Hope in history

The cities of India are paved with history. Such a surfeit of history with such a pronounced range, splendour and class that most of it is not given more than a passing glance. Take for instance, this Mandapam that sits right in the middle of the Vaigai river. Its supposed to have been sitting on from 1293 AD.  That was almost two hundred years before Columbus landed in America!


This is a picture from a few years back. Now, though, the river has dried up. Little boys play cricket on what was once the river bed. Scrounging the ground a tad more for it to hold the three bent sticks from a nearby tree, that masquerades as stumps. At spots were perhaps the fish laid eggs or warriors buried stolen treasures. In the words of one famous commentator, ‘ultimately cricket is the winner’!

Allow me to drag your mind from cricket even as you wonder what TV commentators have for breakfast for them to come up with such stellar stuff with such odious frequency and get our sights to stay trained on the Thenur mandapam.

Anywhere else in the world, this would have been earmarked as a piece of heritage, marked with concerted steps to keep it as it is. Maybe weave a few stories around the place. Get a few school children visit it and learn.  Ah, but thats anywhere else in the world. When you have a surfeit of something, you perhaps tend to take it for granted. Architecture that depicts history is one such.  I  am sure most residents and tourists of the city dont have a clue of how old this place is and how much of value we miss by not stopping by to take a second look.



It has traditions and several stories to run alongside culture that has evolved!  When you are done with this blogpost, find a minute to read its history.

Today all the rich history, stories and the traditions over seven hundred years call out loud only through deep cracks and large gaps in the structure. Enough to seed a frown on you, if you care for such things that is. Your blood will begin to simmer first at the garish colours and then boil at the degree of deep neglect that seems to seep through all the crumble. The blaring horns of traffic threaten to knock your ear drum silly and you wonder if these loud horns and our perpetual preoccupation with ‘development’ has made us so myopic that we fail to hear the silent sobs and tearful sighs from this seven hundred plus year old structure.

There can be spanking new bridges, swanky new cars and technology that captures the world in our palms through phones that sit inside our pockets. Not so long ago, this and structures like these did the same job as people came here and narrated stories they had heard in exchange for stories others had carried with them. A splendid flowing river kept them company and perhaps making its own swirling additions as it sped downstream to the sea!

Today, there is no river. The crumbling edifice reminds us that things are changing. The gaping holes left behind by young boys and the cricket stumps on the river bed indicate that the river is done with the flowing under the bridge. The sands of time shimmer prominently through the cracks on the wall.

Wont someone take notice? You are prone to ask, if such things matter to you, that is. A monument that is standing on its last few legs. In its sepulchral stoic standing, it seems to announce to every other day that it stands, that it has stood for one more day. Even while that announcement gets feebler, as the cracks make their ominous presence more visible,  urgently pointing to an inevitable end. On that day, the landscape of the dry river will forever change.

The world will have other things to focus on. New toys and fancies will continue to grip collective imagination. It will garner a mention in the newspaper. A couple of laments on blogs like these, before moving on to discuss other aspects that dominate our lives today.

But hold on. Perhaps we make a mistake in not shining the light on other minds. Minds who have hope in history. Minds for whom this is not a physical structure but a representative structure.  When this structure and even pictures of this structure brings about a warm fuzzy feeling of a different time. When there was some water in the river. Of a bundle full of memories. When the age was young and conversation was king. To those minds, this structure will continue to be the lasting edifice. Sans cracks. Sans crumble. Sans dereliction .

It is in those minds that this and structures like these thrive. Sometimes the steps of the daily day are powered by an overarching ache that comes from a clutch of memories.  Some edifices provide them with aplomb. This is one such. From new hopes that emerge, there will be new edifices.

Such is life. Always. Well, at least most of the time.

PS : You may want to read this and more importantly, this.