The future of past: Why our heritage is so important

In a significant international recognition of their enduring value to humankind, the hill forts of Rajasthan were listed as a UNESCO World Heritage serial site in 2013. Six great forts have been included in this roll of honour:

Chittorgarh, Kumbhalgarh, Sawai Madhopur, Jhalawar, Amer, and Jaisalmer. Fifteen years ago, I had an occasion to visit the magnificent Kumbhalgarh fort, after taking the darshan of Shri Eklingji, the ruling deity of the erstwhile Mewar state. The guide told me that there are at least 300 Hindu and Jain temples inside the fort perimeter, which is reputed to be 38 km, making it the longest in the world after the Great Wall of China. Most of the temples, alas, are in ruins.

What struck me as utterly fabulous, however, was the Badal Mahal, the palace of clouds atop the fort. The fort itself is built on a hilltop that is over 1,000 metres high; then you drive all the way up to Badal Mahal, which is like getting your head up into the clouds. The feeling is literally top of the world. Sitting quietly there, with the breeze in my face, I felt a sense of great release. The maharanas of yore might have similarly contemplated the fate of their kingdom and also of the world, cultivating a sense of detachment from the travails of human life and the uncertain outcomes of their exertions. I had enjoyed an extraordinary afflatus atop the windy twin towers in New York, with just a 10-foot Plexiglas screen separating us from the cosmos. But that induced a sense of excitement, while Badal Mahal was tranquil, contemplative.

Just last week, I completed my Mewar pilgrimage, though after such a long gap, by going to Chittorgarh. It was blazing hot, but there were huge weekend crowds at the magnificent Vijay Stambh, over 37 metres tall, erected to commemorate Rana Kumbha’s victory over Mahmud Khilji in 1448. We discovered that the whole fort, reputedly one of the biggest in India, was overrun by multitudes of villagers, mostly women, flocking to the nearby Kalika Mandir to fulfil a vrat, no doubt for the health and well-being of their husbands. As a channa-vendor explained to me, “Mannat isliye mangte hain taqi unki choti na kate.” Many of the devout were just children, barely into their teens, but already married. They bustled about with a sense of freedom and confidence, which was refreshing. But none of them looked educated beyond middle-school; they seemed to have emerged from a different world, still in their traditional, colourful costumes, ghunghat and all.

The Kalika Mandir, I discovered, was actually a Sun temple earlier. All over Rajasthan, even in Jain shrines, the bearded Sun as a deity, carrying a pot, is prominently represented, with an iconography similar to Khajuraho. Sun worship must have been common all the way to Konark. It was impossible to enter the modified Mata Mandir owing to the huge crowd thronging it. But we entered a neighbouring Patta Haveli, now taken over for other religious rituals, including exorcism. I saw stacks of stones, piled delicately one on top of the other. “They’re so that the one who prays here can move into her own home, leaving the sanctuary of her parents,” explained my host.

Luckily, we were able to drive on to the more delicately carved Kirti Stambh, dedicated to the first Tirthankar, Adinath. On the way was Padmini’s Palace, named after the valorous and legendary queen, who resisted Alauddin Khilji even to her death. The fort was sacked in 1303, but the queen along with other Hindu women in the fort, reportedly committed jauhar, mass-immolation, to escape certain humiliation and sexual enslavement. The men fought till their last breath in a ritual suicidal rally called saka. Chittorgarh is marked by two other jauhars; after Alauddin’s raid, the fort was again sacked in 1535 by Sultan Bahadur Shah of Gujarat, and finally by Akbar in 1567. It is said that the Mughal Emperor slaughtered 30,000 to capture the city. When the fort fell into his hands though, it resembled a giant crematorium, with charred flesh of all the women and children. Rana Pratap’s father, Udai Singh II, shifted the capital to a new city, Udaipur, named after him, which flourishes to this day.

The ruins of Chittorgarh made me reflect on the tales of valour and sacrifice of the brave Sisodias who never submitted to the Moghul might. Later, even after signing the treaty of subsidiary alliance with the British in 1818, effectively surrendering their sovereignty, Mewar never sent its troops to fight in British campaigns. When India became independent, again it was Udaipur that was first to accede to the Union, with all the other Rajput states following suit. Given this extraordinary history, it is unfortunate that the Government of India under Indira Gandhi broke its troth with the Princes, abolishing their titles and privy purses.

The Maharanas of Mewar were Diwans or the custodians of the kingdom whose real ruler was Lord Eklingji. That spirit of guardianship continues to this day. The current Maharana, Arvind Singh Mewar, popularly known as Shri-ji, runs a successful hospitality-cum-heritage trust, which looks after several historic properties. Given his investment and expertise in preserving the heritage of Mewar, he could be invited to assume the chief advisory role in the restoration of Chittorgarh. The facilities and infrastructure are far from being up to UNESCO World Heritage standards, but with purposive cooperation between the Ministry of Culture, Rajasthan Government, and other stakeholders, Chittorgarh and the other historic forts of Rajasthan, may again attain worldwide renown.

The author is a poet and professor at JNU. Views expressed are personal.