From past to future: Bengaluru’s water lessons

Long before Bengaluru became a global tech hub, it was a city of a thousand eyes — glimmering blue pools of water that stared back at the sun from a dry, rocky plateau. These “eyes” were human-made basins carved into the 900-metre-high ridge to trap rainwater. They were not natural gifts but marvels of ancient engineering. Today, as the city expands, these lakes are often seen only as ecological spaces, forgetting they are also historical records etched in stone.

To understand this water heritage, one must look toward the village of Ramasandra (historically Ramasamudra) in western Bengaluru. While the village sits on the western side of a lake, a historical inscription lies on its eastern side, along a small, quiet road. Dated October 26, 1340 CE, this stone remains one of the clearest records of the “spirit of the commons”. 

Modern urban planning often views water through the lens of utility — litres per capita or real estate value. But in the 14th-century, Cheneyanayaka, who built Ramasandra, had a different vision, which was radically inclusive. According to the inscription, Cheneyanayaka spent 3,000 Honnus (gold coins) to build the lake, which was not merely an irrigation tank. Though these bodies were technically human-made tanks (keres), Cheneyanayaka saw them as a cosmic sanctuary for gods, humans, monkeys, animals and birds. It was an acknowledgement that the right to water was not a human monopoly but a shared terrestrial inheritance. Central to this vision was a spiritual invitation to the goddess Ganga to reside in the lake. 

One among the lines inscribed on the stone at Ramasandra contains the original Kannada invocation. It reads: Shri Gangadeviya rupavangoondu purna tatakavagi nelisi nalihuttire, which means “May the full lake, through the merit of building it, be the eternal home of Goddess Ganga, providing water for all beings forever.”

By making water sacred, the community ensured the lake’s protection. To harm the dharma of the lake was equated to the grave sin of killing a Kapile (sacred cow) on the banks of the Ganga at Kashi.

Researchers have also identified a network of ancient lakes in Bengaluru with documented histories spanning over a millennium. While many are familiar with later landmarks like Ulsoor Lake (1800) or Sankey Tank (1882), inscriptions reveal a deeper, pre-17th-century foundation for Bengaluru’s water system. A chronological study of these stone grants reveals a continuous tradition of lake building, with over 30 major water bodies specifically recorded between 8th and 16th centuries. 

The divine guardians

An older tradition (7th–10th centuries) involved installing Durga idols in lakebeds as ‘divine guardians’. This is confirmed through the Bhoopsandra Durga inscription at Hebbal Lake (800 CE). Similar idols have been found at Begur, Dodda Gubbi, Kalkere and Old Hesaraghatta, where the goddess stood as the first line of ecological defence.

Between 1300 and 1600 CE, the suffix sandra (a local version of Samudra, or sea) became a hallmark of the landscape, marking a period of lake expansion. This suffix, thus appears in over 50 localities, such as Hongasandra, Allalasandra and Chokkasandra.

Sites like Agara, Bellandur and Iblur (870 CE) formed the region’s agrarian backbone, with stone inscriptions documenting their construction of their sluice gates. Later records confirm the antiquity of Pattandur (1043 CE) and Madivala Tavarekere (1247 CE).

Sustainable engineering 

A visual timeline of Bengaluru’s ancient tank system from the 8th-century veteran at Hebbal to the 15th-century "-sandra" expansion.

Bengaluru sits on a high-altitude ridge, and our ancestors, over the millennia, utilised the natural topography of four main valleys: Hebbal, Vrishabhavathi, Arkavathi and Koramangala-Challaghatta. The engineering was as sophisticated as it was sustainable.

By constructing a series of cascading tanks, the builders ensured that the overflow from one lake flowed naturally to the next via gravity. This chain prevented flooding, stored water for dry periods, recharged wells and moderated the microclimate. It showed a deep understanding our ancestors had about the city’s elevation and soil.

Ultimately, the lakes were built as an act of punya (spiritual merit). The Ramasamudra inscription notes that the merit belonged to Cheneyanayaka’s brother, Mayileyanayaka, who was the ruler of Kukkalanadu. Although Cheneyanayaka built the lake, he attributed the puņya to his brother, as is often seen in Indian tradition, where the puņya of a pious act is attributed to a dear one. Water, then, was a public gift that secured the land’s prosperity and the leaders’ spiritual well-being.

These inscriptions could be regarded as some of the earliest examples of “environmental laws”. By penalising those who polluted the water, the community safeguarded the resource for future generations. As Bengaluru faces water challenges today, the answers may lie in these centuries-old principles. The Ramasamudra stone reminds us to see water as a sacred guest, ensuring that Ganga continues to flow here — for the gods, the birds and generations of humans yet to come.

(The author is Honorary Project Director, The Bengaluru Inscriptions 3D Digital Conservation Project, The Mythic Society)