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Mandu: The Forgotten Kingdom

By Anamika Mukherjee


A trip to Mandu, if you are a die hard sightseer, is an exercise in futility. There’s too much to see, much of which is inaccessible, obscured, ruined or decrepit. At every turn, there’s lovely hill-station scenery, a couple of water bodies are scattered loosely around, dazzlingly reflecting the blue skies, the white puff clouds, the ruins, tall rust coloured grasses, and whatever else happens to be at water’s edge. This place is a romantic retreat, as well as a paradise for those who love historic sites.

We drove up to Mandu from Indore, by cab with an old and cheerful driver. He decided virtually our entire itinerary, which sights we should see, when and even when it was time to take a break. Rupmati’s Pavilion first, he declares, heading us up the road towards his chosen destination. Much has been said about Rupmati’s Pavilion in various books and tourist guides. It has been endowed with a romantic air, as legend has it that she was the mistress or perhaps the rani of Baz Bahadur, the then ruler of Mandu. Nothing of the sort, says our driver, it’s merely that he loved music and so – until he fled from the attack of Akbar’s army – they made beautiful music together. You might have expected him to build a beautiful pavilion for her, but the irony of Rupmati’s pavilion is that it was built before Rupmati arrived on the scene. Prior to being endowed with romantic significance, it was a military outpost, from where lookouts kept watch, and yelled the news of enemy positions to other posts in town.

After all that build up, Rupmati’s Pavilion is a bit of an anticlimax. The most spectacular aspect is the approach road, which winds steeply up the hill, and, right at the top, does four hairpin bends in rapid succession on a very steep gradient. Apart from this natural bounty, it is a charming sort of unremarkable pavilion with an interesting ceiling and a grand view stretching away to the Narmada, whose silvery stream can be glimpsed on a clear day, which this wasn’t.

Baz Bahadur’s Palace is the next stop, and a quick look around reveals that it is more grandiose and interesting than his supposed-beloved’s humble pavilion. In fact, though, the building is attributed to the earlier period of Nasir-ud- Din’s rule. It has an imposing, high screen of arches leading up to it, and a tank in front.

In rapid succession we see Malik Mughith’s mosque, the neighbouring serai, the also-neighbouring Dai Ki Chhoti Bahan Ki Mahal, and the Dai Ki Mahal, then on to Darya Khan’s group of monuments, a tomb, serai, and mosque around a baodi. (For those not familiar with the terminology, a serai is a guest house, and a baoli or baodi, is a well or a tank or a reservoir for water or for bathing.) Here we discover the lamentable fact that many of the monuments in Mandu are even today being inhabited. Adivasis, says our driver scornfully. The mosque is hung with cloth cradles, the serai has been turned into a stable, its floor covered with dung. Another distressing fact which we discover shortly is that those monuments which are free of human habitation have been taken over by bats, and reek unbearably of bats’ excreta. This is especially true of Hoshang Shah’s Tomb – which is otherwise well-maintained and clean – but it is a recurring motif in all the most fascinating structures.

Disappointed, we proceed down a path which a sign proclaims leads to Elephant Palace, only to find our path shortly blocked by a stretch of sharp-edged stones substituting for a road. The driver looks at it dubiously. It’s not really worth seeing, he says, which is a change from his usual crib about how people are not interested in seeing all that he wants to show them.

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Copyright © 2006 Amit and Anamika Mukherjee. All rights reserved.
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