The lasting romance of Mysuru Dasara

T R Sathish Kumar brings you sights and sounds from the city of palaces as it gears up for a festival whose origins go back at least four centuries.

In the 29 years that I have been a journalist, I have covered the Dasara celebrations in Mysuru for 15 years, and seen it grow bigger and bigger. Today, the Jamboo Savari (elephant procession) alone draws about two lakh visitors. Hotel rates shoot up during the season and fast food chains have proliferated. But folk culture hasn’t vanished. Vendors go around selling old world delights, such as fried groundnuts and coconut burfi.

I hail from Pandavapura in Mandya district. But Mysuru is located closer to us than the town of Mandya. And it was far easier to reach in those days — by car, train, and the black-and-yellow Ambassador taxi, now phased out.

Because of this proximity, we often hosted relatives during the Dasara mid-term break. We would ferry them to Srirangapatna and Mysuru, ticking off the must-see sights: the Ranganathaswamy temple, Tipu’s dungeon, the Srirangapatna fort, Juma Masjid, the Mysuru palace, Chamundi Hill, and the Brindavan Gardens. In the 1970s and 80s, we took tongas (horse carts) and taxis.

For most people, the Jamboo Savari, held in the afternoon on Vijayadashami, is the first memory of Dasara. For me, it was the Dasara exhibition, originally intended for farmers and industrialists to showcase their innovations. I still remember the thrill of seeing a working train model sometime around 1977. By Class I, I was proudly clutching a toy motorbike powered by elastic potential energy. In 1980, I added a little steam boat to my collection.

My first clear memory of the Jamboo Savari comes from 1983. My father pointed to the caparisoned elephant and recalled how, in his younger days, he had seen the last Maharaja, Jayachamarajendra Wadiyar, and his son, Srikantadatta Narasimharaja Wadiyar, riding the ambari, the gold-plated howdah (seat), on which the idol of goddess Chamundeshwari is now mounted instead. Around us, the streets were alive with spectacle — garudi gombe dancers in giant doll suits, stilt walkers, and even a tableau warning against tobacco use.

Subsequently, for many years, I saw the procession only on Doordarshan. My next close-up view came in 1990, after I moved to Mysuru for studies. I had rented a room on Kshetraiah Road in Krishnaraja Mohalla, nestling between the palace and my college. That year, four childhood friends (now a doctor, advocate, health officer, and agriculture scientist) came visiting. We walked to Sayyaji Rao Road where my father used to take me. We perched on the compound wall of Mysuru Medical College for an unhindered view — you were always met with hands eager to help you up. As the ambari-bearing elephant passed, we leapt onto the road. We wanted to follow it to Bannimantapa for the torchlight parade, the grand Dasara finale which features police bands, bike stunts, and fireworks. But the police came charging with lathis. We scattered, but somehow found each other in the crowd, and made it to Bannimantapa in time for the dazzling show.

In 1990, entry to the Dasara Film Festival, which would screen Kannada classics like ‘Satya Harischandra’ and ‘Sri Krishnadevaraya’ was dirt cheap, at just Re 1, but I missed them all. That regret was nothing when compared to what happened the next day. On September 30, as we were returning from the Mysuru zoo, we saw garlanded photos of actor Shankar Nag appearing on the streets. He had died in a car crash.

Despite the larger crowds now, the energy feels subdued. In my time, people were dressed in their best attire, kids showed off newly acquired toys, and strangers joined lively discussions about the Maharajas.

Fairytale bathtub

I returned to Mysuru in 1998; this time as a correspondent. Back then, the Dasara elephants walked a couple of kilometres from the palace for their ritual bath. For the calves, a small concrete pond was built on the palace grounds. My front-page story on this ‘fairytale bathtub’, accompanied by a photograph I can no longer recall how I sourced or sent to Bengaluru, earned me one of my earliest bylines on Dasara. In those days, stories were handwritten and sent by fax.

The coverage got better when I, along with two colleagues from Bengaluru, had the rare opportunity to witness the private durbar of Srikantadatta Narasimharaja Wadiyar. Though it was past the era of royalty, the family continued the Dasara tradition of offering puja to the throne. It felt like time travel, and looked like a scene from Rajkumar’s period film ‘Mayura’. The maharaja walked to the throne, gave it a salute, and the state anthem was played. In that regal setting, with the fragrance of jasmine, rose, and agarbatti wafting around us, the three of us felt out of place in our contemporary attire. We wrote the first mainstream newspaper report about the private durbar. Until then, I had read about it only in a Kannada weekly.

There was a 13-year gap in my Dasara reporting until I moved permanently to Mysuru in 2011. By then, Dasara had changed. The crowds had grown, and many journalists, now armed with mobile phones, were clicking pictures. For a journalist, the annual coverage can feel repetitive, even boring. But we do stumble on unexpected stories, when we find forgotten details about the festivities. There is always something new to learn about Mysuru Dasara.

Origin theories

While records of Mysuru Dasara exist only from the time of the Vijayanagara empire, Shalva Pille Iyengar, professor of archaeology and ancient history, suggests that the Vijayanagara kings likely adapted it from Hoysala empire traditions.

In 1610, Raja Wadiyar of the Yadu dynasty established Dasara as a religious observance at Srirangapatna. His successors expanded its scope. Ranadhira Kanteerava Narasaraja Wadiyar (1638–1659) added grandeur with elaborate rituals. Later, Chikkadevaraja Wadiyar (1673–1704 ) turned Dasara into a public carnival, featuring music and art, attracting people from neighbouring areas. After Tipu Sultan’s death in 1799, Mummadi Krishnaraja Wadiyar (1799–1868) moved the celebrations to Mysuru along with the royal capital.

In more recent history, Nalwadi Krishnaraja Wadiyar (1902–1940), known as the Rajarshi or ‘saint king’, gave a modern spin to Dasara by enhancing public participation. He strengthened the Dasara Exhibition, initiated by his father Chamarajendra Wadiyar to showcase the state’s agricultural and industrial prosperity. Nalwadi Krishnaraja Wadiyar also promoted Dasara as a display of the kingdom’s achievements, especially for the West, Iyengar notes.

Researcher and writer Praveen Kumar Mavinakadu traces Dasara’s origins to the founding of the Vijayanagara empire. “When the Hakka-Bukka duo established their kingdom, their subjects had been reeling from decades of oppression by invaders (the Delhi Sultanate). The rulers chose Vijayadashami to showcase their military strength, signalling that the new empire could protect its people,” he said.

That martial display gradually evolved into a cultural celebration, notes V Ranganatha, retired tahsildar and writer with a PhD on Mysuru Dasara. Feudatories visiting the Vijayanagara capital camped outside with large entourages. While the chiefs attended palace rituals and the royal durbar, their retinues entertained themselves with martial arts, music, and dance, he adds.

People’s initiative

In 1970, Jayachamarajendra Wadiyar halted public Dasara celebrations following the abolition of the privy purse — the stipend paid by the Indian government to rulers of merged princely states. Citizens then took the festival into their own hands, marking the start of the ‘People’s Dasara’. Kannada activist and writer Na Nagalingaswamy, along with members of Kannada Kranthidala, launched a movement protesting the Maharaja’s decision. They placed a sandalwood idol of Chamundeshwari in a wooden howdah borrowed from the palace. Some historians suggest the idol was of Bhuvaneshwari, symbolising Karnataka (then Mysuru State).

By 1971, a group of activists, politicians and industrialists, led by D Jayadevaraja Urs, B C Lingaiah, and F K Irani (he owned the company that made Jawa motorbikes) took up the cause. They carried the Chamundeshwari idol in the Jamboo Savari until 1974. The following year, the state government sponsored the first official Jamboo Savari under chief minister D Devaraj Urs. An image of Bharat Mata followed the elephant in an open jeep, adding a national dimension to the festivities.

From 1975 to 1998, the procession was inaugurated by chief ministers, vice presidents, or governors. In 1984, a new tradition began: Dasara was inaugurated atop Chamundi Hill. Since 1999, the honour has expanded to include renowned personalities from various fields. Booker-winning Kannada writer Banu Mushtaq is inaugurating it this year.

Kuvempu’s POV

There are claims that the renowned poet Kuvempu opposed Dasara, citing its feudal character. Retired DCP J B Rangaswamy recalls a conversation with writer Chanduranga — a close associate of Kuvempu — who believed the poet’s view was more nuanced. “Kuvempu felt that such utsavas were necessary to unite people from all walks of life,” he said.

The lights, which are put up days before and stay on after the festival, have become a major attraction. Roads within a 2 km radius of the palace are packed with visitors. Fewer foreign tourists visit now compared to decades ago, and most come from European countries such as Italy, Norway, Sweden, France, and Germany.

Ranganatha said, “Earlier, the illumination had a purpose. People waited for the Maharaja to return from Bannimantapa after the Jamboo Savari. The main road was lit so everyone could get a clear view.” And the Wadiyars, who pioneered Asia’s first major hydroelectric plant at Shivanasamudra, illuminated the palace as a symbol of progress. N Shashishekara Dixith, the eighth-generation chief priest of Sri Chamundeshwari Devi Temple (atop the Chamundi Hill), says the Navaratri puja was performed inside the temple but later moved outdoors, becoming a grand public event attended by ministers and dignitaries. The temple was once a private worship space for royalty, but today, it draws thousands daily.

For musicians, performing at the palace courtyard remains prestigious, and wrestlers still fiercely compete for kusti titles.

Ranganatha believes newer crowd-pulling events like Yuva Dasara, a youth-focused cultural festival featuring artistes like A R Rahman, are better held on other occasions such as World Tourism Day. Even renowned violinist Mysore Manjunath once said the palace should be reserved for classical music and dance, since film and contemporary music have multiple venues elsewhere.

Gentle giants

Equally central to Dasara is Gajapayana, the ceremonial march of elephants from the forest camps to the city of palaces. It serves as a symbolic prelude to the festivities and is often referred to as ‘Mini Dasara’. The event represents a deep-rooted connection between city folk and forest-dwelling communities, with the elephants serving as a living bridge. “The Wadiyar kings would visit the forests and personally invite elephant caretakers to participate in Dasara,” explained S V Prahallad Rao, priest of the Sri Athmavilasa Ganapathi temple in the palace building.

I have reported on Dasaras that featured legendary golden howdah-carriers like Drona, Balarama, and Arjuna. My father would fondly speak of the towering 12-foot Biligiriranga, a favourite of Jayachamarajendra Wadiyar. They say Jayamarthanda, after whom the eastern entrance of the Mysuru palace is named, was the favourite of Nalvadi Krishnaraja Wadiyar.

Mahisha Dasara

As Mysuru gears up for its 415th Dasara in 2025, I find myself sharing stories of the festival with my son, like my father did with me; stories of how it has evolved over time.

Dasara has been scaled down on several occasions due to extraordinary events. Natural calamities such as the Gujarat earthquake in 2001 and droughts in Karnataka in 2002, 2011, and 2012 turned it into a simple affair, while the shadow of farmers’ suicides tempered the celebrations in 2015 and 2016. During the pandemic, the elephant procession was confined to the palace grounds and dedicated to Covid warriors.

Since 2015, a parallel celebration has taken root. Mahisha Dasara is being promoted by Dalit and rationalist groups. Organisers from the Mahisha Dasara Aacharana Samiti maintain that it is not meant as a protest against the celebrations, but as a tribute to Mahishasura. They regard him not as a demon but a historical figure, a Buddhist ruler who was sent by Emperor Ashoka to spread Buddhism in the Mysuru region. The official Karnataka Gazetteer urges caution about the belief. Mahisha Dasara was banned under BJP rule but it was resumed in 2023. This year, it is being held as the Mahisha Mandala Dhammotsava.

This year, Mysuru Dasara will be celebrated from September 22 to October 2.