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Sunday, January 4, 2004 |
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Sunday, January 4, 2004 |
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The Great Arc
The man who made it possible was the genius George Everest, who in the historic words of his successor, “placed his name just a little nearer the stars than that of any other lover of the eternal glory of the mountains …” The Great Arc is a fascinating saga of measuring the arc of the meridian that passes through the 78-degree longitude, cutting across the heart of India and traversing the 1600 miles of its length. Begun in 1800, it was the longest inch-perfect measurement of earth’s surface to have been attempted. It took 50 years, “cost more lives than most contemporary wars, and involved equations more complex than any in the pre-computer age.” Like many other stupendous scientific and engineering feats undertaken during the British era in India, this required not only knowledge but also grit and determination, and the ‘madness’ of a magnificent obsession. As the blurb on the book jacket states, “Through hill and jungle, flood and fever, an intrepid band of surveyors carried the Arc from the southern tip of the Indian sub-continent up into the frozen wastes of the Himalayas. William Lambton, an endearing genius, conceived the idea; George Everest, an impossible martinet, completed it.” No wonder I remain an unabashed admirer of the ‘inheritances of the colonial era’. But besides the colonial nobility, it also had a hidden political agenda. India, as we know it today, was defined in the process. More important still, the arc significantly advanced the then existing knowledge of the exact shape of earth. India, which till then, was only a vague geographical concept, now took a concrete shape and form. John Keay belongs to that genre of serious Indophile authors who are genuinely fond of the country but take a balanced, scholarly view in their writings. Author of a huge compendium of historical books on India, he has the uncanny knack of combining authentic research with quaint details, thus making the narrative an ‘unputdownable’ story. As such, subjects that are normally lacklustre come alive as real life human dramas. It all began in 1802, when an enthusiastic young British officer, Major William Lambton, was summoned to measure the Arc of Meridian. It was a prerequisite for administering and taxing the expanding imperial domain. For Lambton, fascinated by the new science of geodesy — measuring the earth — it was a dream posting. On April 10, he laid out the first baseline which was to serve as the reference point for the Great Trigonometrical Survey of India. The epic task of measuring the full 7.5 miles of the baseline with the 100-foot chain and 400 individual measurements took 57 days and the entire survey 40 years. “Using the system of measurement called triangulation, Lambton’s survey began in the south of India slowly moving northward, and measuring the width of the country as he progressed. Measurements were checked against the position of the stars, using a huge theodolite – weighing half a ton.” Fortunately Keay takes pains to explain with simple diagrams and explanations the basic principles of trigonometry involved — almost taking you back to your maths class in school! It’s fascinating to note how the vast spread of South Indian temples became ‘handy tools’ for the intrepid surveyors — or the compass-wallahs, as they were called. But they had to be careful not to offend the local sensibilities. “The temples’ Brahmins had to be carefully and generously handled. Yet the riot of sculpture made climbing easy, and from atop a gopuram the level terrain beneath the sea of coconut fronds meant excellent visibility.” Besides the trials and travails of the survey, Keay is also able to cull out interesting character sketches. This is how Everest describes Lambton: “I shall never forget the impression which the bearing of this veteran and far-famed geodesist made on my mind when I first saw him at one of our stations…he had displayed no symptom of more than common powers…but when he aroused himself for the purpose of adjusting the great theodolite, he seemed like Ulysses shaking off his rags; his native energy appeared to rise superior to all infirmities…” But neither Lambton nor Everest anticipated that the arc would stretch beyond the plains and up to the mountains. Agra, where the 78-degree meridian bisected the Yamuna and where stately edifices like the Taj Mahal promised commanding views, was regarded as the arc’s likely termination. But it terminated much further, in the great Himalayas. Besides the role played the British in the great enterprise, the book also mentions the contribution of a Bengali maths genius Radhanath Sickdhar, the Chief Computer at the Survey of India’s then headquarters at Calcutta. The rich collection of old illustrations, photographs and archives reproduced in the book help the reader not only understand the intricacies of survey techniques, but also picturise men in action. Kay also does a beautiful action replay of the survey by drawing parallels between the survey and the shooting of a film: “Supposing the theodolite to be a camera, the scene must have resembled that of a night shoot on a movie set. In the ingenious use of bamboo scaffolding the Bombay film industry probably surpasses the Survey; but in the hush of expectation as Everest climbed to his platform and ‘stood to the instrument’, in the cry of ‘Lights!’ … his role was that of orchestrating a vast production in which his various ‘crews’ were expected to heed his every command without necessarily comprehending his vision.” Is any latter-day David Lean listening? The Great Arc is not only a tribute to men, maps and methods, it is also a testimony to the lesser-known art of turning works of science into literary epics. It’s a salute to the uniqueness of the moment “when men and mountains meet”. |
It’s amazing how one of the most towering scientific achievements of the 19th century remains tucked under the eternal snows that clad the highest mountain peak of the world, Mount Everest.