by Aline Dobbie
The Teli Ka Mandir or Oilman’s Temple is situated a few metres to the west of the Gangola Tal, a water tank. It is the highest of all the buildings on the fort being over 35 metres in height. This is a nineth century Vishnu temple and it is peculiar in that the plan and design of its Sikhara (spire) is Dravidian which is commonly found in southern India. The rest of its intricate details are in Indo-Aryan style and the combination is odd.
Vakil told us of the British cemetery that forms the last resting place for British soldiers, who occupied the fort from 1858 to 1883. He knew of another cemetery, however, in which one of my Rose kinsman is buried, but this is down on the edge of the military cantonment and we went on to visit it. It was after the battle of Maharajpur in 1844 that the fort was garrisoned by British troops. It was handed over to Maharaja Jayaji Rao, when he came of age in 1853; and he held it till the rising of 1857 when it fell into the hands of the Sepoy forces. General Sir Hugh Rose vanquished the rebel army and took the surrender but this is the story not only of the Indian Mutiny or as I prefer to think of it The First War of Independence, but of a great heroine of India – the Rani of Jhansi.
Rani Lakshmi Bhai, is better known as the Rani or Queen of Jhansi. She was born into a Brahmin family and married Raja Gangadhar of Jhansi, but never bore him children. In 1853, the British tried to force her into retirement when widowed, along with her adopted baby son. The Rani retaliated in 1857 by personally leading her bodyguard of five hundred warriors to seize Jhansi Fort from the British. Jhansi is quite close in modern terms to Gwalior and we were to visit it in two days time. The British took 17 days to breach the walls of Jhansi Fort and it was a battle in which 5,000 were killed. The courageous Rani strapped her baby son to her back and somehow managed to escape from the vanquished fort and join the main rebel army at Gwalior, where she subsequently rode to her death dressed as a man wielding her sword in both hands and holding the reins of her horse in her mouth. With more than one Rose ancestor who played a part in the history of Gwalior, I naturally have a special interest in the area. The Rani of Jhansi is to India what Joan of Arc is to France and one will see splendid statues in many places in Northern India, but especially in Gwalior and Jhansi. I would strongly recommend John Master’s book, Night Runners of Bengal, to explore this story fully.
Vakil remembered the way to the old Christian cemetery, which is not a normal tourist destination. There, in a sort of sombre isolation, were several tombs to fallen colonials, both civilian and military. We found the Rose tomb and pondered on the waste of his young life, but that is what we are still doing with current conflicts. The sun was setting and this romanticised a melancholy place that was overrun with straggly bushes and weeds, and was obviously used as a latrine by modern people who are oblivious to another religion’s sanctified ground. I resolved to try and encourage someone in the military authorities to achieve a clean up and regular maintenance of the walled cemetery; curiously there are some modern graves and plinths and we wondered if they are in fact Christian, it was not obvious just by looking at them. At the end of a long day that started at 0400 hours, we were glad to return to the Usha Kiran Palace hotel. We bid Vakil good night and said we looked forward to the next day.
At the hotel, it was so pleasant to sink down into our own lounge chairs in the suite and order a drink and then contemplate a good meal. Out in the hotel gardens, there were huge preparations for a forthcoming wedding. November onwards is the wedding season in India and pleasant gardens are usually the venue for these lengthy and huge rituals. I know western weddings have become a sort of social nightmare with huge economic burdens, but India takes the whole wedding business into a different stratosphere. The one being planned for this venue was no different, and in fact it looked as if some taste and discernment had been put into the outdoor stage set and scenery that was being shifted into place, along with all the hundreds of little lights that help to give these marriage gardens a sort of fairy tale atmosphere.
Usha Kiran Palace Hotel – Gwalior
The next morning, after a leisurely start, Vakil took us to the Tomb of Ghaus Mohammed, an Afghan prince who helped Babur take Gwalior Fort. It is a fine example of early Moghul architecture but we were appalled at the dismal way in which we had to approach this pleasant monument. Truly, Gwalior will have to re-examine itself and make strenuous efforts to enhance its ancient buildings. At the moment, this charming building stands in a rather boring bit of bald lawn with a few flowering shrubs. The narrow lane in which to approach by car was full of the usual Indian squalor; it beggars belief that the Madhya Pradesh Government and the local equivalent of a town council can leave everything in this mess, particularly as the garden also has a smaller, but immensely important, mausoleum, that of Tansen the famous musician who was the Emperor Akbar’s favourite. Annually, performers and music lovers from all over India flock here for Gwalior’s music festival in November and, to western eyes and thinking, this would be reason enough to ensure that the whole area was kept immaculately and served as a complement to the two elegant buildings. What adds insult to injury in my view is that, from what we were told and shown, Gwalior is a prosperous city, the comparison would be that of a place like York or Chester or Stirling not taking a pride in its history and appearance.
The Tomb of Ghaus Mohammed
Vakil then took us to a shop that was especially opened for us. This happens often with guides and if they are not pushy about it we never mind. We are aware that they supplement their incomes with the percentage that the shopkeepers give them if a sale takes place. It was quite interesting and I bought an inexpensive salwar chemise which means a tunic and pants. It was to prove quite useful actually in the days ahead and I find that sort of costume very comfortable yet elegant.
Exquisite stone carving at the Tomb of Ghaus Mohammed
After a sleepy afternoon, we piled back into the car and visited the Moti Mahal or Pearl Palace. Vakil was required to bribe some lowly government employee to enable us to go in. This is not even mentioned in the guide books. The Moti Mahal is now a local government office which just made my blood boil. In its day, it would have been elegant and attractive, perhaps a small palace for a royal lady – maybe a dowager, now it is nearly a wreck, nearly, but not quite. The government offices are dirty and dusty and to visit the rooms that Vakil wanted us to see we had to climb outside stairs and traverse a couple of flat roofs. They were covered in human excrement. I just could not believe it, yet we entered these two rooms and found something so worthwhile. They are totally painted in wonderful intricate murals and have panels and high-coloured glass ceilings that with the correct lighting would make them twinkle like jewels. My photographs have proved successful. I quite understand that the majority of the palace may be of no value and therefore suitable for administration, but the two rooms should be beautifully maintained and open for visitors, or hired out for receptions. The Moti Mahal has a pleasant aspect on to an artificial lake, which was originally ornamental and has a ramp down to it by which elephants used to be taken to bathe. It would be such a lovely tourist attraction if the whole area was cleaned and maintained, the tank repaired and filled with clean water and lotus plants and a couple of elephants taken for their daily bath every afternoon. Instead, I tried to imagine it in its glorious past with perhaps the maharajah’s elephants being taken there for their daily dip by eager and protective mahawats. Vakil could see how angry we were with all the dilapidation and he said now we should understand his frustration at trying to do a good job as a guide.
The Moti Mahal Palace – Gwalior. The Palace is now in decrepitude but has glorious inner rooms
As I write in October 2003, I am reading a big article in The Times under World News. ‘India’s maharajahs demand their palaces back’. How glad I am to read it. Having seen in Rajasthan where the various royal families have been able to maintain their strongholds and preserve them, I know that this could be crucial for India’s tourism. In a move dubbed the ‘Revenge of the rajahs’ the r
oyal families are going to court to demand the return of their forts and palaces on the ground that the Government has failed in its promise to preserve them.
Exquisite ceiling paintings in the Moti Mahal, now a government office
The dispute over the royal properties dates back to 1947, when the princely states of Rajasthan, ruled by the royal houses under the British, were incorporated into an independent India. In the years that followed, the royal houses handed over or had taken from them, dozens of forts, palaces and other properties for government use. Others had to be handed over by maharajahs unable to look after them after the abolition of the civil list in the 1970s by the socialist-leaning Government of Indira Gandhi, which also took away their titles. Indira Gandhi seemed to hate the aristocracy of India and appeared to take a real vengeful pleasure in humiliating them.
Each family’s case is slightly different. The one thing that they are all agreed upon is that the government has failed to look after the properties, indeed, in many cases, has misused them and, that as the royal families, they are best qualified to save them from ruin. Long before the government embarked on its recent privatisation campaign and started leasing former royal properties to the private sector, Rajasthan’s thoroughly modern royals had shown their business sense by going into partnership with hotel and tourist groups to save their forts and palaces from decay. Interestingly, one of the most respected and distinguished royals, Maharajah Gaj Sing of Jodhpur says ‘The country is going through a change … we are shedding the mantle of bogus socialism. The Government cannot look after these properties and they must recognise that we are now in a position to do so, perhaps in a way that was not possible 50 years ago.’
In Gwalior, some of this decay and government negligence is graphically on display. I am hoping that, with India now set to become an economic giant, that some of that wealth will be responsibly used in saving its architectural heritage. It is interesting to note that Russia is also doing the same thing after years of neglect. As I said at the beginning, the fact that Atal Behari Vajpayee actually originates from Gwalior and is a poet one would think would encourage him to subsidise the state government of Madhya Pradesh and require them to renovate and maintain the jewels in their tourist crown. Indeed, perhaps that is the reason for Gwalior being designated as a developing city. I do hope so.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Glorious Khajuraho and
Orchha, via Sonagiri and Datia
We left Gwalior the following morning aboard the Shatabdhi Express for Jhansi. It was an efficient way to get there, but as I realised from looking out of the train window we would have to go back on our tracks by road to see both Sonagiri and Datia. Whilst I am, as it were, travelling through my memory it might be beneficial to point out that Gwalior makes a very good jumping off point for Khajuraho and the nearby wildlife park of Panna.
The easiest way to get to Khajuraho is on one of the daily flights from Delhi, via Agra, as indeed we had done five years previously, or from Varanasi. The Delhi Agra, Khajuraho Varanasi air route is usually very efficient, however, having said that, five years ago we had an unusual but slightly amusing experience, all of which I have chronicled in my first book, India: The Peacock’s Call. Khajuraho is a small place and I think a jewel. It is hugely popular for honeymoons, weekends away and a gentle ‘relax and recreation’. It is also easily reached from Jhansi to Satna by rail and, for that matter, by car from Gwalior. There is a hotel in Khajuraho to suit everyone, from five star properties to humble hostels. We had stayed in the Jass Oberoi, which I think now belongs to the Trident Group. It was excellent and so are the other five star establishments.
Khajuraho abounds in wonderful Hindu temples, immaculately restored after almost a thousand years of neglect. Indeed, some of the excavations continue with possibly the biggest yet to be unearthed being discovered in 1998–99 in the area of the Southern Group. If I have been ranting on about Gwalior’s decay and neglect, then let me cheer you up by saying Khajuraho is an absolute must for a first time itinerary. The temples were built between the tenth and twelfth centuries AD and are justly famed for their sculpture – the delicate intricate detail depicts such sensuality and forthright eroticism. When I was growing up in the 1950s in India, Khajuraho was not yet a tourist destination and it is a source of puzzlement that these great architectural achievements of the Chandella Dynasty should have been abandoned and ignored until discovered by the British. Although, now, Khajuraho is easily accessed as I have explained, presumably the fact that it is 400 km southeast of Agra and the same distance from Varanasi (Benares) saved it from marauding armies and invaders and Muslim zealots who deliberately vandalised so many Hindu sites. Graham and I loved our one-night stay and would have liked to spend a couple more days just unwinding. When we visited, there was still a peaceful small-town atmosphere, which sadly might change but I hope not. Tourist ‘tat’ spoils anywhere be it Europe or Asia and I hope Khajuraho is not eventually subsumed by trinket shops. I should mention that it is a World Heritage Site which should ensure it keeps its beauty.
Very close to Khajuraho is the Panna Tiger Reserve. This too is a lovely peaceful wild destination and I am delighted to hear the good news that tiger numbers have increased at the Reserve from two to three per 100 sq. km to seven to eight in the same area. Panna is a most beautiful park with stunning water falls and a lake and is known as the emerald forest. It was made into a tiger reserve in 1994. This welcome rise in tiger numbers results from the implementation of new management techniques, in particular the use of radio-collars which has allowed close monitoring of the population. Dr Raghunandan Singh Chundawat, head of the tiger project at Panna says ‘This close monitoring has allowed the radio-collared tigers to breed and increases the chances of cubs surviving to adulthood’. International fundraising and lobbying have been crucial, demonstrating how the integrated groups can lead to success in the face of political apathy and lack of institutional reform. The lake and waterfalls at Panna are especially lovely and I would encourage anyone who does not have a lot of time to spend to think of adding Panna to their itinerary because of its practical proximity to Khajuraho, which in no way diminishes its importance or enjoyment. To reach the other well known wildlife parks can take whole days of travelling, whereas at Panna it is close to an airport.
As our train approached its destination, Jhansi, I thought of all I had read about the off-the-beaten-track area of Bundelkhand. This area is defined by the Vindhya Hills and belonged to the Chandella Rajputs who built Khajuraho as I have already mentioned, but it abounds in historic relics: the Vishnu pilgrimage centre of Chitrakut, the massive astrologically aligned deserted fortress of Kalinjar, and its hills and valleys which even now are quite lawless and populated by bands of dacoits, dangerous outlaws and brigands who become the stuff of legend. Mala Sen’s true story of Phoolan Devi brings it all vividly to life. This area was known as bhagi or rebel territory. Later on, in another chapter, I will talk of the Thugs and thuggee because it is also relevant to the area of Jabalpur where we plan to stay one night. As the train approached Jhansi, I could not help thinking that the famous Rani has been the female rebel of the nineteenth century and hugely respected and admired, but in the last few years of the twentieth century Phoolan Devi had reached another sort of fame or notoriety. She was not a Brahmin’s daughter but low-caste Sudra and a peasant, yet she had challenged the Government’s forces and had made them agree to her terms of surrender; having served a jail term in Gwalior, she then had gone on to become an MP for several years before her murder in July 2001. Her murderers have not yet been brought to justice, nor will that be the full story if it ever reaches the courts. This was perhaps India’s female Robin Hood? In no way am I trying to trivialise this woman and her awful harsh childhood; she was born to poor but good parents, but life in desperate poverty trying to eke out a living has its own challenges and being married off to a cruel man when still a child herself, then being kidnapped and repeatedly raped by
a gang of bandits fashioned her into a fearless bandit leader herself.
I know that the India I know and love as the Land of my birth is the same ancient but callous country in which huge inequalities and cruelty exists and that we in the West have not experienced this sort of barbarism, or certainly not since mediaeval times. There is something odd and timeless about visiting areas for their historic importance, but being brought to a standstill by the fact that there are people living in these areas in the shadow of buildings that go back at least six hundred years, but those living might as well be stuck in that time warp. Banditry, rape, murder, humiliation of females, bonded labour, extreme poverty, poor infrastructure with a population of a billion sits oddly with information technology, advanced medicine, gleaming hotels, bejewelled women and burgeoning wealth and sophistication. Sometimes I find it really hard to accept the dichotomy of this great land; I understand the reasons but I so want it to change for the poor and disadvantaged.
We arrived at Jhansi, which is 18 km away from Orchha which in its day had been the Bundela capital and remained important till 1742. Now, it is a deserted jungle ghost town and I was looking forward to our visit and spending one night. We were met by a car and driver. Gautham was very nice and a pleasure to be with and the air conditioned jeep was to prove excellent. We immediately set off for Sonagiri, which is 61 km southeast of Gwalior and we had seen some of its charming landmarks from the train. The road was reasonable and we made good time, just stopping for a pit stop and a bottled cool drink along the way. Sonagiri has 84 gleaming white shrines marking the spot where the legendary King Nanganang Kumar together with half a million of his followers achieved liberation from the cycle of rebirth. This is a site sacred to Digambara Jains which means clothed by the sky, i.e., naked! It is apparently very popular as a special place of interest to visiting dignitaries like Bill Clinton and European presidents who are brought by helicopter. One drives into the village square and parks under a huge tree. There is a seminary where old Digambara monks talk and discuss religion with pilgrims. Nowadays, they appear to have clothed themselves. A young man offered to be our guide and we accepted, but I did not like him that much and he kept trying to talk in both French and English and making odd remarks – this was probably the first guide we had disliked. One has to take off one’s shoes and walk the path barefoot. This is not a problem, being a Jain holy area everything is very clean and fresh and was a delight. My photographs have worked very well and Graham and I really enjoyed the walk up to the top temple which also gave us a splendid view of the surrounding countryside and, as the temperature was very pleasant and the sun shining, it was thoroughly enjoyable. When we returned to the base of the hillside, the guide tried to make us pay him a quite disproportionate sum, but we were very firm and in the end he grumbled rudely and walked away, He might have assisted Bill Clinton and Chancellor Kohl in their time but I really did not require his services but would have enjoyed his company if he had been like Vakil – as it was he was a nuisance!
