This is an article that I wrote for an assignment back when I was studying journalism. I don't think I got marked very well for it, but this is me in full description mode, and very much my style of writing.
Glory engraved
The sun glinted off Sonam’s silver bracelet, the flash blinding me for a moment. I felt myself stumble, and stopped. Turning around, I looked at the panorama in front of me. Just about a quarter of the way up to the Gingee Fort, and yet I could already see for miles around. The summer heat obscured everything in the distance in a blue haze. The hills around appeared fuzzy, blurred. The sky was a vast expanse of bright, light blue. Not a single cloud marred its facade. It was hard to believe that such a cool, delightful blue could beat down that relentlessly hot.
Situated in the Muttakadu Reserve forest area, 37 km from Thiruvanmallai, Gingee Fort is one of the most famous forts of South India. Nestled on three hills, Rajagiri, Krishnagiri, and Chakkilidurg, are the outposts. It is not hard to imagine why this site was chosen to construct the fort. From the watchtowers, at an impressive 800 feet, one would be able to see the enemy coming from far and wide. The British called it the ‘Troy of the East’.
The kings of ye olde were not incredible geniuses, just incredibly crazy, I decided fifteen minutes later. Dragging myself up another flight of indomitable steps, all my thoughts of artistic fort-building were forgotten. Why did they have to build it all the way up here? Surely no one in their right minds would want to take over the hill after such an arduous climb! I was out of breath, and from the heavy breathing of my friends behind me, so were they. We all staggered to a stop under a roofed gateway, relieved to be out of the sun and under cool shade. “Water!” someone gasped, as sounds of our inconsistent breathing filled the air.
“Mad kings!” muttered Morshed, echoing my earlier thoughts.
Though most of the Gingee fort’s history is shrouded in mystery, it has seen a long line of rulers vying for its control. For whoever ruled this citadel, ruled the countryside. Historians have pieced together from sketchy details the story of the fort’s past.
The site was an important outpost even as far back as the 7th century. The Chola kings in the 10th century probably built what was the forerunner of the present fort. But the most significant rulers were those who built it: the Konars. Ananda Kone built the Rajagiri fortification in 1200 A.D., and so it was also called ‘Anandagiri’.
The Rajagiri fort soared above like a silent sentinel guarding its domain, even though the people who manned it were long gone. Huge black beehives hung from the overhanging rocks like bags. The first flat bit of the path was obstructed by a large uprooted tree that slept across the trail, which we had to walk around. There was also a temple, and a rusty trident stood struck into the ground before it, each of its three prongs covered with bangles of every colour. “That is the Kamalakaniamman temple,” our guide later told us. “There will be a ten-day festival there next month. Cows and bulls will be sacrificed.”
Opposite the temple, visible through the thick profusion of trees and surrounded by craggy rocks and shrubbery, was a big pond. A sick slimy green, yet it looked inviting in the scorching sweltering heat. We left it behind and continued up the steps that wound their way up the hilltop in a serpentine path.
The steps were all cut out of grey rock, most probably granite. My father, a geologist, had once explained to me how the stone was actually cut back in those times when they had no electrical tools like saws. “Rocks were cut by boring holes into them,” he had said. “Wooden wedges were inserted in these holes. Water was then poured on them so that they expanded, and cracked the rocks.” They cleaved into a very symmetrical square pattern, I thought. They almost looked machine cut.
An hour’s tramping later, we were at the top, and when the drab bastion came into view from around the bend, I forgot how exhausted and thirsty I was. It was a history buff’s dream. The rough walled edifice, though in ruins, stood just as majestic as it must have been when the armies of rival kings fought to lay claim over it.
“More than twenty kings have ruled here at Gingee,” said the guide proudly, almost as if he was one of them. “And the fort has been built over four centuries”.
The triangular contour of the three hills is enclosed within a wall sixty feet thick. Rajagiri fort is surrounded by a moat eighty feet wide. The main drawbridge to the fort overlooks a drop of a clear 120 feet. It has now been secured, but could earlier be drawn up and taken down. No wonder the great Maratha ruler Shivaji considered Gingee the most impregnable fortress in India.
The first structure on Rajagiri hill was the Ranganatha temple, which, according to the guide, was dedicated to no God. Granaries and an audience hall stood close by. Next to it was the clock tower, where Harsha and Sonam proved their ‘rock-climbing skills’ by fording a wall with hardly any hand and footholds to get to an inaccessible staircase that took them to the top of the clock tower. They collected quite a crowd, mostly children, who were as impressed as we were. And just as fascinated with the rest of us.
While Smita chatted with the small group, one teenager broke away from the pack and came over to where I stood, angling for a photograph. “Which country you are from?” he asked.
I was taken aback. “India!” I exclaimed. Surely that was obvious?
“Oh.” He paused. Then, “I thought you were from foreign…” He sidled away, leaving me feeling like a foreigner in my own country.
I pushed the thought out of my mind and turned to snap off a picture of the ruins on Krishnagiri, which lay some distance away. Along with the granaries, there is also an oil well on Krishnagiri hill.
Far below, within the confines of the inner fort at the foot of the hills, stands the seven-storeyed Kalyan Mahal, the marriage hall of yore. The big granary, the Elephant tank, stables, barracks and the prison cells are the other buildings in the grounds. There is also the Venkataramana temple built by Muthiyalu Nayakar in the 1500s, the biggest temple in the fort. The Sad-ad-Ullah mosque, built in 1717-18 A.D. during the rule of Raja Tej Singh, is another reminder of the fortress’s vivid and intriguing history.
Many of these structures were added by successive kings: the Vijayanagar Empire of the 13th century, the Nayaks of Tamil Nadu, the Marathas and the Mughals. Gingee was also under the reign of the French, and then the British.
We spent a happy hour exploring the dilapidated citadel.
Castles and forts have a way of being very enigmatic, almost as if they were people. This feeling intensified as I sat on a crumbling wall, gazing out at the chequered handkerchief of faraway green and brown fields. If I tried hard enough, I could almost visualize the fort in its days of glory. A picture formed in my mind, of liveried soldiers, battle-ready steeds, the drawbridge being lowered, the fortified ramparts…
As the sun shifted from its zenith, we began our way down. Our plans of making it to town to take an early bus back home were thwarted by the myriad distractions that we had studiously ignored on our way up. Rocks and boulders balanced delicately one on top of another. Every nook and cranny looked like the entrance to a hidden grotto, full of secrets.
“What’s that?” Harsha’s question had everyone swivelling around to see what he was pointing at. There was a slightly large gap in the rocky hillside. It looked decidedly like the opening to a cave, and there was no voice of dissent when we decided to see where it went. While it didn’t need any acrobatics, we did have to squeeze our way between two layers of rocks, all the while hoping we wouldn’t get stuck. It was a tiny cave, and a small amount of scrambling later we emerged into the afternoon sun… to find ourselves where we had been exactly two minutes before we spotted the cave!
Surrendering all hopes of finding a real adventure, we trudged down the trail. My thoughts strayed to the one complaint I had so far: the fort’s maintenance. Even though Gingee Fort has been declared a protected monument by the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI), there are clear signs of vandalism and damage. Names are engraved into the sides of the fort, and in the rocks on the path. They jar with the ancientness of the monument, defiling a piece of our own heritage.
As we left the fort’s precincts, I looked back at it one last time. The ruins atop Rajagiri hill sat where they were, soaking up the sun and surveying their realm. They looked like tiny dollhouses from this distance. My eyes fell on a structure much closer: a huge rectangular raised platform. And I smiled as I recalled what the guide had said. That the king and the queen slept there on moonlit nights, under a canopy of stars.
