Journeys and Jottings

Issue 62 - Bijapur also called Vijayapura in Karnataka is a treasure trove of history and heritage monuments. A guest post today from travel writer Santosh Ojha

Hello and welcome to yet another issue of Journeys and Jottings. We have a guest writer in this issue. I would like to introduce you to travel writer and friend Santosh Ojha who pens so beautifully about a heritage town called Bijapur or Vijaypura (as it’s now called), located in Karnataka in India. Nicknamed the Palmyra of the Deccan, Bijapur is a treasure trove of heritage monuments and Santosh’s story takes us to a few of them. Bijapur is one of my favourite heritage towns as well and here is my list on some of the heritage monuments that you must not miss in Bijapur.

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Bijapur - Palmyra of the Deccan

Our car turns into Bijapur, just before sunset, after a 550km drive from Bangalore. We spot groups of men lounging around tea shops, kids playing cricket on the street and stray cattle ambling around. Sounds and smells waft into our car as we lower the windows to check with the locals on the directions to our hotel. The familiar signals of a small town going about its business. For a moment, we wonder, what are we doing here? The three of us would have been better off sipping our beers in our favourite microbrewery back home.

Little did we know that we would already make plans to return to the town after hours of sightseeing the following day. Next time with spouses, to rediscover the wondrous world of the Adil Shahis all over again.

***

Bijapur, today, is a shadow of its former self. Under the Adil Shahi dynasty, it was a roaring metropolis of a million population in the medieval ages. Some considered it even more prosperous and vigorously active than Mughal era Delhi and Agra. The Adil Shahis, whose reign spanned nearly three centuries starting end of the fifteenth century, created a superpower in the barren Deccan peninsula, politically and rich in culture, music, arts, and architecture.

Deccan in the medieval ages was in a state of constant upheaval. After the breakdown of the Bahmani kingdom, five Sultanates sprang up: Bijapur, Berar, Bidar, Ahmednagar and Golconda. They were constantly at war with each other, one-on-one, two together against a third, and these political alignments would change often. The sixth kingdom in this volatile mix was the strong Vijayanagar Empire ruled by Hindu rulers. The Sultanates had an eye on the immense riches of Vijayanagar (Hampi), but the latter proved too strong for them. Finally, the Sultanates allied and defeated the Vijayanagar decisively in the Battle of Talikota in the mid-sixteenth century.

***

Raj Shekhar, our guide, presents himself in the hotel lobby. He works as a priest, orchestra MC, singer, and tourist guide. “Sir, I guide the visiting VIPs.” He fishes out his phone to show us the images of his distinguished clients. Credentials established; he commands us to meet him at the car park of Gol Gumbaz the following morning. “Six AM, please, do not delay!”

***

Gol Gumbaz appears from afar in the pre-dawn light as a black dome crowning a cube. We walk ahead, and the dome disappears, leaving just the cube. The cube was built as the grand gateway to the Gumbaz now serves as a museum. A few meters ahead, I feel dwarfed in the presence of the fifty-one-meter-tall mausoleum as it looms into view.

The seventh emperor, Mohammad Adil Shah’s ambition was to have his resting place grander than his father Ibrahim Adil Shah II! He started its construction soon after ascending the throne. Completed in 1656 after thirty years of toil, this is still the biggest dome in India and the second biggest in the world.

Along with his family members, the emperor is buried in the vault below the monument's floor. Interestingly enough, Rambhavati was the court dancer and his mistress, buried right next to him! False sarcophagi are built in the center of the hall floor, a wooden canopy covering the Sultan’s.

The sheer audacity of the architect, Yaqut of Dabul, in conjuring up an intricate design that has withstood the ravages of time for the past nearly four centuries is breathtaking. The conversion of the square base to a circular dome is via eight angles upon which the weight of the basalt dome rests.

And, if you need further proof of the genius’ architectural skills, walk up to the “whispering gallery” of the dome. Raj Shekhar leads us up the impossibly high 108 steps of the minaret into the gallery. And this also solves the mystery of why we are at the monument pre-dawn. Raj seats us on concrete seats as we reach the gallery. He squeezes an empty mineral water bottle, and we are startled by the loud echoes hitting our ears. Then he raises his right hand and whispers, “Om”. He counts the echoes- eleven of them- with the fingers of his outstretched palm. And this is quickly followed by “Allah, Allah, Allah…..” and “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus….” Eleven echoes each. “This is why I wanted us to visit early. In the next couple of hours, this place would be crawling with tourists with their echoing shrieks.” He then scurries around the gallery, diametrically opposite to us, 120 feet away. His whisper, “Can you hear me?” is loud and clear. I scamper to join our guide to play this new “can-you-hear-me” game. My friend Gaurav, a crazily gifted singer, is keen to grab this acoustic manna. He breaks into “Kora kaagaz tha, ye mann mera”, the Aradhana movie classic. The Gumbaz echoes his voice as beautifully as Kishore’s in the Kashmir Valley.

Ibrahim Rouza:

Ibrahim Rouza, the mausoleum commissioned by Ibrahim Adil Shah II for himself, appears to be a complex of three distinct buildings. Uncannily enough, the gateway in the middle looks like Hyderabad’s Char Minar. The mausoleum looks like the Taj Mahal, albeit black, to its left. And to the right, the mosque looks like Aurangzeb’s wife’s final resting place in Aurangabad, Biwi ka Maqbara. Ibrahim Rouza precedes all these famous monuments by a long margin. Perhaps the design inspiration for each of the three?

The exquisitely carved doorway to the sepulchral chamber is replete with Arabic and Persian inscriptions and floral motifs. Enclosing the area is a collonaded verandah, the columns and capitals equally minutely decorated. The corbels are a statement of art in themselves. Our guide gives a demo of the mausoleum complex’s acoustics. As we wait near the tombs, he says “Allah” normally. We can hear it crystal clear across the distance of 220 feet. Ibrahim Adil Shah II’s brief to the architect of the complex was that he would like to “hear” the azaan even when interred!

Bara Kamaan:

The Adil Shahi emperors’ competitiveness for building more immense mausoleums spanned generations. Ali Adil Shah II, who succeeded his Gol Gumbaz builder father, decided he should have something even more dramatic for himself. He planned twelve layers of arches, one atop the other, each floor having twelve arches constituting its sides. The super-structure was intended to be tall enough to eclipse even the Gol Gumbaz by its shadow. His dream lies at the edge of a busy vegetable market. We step into the gate of Bara Kamaan, stepping on a pathway lined with well-manicured lawns.

Ali Adil Shah II did get his burial in the edifice he was preparing for in his afterlife, but not in the grand monument he wished. The construction stopped abruptly – after just two layers were stacked. The relentless onslaught of the Mughals on the Bijapur Sultanate was perhaps the cause.

I suppose the Sultan is resting reasonably happy with the thought that while his dream could not take shape, the locals still know it as Bara (Twelve) Kamaan (arch).

***

The then Sultan of Bijapur, Ali Adil Shah I, invested some of the booties from Vijaynagar into a massive mosque which later came to be the congregational mosque of Bijapur. Architects from Persia designed the mosque. In keeping with Shia design sensibilities, the design was simple but elegant. The massive and ornate mihrab (prayer niche) contrasts with the austere surroundings. Delicate Islamic calligraphy, floral motifs, images of buildings with bulbous domes painted in blue, red, gold and magenta make the mihrab vibrant. This design was done later, in the reign of Mohammad Adil Shah, who was not a Shia, but a Sunni.

***

“You will now visit a site which few tourists visit,” Raj Shekhar said. He led us through a narrow path through overgrown bushes and tall trees. We were on the outskirts of Bijapur. “Just be careful about snakes. There are a few of them here.” he laughed. Snakes are never a laughing matter for me, but I kept going in the excitement of seeing something unique. We past a centuries-old abandoned watchtower, and presently we were staring into Saath Kabar or Sixty Graves.

Shivaji was becoming a thorn in the flesh for the Adil Shahis. Ali Adil Shah II tasked his able general, Afzal Shah, to crush this Maratha upstart. Before marching with his army, he assembled his sixty-four wives in the jungles outside Bijapur. He drowned each of them in a nearby well and had them buried. One of the wives managed to escape. She was chased down a few kilometres away and killed. The general was afraid that if he died in the battle with the Marathas, his wives would either remarry or get defiled by other men. Though it has sixty-three graves, over time, it has erroneously been called Saath (sixty) Kabar. (Incidentally, Afzal Shah was killed by Shivaji at Pratapgarh near Satara, Maharashtra, where his grave still exists.)

The isolation of the location, the crumbling dark gravestones on a raised platform, the collapsing masonry of the surrounding buildings and the murkiness of the well water; all add to the intense gloominess of the story.

***

Indeed, medieval times were brutal. This episode is just a tiny part of it. But this period in the Deccan Peninsula generated a blossoming of beautiful Indo-Islamic architecture. Majestic enough for three city-slickers to drive from Bangalore to savor their beauty.

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