Hampi – A fictional tragedy!

 

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===