same kind of powerful writer in English language in my present times. Yes, I named it as a short size novel and not a travelogue because this part of the complete works deserve it.
ReplyDeleteLooking for the next part. We do not know what are the other Kohinoor is hidden in the pocket where a globe is already managed its place.
As I mentioned, opinions of some, matter a lot...favourable recognition is always solicited, but comparision to greats like, Banaphul is something, which has left me at a loss of words. I do not know, whether, I ever will have the patience and perseverence of writing a novel, but if I ever do, i will remember you for being the first to make me think about it in the first place...Thank you would be such a trifling word for the stature of your comment. Do keep visiting my blog.
ReplyDeleteIt is enriching, engaging and entertaining. The philosophical touch in the concluding para has added a depth that we rarely find in travelogues. It may not be an exaggeration to say that in many respects, this post has surpassed your earlier ones. Happy to see you back in such a magnificent form.
ReplyDeleteThank you Mr.Chakraborty for taking time out from your schedule to go through each of my posts. Your invaluable opinion makes a lot of difference.
Delete