EARLIER COLUMNS River, springs and a green carpet welcome in Vajreshwari Abhilash Gaur November 2, 2003 Lakes, waterfalls and orchids in abode of clouds Peeyush Agnihotri October 19, 2003 A paradise called Atlantis Mohinder Singh October 12, 2003 Growing vegetables in a sea fort Abhilash Gaur October 5, 2003 A city of bulging domes Arun Gaur September 28, 2003 The timeless temple of Ambarnath Abhilash Gaur September 21, 2003 Worshipping Durga in Goa Ervell E. Menezes September 14, 2003 Missing history for the woods in Bassein Abhilash Gaur September 7, 2003 A yatra that is an affirmation of faith Shashi Mehta August 31, 2003 Theme for Tughlaq’s dream Shona Adhikari August 17, 2003

Throughout the 16th and 17th centuries, the Muslim kings killed each other one moment while the very next moment they paid friendly tributes to each other. The neighbouring Hindu empire of Vijayanagar complicated the matter for them until it was annihilated, we may feel almost prematurely, in the battle of Talikota in 1564. Then came the Marathas—Shahji and Shivaji—and Aurangzeb. With them, they brought a new political turmoil. Aurangzeb sounded the death-knell of the five kingdoms at last.

Bijapur itself was founded in 1489 by Yusuf Khan who had escaped from Constantinople. A citadel was built and walls appeared around the city. Independence from the Bahmani kingdom was declared with the mounting of formidable cannons on the walls ready to fire vengeance at every conceivable danger for the next 200 years. Sculpted motifs were chiselled into the granite displaying the will-power of the Mohammaden lion that could devour the Hindu elephant in a whiff.

Over 200 years, the state religion would be changed from Sunni to Shia and then to Sunni again. A prince would be declared king after blinding his brothers amid a chorus of joy. Blunders would be committed, Turks and Persians would be expelled from the army and at their expense Abyssinians would be extolled. The fugitives would rush to join Vijayanagar to the detriment of Bijapur. Another king would fall into incurable debauchery and after beheading his doctors would die himself. Occasionally, some kings would write and sing their own songs and fondly weave saddle cloths. Markets would be flooded with drunk dancers, perfumes, jewels, and green trees. If time had permitted,Yusuf’s descendants would stuff the interiors of city-walls with art and religion.

Indeed through the 200 years of murderous fermentations the Sultans generated art with a flourish in spasms of respite. Not only did one dynasty vie with one another but a son was pitted against his father, a nephew against his uncle, to build a better tomb to celebrate his own demise. Style over-rode style, one monument over-rode another. Forts were built and cannons mounted. This was the first requirement. How could Sultans live without these essentials in the cut-throat world? when the necessary foundation had been secured, it was time to exult over the achieved power with more intense works of art. Probably, Hindu art pieces were picked up and reworked to Islamic notions but then enthused by some Byzantine strands their art strived to forge against the native Hindu traditions to create a style of its own —pointed arches, slender though somewhat snuffed minarets, and precariously hanging domes.

The completion of the task undertaken was a problem. Sultans were over-ambitious and miscalculations were rampant. Ali Adil Shah commenced the building of Jama Masjid but so expansive were his plans that it could never be finished even by his successors. Nevertheless, inside the mosque the beauty of golden calligraphy and pictorial work touched at places with the shades of red and purple is perfect. It is quite different from Akbar’s mausoleum at Sikandra teeming with florid and wine-flask motifs.

Neither could Adil Shah complete the Jama Masjid nor his own tomb. Indeed this was the fate of every king. If the tomb remained incomplete within his life-time, there was every likelihood that it would remain so even after his burial. His successors would be too busy trying to complete their own tombs. This was the Turanian legacy. Ibrahim, the nephew and successor of Ali Adil, learning from his uncle’s experience, had a more guarded approach. He worked on a smaller frame-work for his Roza, but perhaps he too had miscalculated the things and had an unexpectedly prolonged reign. Now he had time enough to amplify the limits of his memorial. But what could he do? The plan would not easily permit expansion. The only way out was the intensive filigree work. And so he did by filling his tomb with numerous inscriptions from the Koran. Ibrahim thus succeeded through circumspection where his uncle failed. What would Muhammad Adil, Ibrahim’s son, do to surpass his own father? Simple but bold elevation was the key answer and his whispering Gol Gumbaz rose higher and higher to counter the intensity of his father’s work, till it became much taller than even the Vijaystambha of Chittaurgarh. It is amazing to see how the masonry of the intersecting arches balances the lateral thrust of the massive dome, and to see with what eagerness the square goes to meet the round and cube assimilates itself into a supreme hemisphere, and how eagerly the horizonal movement turns into the massive vertical propensities. It is all a part of the mystics of the medieval Deccan.

— Photos by the writer

HOME