A formidable fort sans the roar

Tigers are a big draw; but steeped in history, Bandhavgarh holds its own

The fort’s gate wore a grim look. It seemed to mirror the stoic equanimity of antiquity, defiance against the elements, pride at a glorious past, anguish at human disregard, or the rebuff: go back! There aren’t any tigers here!

Its feelings were understandable. Though the national park owes its name, Bandhavagarh, to the 3rd century AD fort, that overlooks the area from its lofty perch, it is now merely a sideshow to the main draw, the sighting of the tiger.

Our guide told us that not many visitors are willing to negotiate the treacherous kucha road to the fort in a jeep. Even those who do are mostly lured by the promise of sighting the odd tiger that has strayed into the sprawling fort area. But like most old people, the fort didn’t hold a grudge against us for too long. As soon as we entered the gate, it opened up to lend a splendid view of its ancient charm and a peep into its majestic past—a past that blends history with mythology. The word ‘Bandhavagarh’ means “fort of the brother.” ‘It was erected by Lord Rama for Lakshmana,’ read a stone slab outside the gate. It also mentioned that the Mogul Emperor Humanyun’s wife and saint Kabir had stayed in the fort. In fact, to commemorate the latter’s visit, a temple stands even now.

We found the place a delight as much for a history buff as for a nature lover. Among the scattered ruins, one found temples, arches, royal quarters, and nearly a dozen reservoirs, the largest of which is a neat, rectangular water body almost the size of a hockey field, lined with deep stone walls and stairs descending into the water.

Another reservoir, which is overlooked by the Rama temple and the ruins of Rani Mahal, the queen’s quarters, had branches of a giant peepal extending over its waters. It’s a tribute to the water works engineering of the time that even at this height (800 m) and the peak of summer, there was water in the reservoirs. Naturally, they attract birds of all kinds, including some that are rare to see.

We roamed about the place mesmerised by its quiet charm, paying no heed to the blazing sun or the 41-degree heat. One could spend hours soaking up the history trapped in the stone structures punctuating this rare wilderness. We wanted to glimpse the relics bathed in the golden rays of the setting sun. But the driver warned against driving down the slippery road in the dim light. It would also mean overstaying the closing hours of the national park. So we returned.

As I descended from the fort-gate, I paused briefly to photograph it. It betrayed no trace of a smile, but, I felt, the initial hostility was gone, its place having been taken by an expression, that could only be read as ‘Do come again’.