Retracing Indore’s past with the legacy of Holkars

Explore the Indore city's historic landmarks, museums, and stories shaped by the Holkar dynasty in just 48 hours.

The city stirred as my cab wound through the crowded alleys of Khajuri Bazaar. Indore, ten years later, felt both familiar and new.

Today, it carries itself with quiet assurance — sleeker, cleaner, more confident. It wears its titles with pride: India’s cleanest city for seven consecutive years, the commercial capital of Madhya Pradesh, and an academic hub with both an IIT and an IIM. But I wasn’t here for the modern skyline or the café sheen. I wanted to understand Indore through the dynasty that shaped it — the Holkars. Rising to power in the 18th century, beginning with Malhar Rao Holkar in 1732, this influential Maratha clan built temples, palaces, and institutions that laid the foundation for a city that still has echoes of their legacy. I had 48 hours to trace those echoes.

A queen’s welcome

Bags dropped at the hotel, my first stop was the Central Museum, four kilometres from the city centre. Modest on the outside, it offered a gentle entry into Indore’s layered past. Established in the the 1920s by Maharaja Tukojirao Holkar III as part of the Nararatna Mandir educational institute, it came under state administration in 1965. Its eight galleries house sculptures from the Paramara dynasty (the Rajput rulers of Malwa from the 9th to the 14th centuries), coins, weapons, and everyday artefacts from another era. Walking through them felt like peeling back centuries, uncovering dynasties, cultures, and beliefs that predate the Indore we know today.

Two palaces and a ruin

My deeper dive into the Holkar legacy began with Rajwada, Indore’s most iconic landmark. Built in 1747 by Malhar Rao Holkar, this seven-storey palace rises dramatically from the dense lanes of Khajuri Bazaar. It was once the nucleus of power, where festivals lit up courtyards and politics played out beneath ornate balconies.

Inside, it feels part museum, part memory. Wooden gateways and intricately carved facades evoke memories of royal processions. The architecture blends Mughal, Maratha, and subtle European styles. I stayed for the evening sound and light show, which outlines the Holkar story in broad strokes. But it was Ahilyabai Holkar — the spiritual, compassionate queen — whose presence lingered most. Talk to locals and you’ll see she’s still Indore’s most beloved figure.

The next morning brought a striking contrast: Lalbagh Palace, three kilometres south. If Rajwada was grounded, Lalbagh was grandeur in overdrive. Commissioned in the late 1800s and completed in 1926, it was the Holkars’ architectural attempt to mirror European aristocracy. Sprawling across 72 acres, its 45 rooms exuded opulence — Italian marble, Belgian stained glass, Georgian furniture. Even its cast-iron gates were imported from England and modelled after those at Buckingham Palace.

My favourite space was the ballroom, where spring-mounted wooden floors once cushioned the steps of waltzing dancers. Such a small detail, yet it revealed how the Holkars saw themselves and the legacy they sought to craft.

But not every dream found form. Southwest of the city lies Phooti Kothi, a ruined palace with abandoned ambitions. Meant to rival the British Residency in nearby Mhow, officially Dr Ambedkar Nagar, its construction began in 1886 but halted in 1902. A planned 365-room marvel in Renaissance style stands unfinished, earning the nickname “the broken palace.” Sometimes, what isn’t built tells the deeper story.

Temples, tombs and timelessness

Ahilyabai’s legacy wasn’t just regal, it was deeply spiritual. That afternoon, I visited Khajrana Ganesh Temple, one of her many commissioned sanctuaries. Legend has it that the idol was hidden in a well to protect it from Mughal rulers and later retrieved by the queen herself.

Today, locals come here for blessings before exams, weddings, and new ventures. I joined them, whispering a wish to Mushak, the tiny mouse at Ganesh’s feet. It’s custom here: speak to the mouse, and your wish travels upward.

My final stop was Krishnapura Chhatris, a quiet cluster of cenotaphs honouring Holkar rulers. Tucked near Rajwada along the banks of the Khan River, these intricately carved memorials date back to the mid-nineteenth century and commemorate figures such as Krishnabai, Tukoji Rao II, and Shivaji Rao Holkar. Each structure houses a garbha griha with a bust and Shiva ling. Unlike the grandeur of Rajwada or Lalbagh, this space is more tribute than display. As pigeons fluttered through the arches and the river flowed past, something settled. In a journey shaped by power and vision, this was where it all came to rest.

That night, in the hush of my suite at Sayaji, the day softened into memory —chandeliers, quiet corridors, the scent of incense, museum dust still clinging to my shoes. The stillness ran deep. Forty-eight hours of walking Holkar footsteps had come full circle. Their legacy doesn’t live behind the palace gates or temple walls - it lives in how Indore carries itself today.

Even now, it hums through places you might pass without noticing: Holkar Science College, Shivaji Rao Holkar School, MY Hospital, MT Cloth Market. What they left behind is more than history — it’s momentum. And to understand that future, I had to stand in its past.