देखो मुल्क मराठों का ये, यहाँ शिवाजी डोला था!
मुगलों की ताकत को जिसने तलवारों पे तोला था!
हर पर्वत पर आग लगी थी, हर पत्थर इक शोला था!
बोली हर हर महादेव की बच्चा बच्चा बोला था!
शेर शिवाजी ने रखी थी लाज हमारी शान की!
इस मिट्टी से तिलक करो, ये मिट्टी है बलिदान की!
Behold the land of the Marathas; it is here that our king Shivaji was born!
Who tested the might of the great Mughals on the blade of his sword!
Every hillock was on fire and each stone enclosed a lava of rebellion!
The tandava of Lord Shiva was invoked even by children with their war cries!
Our king Shivaji, the lion hearted, restored our pride again!
Smear the soil of this land on your forehead, O beholder; it is the soil of sacrifice!
It is this underlying ‘pride’ that has shaped and is, perhaps, still shaping the glorious ‘Land of the Marathas’ – Maharashtra. Having brought up with stories of valor of the great Maratha warriors, my journey to Mumbai and Pune was a tryst with history. A history that has blended with modernity in such a subtle way that it is difficult to tell them apart. The day I landed in Mumbai (12th November 2008), the newspapers and news channels were still fresh with the debates that were ignited by the violence that had engulfed Mumbai less than a month ago. It was the tirade, both of words and ‘hands’, against the North Indians – especially from the lower income group – who are working in Mumbai. And all that for a so-called Maratha pride. Coincidentally, the taxi I hired to reach office had a driver from Bihar. And he took no time recognizing me as hailing from North India – which I suppose was due to the pure use of Hindi by me. As soon as I sat in taxi, the following conversation ensued.
Driver: “सर, आप यू.पी. से हैं न?”
Me: “हाँ, पर अब हम यू.पी. में नहीं रहते. मेरा घर देहरादून में है.”
Driver: “सर, मैं काफी सालों से बम्बई में हूँ. पहले अच्छा लगता था. पर अब नहीं. अब तो बस घर जाने का ही मन करता है.”
Me: “ऐसा क्यों?”
Driver: “सर, ये लोग (referring to MNS may be) बहुत गंदी राजनीति करते हैं! बम्बई में तो सबके लिए जगह है. लेकिन लगता है अब हमारे लिए नहीं है!”
I could feel the divide that had set in. If the driver could share all this with me just because I was a ‘North’ Indian, there certainly was something which was not right. I felt sad. It was not just the driver, but the divide in general that has set in our society – between sects, between regions, between ideologies and between everything and everyone. I am not sure if my motherland, which was built on additions and multiplications, will be able to withstand the assault of subtraction and division.
I finished my office work for that day by evening and met my friends Arjun and Shreshtha, who work in Mumbai, and we really had a good time together – especially the hearty Italian dinner, all of which looked like a starter except for a preparation of rice which looked and tasted like tamarind rice khichdi! (In spite of eating to our full, me and Arjun had to call upon the room service at 0030 hours in the morning to get us something to eat). It was the next evening that Arjun decided to make me live the life, at least partially, that he lives in Mumbai. First of all I was asked to come to the Dadar station of the local train. And I complied, in spite of the scenes from ‘Mumbai Meri Jaan’ still reverberating in my mind. According to Arjun, you just can’t experience Mumbai without traveling by local train. “It is here that I read my novels – where I can’t even lift my shoe without kicking someone”, said he. Luckily, at that time the train was almost empty and we reached Church Gate quite comfortably. From there on we took a stroll towards the Nariman Point and passed Not Just Jazz by the Bay, one of the hangouts of Arjun. Every night there is some performance by artists in this restaurant and I guess that is what pulls him there. The cool sea breeze greeted us as we neared the coast. To the left was the famous Marine Drive of Mumbai the lamp-posts of which had already started lining the night sky. We walked towards our left to the Nariman Point. The entire sea line, which has been paved to keep it clean, was full of people with their consorts (either a person of opposite gender or a dog or both). We sat there for some time and called and talked to our old buddies from IIFM – Sonal, Parul and Sunil. We would have called all of them hadn’t it been for a get-together with Prof. P. K. Biswas (of IIFM – yes he was also in town that day) organized by our senior Ashish Malik later that day. So we got up to see the rest of Arjun’s hangout. We first went to the Jahangir Art Gallery which displays creations of amateur, upcoming as well as senior artists. The art forms there were unconventional in every regard and are replaced regularly to make way for the new artists – who also sit there and you can interact with them. Our next stop – David Sassoon Library – a place where, according to Shreshtha, Arjun goes to do some serious reading and ends up reading novels! This library was built in 1870 and represents the British architecture of the time. It boasts having hoards of books some published as long as 200 years ago. From there on we strolled on towards the famous Leopold Café and Bar – the most frequent hangout of my dear friend. It is here that he likes to inhale the essence of whiskey along with that of books. This place too is very old (in commission since 1870) and according to Arjun has an aura of its own. Well, a teetotaler like me might not understand this aura. However, one thing which I felt and with which Arjun agreed completely was that taking walk in those lanes was liking walking in Victorian Mumbai – with the roads still made of polished stones – rather than the usual cement or Coal Tar, the Victorian buildings rising on both sides of yours and of course an occasional horse carriage – now used to take tourists around. We had now reached the Gateway of India, built to welcome King George V and Queen Mary who had come to attend the Delhi Durbar in 1911. It was in this year that the capital of British India shifted from Calcutta (now Kolkata) to New Delhi. The huge structure was completed finally in the year 1924 and was also the place from where the last British troops in India withdrew after a ceremony in February 1948. The Gateway which I had first seen in 1997 during a school trip to Mumbai is built in an Indo-Saracenic architectural style and stands 85 feet high. It stands at an angle to the present road as the approach road could never be built due to lack of funds. The only buildings in the area that overshadow the Gateway are the twin Taj Hotels on the other side of road. It was time now to leave for the get together and we took a train to Bandra. This time that train was jam packed and if I say that moving my head would have brushed my nose against someone’s head, this would be no exaggeration. We had to push the crowd like a battering ram to get out of the train. After an excellent evening with Arjun, what followed was a sort of anti-climax. It was a get together – the highlights of which were plastic smiles and under-toned comments. It was only the sight and handshakes of old friends that made the gathering somewhat refreshing. It was already late night when we all were relieved and I bade goodbyes to all of them before leaving back to my hotel – I had to leave for Pune early next day.
Pune was a village during the age of Rashtrakutas and it passed hands from the Yadavas of Devagiri to Mughals during the subsequent centuries. However, it was during the age of Marathas, beginning with Shivaji, that the real history of the city begins. Shivaji moved to this town, with his mother Jijabai, as a young boy and it was here that he was crowned Chhatrapati (king) in 1674. From there on began an age of Maratha expansion and Shivaji exacted a number of defeats on the Mughal imperial army. He went as far as Surat and sacked the port city of the Mughals. The age of Marathas ushered in by Shivaji was only the beginning. The following history of Marathas is quite interesting and offers ups and downs as also those elusive ‘what-ifs’ of history. The descendants of this great king appointed Peshwas as their prime ministers. Eventually the Peshwas, who had their seat in Pune, became de-facto ruler of the growing Maratha power and defeating the Mughals at the Battle of Malwa in 1705 became the most reckoned with force in India. It was at this time that the Maratha cavalry used to ride all across northern, western and central parts of India exacting tributes (sardeshmukhi and chauth) from other rulers and their defeat of Nizam’s in 1760 made them unrivaled yet uncrowned rulers of a major part of India. It was the next year when something happened. The ruler of Afghans, Ahmad Shah Abdali, invaded India (perhaps on the instigation of nobles of Mughal Delhi) and led an alliance Rohillas and some Nawabs like Shuja-ud-Daula against the Marathas in the famous ‘Third Battle of Panipat’ in 1761. The Marathas led by Sadashiv Rao and with their artillery in the able hands of Ibrahim Gardi should have won the battle – but they lost. With most of their army decimated (even Abdali suffered causalities and left India soon after), the fall of Marathas led to a political vacuum which was eventually filled by the British. The main reason that is given for the defeat is that in their arrogance they antagonized the Rajputs, Jats and Sikhs who could have assisted them in this battle fought far from home. It is a question of interest as to what would have been the history of India had they not lost the battle. After the battle, the Marathas recovered somewhat but in a series of skirmishes called the three Anglo-Maratha wars lost much of their territory including Pune to the British. However, the Maratha pride was not dead yet and the ‘Doctrine of Lapse’ whereby the adopted son of Peshwa Baji Rao II, Dhondu Pant, was refused the hereditary title ignited it again. Dhondu Pant, who came to be known as Nana Sahib, soon became one of the leaders of the ‘Revolt of 1857’ along with Maratha general Tatya Tope. Another Maratha, also the playmate of Nana Sahib, was soon to join the battle and became an icon of the struggle – Manu Bai, better known as Rani Laxmi Bai of Jhansi. She became one of the most formidable opponents of the British and when she died in the battle against them, the rival British General Hugh Rose commented on the spot where she had fallen, “Here lay the woman who was the only man among her compatriots”.
Present day Pune is a modern city built around Maratha age monuments like the Lal Mahal, where Shivaji lived in his youth, Shanivarwada (this was the palace of Peshwas), and the Saras Garden. The city is full of greenery and the mix of past and present could be seen in this place. Although, I couldn’t see the place much, the rich cultural heritage was very much visible – especially the Maharashtrian thali which I had as dinner at the Shabri Restaurant on the Fergusson College Road was something none should miss. For any person going to Pune, I would highly recommend this place. The next day I found time to visit the famous Sinhagadh Fort about 25 km from Pune. The fort, which was earlier called Kondana, lies on a rocky hilltop with steep cliffs guarding it from all sides. These cliffs offer the place a natural defense and the place has been strategically important since the 14th century. Of the many battles that have been fought here, the most famous was its recapture by the Maratha forces under Shivaji’s general, Tanaji Malusare, in 1670. Tanaji used the pet monitor lizard of Shivaji, named Yeshwanti to climb the steep walls on a moonless night. These walls were most difficult to climb and were thus left unguarded. On reaching the top, he let down ropes for his soldiers to climb. In the ensuing battle, the fort was captured; however, Tanaji succumbed to his injuries. On hearing the news, Shivaji famously commented, “गढ़ आला पन सिंह गेला”, i.e. we got the fort but lost the lion. The fort was thus named Sinhagadh or the fortress of the lion. A monument for Tanaji Malusare stands atop the fort and radiates energy – the energy of a brave warrior who gave his life for a cause. The approach the fort is through a narrow road which leads to a couple of gates. The top of the fort is a plateau from which the leeward side of the Western Ghats, called the Sahyadris, is visible and provides a breathtaking view. Even today, the famous cliffs seem as inaccessible as they were in the past. I sat there for some time and could again hear the stones speaking to me; telling me the tales of long gone days, reciting the poems of the brave, dances of the courtesans and the clanking of swords- something which happens to me whenever I visit a city long lost or a fort now desolate.
I would have loved to explore the city more had I been on a personal visit. However, my tryst with the great Marathas was to be that much only for the time being. I wait for the day to complete the tour.
