Tag: history of India

Tales of India

The ancestor and the bandit

by sharonstjoanLeave a Comment on The ancestor and the bandit
Dr. Nanditha Krishna, by a tree in the Grove

A November 27 article in The Deccan Chronicle, by R. Bhaghwan Singh, tells the tale, recounted by Dr. Nanditha Krishna, of the adventures of one of her more colorful ancestors who lived in the 1700’s, and who was the grandfather of the well-known Indian leader, Sir C. P. Ramaswami Aiyer.

Today, the C.P. Ramaswami Aiyar Foundation, established to carry on the work he began in his lifetime, along with its affiliate, the C. P. R. Environmental Education Centre, are both run by Dr. Nanditha Krishna, their Honorary Director, and are located in the Grove in Alwarpet, Chennai.

Their institutes there include two schools, the Grove School and the Saraswathi Kendra Learning Centre for Children, the C. P. Art Centre, and the C.P.R. Institute of Indological Research Centre, as well as the offices of CPREEC.  The C.P.R. Environmental Education Centre (CPREEC) carries out extensive environmental educational programs throughout southern India. A nursery and primary school, and the Shakunthala Jaganathan Museum of Folk Art  are located in Kanchipuram and Dalam, an hour or so to the west of Chennai, and another nursery and primary school is in Kumbakonum, further south along the coast.

Sir C. P. Ramaswami Aiyar, among the most influential figures in modern Indian history, was a statesman and lawyer, who served for ten years as Diwan of Travancore.  A diwan is a chief minister.  Travancore was one of the southernmost states of India, located in what is now Kerala. He was originally from Madras (Chennai).

A 1,000 year old stone carving of Ganesha in the Grove

He held many offices and left behind a great wealth of writings, having had during his years of public service a major impact in many fields, political, social, and economic; one of the enduring reforms he brought about was the issuance, in 1936, of the Temple Entry Proclamation allowing all Hindus of every caste and class, including the Dalits (“untouchables”) to enter and worship in Hindu temples. Previously, entry to temples had been restricted to the upper castes.

He had a striking profile, which still commands attention, even today, and his portrait overlooks the main hall of the C.P Ramaswami Aiyar Foundation, as well as the hall of the Shakunthala Jaganathan Museum of Folk Art in Kanchipuram.

The main hall of the Shakunthala Jaganathan Museum of Folk Art, Sir C.P. Ramaswami Aiyar is in the photo on the wall, fourth from the right.

Since it would be hard to exaggerate the respect with which “Sir C.P.” as he tends to be called, is regarded in India—the tale of his adventurous ancestor provides an unexpected, light-hearted background to the family history.

His grandfather, Chetupattu Ramaswami Iyer was born the seventh son of a family in North Arcot.  A seventh son in those days wasn’t going to inherit much of the family fortune, and to make matters even more challenging, his only education had been a traditional Brahmin one—in yoga, and the vedic scriptures—not likely to equip him in any really down-to-earth way to compete in the changing world of the eighteenth century.

North Arcot  was an inland district of what is now the state of Tamil Nadu, lying to the west of what was then the Madras (Chennai) Presidency.  A Wikipedia article speculates that the name Arcot came from the Tamil words, “Aaru Kaadu,”  meaning “six forests.”

To the north of the district lie the Tirupati Hills.

The young Chetupattu Ramaswami Dikshitar left his home in North Arcot and set out to seek his fortune in the big city of Chennai on the coast,  where he obtained a job as a policeman. There he took up using the name Iyer (derived from Arya), which was being used by other Brahmins in Madras (Chennai).

An enterprising young man, looking for a way to better his prospects in life, he was drawn to an ad offering 5,000 rupees—in those days a gigantic sum of money—as a reward for capturing an outlaw named Arunachalum.

He captured the criminal, Arunachalum, collected the award money, and Arunachalam was sent off to prison.  However, this was not the end of the story.  Arunachalam swore that he would get even.  He escaped from prison, hunted down Ramaswami Iyer, and assaulted him at a secluded spot by the roadside.  Ramaswami Iyer escaped being killed only by using his yogic skills, which enabled him to control his breathing and pretend to be dead.

After he recovered from the beating he had received, he set off again in pursuit of Arunachalam and once more succeeded in capturing him.  This time Arunachalam remained in prison and did not escape.  Ramaswami collected the reward money a second time.  With this ten thousand rupees, he and one of his relatives by marriage bought 100 acres of land in Alwarpet. A few of his descendants later sold off much of the property, but the Grove now stands on the remaining five acres, which today are among the most valuable real estate in Chennai.

This land is now the focal point for the work of the C. P. Ramaswami Aiyar Foundation, which promotes Indian culture and art, while educating and advancing the well-being of people of many diverse circumstances and backgrounds.

Rudra Krishna, the younger son of Dr. Nanditha Krishna and Dr. Chinny  Krishna, and a descendant of the original Ramaswami Iyer has just published a book about his adventurous ancestor:  The Onus of Karma.

You can purchase it from Amazon.com.  I have ordered it, but haven’t read it yet.  It looks fascinating!

For the website of the C. P. Ramaswami Aiyar Foundation, click here.

For the  CPREEC Foundation website, click here.

For the Facebook page of the Onus of Karma, click here.

To read the article mentioned above in the Deccan Chronicle, click here.

Photos: Sharon St Joan


Tales of India

The Red Fort – a story not altogether happy

by sharonstjoan1 Comment on The Red Fort – a story not altogether happy
Outside the Red Fort

The Mughal emperor, Shah Jahan, who also built the Taj Mahal, began the construction of the Red Fort in Delhi in 1638 and completed it in 1648.

It is huge, with a circumference of 2.2 kilometers (1.36 miles), and there is no doubt that it is magnificent and very beautiful.  Islamic art, wishing to avoid idolatry, does not depict animals or humans, but instead shows intricate, extraordinarily delicate carvings of  geometric forms and verses from the Koran.  These cover every wall, and their repetition of patterns creates an extraordinary vision of great beauty.

There is another story though at the Red Fort, to be found among the single, isolated blocks scattered here and there clumsily among the tall, serene exquisitely carved walls.  When I asked my guide what they were, he explained that they were the remains of an ancient temple that was destroyed when the Moslems invaded India.  Like many early Buddhist, Hindu, and Jain temples, he said, “It was all destroyed.”

I did recall of course that there was a Moslem invasion, and over a number of centuries Moslem armies poured into India, in the north, and, into parts of the south of India as well.  I’d never thought much about it.

Stone blocks, the remains of an early temple

Nearby in the Red Fort there is a hallway, a hall of columns, looking older than the rest, and rather jumbled, as if someone has patched it here and there with newer stone blocks, and my guide said that this too was part of the early temple, but now the temple is gone, “all destroyed.”

So here was the history of India.  In guide books and a dozen online descriptions of the Red Fort, I have failed to find any mention of the ancient temple that used to be there—only glowing descriptions of the magnificent Islamic artwork, the history of Shah Jahan, and the Moguls. Certainly no one could argue that the artwork carved in red sandstone is not magnificent.  It is spectacular.

More of the stone blocks

The British came along later and took over the fort—conquerors too.  Before Shah Jahan constructed the Red Fort, at this site was another Islamic fort, Salimgarh, the remains of which are still there, built in 1546 AD by Salem Shah Suri.  It was built along the Yamuna River at what had been a good defensive position.

Within the enclosing walls of the Red Fort, stands the highest stone tower to be found in India, Qutub Minar, built in the thirteenth century by Qutbuddin Aibak, standing 72.5 meters (238 feet) high.  Entrance to the Minar is closed now because there had been a number of suicides from the tower, which has an ethereal beauty.

Within a few feet of Qutub Minar, stands the Iron Pillar, put there much earlier between the fourth and fifth centuries AD; the pillar is entirely of iron, yet it has never rusted.  No one can explain how that is.

Set up as the flagpole of a Vishnu temple (which has to mean that there was also a Vishnu Temple on this site—also destroyed), it was dedicated to the memory of King Chandragupta Vikramamditya, who reigned from 375 to 413 AD.  This is recorded in Sanskrit on the pillar itself.

In another area, on the outside of a wall, in a very tiny cage, can be viewed, if one gets down on one’s hands and knees, a little icon of Ganesha, perhaps a foot high.  There Ganesha is the last remaining pre-Islamic sculpture in the Red Fort.

I asked the guard why Ganesha was shut up in such a small cage, as if he were confined to prison. Would it be very hard, I thought, to build a tall glass house and put a proper sign beside it, in honor of Ganesha? The guard smiled at my silly question about the appropriateness of Ganesha’s cage, and said that it was “for his protection.”  Who knows what a tourist will think of next?

Despite the unparalleled magnificence of the Islamic art carvings in sandstone,  I left the Red Fort in a reflective mood.

A lasting impression was a sense of insight and clarity, having seen for the first time a different view of the history of India.

A hall of pillars, part pre-Islamic, part Islamic

The battles between the Moslems and the Hindus were not simply wars of the distant past that happened who knew when—in some far-away, irrelevant, abstract time, existing only in the pages of books, that should certainly be forgotten since they have no bearing on the present.

Instead, though tourists milled about barely giving them a second glance, the great stone blocks that lay scattered on the ground inside that one area of the Red Fort, like blocks cast down by a giant child from a toppled tower, were a witness to history.

They had been gathered into one area, one assumes by someone who cared, then left with no sign and no explanation of what they signified, but the blocks themselves with their ancient carvings spoke of a people who had built Buddhist and Hindu temples, who had been overrun and destroyed by conquering armies. They revealed a look at centuries of India’s past, a story of injustice, untold and unacknowledged, and an ancient time, as my guide had said, “all destroyed.”

Photos and video: Sharon St Joan