Hampi
– A fictional tragedy!
NOTE: NO PHOTOS IN THIS BLOG; ALL PICTURES ARE ADVERTISEMENTS.
Genre - Fiction
Sub-genre - Road-trip
Length of blog - 2300 words
Iossif was a
travel writer, and as per his tradition, he had got a hold of his travel buddy
and as per plan they were on their way to Hampi. Misha had just bought a new
car around a month back and was excited about the 1600 km round trip road
journey. Iossif on the contrary was flaccid, he considered himself an impassive
person in the navigator seat, the name of the seat just a keepsake now that the
driver was ever resourceful with google maps et al. The last leg of the road, a
300km freeway to Bangalore was straight and sturdy. Misha, was all praise for
6-lane road.
“What’s there in
Hampi?” was one of the conversations that started and ended quite abruptly;
both the travellers not wanting to break the suspense.
“Take the left and
you have reached your destination”, the female voice on the app said. The
landscape had turned hilly. The type of hills they had both seen for the first
time. There were rocks of various sizes but cube-shaped. And the cuboids were
placed one on top of the other, as if on purpose. Iossif and Misha had started
to notice the terrain changes quite a few miles back. They found a state
department owned tourism center and decided that this was their resting place
for the day. Through the trees from their room they could see a nearby ruin
partially. Ruins is what Hampi is famous for.
“Look”, Iossif said as he pointed towards the
ruins, “They used the same rocks to build them”
“Here’s what
Google says,” Misha read, “Hampi was a temple town and is recognized as a UNESCO
World Heritage site with ruins from 1343 to 1565 AD. Hampi was the rich capital
of the Vijayanagara Empire when it was at its peak during 14th century “
“Haha, I smell
treasure” Iossif said.
They had a few
hours of daylight with them and they decided to scout the area. Back into the
car they headed for the main temple area. In today’s day, Hampi continues to be
famous for its temples. Lots of ruins passed them, an entrance with remains of
a wall, a stone bull, etc., all with neatly marked signboards in various
languages along the winding road. They had reached the main entrance, the car
parked they entered the main temple with stone walls; pilgrims were in various
stages of prayer in the huge campus. A stone altar with wheels the size of a
fully-grown man stood in front of the temple entrance. This altar-cum-chariot
being as tall as a single storey building would have to be pulled by thousands
of pilgrims if it had to go anywhere.
“It could’ve
easily been used as a tank”, Iossif sail aloud.
They noticed the
entire block of temples, inclusive of the tourist bazaar was a vegetarian area,
in respect of the holy grounds. They had traversed the entire settlement and
reached the banks of the Tungabadhra river. The river ebbed, its flow
controlled by a dam a couple of kilometers upstream. A motorized coracle lazily
crossed the river.
“How do they
know which side is port and which side is starboard”, Misha said staring at the
round boat.
“It would not be
able to carry more than a handful of people”, Iossif contnued, “And oh, yet
look at it ferrying bikes too!”
The opposite bank led to mini-Hampi.
“We’ll go there
the last two days,” Iossif heard Misha say.
He nodded back,
his friend captured a few pictures in the sunset on his cellphone.
“The smell from
the gutter will not be caught in the photos, you know”, Iossif said.
Misha smiled
back. They retreated knowing not to get on each other’s nerves. Back at the
hotel they had dinner over a couple of beers and decided their next day’s
itinerary.
“A funny thing
happened, when you were freshening up before dinner and I had gone to the store
nearby”, Iossif said.
“Hmmmm”, his
friend responded as he sipped on his drink.
“I started a
conversation about treasure with the store keeper”, Iossif said.
“I can imagine
you, with the all kinds of signs being made by you to overcome the language
barrier,” Misha laughed.
“I asked him if
any treasure can be found around”, Iossif continued, “The man pointed at the
full moon and said that it was a good time and we may come across a few local
ruffians doing the same too.”
They headed for
their room and immediately noticed their entire lobby was full of people. A
posse of family members were to be their noisy neighbours. And thanks to them
they were up early to continue their trip. The first half of the day they
visited the ruins they had passed last evening. A mixture of temples, army
quarters, the main palace, a queen’s bath of which now the foundation remained,
elephant stables, granary ruins, an octagonal bath, watch towers, etc. All made
from the same cuboid rocks.
“Ram had used
these rocks to construct the bridge to Sri Lanka”, Misha was referring to the
mythological story of Ramayana.
“So the rocks were there before Ram or did he
use his powers to convert entire hills into pyramids of cubes”, Iossif said.
They had earlier
visited the temples with details of monkey men - the monkey-men who had helped
Ram construct the bridge to enter Sri Lanka to save his wife Sita from Ravana.
One temple had carvings where each monkey-man had a different kind of armour,
readying for war. The temples in solid stone were proof of a religion set in
this Indian subcontinent. Iossif felt himself doubting his own beliefs.
Their next stop,
the official museum gave them more of an idea of the life during the Devarayas.
Krishnadevaraya, the most popular amongst the dynasty awoke before dawn, rode
his horses hard, exercised with weapons and conducted his daily managerial
tasks all before lunch.
“Let’s have
lunch after this”, Misha said.
They stared at
painting by Domingo Paes, a Portuguese traveller who had captured the Hampi
marketplace in its heyday.
“Look at those
sacks filled with precious stones”, Iossif said.
He pointed to
one corner of the overcrowded painting. A setting with merchants on mammoths,
horses along with their masters having negotiations with pointed capped
foreigners. The grandeur of the ancient city’s past glory not left to
imagination.
“I have never
seen so many people in a single painting”, Iossif continued over the lunch
table, “It could’ve been passed off as a recent photo of any railway station in
Mumbai.”
They had settled
for the first eatery that they could find and gobbled down the simple meal. The
next stop was to be the place they had just seen in the painting. They drove
eastwards to the next cluster of ruins which farther along would meet the
Tungabadhra again. Car parked they readied themselves to enter the painting.
Battery operated elongated versions of golf carts plied tourists along the
entire bazaar of which only ruins remained today. The bazaar itself as long as a
football field, ended in a temple. Adjacent were a few more temples.
An arch nearby
known as “King’s balance”, where they weighed heavy stuff from the bazaar. A
two-storeyed building was a part of this area, which too was made from the same
cube-shaped blocks of rocks.
“So the temples
were built in honour of Ram who had used Hampi’s rocks”, Iossif continued, “I
wonder why they didn’t construct any toilets though, I wonder where they pooed”
“It was bushier
500 years ago”, Misha said.
A visit of the
satellite ruins got them to a sunset by the riverside. Here another coracle
ferried tourists to a fourth set of ruins. They sat along the bank to enjoy the
sunset. Iossif made a few mental notes for his write-up. An unfinished bridge
lay across the river. It seemed to have been lost in translation, a couple of
dumper trucks without tyres, an almost complete uphill slope on the other side,
which suggested the work held up from a couple of years at least.
Misha pointed to the tallest hill across the
bank and said, “We’ll catch the sunset from there tomorrow.”
They left for
their hotel where they were greeted by the throng of their neighbour’s family.
Iossif hovered around the lobby, the children played, women chattered, it was
as if the entire family tree was on tour. A middle aged man came up to him.
“Yep, we all
come here every year, a good outing for everyone”, he said with a heavy
southern Indian accent.
“Oh, Hampi is
beautifu…”, Iossif was cut short.
“badagboodoogbadagboodoogbadagboodoogbadagboodoog,
karnataka… badagboodoogbadagboodoogbadagboodoogbadagboodoog, Hampi” the man
said in the local language.
Iossif guessed
the language was Kannada, though he couldn’t tell the difference. Thankfully
the man translated what he had just spoken into English.
“If you have
eyes you can see Karnataka, but if you have legs you can see Hampi”, the man
continued, “Old Karnataka state saying.”
“These are your
children?” Iossif said.
“Yes those two
over there and those are my elder brother’s kids…” the man’s voice drifted away
as Iossif got lost into his own train of thoughts.
Iossif knew he would use “ye old Karnataka
state saying” in his story. He was prone to these random inputs from random
people. He didn’t know why - probably he had a very approachable face - he had
come to terms with such experiences, where he would be shown how to bring about
the twist in his story writing by total strangers. He liked it. And it was
probably why people said, “You journey to find yourself.”
He made a couple
of entries in his notebook before bed. The next day, they headed out to the
fourth set of ruins. The coracle ride was slow and Iossif watched the water as
it threatened to enter the wok-shaped vessel.
“God knows why
they can’t complete this bridge”, Iossif said over the noise of the motor.
Misha who was in
conversation with another fellow passenger, turned and responded, “This guy is a
local and he says the bridge was almost near completion when the Tungabhadra
overflowed and destroyed the bridge.”
The rest of the
boat ride was completed in silence. Iossif wondered if everyone understood what
they had spoken in English and were respecting the wrath of the nature or was
it just coincidence.
The fourth set
of ruins were connected to mini-Hampi by a handful of kilometers of road. But
alas their car was on the other side and Misha did not want to leave his new
car unattended overnight. So they completed their tour of Gagan Mahal, a
residence to one of the ancient lords and his kin as soon as they could and
journeyed back over the river.
A few inquiries
with lots of actions in the coracle got them the confirmation of the land route
they needed. They would have to traverse through Annegundi, a city 10 kms
downstream, where there was a bridge to get to the other side by car. They did
it by 5 pm. It had been a bumpy and slow three-hour journey. And yet the car
ride was worth it, Mini-Hampi had a Goa vibe. There were gulleys with
memorabilia sold all along it. Foreigners strolled with knapsacks,
non-vegetarian cuisine along with alcoholic beverages were hoarded across the
area. A cool breeze flew over the lush green paddy fields, coconut palms completed
the montage. And of course, there were also bikes on hire. Iossif and Misha
bargained themselves a bike and headed for the tall hill to witness the sunset.
Atop the hill
was a temple; not a ruin but famous anyways. 1500 steps were laid out to the
top for ease of access to crowds of tourists, by now all of whom had gotten
used to the ‘cubes’ of rocks. The sun highlighted each set of ruins as it
withdrew westwards into the horizon. They had a bird’s eye view of the entire
surrounding area. A few 4-pillared ruins could be seen on the short adjacent
hilltops which had probably been used as lookout posts.
Iossif tried to
follow their route from the main temple to where they were right now. Opposite
the main temple across the river closest to them was mini-Hampi. Mini-Hampi an
island formed by the river splitting and meeting back again around it. Further
downstream were ruins number three and four. The pillars of the ancient bridge
could be seen. And then it struck Iossif, he knew how he would end his story. The
ancient people were a tough lot, they had a ruler who promoted fair trade and
got them all to live in a civilized society; yet fell short. They built
palaces, markets, outposts, granaries and gardens, yet they did not build
toilets. The outposts and barrack settlements were few compared to the wealth
they had accumulated. They may have flourished for another century if they had
concentrated more on fortifications rather building temples. The ancient bridge
and the newly perished bridge a testimony to the tragic end to the capital city
of an empire by over flooding of a river.
===THE END===
