Ginghee For - Replete with History

Published in "Windows & Aisles"


Gingee - A poem sans word


I’ve been a week now in Chennai and have not embarked on any worthwhile tour for want of company. This prolonged hibernation is not my cup of tea; the wheels on my feet itch to roll and seek adventure. The travel bug in me is overpowering and I decide I just need to charge my emotional self up with a jaunt some place. Our young, but longtime chauffer comes to my rescue. Knowing my penchant for travel and writing, he suggests I visit Senji Fort, a two-hour drive from home. Senji? Probably some of my relatives belong to the place but what’s really there, I ask him. Sekhar is amused that I’ve not heard of the famous Senji Fort, one of the few well preserved and popular forts of Tamil Nadu, steeped in history. He even cites a couple of Tamil films shot on the brave Raja De Sing (also spelt DeSingh) of Senji, his role having been enacted by the late matinee idol MGR. My knowledge of history is not really bad but I’m ashamed of my present ignorance relating to Senji. My curiosity is kindled as Sekhar launches into a voluminous description of the fort, of its former glory and present majesty even in ruins and how it is now visited by hordes of picnickers.

So Senji it is and with Sekhar for company, I pick up my constant and faithful digital companion, and soon hit NH 45, motoring down 160 km to reach my target destination. The weather seems perfect for a drive as mild grey clouds dot the sky. Ginghee lies between Dindivanam and Thiruvannamalai in the Villipuram District of Tamil Nadu and is well connected by the rail road. We cover almost two thirds the distance before entering a long stretch of winding motorable village road to proceed towards Ginghee. We pass through vast fields of watermelon and coconut. It is December and the melon season is in full cry, with the fields seeing a rich haul. The farm hands are only too happy to sell their produce to passersby who make away gleefully paying a pittance for humungous-sized fruits. Sekhar insists we carry home some of this fresh produce. Promising to get some on the return, I draw his attention to our prime focus, Senji and we drive on.

The veil of clouds dissipates and the sun is above us, beating down with a vengeance as we approach Gingee Fort, a mammoth structure that spreads over 3 km. I am awestruck as my eyes rove the gargantuan wall that in reality circumscribes three hills – Krishnagiri the smallest inselberg, Chakkalidurg and Rajagiri the biggest of them.

Nestled on the trio of hills, and enclosed by a huge rampart 60 feet thick, Gingee Fort, the anglicized version of Senji as it is known in its native Tamil, stands regal even in ruins, at a height of 800 feet! Probably because of its impregnable nature, it has escaped gross destruction wrought by marauding invaders and the ravages of time. Father Pimenta, a Jesuit priest is believed to have given the epitaph Troy of the East to Gingee Fort for the indomitable courage and valour displayed by its erstwhile rulers! It was declared as National Monument in 1921 and since, came under the protection of the Archeological Department.

The small town of Gingee was once a capital city and though its early history is shrouded in mystery, its Fort continues to be known for its rich secular architecture. From stone carvings and inscriptions it is inferred that Gingee was inhabited by Jain Saints and Jainism prevailed there as far back as from the 2nd century. Gingee came under the sway of the Pallavas, Cholas, Hoysalas, Yadavas, Sultans of Bijapur, Marathas, the Moghuls, French and ultimately the British at various points of time.

Gingee, I acknowledge and endorse Sekhar’s view, must have been home to one of the most formidable and fascinating citadels in its heydays. We first ascend the Krishnagiri Hills, created from gargantuan granite boulders, visible from the main road leading to Thiruvannamalai. Fortunately for me, since I visit Gingee on a week day, there are few visitors and I have this sprawl almost entirely to myself, to explore it in silence.

The scorching sun is testing my endurance as I trudge up the steep, uneven, cobbled steps leading to the citadel atop Krishnagiri. I curse myself for not having worn better footwear, ideally a pair of sports shoes. A bemused Sekhar keeps my spirits up by relating several anecdotes associated with Gingee. But I opt not to narrate them here for I’m not sure how authentic his info is. Anyway, his tales achieve their objective in enabling me reach the summit with several halts in between! But these stops are not without benefits as they accord me fascinating views of the village and plains that lie below in all their finery, the plantations green as green can only be. The view from the top is spectacular with the lush verdure of fields assuming an emerald sheen under the blazing sun.

We explore the fort through its various levels within which are located a pair of stone granaries, a pillared hall, twin temples and the Audience Durbar, an edifice of brick and mortar. A security guard, an old man, employed by the archeological department who wished to remain anonymous, doubles up as guide and takes us around the various sections of the fort. Senji or Gingee, he tells us, came to be named after the presiding local deity Senji Amman who the natives believe is one of seven virgin deities guarding the city. “Senji was founded by one Ananda Kone who was chief of the local shepherd community, almost 800 years ago,” explains our guide, with a conviction that makes him sound a man of that bygone era! While the fort was built over several phases and decades by different rulers, Vaiyappa Nayaka, the General of Krishnadeva Raya, was acclaimed as the first great builder who mobilized 12000 stonecutters, 6000 carpenters, 6000 blacksmiths and 6000 navvies to erect the fort. The temple walls boast stone sculptures in various stages of preserve that certainly allows one to imagine what might have been their beauty once. But what attracts me most in the Krishnagiri precincts are the swing chamber and a mural, the single reasonably-preserved piece of art painted from natural vegetable dye.

Having spent a good two hours exploring the environs atop Krishnagiri, I snake my way down with renewed gusto to continue my explorative sojourn of Gingee’s Rajagiri Hills with its several attractions. The foothills of Rajagiri are dotted with shrines dedicated to the pantheon of Hindu deities. The biggest is the Venkataramana Temple and it rubs shoulders with the Sadatullah Khan mosque, a few yards from the citadel entrance. I enter the portals of the temple to give myself some respite from the heat before beginning the laborious trudge to the top of Rajagiri. The seven-storey Kalyana Mahal or Marriage Hall is one of the most attractive ruins at the base of Rajagiri. However it has had a makeover in recent times, perhaps with fresh paint, suggested by its exterior. The hall has a square court in its centre with a high tower measuring 27m. Our guide tells us that this stone edifice which has a pyramidal roof has rooms fashioned similar to structures built elsewhere in India, typical of the Vijayanagar Nayaka rulers.

Barracks, stables, granary, gymnasium, the elephant tank, an open air museum with several sculptures and ponds are other attractions here. Close to one of the ponds is a platform on which was lit the pyre of Raja Desingh. Reverence and disbelief sparkle in the eyes of our guide who tells us that Desingh’s young wife immolated herself on the pyre, giving credence to the practice of sati. At this point, our guide travels back in time to narrate some interesting tales about the brave and gallant Rajput prince, Raja Desingh who ruled Gingee in the 18th century. At the young age of 22 he lost his life but not before creating history, battling the powerful army of Nawab Sadatullah Khan of Arcot. He mounted on his favourite horse Neelaveni along with his friend and general Mohammad Khan, valiantly fought the Nawab’s huge army of 8000 horsemen and 10,000 sepoys with his own meager army of 350 horses and 500 troopers! No wonder then, Desingh has been eulogized in ballads, street plays and several folk songs and continues to live in the hearts of the locals who still speak of his bravery.

The sun has assumed a harsh hue and appears determined to thwart my efforts at exploration. Do I see my resolve becoming sluggish with perspiration threatening to dehydrate me! I lap up a litre of water to rehydrate myself to begin the arduous ascent up 1100 odd steps to the top! I fear my efforts to “scale the peak” are going to be thwarted by a host of monkeys that cast vicious glances at my camera. Sekhar tells me they are harmless but I’m not convinced, for I see a pair of them pounce on a fellow tourist’s handbag. I do not want to risk my camera or myself and promptly stash away the camera, returning it to the safety of our car.

Within the main citadel of Rajagiri hill are two granaries, a treasury, an audience hall, a huge cannon and the famous Ranganatha Temple with stone sculptures on its walls. The granaries, I learn could store about three million kilos of rice, a boon during invasions. The Audience Hall is built in typical Indo-Islamic style and has a domed roof supported by a series of graceful little pointed arches. The 4m long cannon with a circumference of 2m adorns the watch tower and our guide tells us that this is similar to the one in Malik-i-Maidan at Bijapur. I rue the inability to capture on lens the magnificence of Rajagiri, the monkeys having played spoilsports.

On our return to base, I visit the Sadat-ullah Khan Mosque, built by the Nawab to commemorate his victory over De Singh. There is a sense of fulfillment as I make my way back home from Gingee - fulfillment at having visited and learnt something of an edifice that bespeaks the glory of the valour of our erstwhile rulers and Indian architecture. The fiery planet is on the wane and the sky is a tranquil splash of pastel pink. A flutter of breeze brings respite to my drenched being. I merge into the evening ambience and greedily gulp down sweet water from a couple of tender coconuts and pick up half a dozen melons from the farms of Pandurangan and Poonkodai as I had promised Sekhar. We are back on NH 45, cruising at a good speed till we reach the city limits of Chennai, brought back to the present with blaring horns that shatter not just the ear drums but the chain of thoughts replaying Gingee, veritably a poem sans words.

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