Along the streets of Aurangabad came a procession. A parade. People wore orange turbans and waved orange flags. Antique cars overflowing with bright yellow flowers carried frightened looking children, their ears and noses pierced. Drums beat heavily around and the people in the procession jumped forwards and backwards in an ecstatic dance. I did not have time to stay and see what all this was about. My auto-rickshaw driver whisked me off into the beautiful arid wilderness of Maharashtra.
Deep into the countryside we went, to a temple complex hollowed out of enormous rock. I did not realise I was staring at the largest rock-cut structure in the world. Known as the Kailasa Temple, the rock-cut is surrounded by a series of Buddhist caves containing enormous buddha statues within.
I now desperately wanted to read more of the Mahabharata. An epic of Sanskrit literature and Hindu mythology which I began reading in Mumbai. For there were scenes from the Mahabharata carved into the foundations of the Kailasa temple. The complex was also filled with depictions of Shiva the destroyer as well as elephants, sculpted to look like they were carrying the temple on their backs. The sun sparkled all over the rock. I tilted back my head to gaze up at the top of the rock-cut and felt like I was in a virtual reality Tomb Raider game.
The Kailasa Temple is perhaps the most extraordinary place I’ve been to and it’s really not far to reach from Aurangabad, costing 600 rupees (£6.00) for a foreigner to enter. It’s the most amazing thing I’ve seen, beating out any ancient Greek or Roman ruin.
Once I’d explored all I could, I climbed a steep hill where I could survey the Kailasa temple from above. From this new angle it appeared even stranger. The roof of the temple held huge mammal carvings as well as a richly patterned and intricately designed pyramid. All around it, as far as the eye could see, spread a land that was once fought over by the Mughals and the Maratha Kings.
The Kailasa complex was only the beginning… a whole hoard of caves were buried in the hills, extending over 2km of land. This place is known as Ellora… The Ellora caves. I didn’t get time to see even half of them. Last night, in the splendour of the Bibi Ka Maqbara I saw the tomb of Aurangzeb’s wife. But now, back in the auto-rickshaw rushing through Maharashtra once again, I was on my way to Khuldabad. To see the tomb of Aurangzeb himself.
Aurangzeb’s tomb is nothing like his wife’s (Bibi Ka Maqbara) or his parents (the Taj Mahal) It is pleasant if unspectacular – a simple marble stone with nothing to cover it but the sky. It seemed a very humble place for perhaps the greatest and most controversial Mughal ruler. Aurangzeb is viewed by some as being India’s most treacherous ruler; a tyrant who imprisoned his own father in Agra’s red fort and (supposedly) destroyed Hindu temples across the land.
Aurangzeb faced some hefty opposition to his Mughal rule. Shivaji – the founder of the Maratha empire whose statue I discovered upon my arrival in Aurangabad. In the hills of central India Shivaji relentlessly opposed Aurangzeb’s rule and Aurangzeb never could get his hands on “the mountain rat”. He did however get his hands on Shivaji’s son, Sambhaji. Sambhaji was literally ripped apart in punishment for carrying on his father’s fight. But the question is wide open as to whether Aurangzeb was really as bad as he is made out to be. Due to his religion he will always be a controversial figure in India.
Emerging from the tomb of the controversial Aurangzeb, I met a guy called Yusuf who was heading in the same direction as me. We were both going to the Fortress of Daulatabad. So, I got back into the auto-rickshaw with my impatient driver and told Yusuf I would meet him there.
Daulatabad Fort dates from before the time when Mughal’s came to India and was built by the rulers of a Hindu Kingdom known as the Yadava Dynasty. Daulatabad means: “City of Fortune”. A short way outside the fortress gates stands Chand Minar, a huge tower with three circular balconies. Making my way up the path towards Chand Minar, I reunited with Yusuf and he introduced me to his friends: Irfan, Ilyas and Saad.
There were many people venturing into the fortress of Daulatabad. Just as we were entering the main gate, I met a guy from Leeds called Paresh. Paresh, also travelling solo through the Indian subcontinent is making his way North but at a much faster pace than me. He’s heading all the way up to Nepal where he will hike to Everest Base Camp. A true adventure.
Yusuf, Saad, Ilyas and Irfan mainly spoke in Hindi, but despite this I felt completely content walking alongside them as we ascended further into the castle. I never felt alone in their company. There was a calm and precious contentment which surrounded me, bestowed by their warmth and friendliness and unhindered by any language or cultural barrier.
Like Yusuf, Irfan, Ilyas and Saad are all studying to be engineers, and they are all Muslim. Yusuf himself is from a town called Latur. I felt that Yusuf could speak the most English, he and Saad regularly translated things for me, and from them I learned the meaning of the word “Chello” which was being shouted constantly as we made our way around the fort. It means “let’s go”.
Yusuf also asked me if I was married. ‘We are all bachelors too’ he told me, though added with great enthusiasm that Ilyas had two girlfriends…
Irfan is a huge film buff. I talked with him about some of the Bollywood films I had seen, and he told me I should watch Bahubali – a famous historical action film in India. Irfan also kept getting me to recite lines from Hindi films and was very enthusiastic when I got them right. “De su rupeey a denga!”
We joined up with another guy whose name was Lucky. Lucky Dongare. Unlike the others, he was Hindu. He knew all about the history of Daulatabad fort and was giving the others what I can only assume was a vigorous run-down in Hindi. Lucky himself is from a place called Vanjari, (also in Maharashtra) and speaks fluent Marathi. As a Vanjari, he is a member of a sub-caste of Hinduism. There are four main classes of Hinduism in India. The Vanjari community were and are traders and warriors since ancient times… and at the time of Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj the most advanced warriors in war. So Lucky is descended from warriors.
To get to the remains of the citadel we passed through a subterranean passage, steep and uneven steps slanted upwards. A window covered with grills was once used as a trap set for enemies. It was now filled with the squeal of bats. We took turns looking down into it before bounding up the rocky staircase. Sometimes it was hard to tell what was rock and what was wall for they often melded seamlessly together. I used the walls and the rocks to shield myself from the sun, and turned up the collar of my shirt to protect me when I ascended out into the open, lamenting the fact it made me look like an idiot.
After ascending a steep flight of rocky steps which were exposed to the sun in a deadly way, Lucky took me into a Hindu temple that was stationed within the fort. The others waited outside.
Incense burned in a small circular room, lit only by the sunlight streaming in from the entrance. An old woman was there. The keeper of the temple. She imprinted an orange spot upon my forehead and I knelt by the figure of Ganesh – that Hindu God that was beheaded by his father before being resurrected with the head of an elephant.
I was then given some sugar granules and a cup of water, to wash them down. I felt pretty anxious about drinking the water. I mean… where had it come from? Was it safe? But I drank from the cup and lived to tell the tale…
Further up in the heights of Daulatabad Fort the monkeys reigned. We mere humans were very much a minority amidst the army of langurs who ruled the place. They were huge. Not as big as apes and baboons but still the biggest I’ve ever seen outside a zoo. They had long fur and long tails which they often hoisted into the air like cats on the prowl. They lolloped and gandered about everywhere, leaping and scampering up the ruins so naturally they seemed unnatural. I looked at them only from a distance at first, but the further we ascended, the closer and more unavoidable the monkeys became.
The little ones climbed and swung on ropes as the adults watched them. Some of the monkeys snuck up behind me as I was trying to take a selfie. I was filming them playing at their antics, when suddenly their heads flicked as one to me. One of them jumped down towards me. I backed up fast. Irfan threw himself between me and the monkey. Now we had the attention of what seemed like every last monkey in the vicinity upon us. It suddenly felt like we were about to be attacked en-masse. These langurs had a playful viciousness about them and were getting more and more riled up by the second. Perhaps due to the increasing number of people in their territory. We quickly got the hell away from them. It was a good thing Irfan seemed to know what he was doing because I certainly didn’t…
Luckily, we escaped the monkeys and made our way up to a tower where we were presented with breath-taking views. We could even watch the monkeys from a safe distance, small dancing figures bounding upon the rocks and grass. Low lying mountains breasted the horizon, glazed by the azure sky.
When we finally exited the fort, everyone insisted I make my driver wait even longer, and come with them to a nearby restaurant for a cup of sugar-cane juice. We sipped our drinks and Lucky looked through my notebook of Hindi and Marathi phrases. I practiced a bit of my Marathi with him. For the first time during my travels, I felt like I was doing more than just skimming the surface of another country. I’d plunged myself into deeper waters.
Eventually concerned that my driver would demand extra for making him wait so long, I said goodbye to Yusuf, Irfan, Ilyas, Saad and Lucky and returned to my driver who moodily drove me back to Aurangabad. And once again I walked the night-time streets of the city – this time high on sugar-cane juice. My soul felt alive. I was not ready for the day to end. I hunted through the city for dinner and came upon a little restaurant called Mateshwari chat bhandar.
In this restaurant I met a guy called Rajesh Kumawat who served me something called Dabeli – a mix of boiled potatoes, dabeli masala and roti fried in pure amul butter. It was greasy, slightly sweet and very tasty. Rajesh described himself as a “kattar” Hindu. He told me that Aurangabad has been renamed. It is now called “Chhatrapati Sambhaji Nagar” he said proudly. After the Hindu rebel who was ripped apart on the orders of Aurangzeb. Despite the official renaming of the city, I think it will be hard to stop thinking of the place as Aurangabad…
On the way back to my hostel I bumped into Lucky near his home – a happy coincidence. And so we exchanged one last goodbye before the day drew to its end.
