What took me to Arcot, the city of Nawabs, was the photograph of a Rock Cut Cave at Vellore Museum. Even though it was not at par with Ajanta and Elephanta Caves but it was still beautiful. Flanked by a carpet of green grass it confronted me with the deep-seated romance of ancient nomadic-spiritual life.
Finding the cave was going to be difficult. First, the caption hardly gave any idea about its exact location and second, I didn’t understand Tamil. The problem compounded infinitesimally as the local population, I felt, was prone to lose their anger, as I had found out during my stay for over a week, especially when buying vegetables, when unable to understand their replies to my queries in pidgin language, they would blurt wildly gesticulating their arms. “Pon, pon!”
It meant, ‘leave at once!’
Bordering Andhra Pradesh, Vellore, formerly the headquarters of Arcot, is one of the northern districts of Tamil Nadu. The town, owing primarily to the prestigious Christian Medical College and Hospital (CMCH), which treats diseased and sickly from different parts of the country, especially the east and the north-eastern states, has a fairly cosmopolitan character and, surprising at first, you grow accustomed to Tamilians speaking fluent Hindi and Bengali.
In fact, the hotel/lodge owners are on look out for this language efficiency consequently leading to increase in demand for Tamil youth who have lived in Bengal and Bihar, the two states with largest number of patients at Vellore, and could converse well with them.
Finding the Rock Cut Cave
Take CMC out of the landscape and the town would don entirely a different make-up. Yes it has a fine Temple, a formidable fort (a part of it called Tipu’s Palace has been converted into jail and has, as its inmates, LTTE terrorists), a nostalgic Cemetery, a beautiful Church, and a dried-up Palar River but they all would have sat listlessly watching the town continue with its trading activities in the backdrop of seven barren hills.
As the bus continued its journey, the unmistakable smell of sweat and oil hung in the air. The women, obviously in love with their long tresses, which they had decked up with flowers, contrasted sharply with the another set of female passengers with tonsured heads, an offering of hairs they have made to the Lord at Tirupati Temple on Tirumala Hills, not far from Vellore in Andhra Pradesh.
Getting down the bus at the stand adjacent to a dusty road threw me in the middle of the feverish marketplace. As in any other small town, shops lined both sides of the road, the maze of traffic and crowd moved at deafening pace, and the shrill voices at the stall peddling lottery, locally known as raffles, which along with films is a major attraction, vie for attention amidst the cacophony. Walking towards the least crowded stall I enquire about the stone hewn hill. Taking his eyes up from the lottery tickets the man hears me patiently but shakes his head in negative.
Gestures do the talking
Our conversation, a mixture of pidgin English, and some Hindi laced with Tamil, leads two men towards us. One of them is a bearded Muslim and they spoke a dialect that sounded like a mixture of crude Hyderabadi (of Hyderabad) and Tamil. The interaction, as it proceeds haltingly, has more to do with gestures than words.
Present in sizeable number the Muslims of Arcot called Turkan (perhaps from Turkey), are said to be Persian mercenaries settled in the region by Tipu Sultan. But they could as well have predated him and might have been part of Malik Kafur’s Northern Army, which made inroads, perhaps for the first time in history, deep into south during the reign of Alauddin Khalji, the Delhi Sultan in the 14thcentury. The two men were extremely helpful but they have no clue about the rock cut cave. Rather, they keenly speak about the ruins of the Raja’s Palace and Arcot Gate near it.
Md. Sharif, the auto driver, first takes me to Arcot Gate. Unknowingly, I had stumbled upon a little known historical fact and an event that had far-reaching consequences for India.
Arcot and the British supremacy over India
Arcot had played a major role in the English conquest of the sub-continent and, it was at this place, after the Battle for Arcot that the British established their supremacy over other Europeans powers, especially French, their main rival.
Further, it also led to the rise of Robert Clive, a young clerk in the East India Company (EIC), who later became instrumental in the conquest of Bengal and ended his career as Governor of the province going back to England a wealthy noble. The conquest of Bengal and its immense wealth helped the EIC eliminate every other European rival and led to the British rule in the subcontinent.
The Gateway, also known as Fortification in Defence of Arcot, speaks of his valour. In a daring attack, Clive assaulted and occupied the town with barely 210 soldiers. A large combined force of the French and their stooge Nawab Chanda Sahib comprising of 4,000 men failed to wrest it back. Painted in cream, the Gateway with massive boulders strewn all around is right on the bank of Palar River.
Interacting with the ASI Caretaker at the Arcot Gate, I discover that even he had no knowledge of the rock cut temple. Instead, he was emphatic that I visit Bagam Hill. “About 11 kilometres away,” he said. “It has Mazaar of a Sufi saint.” One thing was leading to another.
Before leaving for Bagam Hill we stop briefly at Raja’s Palace. Except for few ruins, a canon, a tiny baoli (water tank) and a small mosque, it hardly is a sight. As Arcot was ruled by Nawabs since the 17th century, I felt strange to call it the Raja’s Palace. Even the books on History failed to provide me with the answer.
The road to the rock cut cave
The road to Bagam Hill, like anywhere else in Tamil Nadu, is dotted with colourful shrines. Frequently, we would cross statues sitting solitary on pedestals. A mosque at the crest of massive boulder made for an impressive sight. It was a wonderful drive and by the time we stop at the Bagam Hill the landscape had turned craggy.
The Dargah, of Hajrat Syed Shah Merawati, is set in a cavern midway to the top. Judging by the number of pilgrims, it seemed that people held his blessings in high esteem. Reaching the highest point we lose ourselves in the playful joy of clapping children who cheered loudly when they heard the echo of the noise they made returning to them. Far off, a road cuts through the field hurrying to leave the gruff stones and boulders to meet the sky at the horizon.
While descending, we have a word with the Caretaker at the Dargah. He tells us about some ancient carvings of Hindu Gods and Goddesses on these rocks. We press further and he talks about a Rock Cut Temple at the back.
Thanking him, we make a dash towards it. Md. Sharif, who by now was caught up in my quest, led the way. The sun blazed down and has scorched the grasses at the foot of the hill. Caught in the sky’s fierce gaze the rough stone hewn dark cave, its clear-cut style epitomizing the ruggedness of the Pallava character, looked at us with alienating eyes, perhaps wondering, ‘Could anyone still come looking for it?’
Caught in the sky’s fierce gaze the rough stone hewn dark cave, it looked at us with alienating eyes, perhaps wondering, ‘Could anyone still come looking for it?’ Click To TweetPhotos (scanned from negatives): Anand Jha