For centuries, the system of caste based-social stratification in India has created conflict over one’s right to worship their preferred deity. But times are changing and so are regressive social norms. The flag-bearer of this much-awaited metamorphosis is the state of Kerala, which recently appointed Dalits and other non-Brahmins as main priests in temples.
While this move is definitely a turning point, it isn’t the first time Kerala has set an inspiring example of Dalit emancipation. Few Indians know that at the height of India’s struggle for independence, the last Maharaja of Travancore, Sree Chithira Thirunal Balaram Varma, stunned the rest of the country by removing restrictions on Dalit entry to Hindu temples.
Here’s the story of one of the greatest social reformatory measures witnessed by pre-Independence India.
The year was 1924 and Mahatma Gandhi was visiting the erstwhile princely state of Travancore. During his meeting with the members of the royal family, he asked the then 12-year-old prince Balaram Varma whether he would throw open temples for lower caste Hindu people when he became the king. The resolute young prince firmly answered “I shall”.
Later, when he became the ruler of Travancore, Balaram Varma did not forget his promise. In 1932, he set up a Temple Entry Committee to examine the possibilities of opening the doors of shrines to all castes. His decision was also influenced by the Vaikom Satyagraha of 1924-25, a historic struggle for the right of avarnas (untouchables) to use public roads close to temples.
On November 12, 1936, Balaram Varma made a revolutionary royal proclamation that opened the doors of temples in Travancore for all Hindu devotees, irrespective of their caste and community.
In an immediately-sent telegram, Gandhi heartily congratulated the King and the formidable duo who guided him — his mother, Sethu Parvathi Bai (the junior queen) and his multi-faceted Dewan, Sir C.P. Ramaswami Aiyar — for the announcement. A paragraph from this telegram reads:
“The actuality has surpassed all expectations. The enthusiasm of the Harijans, the absence of all opposition to their entrance to the farthest limit possible to the highest caste, and the willing, nay the hearty co-operation of the officiating priests show the utter genuineness of the great and sweeping reform.”
Furthermore, Gandhi personally visited Travancore in January 1937 to participate in the event being held to celebrate the successful implementation of the path-breaking proclamation.
Interestingly, the announcement also had a deep impact on Madras Presidency, where a similar movement (for entry of Dalits into temples) was being pioneered by Periyar E V Ramasamy Naicker. Balaram Varma was feted and honoured by the people of Madras for his visionary decision, with the massive appreciation manifesting in the form of a statue.
Funded by public contribution and sculpted by M.S. Nagappa (the official sculptor to the British Crown), it was installed on October 28, 1939, at a corner of the Esplanade road. The park developed behind the statue — along with a pedestal bearing the full text of the 1936 proclamation — was also named the Travancore Maharajah’s Park.
As years passed, both the statue (the only one erected for a king in Chennai) and the watershed moment it represented were gradually forgotten. The park around the statue was replaced by an expanded Broadway bus terminus expansion while the statue itself became a holder for flags of the political parties conducting rallies in the vicinity.
All this while, Travancore’s witnessed multi-pronged progress under the aegis of Balaram Varma (who had become the first and only Rajpramukh of the Travancore-Cochin Union after Independence).
He was the one who established the Pallivasal Hydro-Electric Project, Thiruvananthapuram International Airport, Travancore Public Transport Department (later renamed Kerala State Road Transport Corporation), and Fertilizers and Chemicals Travancore (FACT).
Noted historians, like A Sreedhara Menon, also credit him for the industrialization of the erstwhile princely state.
Incidentally, Balaram Varma also sponsored the higher education of a young Dalit man who would go on to become the 10th President of India — Kocheril Raman Narayanan.
When the immensely popular King passed away in 1991, his neglected statue on Esplanade road was moved by his admirers (including veteran vocalist Semmangudi Srinivasa Iyer) to a better spot. Today, it rests in a corner of the Sree Anantha Padmanabha Swami temple in Adyar’s Gandhi Nagar locality (in present-day Chennai).
As India continues to moves towards a national consciousness that affirms and embraces equality, it’s time the saga of Travancore’s last King and his epoch-making proclamation find its rightful place amidst newer stories of reconciliation and redemption.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
Each village in India has its own storied history, and a unique cultural fabric. Now, thanks to a novel initiative by the Indian Council of Historical Research, you can learn all the available history and legendary folklore of Indian villages, dating back to the Mahabharata.
Carrying vital information about 500 villages and 30,000 towns of India, as well as various folk stories and popular beliefs, a dictionary is being compiled. Separate teams visiting different villages will seek help from locals, who are aware of their village’s history.
A village in India. Picture for representative purposes only. Picture Courtesy: Wikipedia
The initiative will begin with mapping the towns of Haryana, where, according to researches, evidence suggests that episodes from the Mahabharata took place. Says IHCR Member Secretary, Rajaneesh Kumar Shukla to DNA “There are more than 5 lakh villages in the country and every Indian village has a history associated with it. For the first time, we are going to explore all that history and put that information on record. We are starting with Haryana because it has very old history. The area of Kurukshetra, for example, is very significant for our research”, adding “There are two parts to the research — first is the collection of information and second is the systematisation and synchronisation of that data. Apart from our own team, we would also like to engage the local youths interested in history”.
According to officials, the council has already started work on the dictionary, and is targeting to finish the work within the next two years. The “most comprehensive” document on Indian history, as this book is being called, is sure to be an interesting mix of factual information, engaging stories and popular beliefs.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
On July 7, 1896, the Lumiere Brothers (the famous French pioneers of motion pictures) showcased six films at Bombay’s Watson Hotel and India witnessed the birth of cinema. Seventeen years later, Dadasaheb Phalke’s Raja Harishchandra opened in Bombay and created history as the country’s first feature film.
However, few know that the first Indian to make movies was not Phalke but a forgotten filmmaker from Bengal. Son of a lawyer, Hiralal Sen did not just experiment with the new medium, he also made pioneering contributions to it — other than India’s first short film, he also made the nation’s first-ever advertisements.
Hiralal Sen was born in 1866 in Bagajuri village of Manikganj (now in Bangladesh). His family belonged to the landed aristocracy of Bengal and his father, Chandramohan Sen, was a successful lawyer.
Soon after he finished his schooling, Sen moved to the then-named Calcutta and gained admission in a college there. It was during his college days that the young student fell deeply in love with the art of photography. By 1890, he had won several gold medals for excellence in photography and had even started his photographic studios in Manikganj and Calcutta.
While Sen was busy honing his skills in photography, the Lumiere brothers had figured out how to combine film recording and projection into a single device, creating the world’s first motion pictures.
A year after the Lumieres’ 50-second film ‘The Arrival of a Train’ created waves in 1895, first in Paris and then in India, cameraman Maurice Sestier arrived in India along with a Lumiere Cinematographe: a trinity of a camera, printer and bioscope (movie projector).
On July 7, 1896, they screened six motion films — Entry of Cinematographe, The Sea Bath, Arrival of a Train, A Demolition, Ladies and Soldiers on Wheels and Leaving the Factory for an awestruck audience at Bombay’s swanky Watson Hotel. Reported as the ‘miracle of the century’ by The Times of India, motion pictures became an instant craze in India.
Sen was not there – he would see the cinema two years later in Calcutta when a certain Professor Stevenson staged a show at Calcutta’s Star Theatre called The Flower of Persia. Back then, short films would be featured during intervals in the stage shows.
Mesmerised by the concept of motion pictures, Sen immediately decided to take up the challenge of making one on his own. He began keenly reading journals and newspapers to learn about film-shaking. Later, with Stevenson’s encouragement and camera, he finally managed to fulfil his dream, using scenes from The Flower of Persia to make his first film.
A short while later, Sen purchased an Urban Bioscope (a film projector) for a princely sum of ₹5000 from the London-based Warwick Trading Company. Next year, he joined hands with his brother Motilal Sen to launch Royal Bioscope company, a platform through which he then began showcasing films (both self-made and imported).
Though showing films may seem easy today, it definitely wasn’t a walkover in that era. Since Calcutta had electric supply in only two localities — Howrah Bridge and the Maidans — Sen often had to procure elaborate equipment and make complicated arrangements to screen films.
For instance, unable to source electric arc lamps, Sen would burn lime in a bath with oxygen (stored in a bladder) to light up the screen. This process of creating ‘limelight’ was quite risky, given the chance of unpredictable explosions.
In these efforts, Sen was helped immensely by Father E J Laffont, a teacher of Calcutta’s St Xavier’s College. Laffont (who would himself use phonograph and lime lantern during his lectures) would advise and assist Sen on how to handle the bioscope.
Sen also worked closely with Amarendranath Dutta of Calcutta’s Classic Theatre to film Classic’s plays like Bhramar and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. In doing this, the avid photographer used a host of innovations such as trick photography, close-ups, panning and tilts as opposed to the standard one-angle fixed photography.
Thus, it is no surprise that Sen’s film screening became a much-awaited event in Calcutta, attracting huge crowds and appreciative reviews. One local paper raved:
“This is a thousand times better than the live circuses performed by real persons… Moreover it is not very costly…Everybody should view this strange phenomenon!”
Soon, Sen added his own scenes to his short films and began organising travelling movie shows in Bengal. Such was his popularity that his company attracted the attention of royals (like Raja Rajendra Mullick, builder of Jorasanko’s renown Marble Palace) and senior British officers (who asked him to hold shows at Dalhousie Institute).
But Sen was not satisfied by just making films on plays. In 1904, he decided to capture the immensity of a public rally opposing the Partition of Bengal on film. Using a camera placed on top of the treasury building, he was able to film eminent speakers (including Surendranath Banerjee, the founder of Indian National Association) against the backdrop of a sea of protestors.
Advertised as a “genuine Swadeshi film of our own make”, Sen’s film on the Bengal partition ended with the rallying cry of Vande Mataram. Today, it is widely considered India’s first political documentary and one of the two (the other was a film on George V’s 1911 visit to India aka Delhi Durbar) highs point of Sen’s career.
Apart from these, Sen also made films about public life, nature, political events etc. He also shot India’s first ever product commercials — featuring Jabakusum hair oil and Edward’s Anti-Malaria Tonic —using opulent villas beside the Hooghly river as locations (the concept of creating sets was yet to come into use).
However, as time went on, he began finding it harder to compete with imported films that had better access to infrastructure and technology. Forced by financial hardship and deteriorating health, he eventually closed the business and sold all his equipment in 1913. Shortly afterwards all of Sen’s films were accidentally destroyed by fire.
In October 1917, a sick and bankrupt Sen received the cruel news that the warehouse (which contained the entire stock of the Royal Bioscope Company) had accidentally caught fire.
The blaze had destroyed every film he had ever made and with them much of the proof of India’s early cinema history. Heartbroken, Sen passed away few days later.
A century later, India’s first filmmaker remains forgotten, an unsung pioneer whose contributions to Bengali as well as Indian cinema continue to await recognition. Its time we gave his story its rightful place in India’s cinematic history.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
In the history of modern India, the Renaissance is generally considered a crucial stepping stone that led to the emergence of the modern ‘united India’ nationalism and the subsequent all-India anti-colonial struggle. This period of turmoil marked a transition in values, transformation in social sensibilities and rebirth in cultural creativity.
And its beginning was heralded by the birth of the Brahmo Samaj, the cradle of Bengal Renaissance. This movement was founded by India’s famous polymath-reformer, Raja Rammohan Roy, and its single biggest contribution was the emancipation of women in general and their education in particular.
However, while Roy who is famous for his role in this movement, few people know the story of how another great Brahmo radical of the era exposed the British exploitation of ‘coolies’. This forgotten legend was Dwarkanath Ganguli.
A schoolteacher in British-ruled Bengal of the late 19th century, Dwarkanath was born in April 1845 at Magurkhanda village of Bikrampur district. During his days as a student, he was deeply influenced by Akshay Kumar Datta’s thesis on the plight of Indian women that stated: “The first vital step to social regeneration is liberating woman from her bondage.”
While he was still working as a teacher, Dwarkanath started publishing a weekly magazine called Abalabandhab (Friend of Women) through which he began bringing to light concrete cases of exploitation and the extreme suffering of women. As David Kopf (noted historian and professor emeritus at the University of Minnesota) later wrote,
“This journal was probably first in the world devoted solely to the liberation of women.”
Apart from Abalabandhab, Dwarkanath also raised a storm within the Brahmo Samaj with his radical reformist views that were strongly opposed by the conservative members of the movement. He also served as the headmaster, teacher, maintenance man, guard and sweeper of Hindu Mahila Vidyalaya (that was later renamed Banga Mahila Vidyalaya and subsequently merged with Bethune School). Incidentally, he is also the great-grandfather of legendary Indian filmmaker Satyajit Ray.
With a series of firsts to her credit, Kadambini was also one of the earliest working women in British India and among the first female physicians trained in western medicine in the whole of South Asia.
As David Kopf wrote, “Kadambini was, appropriately enough, the most accomplished and liberated Brahmo woman of her time.”
Interestingly, when Kadambini’s decision to study medicine received severe backlash from the Bhadralok (upper caste Bengali) community, it was Dwarakanath who encouraged her to follow her heart.
In fact, when the editor of the popular periodical Bangabasi referred to her as a courtesan in his article, it is said that a furious Dwarakanath confronted him and (in a not very subtle manner) made him swallow the piece of paper where the comment was printed. He also took legal action, as a result of which the editor was sentenced to six months’ imprisonment and fined one hundred rupees.
For the rest of his life, Dwarkanath never stopped fighting taunts and threats, to defend not just his wife but every Indian woman from what he considered to be the forces of narrow privilege.
Passionate about uplifting the underprivileged, he also used his articles to publicise social issues from a humanitarian point of view. He intended to encourage their inclusion on political platforms and to get the government to address the exploitation underlying the issues.
The most famous of these efforts were Dwarkanath’s series of explosive articles on the wretched conditions of indentured workers in the tea gardens of Assam.
In the 1830s, the British had introduced indentured contracts to recruit cheap and dislocated Indian workforce that would grow lucrative plantation commodities such as tea, coffee, sugar and rubber. Once on plantations, state-enforced penal provisions ensured that they couldn’t leave till their contract expired, no matter the conditions. With time, these workers came to called “coolies”.
When a fellow Brahmo member Ram Kumar Vidyaratna, returned from a visit to Assam with dismal tales of opium addiction, inhuman conditions and exploitation of the “coolies” by the British tea planters, Dwarkanath decided to investigate these allegations first-hand.
As the white planter-dominated tea industry went to great extents to keep their labour conditions hidden, Dwarkanath knew that exposing this involved great personal risks. But he was undaunted.
After an arduous and clandestine journey (that included long treks as the plantation region had neither roads nor vehicles), he finally reached “Planter’s Raj” — as the region was colloquially called, thanks to the absolute dominance of its British managers.
Dwarkanath was shocked to see British managers enjoying the luxuries provided by huge profits while leaving little for the natives as wages and virtually nothing for the development of Assam. What aggrieved him, even more, was the deplorable conditions in which the “coolies” were forced to live.
The outraged writer returned to publish a succession of articles in nationalist newspapers, such as KK Mitra’s Sanjibani and Surendranath Banerjee’s Bengalee, to expose the near-slave like conditions of bonded “coolies” in Assam. Soon after, he even took the matter to the forums of the Indian National Congress, with the help of freedom fighter Bipin Chandra Pal.
Effectively contesting British claims of worker emancipation, Dwarkanath’s reports told the stories of thousands of Indians who had been lured into Assam’s plantations with the false belief that they would get a living wage in salubrious conditions.
They also grimly described the brutal punishments meted out and how one of every four “coolies” died, their deaths casually dismissed by the planters as being caused by disease or failure to adjust to climatic conditions.
While Britain’s influential planter lobby did all they could to prevent Dwarkanath’s reports from having much impact on public opinion, they were unable to prevent it from receiving wide publicity in nationalist circles. In fact, the impact was so great that the Indian National Congress sent its own fact-finding missions to Assam to amass evidence.
By the early twentieth century, Dwarkanath’s reports on Assam “coolies” had become an important plank for nationalist agitation against colonial rule. And finally, the pressure proved too much for the British, forcing them to abolish the imperial indenture system in 1920.
Today, Dwarkanath’s story has faded away from history textbooks and public memory. A school teacher who took a strong stand against injustice in every form, its time Indian gave this unacknowledged hero the respect and recognition he deserves.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
The year was 1941 and Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose had arrived in Berlin to ask for Hitler’s help in freeing India from the tyranny of the British rule. Guided by his belief that only an armed uprising could help India become independent, the charismatic freedom fighter began setting his plan in motion.
Netaji’s plan had two objectives: the first, to set up an Indian government-in-exile, and the second, to create the Azad Hind Fauj (Indian National Army or Legion Freies Indien) — a force of 50,000 troops, consisting mainly from Indian prisoners-of-war captured by Rommel’s Afrika Korps.
Netaji wanted INA to be an elite fighting force, trained to the highest standards of the German army, in which every man would fight shoulder-to-shoulder with his fellow soldier for the sole cause of Indian Independence. For this to happen, it was essential that the army behaved a cohesive and completely integrated unit.
This was where Netaji faced a problem as Indian soldiers tended to restrict themselves to clusters of their own ethnicity and religion. This was because, historically, Indian soldiers had been organised into regiments according to ethnicity and religion (eg. the Rajputs, the Madras Sappers, the Baluchis, the Gorkhas, the Sikhs etc.)
To tackle this complex issue, Netaji decided to replace the specific religion-based salutations (like “Ram Ram” for Hindus, “Sat Sri Akal” for Sikhs and “Salaam Alaikum” for Muslims) of the soldiers with a common greeting that would break barriers and help them bond with each other. He found his rallying cry in the rousing words, “Jai Hind!”
And the man who would gave this iconic phrase was Abid Hasan Safrani, the man from Hyderabad who was Netaji’s trusted aide, an INA Major, and later, one of independent India’s earliest diplomats.
Born into a family with anti-colonial beliefs, Abid Hasan grew up in Hyderabad. As a teenager, the deeply patriotic young lad was a disciple of Mahatma Gandhi and even spent time at the Sabarmati Ashram.
Later, when his contemporaries all went to university in the UK, Abid decided to go, instead, to Germany to do a degree in engineering. And it was there that, in 1941, he first met Netaji during a meeting of Indian prisoners of war.
Inspired by the charismatic leader, Abid decided to give up his studies. Dropping out of the engineering college, he became Netaji’s personal secretary and interpreter during his stay in Germany.
Soon after, during the training sessions of the INA, Netaji conferred with his closest associates on a salutation that would break ethnic barriers and encourage integration within the army. It was Abid who then coined the succinct yet impactful phrase — “Jai Hind” — that got the leader’s approval.
The slogan was soon immortalized by Netaji, who adopted it as the formal manner of greeting for INA revolutionaries and used it liberally in his stirring speeches. Later, of course, it would go on to be adopted as the national slogan after India’s first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, used it in his historic ‘Tryst with Destiny’ speech on August 15, 1947.
In 1942, Abid also accompanied Netaji on his incognito voyage to South-East Asia. Their vehicle was not a motor car, an aeroplane or a train. Instead it was a long-range German submarine, the Unterseeboot 180 (or U-180) on a mission to deliver diplomatic mail for the German embassy in Tokyo.
On the journey, while Abid joked and groused with the crew, Netaji spent much of his time reading, writing and planning how to deal with the Japanese. In his memoir, The Men from Imphal, Abid later wrote about Bose,
“He worked more than anyone I knew. He hardly retired for the night before two o’clock in the morning and there is no instance to my knowledge when at sunrise he was found in bed. He had so many plans for the struggle in East Asia and they had all to be worked out and, as was his habit, each one in detail.”
Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose with his aide Abid Hasan during their journey to Japan from Germany in 1943.
At dawn on April 21, 1943, the U-180 rendezvoused with a Japanese submarine and exchanged signals. Disregarding the fact that the ocean was extremely rough and that they could not swim, Netaji and Abid stepped into a raft and crossed the stormy waves to board the Japanese vessel I-29.
The crossing was short, and only took minutes but it was a nautical feat without precedent in the war—the only sub-to-sub transfer of civilians in hostile waters. Then the two submarines dived beneath the waves and set off for home in different directions. After two years spent in Hitler’s Reich, Bose and Abid were now the guests of Japan’s Imperial Navy.
Aboard the I-29, the Japanese captain Teraoka gave his own cabin to the Indian guests. Bose and Abid were served hot curry to to celebrate their crossing, and the birthday of the Japanese emperor in whose realm they had just arrived. It all felt, as Safrani wrote in his memoir, like “something akin to a homecoming”.
The crew of Japanese submarine with Subhash Chandra Bose
After the two finally arrived in Tokyo, Netaji took command of INA, beginning the most admired chapter of his life. This was the time when INA’s campaigns had become increasingly significant in the south-east Asian theatre of World War II and quickly rose to the post of a Major.
During this time, the hardworking soldier also included “Safrani” into his name as a mark of respect and communal harmony.
According to historical accounts, among the INA soldiers, there was a difference of opinion between the Hindus and Muslims about what the colour of the flag should be. While the former preferred saffron, the latter were in favour of green. When Hindus agreed to give up their demand, Abid was so impressed that he decided to add ‘saffron’ to his own name as a sign of respect!
Later, in 1943, when Netaji decided on Tagore’s “Jana Gana Mana” to be the anthem of the Provisional Government of Free India set up by INA, it was Abid (along with fellow officers Mumtaz Hussain and JR Bhonsle) who was given the responsibility of translating it to Hindi. His translation, with music provided by Ram Singh Thakuri, became the popular anthem “Sabh Sukh Chain”.
Abid also fought in the four-month long Battle of Imphal in 1944 — voted the greatest battle fought in the history of the British Army — that unfortunately ended with defeat and a dejected retreat back to Rangoon.
In August 1945, Abid was supposed to accompany Bose on his last fateful flight from Singapore to Tokyo but at the last minute, had to remain behind to complete some pending work. Soon after the crash, Abid was imprisoned and grilled for details about Netaji but the loyal aide refused to talk.
Repatriated to India at the end of World War II, Abid was finally released after the INA trials ended in 1946. He briefly joined the Indian National Congress but later left the organisation to settle in Hyderabad. After Independence, he joined the country’s newly created Indian Foreign Service.
Pt Nehru, TB Sapru & KN Katju — the lawyers who successfully defended the accused INA Officers during the Red Fort Trials of 1945.
Over a long and illustrious career as a diplomat, including notable tenures as the Indian Ambassador to a number of countries, Abid finally retired in 1969 as Ambassador to Denmark and returned to his hometown of Hyderabad. In 1984, the little-known legend quietly passed away at the age of 73.
Interestingly, few know the fact that Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose’s nephew, Aurobindo Bose, later married Abid Hasan Safrani’s niece, Suraiya Hasan! Today, Suraiya Hasan Bose, the soft-spoken octogenarian founder of Suraiya’s Weaving Studio, is known for her tireless efforts towards reviving the near-extinct techniques of himroo, mushroo and paithani handlooms.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
India has a rich history of naval warfare. In fact, Indian ships have made their presence felt since the time of Rajendra Chola’s 10th-century naval expedition to Southeast Asia and Maratha Admiral Kanhoji Angre’s 18th-century naval battles against the British, the Dutch and the Portuguese.
This tradition of remarkable military exploits has continued even post-independence, with the Indian Navy playing a key role in at least four major military operations after 1947. There are several stories and anecdotes in the annals of the Indian Navy that illustrate why it has earned the reputation of a force to be reckoned with.
But the most celebrated among them is the story of the audacious naval operation commemorated by India’s Navy Day, Operation Trident.
Here’s the fascinating story of the mission that proved to be a turning point in the 1971 Indo-Pak war.
In 1968, war clouds were already gathering on the horizon when the Indian Navy decided to acquire the Osa-I missile boats from the Soviet Union. Osa translates to ‘wasp’ in Russian and these boats did have a powerful sting thanks to their deadly ship-to-ship Styx missiles (that could blow the biggest enemy cruisers out of the water) and Range-out homing radars (that could out-range any naval radar of that era).
Thus, the fast-moving and stealthy missile boats could look deep and strike deep. However, they had one crucial downside — designed primarily for coastal defence, they had a short range. Nonetheless, Indian Navy acquired eight Osa-Is, established its Missile Boats Squadron, and flew crew members to Russia for eight-month-long raining in the freezing Siberian winter.
In early 1971, the boats were finally shipped to India. Since there were no heavy cranes in Mumbai, the boats were offloaded in Kolkata and towed along the coast to Mumbai.
This was the genesis of a brilliant idea in the minds of India’s naval commanders that would go on to play a pivotal role in Operation Trident — if these boats could be towed from Kolkata to Mumbai, couldn’t their short range feature be overcome by towing them from Mumbai to Karachi?
This audacious strategy would soon come to fruition. As dusk fell on December 3, 1971, at 5.45 PM, the Pakistan Air Force attacked six Indian airfields. The same night, IAF Canberra aircrafts struck Pakistani airfields as ground battles immediately commenced in nearly every sector.
The Indo-Pak War of 1971 had begun and it was time for Indian Navy’s “Killer Squadron” to join the battle.
On the night of December 3, a group of Osa-I missile boats — INS Nipat, INS Nirghat and INS Veer (individually under the commands of Lt. Cdrs. BN Kavina, IJ Sharma and OP Mehta and as a squadron under Cdr. BB Yadav) set sail from Mumbai harbour. The next day, on December 4, two Petya class Frigates — the INS Katchall (under Cdr. KN Zadu) and INS Kiltan (under Commander. G Rao) rendezvoused with the missile boats to form the Trident team.
Sailing westward and then northwards, the Osa-Is were successfully towed to reach the Karachi harbour (the stronghold of the Pakistani Navy) by night. From there, the “wasps” proceeded in an arrowhead formation, changing course frequently with radar inputs from INS Kiltan to avoid enemy detection.
Interestingly, the ship crews communicated in Russian, making the transmissions between the attacking vessels difficult to intercept for enemy ears!
At 2243 hours, the Rangout radar on INS Nirghat picked up a big target — PNS Khaiber, a destroyer of Pak Navy. This was soon followed by the detection of two more targets, PNS Shah Jehan and merchant vessel Venus Challenger (carrying ammunition for the Pakistani Army).
Without any delay, the missile boat squadron homed onto the targets with devastating precision and launched their Styx missiles in quick succession.
Never realising what had hit their ships, the baffled Pakistani Navy assumed it was aircraft fire (IAF aircrafts had been strafing Pakistan’s Kemari oil tanks on the same day in an independent operation) and tried in vain to engage the Styx missiles with their anti-craft guns.
In fact, PNS Khyber even transmitted a mayday signal saying it had been hit by enemy aircraft before it broke into two and sank.
By this time, the Indian squadron had fixed their sight on the fuel storage facilities on the shore.
Stretched to their endurance limits and virtually unprotected against air strikes, the three small missile boats launched their final missiles (setting the whole harbour complex on fire) before turning around and returning full speed to Bombay.
Interestingly, while the Indian ships were retreating, the prevailing confusion led to the Pakistan Air Force scoring a self-goal by hitting its own frigate ship, PNS Zulfiqar (that it assumed to be an enemy boat)!
On December 7, 1971, the Killer Squadron sailed into Bombay to a heroes’ welcome — in 90 minutes, it had fired six missiles, sunk three front-line enemy vessels and destroyed the oil storage facility at the Karachi harbour, without a single Indian casualty.
Not content to rest on the laurels coming their way after the resounding success of Operation Trident, the Indian Navy repeated the feat just four days later in Operation Python — sinking another three ships of the Pakistani Navy and setting the oil stores on fire for the second time.
By destroying its oil and ammunition supplies (and choking off resupply routes), these decisive victories drastically cut down Pakistan’s ability to continue engaging with the Indian forces. In fact, there was an effective blockade of the Karachi port without India having really declared one.
More importantly, it proved to be an important turning point of the 1971 war, which would eventually lead to the liberation of Bangladesh. Such was Operation Trident’s unprecedented success that it made the world sit up and take note of the Indian Navy – the daring mission was part of the first item on US President Richard Nixon’s morning brief by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) the next day.
For their audacious planning, brilliant execution and outstanding bravery, all the three missile boat commanders were awarded the Vir Chakra while the man who led the “Killer Squadron”, Commander (later Commodore BB Yadav) was honoured with the Mahavir Chakra. In a fitting tribute to these courageous men who pulled off one of the great sea-faring victories in Indian naval history, December 4 has also been celebrated as Navy Day ever since.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
When the First World War began in 1914, women who wanted to aid the war effort began working as nurses or factory workers as they were barred from military service. However, three years of relentless fighting prompted a change.
By 1917, the Royal Navy desperately needed volunteers to take on “shore jobs” (such as cooks, stewards, clerks, wireless operators, motor drivers and technical experts) so that more men could go to sea. So the Women’s Royal Naval Service (WRNS) was created to address this manpower shortage, allowing women to work in shore-based roles and freeing more men to work on ships.
These hardworking women quickly became known as ‘Wrens’.
From tracking enemy transmissions and maintaining aircrafts to cleaning depth charges and driving convoys, the bravery, skill and commitment of these women paved the way for those who serve in the Armed Forces today. In fact, at the peak of World War II, around 74,000 women were serving in the WRNS in a huge variety of roles.
However, while the role of British “Wrens” has been widely acknowledged, few people know about the contribution of the”Wrins” or the Women’s Royal Indian Naval Service (Wrins) — India’s counterpart to the WRNS.
Fewer still know about Second Officer Kalyani Sen, the first Indian service woman to visit the UK.
By 1942, the threat of a Japanese invasion of India was looming large. So the British formed the Women’s Auxiliary Corps (India) for female volunteers to contribute to the war cause — the first and only time, until 1992, women served the Indian Army in non-medical roles.
In 1945, the Wrins were made a separate wing from the Women’s Auxiliary Corps (India) to help the Royal Indian Navy in its defence of India’s coasts and harbours — vital in freeing up British ships to concentrate elsewhere.
During this period, Britain’s Admiralty issued an invitation to Second Officer Kalyani Sen to visit UK for a comparative study of the training and administration in the Women’s Royal Naval Service. Sen, married to a colonel of the Indian Army, accepted with alacrity and left for her two-month study visit in the company of Margaret Cooper (a British officer who served in the Wrins).
The Quetta Platoon, Women’s Auxiliary Corps (India), in civilian dress, 1942.
A picture of her from the visit — in a white shirt and naval jacket with gold braid over her sari — was published in all major Indian publications and was soon being hailed as a symbol of “new India”. In an interview with the Daily Herald that soon followed, Sen would explain:
“In India, there is still a big prejudice against women working with men. But the women are so keen to get into the Services that they are breaking it down. “
Back in India, several young Indian women (mostly college graduates and school teachers) had started joining the Wrins. They lived in military-style hostels (established specially for the purpose) that were run by women officers while training for a multitude of “shore jobs”.
Interestingly, unlike the British Wrens (who wore rough serge dresses, woolen stockings and thick overcoats), the Indian Wrins wore white saris with blue borders and seaman’s arm badges.
Here are some rare photographs of Wrins that give a fascinating glimpse of that bygone era.
Wrins at workA Wrin at work in Gunnery School: Stripping and cleaning a 20 mm Oerlikon gunWrins arranging models of ships, escorts and attackers in conformity with a tactical problem setWrins attending to a rush of naval communiquesA Wrin interacting with her Wren counterpartsA Wrin decoding secret communiquesWrins on a tour of Bombay dockyards pose informal questions to a Seaman of the Royal Indian NavyWrins on a tour of the dockyards
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
The earliest known instances of fingerprints being used as signatures for identification, are from Babylon, around 2000 BC. Later, other systems were used in India, Japan, and China. Sir William James Herschel, credited as the first European to use fingerprints for identification, documented his own to prove its effectiveness.
Towards the end of the 19th century, Sir Edward Richard Henry, inspector-general of police, lower provinces Bengal, of pre-independence India, and his sub-inspectors Azizul Haque and Hem Chandra Bose, started maintaining criminal records through a mathematical formula of fingerprint patterns. They then proceeded to put together what was earlier unstructured, in a methodical manner.
The “Henry Classification System”, as it went on to be known, gave rise to the United Kingdom Fingerprint Bureau in 1901.
Sir Henry, Bose and Haque thus paved the way for advanced criminal investigation, and even today, important cases are solved, and criminals apprehended thanks to comprehensive DNA fingerprinting.
Fingerprinting has helped solve various crimes. Picture Courtesy:- Wikimedia Commons.
In August 1898, a tea garden manager was murdered in the Dooars. The Criminal Investigation Department of Bengal Province, while investigating the case, found a compendium with “ two faint brown smudges” at the scene of the crime. The detectives identified the impressions as those of Kangali Charan, a former servant, and unknowingly created history—this was the first ever instance of forensic science being used to apprehend a criminal.
The Bengal Fingerprint Bureau has solved many blind cases but is still in semi-obscurity. The department got a boost when at a recent cabinet meeting, Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee announced a decision to revamp it, allocating ₹ 16 crores to recruit and train young people and procure modern equipment.
Right from the time it began, fingerprinting has given rise to some other advanced techniques, like DNA sampling, to solve crimes. Fingerprints aid in the identification of criminals and prove their participation in the crime in court, and this move by the CM is definitely a silver lining!
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
At Kolhapur’s central square stands the beautiful statue of warrior queen astride a horse. One of the grittiest characters in Indian history, this woman was also called the ‘rainha dos Marathas’ or the ‘Queen of the Marathas’ by the Portuguese. She is Rani Tarabai Bhonsle, the brave daughter-in-law of Chhatrapati Shivaji and one of India’s greatest medieval monarchs.
Among the few women in history to save a kingdom by sheer force and willpower, Rani Tarabai’s unflagging courage and indomitable spirit are at par with the legendary Rani Laxmi Bai of Jhansi, Rani Rudramma Devi of Warangal and Rani Abbakka Chowta of Ullal. Yet, little is written about this warrior queen or her incredible story.
Here’s the untold tale of how Rani Tarabai etched her mark in the annals of history.
Born in 1675, Tarabai was the daughter of Hambir Rao Mohite, the famed Sar Senapati (commander-in-chief) of Shivaji’s Maratha army. Fiercely independent as a young girl, she was well-trained in sword fighting, archery, cavalry, military strategy, diplomacy and all other subjects of statecraft.
A woman who witnessed the rise and fall of the Marathas, Tarabai was just eight-years-old when she was married to Shivaji’s younger son Rajaram. This was an era when the Mughals and the Marathas were constantly at war for control over the Deccan.
In 1674, Shivaji had been crowned the ruler of the independent Maratha kingdom established by him. Under his able leadership, the empire quickly became a key political force in India at the height of Mughal power.
However, the legendary leader passed away in 1680, with the years after his death seeing the Marathas pass through their toughest time.
The year 1689 saw the eldest son of Shivaji and his first wife Saibai, Sambhaji (who had led the Marathas for nearly a decade) being captured and put to death after Raigad fort fell to a Mughal army of over fifteen thousand. His wife, Yesubai and son, Shahu, were captured and taken to the Mughal court as hostages.
During the same battle, the new Maratha king — Rajaram (Shivaji’s second son and Tarabai’s husband — managed to escape from Raigad using a disguise. He eventually made his way to the Gingee fort (in present-day Tamil Nadu), before setting up court at Satara. However, in yet another blow to the Marathas, he passed away due to lung disease in 1700 after an extremely short reign.
A month after his sudden death, Tarabai took over the reins of the Maratha kingdom as regent (for her 4-year-old son, Shivaji II). Realizing the urgent need for strategic and stable leadership if the Marathas were to stop the Mughal onslaught (led by Aurangzeb himself), the 25-year-old widow also took command of the Maratha army.
When the Mughal army heard this news, they were delighted by the prospect of an easy end to the Maratha menace, assuming that a woman and an infant would not provide much resistance. They would soon learn otherwise.
Though grief-stricken by the loss of her husband, Tarabai did not waste time on tears. Instead, she threw herself into organizing a well-planned and vigorous opposition to Aurangzeb. In fact, in his book, A Social History of the Deccan, historian Richard Eaton quotes the following lines by Khafi Khan (court chronicler of the Mughals and the author of Muntkhab al-Lubab):
[The Mughals felt] that it would not be difficult to overcome two young children and a helpless woman. They thought their enemy weak, contemptible and helpless; but Tara Bai, as the wife of Ram Raja [i.e. Rajaram] was called, showed great powers of command and government, and from day to day the war spread and the power of the Mahrattas increased.
An intelligent woman, Tarabai had earned a reputation during her husband’s lifetime for her knowledge of civil, diplomatic and military matters. She used this knowledge to lead from the front —travelling between forts, forging crucial partnerships, mobilizing resources and men.
A skilled cavalry warrior, she also motivated her commanders and soldiers by personally leading aggressive attacks on the enemy.
In his memoirs, Bhimsen (an officer in the Mughal army) mentions that Tarabai “was a stronger ruler than her husband” and that Tarabai “became all in all and regulated things so well that not a single Maratha leader acted without her order”.
One of Tarabai’s greatest strengths was that she never stopped learning, even if it was from the enemy. She mastered Aurangzeb’s particular technique of bribing commanders on the enemy side. Also, following the same techniques used by the imperial army, Tarabai and her commanders began penetrating the long-held territories of the Mughal empire (as far north as Malwa and Gujarat) and appointing their own revenue collectors (kamaishdars).
Thus, even when her forts of her own fell into Aurangzeb’s hands, Tarabai always had control of resources from her permanent collection centres in Mughal domain!
In her seven-year period as regent, Tarabai single-handedly directed the Maratha resistance against the massive army of Aurangzeb, then the mightiest ruler in the world. As Mughal chronicler Khafi Khan wrote:
“She won the hearts of her officers, and for all the struggles and schemes, the campaigns and sieges of Aurangzeb up to the end of his reign, the power of the Mahrattas increased day by day.”
An indomitable warrior queen who was deeply devoted to her kingdom, Tarabai didn’t just prevent the Maratha Confederacy from disintegrating when it was at its lowest ebb, she played a crucial role in it rise to national power (by 1760, the Marathas de facto controlled almost all of India).
Under her rule, the Maratha army established their rule over Southern Karnataka and plundered several rich towns of the country’s western coast (such as Burhanpur, Surat and Broach).
In the midst of repeated failures in quelling the Maratha resistance, an ageing Aurangzeb died on March 2, 1707. Facing a power vacuum at the top, the Mughals craftily released Shahu (Sambhaji’s son and Tarabai’s nephew) to divide the Maratha leadership by sending a new claimant to the throne.
The idea succeeded when Shahu challenged Tarabai and Shivaji II for leadership of the Maratha Confederacy. Tarabai refused, fearing the impact Shahu’s Mughal upbringing may have on his reign. This dispute quickly transformed into a battle.
However, given Shahu’s legal claim to the throne, chieftain sent by Tarabai to fight him started defecting to the other side. And finally in 1708, with the support of Peshwa Balaji Vishwanath’s diplomacy and the new Mughal emperor’s resources, he succeeded.
Shahu I was crowned the Maratha ruler at Satara and Tarabai was sidelined.
Not one to give up easily, Tarabai established a rival court in Kolhapur the next year but was deposed after Shahu and Rajasabai (Rajaram’s second wife) joined forces to put Rajasabai’s son — Sambhaji II — on the Kolhapur throne. Tarabai and her son Shivaji were thrown into prison, where she spent 16 years and her son eventually died.
However, later Sambhaji turned hostile, forcing Shahu to switch sides. Finally freeing her from the prison, Shahu invited Tarabai to stay in the Satara palace, albeit under house arrest. But the former queen’s role in Maratha polity was not over,
At the age of 73, Tarabai stepped out of the shadows after Shahu fell seriously ill, with no direct descendants of Shivaji to appoint as his heir. She revealed that she had concealed her the existence of her grandson Ramraja after her son’s death, fearing his assassination by Rajasabai and Sambhaji II, and that he was now 22 years old—a Maratha prince waiting for his destiny.
So Shahu adopted Ramraja his heir before he died in 1749. With Tarabai’s help, the young prince ascended the Maratha throne. However, later when he became close to the powerful Peshwa, Nana Sahib, and refused to accede to her wishes, Tarabai denounced him as her grandson.
Nonetheless, Tin 1752, Tarabai had to settle for a pact that acknowledged Nana Sahib’s authority in return for the freedom to settle “into her life’s final role – that of a powerful quasi-sovereign dowager”. As mentioned by Eaton in his book,
“At Satara, she maintained a regular court and conducted business of state, issuing orders, conferring grants, and receiving Maratha sardars, while the Peshwa at least publicly acquiesced to her will or sought her advice…
…In 1752 she ordered a Maratha chief to supply fodder for the cavalry horses at specified rates. The same year, the superintendent of Pratapgarh fort asked her to have some roofs in a temple compound re-thatched. And the next year, we find her settling a divorce case involving her Muslim maid.”
Tarabai breathed her last at the age of 86 in 1761, a few months after Ahmad Shah Abdali decimated the Maratha Army at the 3rd battle of Panipat. Had the indomitable queen not taken charge in 1701, it is quite likely that the Marathas would have had to face a similar defeat much earlier and the history of India would have been very different.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
From whichever angle you look at it, the Taj Mahal is an absolute beauty. At dawn, the sun’s feeble rays kiss the minarets, bathing them in a soft light. In the evening, when the crowds have gone, the dying light casts an ethereal glow over it.
Little wonder, then, that the monument of love beat the likes of the Great Wall of China, the Machu Picchu in Peru, the old city of Jerusalem, and Auschwitz Birkenau, to come 2nd in the list of world heritage sites.
TripAdvisor carried out an online survey listing the UNESCO Cultural and Natural heritage sites best rated by travellers worldwide. With over 8 million visitors a year, the Taj Mahal was ranked second only to Cambodia’s mighty Angkor Wat.
The Taj Mahal. Picture Courtesy: Wikimedia Commons.
Whether you wish to take a guided tour or explore its many secrets on your own, is up to you. Each experience is sure to leave you mesmerised. Right from the plant motifs, to the Persian calligraphy on the wall, reflective tiles and intricate inlay work, the Taj is a sight to behold.
India’s best-known and most internationally recognisable monument has seen many high-profile visitors. Currently caught in a tug of war over Indian identity, according to the Financial Times, the Taj Mahal is indeed, as Nobel Prize-winning writer Rabindranath Tagore described it, “a teardrop on the cheek of time.”
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
“Siachen is indispensable for India and no price is too big for it.” – Honorary Captain Bana Singh (retd).
High in the Karakoram lies the Siachen Glacier — the largest alpine glacier on earth that has nearly two trillion cubic feet of ice. The highest and coldest combat theater in the history of the world (where temperatures dip to minus 52 degrees Celsius), this landscape is also an unforgiving battleground where the armies of India and Pakistan have faced off for years.
The scroll of honour at Indian Army’s Siachen base camp reads, “Quartered in snow, silent to remain. When the bugle calls, they shall rise and march again.”
It was in these icy heights that Naib Subedar Bana Singh fought the battle of his life, forging a story of epic proportions. One of India’s only three living winners of the Param Vir Chakra (the nation’s highest military honour), Singh was responsible for giving the Indian army a crucial edge in the Siachen Standoff of 1987.
Here’s the tale of this unforgettable mission, a story of duty, discipline and extraordinary valour.
In the 1970s, Pakistan had started giving permits to foreign mountaineers to climb around the Siachen glacier, with the intention of fostering the impression that the region was Pakistani territory. By the 1980s, it had become determined to entrench its claim.
It might have succeeded (in creating a formidable Pak-China corridor controlling the Karakoram Pass and threatening Ladakh) if the Indian intelligence had not learned of some interesting purchases made by Pakistani Army in London in 1984 — bulk orders of specialized mountain clothing.
Recognizing the strategic threat, India immediately dispatched troops to the Siachen for control of the glacier and the neighbouring peaks in the Saltoro range, beating Pakistan by a week.
Three years later, at a time when India was already busy dealing with the serious trouble brewing on her northern border in Tibet, a disgruntled Pakistan launched a major offensive to dislodge the Indians from their pickets near Siachen.
Through a stealthy intrusion, Pakistan succeeded in establishing a post — so important that it was named after its Quaid-e-Azam, Mohammad Ali Jinnah — near the Bilafond Pass on the Saltoro ridge. From there, the Pakistani troops now had a clear view of the glacier and India’s defence posts. The post began monitoring helicopter movements, spewing artillery fire at India’s supply lines and picking out Indian patrols.
In May 1987, a reconnaissance patrol under young Lieutenant Rajiv Pande was gunned down by the Pakistanis, killing nine soldiers and leaving only three survivors. Their bodies would be retrieved only several weeks later.
A month later, Major Varinder Singh of 8 JAK LI battalion was given the responsibility of leading a company of selected soldiers up a treacherous 1500 feet ice wall from Point Sonam (an Indian Army post at 19,600 feet surrounded by crevasses).
Their task? A do-or-die mission (named Operation Rajiv) to recapture the impregnable glacier fortress of Quaid post and retaliate to the attack on the recon patrol.
On June 23, the group started their precarious climb at 8 am but the weather conditions were so bad that they managed to cover barely 150 meters of the 90-degree gradient slope till 4 am next morning. The party was asked to return but the soldiers decided not to retreat. They knew that if they didn’t get to that post, none of the men would be coming back.
With a few sips of tea, some chunks of chocolate and their indomitable courage strengthening their spirit, the group stayed on course to carry out the final assault.
Subedar Harnam Singh and his small party were the first ones sent for the lead attack but they were severely wounded in heavy firing from the Quaid Post. Next, Subedar Sansar Chand was sent with another small party but soon, contact had been lost with him.
It was then that Naib Subedar Bana Singh was handpicked by Major Varinder Singh (who had been shot in the chest earlier in the operation), along with two other soldiers, for the lead attack. However, when the health of the two soldiers deteriorated due to the extreme conditions, Singh stayed put in the open for a whole day till reinforcements came in the form of five soldiers.
“The group was exhausted but Pande had to be avenged, and the relentless firing from Quaid reminded us of what we had to do,” Bana Singh later told Broadsword, a defence blog run by defence analyst Ajai Shukla.
As Singh’s small party began scaling the near-vertical wall of ice under blinding snowfall, they came across the frozen bodies of nine comrades along the way. Never stopping and even more determined, they continued to clamber up steadily and stealthily to reach the enemy bunkers at the top.
Setting an example in high altitude warfare that would bring him the country’s highest ranking gallantry award, Singh and his men then launched a brilliant attack to clear the post of every single infiltrator.
With utter disregard for their personal safety, Singh and his men charged through the fire zone, firing and lobbing grenades at the enemy. Using hand-to-hand combat, they also bayoneted the enemy soldiers outside the bunker.
Singh personally threw grenades into the bunker before closing the door, killing the six Pakistani soldiers holed up inside and clearing the post of all infiltrators. It was later found that the enemy soldiers belonged to Shaheen Company of Pakistan’s elite Special Services Group.
Next, the victorious Indian soldiers turned the guns (that were aimed in the southern direction towards India) towards Pakistan in the north. They then used the Pakistani stove in the bunker to make some rice — the first meal they had in three days.
“We had no strength to celebrate. At 21,000 feet, nobody does the bhangra oryells war cries. Ultimately, sheer doggedness iwins. If we had once hesitated, Quaid would still be with Pakistan,” Singh later told Broadsword.
Thanks to Singh and his gutsy team, by 5 o’clock on the evening of June 26, 1987, the Indian flag was flying high at the Quaid Post. In a fitting tribute to the heroic coup through which India had won back the post, it was later renamed Bana Top in Singh’s honour, by which it is known till today.
For “conspicuous bravery and leadership under most adverse conditions”, Bana Singh was awarded the Param Vir Chakra. He is the only soldier, along with the late Major Ramaswamy Parmeswaram, to be get this honour in peacetime (it is otherwise only given for exemplary military courage during war). Later, he was given the honorary rank of Captain.
A year after the end of Kargil War (during which he was the only PVC awardee still serving in the Army), Singh quietly retired after 32 years of exemplary service to the nation and returned home to Kadyal, the small village in Jammu where he was born. He now lives in a humble farm-fringed home while his son, Rajinder Singh, has followed in his illustrious footsteps to join the Indian Army.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
India in the 17th century held an immense fascination for travellers from the western world. There was the magnificent opulence of the Mughal court, the famed diamond mines of Golconda, the flourishing spice trade of the Malabar and the siren call of a unique culture far removed from the West.
One of the many western travellers who succumbed to this lure was a French explorer and linguist named Jean de Thevenot.
From being amazed by the lush beauty of Ahmedabad’s Shahi Bagh garden to being so moved by the glory of Hyderabad that he couldn’t resist comparing it with his own Paris, Thevenot’s memoirs describe medieval India beautifully. In fact, two centuries after Thevenot visited India, the Oxford dictionary would define Golconda as a “source of wealth, advantages or happiness”.
This, however, is not a story of the spectacular sights encountered by Thevenot, but that of an Indian king he met during his travels through the Deccan. In his journal, the French traveller described his impressions of this royal personage with the words,
“The Rajah is small and tawny with quick eyes which indicate abundance of spirit.”
The king with the “quick eyes” was none other than the legendary Shivaji, then the head of the warrior Bhonsle clan from Maharashtra. As we all know, he would go on to found one of India’s mightiest empires — the Marathas.
While the stories and anecdotes of Chhatrapati Shivaji’s reign in Maharashtra have attained an almost cult-like status in India, few know about his childhood days in Bengaluru.
According to historical records, Shivaji came to Bengaluru as a 12-year-old with his mother Jijabai. They had been summoned by his father Shahaji Raje, then a Jagirdar of Bijapur rulers (the Kempegowda ruler had been defeated by the Adilshahi Sultans of Bijapur sometime during 1640-42).
In his book ‘Shivaji and His Times’ (published in 1973), historian Sir Jadunath Sircar records Jijabai’s letter to her husband Shahaji, in which she informs him that at 12, Shivaji had gone long past marriageable age for a Maratha nobleman.
This letter may probably have been why Shahaji asking Jijabai to bring their son along with her to his palace in Bengaluru where he resided with his second wife Tuka Bai and son Vyankoji.
As such, around 1640, Jijabai and Shivaji duly arrived in Bengaluru, accompanied by Jijabai and Dadaji Konddeo (the head of Kondana fort and Shivaji’s guardian). Soon after, Shivaji’s wedding to Saibai Nimbalkar of Phaltan took place in the palace where Shahaji lived and governed the city.
Interestingly, according to another version of the events that unfolded, Shivaji’s first wedding to Saibai had already taken place at Lal Mahal in Pune in the absence of his father. Thus, to meet his son and daughter-in-law, Shahaji summoned the couple with Jijabai to Bengaluru and repeated the wedding ceremony at his palace.
As for the exact location of this palace, it remains shrouded in mystery and disputes, with historical records providing little information. According to the Karnataka State Gazetteer of Bangalore District (Urban) — edited by the late Karnataka historian Suryanath U Kamath — the Gauri Mahal Palace in the present-day Bengaluru’s Chickpet area (near Majestic) is where Shahaji and his family are believed to have lived.
An artist’s rendition of Saibai, Shivaji’s first wife who he married in Bengaluru.
On the other hand, historian M Fazlul Hasan describes Shahaji’s palace as a Gowri Vilasa Hall in the city. In his famous book, ‘Bangalore Through The Centuries‘, he quotes a Sanskrit champu kavya (prose-poetry passage) called Radha Madhava Vilasa, which the poet, Jayarama Pandye, is believed to have read to Shivaji and Shahaji at the Gowri Vilasa Hall.
Hasan further speculates that the aforementioned Hall perhaps lay inside an old palace constructed by Kempe Gowda at the site of what is now the location of the dilapidated Mohan buildings and the defunct Vijayalakshmi theatre in Chickpet.
The Marathi book, ‘Shivabharath’, also gives a detailed description of the period Shahaji and Shivaji spent in Bengaluru. Shahaji is believed to have developed the city as the southern military headquarters for the Adil Shahi sultans.
He set up training camps, ammunition factories, cavalry stables and tent bases for soldiers in the medieval petes (commercial centres) of Bengaluru.
The Dodda Pet, Bangalore (Caine, 1891, p.523), from ‘Picturesque India: a Handbook for European Travellers”
As for young Shivaji, he spent his days in the bustling city closely observing and absorbing its unique socio-cultural ethos (which continued to have the indelible influence of the Vijayanagar empire despite the best efforts of the Bijapur Sultans to change it). He also received further formal training in statecraft and warfare.
During his stay in Bengaluru, Shivaji also developed an admiration for the administrative initiatives of Kantirava Narasaraja of Mysore (another local kingdom that, along with Thanjavur and Hampi, followed the social blueprint of the Vijayanagar empire). He would later introduce some of these ideas in the Maratha stronghold.
For instance, in those days, Narasaraja had issued a special coin, Kantirai, to assert his authority over Mysore. And Shivaji did the same after his coronation in Raigad in 1664, issuing a coin called Shivrai!
In 1642, Shahaji bestowed Shivaji with the powers to govern Pune and sent the young couple back in the company of four administrators he had chosen himself. These four — Shyamraj Nilkanth Ranjhekar as chancellor, Balkrishna Hanumante as accounts general, Sonaji Pant as secretary and Raghunath Ballal Korde as paymaster — would go on to guide the feisty young lad as he began the task of building up the Maratha Empire.
In the following years, Shivaji carved out an enclave from the declining Adilshahi sultanate of Bijapur that formed the genesis of the Maratha Empire. In June 1674, he was formally crowned as the Chhatrapati (Monarch) of his realm at Raigad.
Three years later, in 1677, Shivaji visited the south again, travelling to Bengaluru, Hampi, Thanjavur and Srisailam and Madras. At Srisailam, he built an 82-foot tall gopuram for a temple dedicated to Goddess Bhramaramba and restored the festivals of the temple under the protection of his officers.
His statue and paintings depicting his life can still be seen at the present-day Srisailam’s Shivaji Spoorthi Kendram.
Shivaji’s statue at Srisailam’s Shivaji Spoorthi Kendram.
He also gifted about 40 villages to a family related to the Vijayanagar kings who lived in a place called Aanegundi in Gangavati taluk in Karnataka’s Koppal district (the present descendants of the family still have a silver plaque regarding the same).
In Chennai, Shivajipaidd obeisance to the famed Kalikambal temple (located on Thambu Chetty Street in present-day Chennai’s George Town). Legend has it that he visited the temple after he heard that the presiding deity was Kali, his favourite goddess. A long line of Maratha kings, including Shivaji’s half brother Vyankoji, later controlled the Thanjavur region for nearly two centuries.
To this day, visitors to Chennai’s Kalikambal temple can see a plaque proudly declaring: “On this day of October 3,1677, Chhatrapati Sivaji Maharaj visited this shrine and worshipped Sri Kalikambal.”
This is accompanied by a framed painting (put up by the Madras Maratta Association) showing the Maratha warrior in battle gear, kneeling before the goddess and offering her a lotus.
Interestingly, on the same day Shivaji is said to have visited the temple — October 3, 1677 — the alarmed administrators of Fort George (to whom the Maratha ruler had sent word, asking for the services of British engineers) wrote in their report:
“Sevagee Raja has sent the Agent a letter of 22nd September through two of his spies, desiring us to supply him with Ingeniers. This was returned to him with a civil excuse, it being wholly unfit for us to meddle in it, there being many dangers consequent thereon, as well of increasing his power as of rendering both Golcondah and the Moghul our enemies.”
In fact, the East India Company was so worried about the mighty Maratha king that it decided to further fortify “Madraspatnam” in order to “prevent any design of so evil a neighbour as Sevagee”!
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
“The tank’s a part of my destiny. But whenever I see the Famagusta, I remember Arun saheb, my commander, who fought like a tiger”, says Nathu Singh, describing the mixed feelings evoked in him by the sight of Famagusta JX 202 — the historic Centurion Mark 7 tank that decimated seven Pakistani Pattons during the greatest tank battle fought by the Indian Army – the Battle of Basantar.
During the Indo-Pak War of 1971, Nathu Singh served as the gunner of this historic tank under the command of 21-year-old Second Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal – who died in his arms.
The incredibly courageous Khetarpal, who belonged to the Poona Horse regiment, was posthumously awarded the Param Vir Chakra for his actions during the fiercely-fought Battle of Basantar.
Just how fierce can be gauged from the fact that Pakistan lost a staggering 48 Patton tanks in the epic battle that took place in its own territory, completely wiping out its 8 (Independent) Armoured Brigade. In fact, by the end of the war, India’s Black Arrow Brigade (comprising the Poona Horse and Hodson’s Horse regiments) had won 79 gallantry awards to become the most highly decorated formation of the Indian Army!
Here’s the story of this legendary battle and the unsung hero who led India to a thumping victory.
The year was 1971. War clouds were gathering on the horizon and the Indian military forces were in a state of high alert and readiness.
When the Pakistan Air Force launched pre-emptive strikes on Indian airfields on the eve of December 3, 1971, India immediately responded by formally declaring war in the wee hours of December 4. Hours later, IAF Canberra aircrafts struck Pakistani airfields as ground battles immediately commenced in nearly every sector.
Arun Khetarpal had just joined the Indian Army as a second lieutenant when he was called to the war front in 1971. Born on October 14, 1950, in Pune, he came from a family with a long tradition of service in the army. His grandfather served in the British Indian army during World War I and Arun’s father, Brigadier M.L. Khetarpal, served in Indian Army’s Engineering Corps till he retired from service.
Unsurprisingly, the deeply patriotic lad always aspired to become an army officer, right from his childhood. After his schooling from Sanawar’s prestigious Lawrence School (where he was popular for being an ace swimmer and saxophone player), Arun joined the National Defence Academy (NDA) in 1967 and was commissioned in the 17 Poona Horse on June 3, 1971.
Six months later, the war was declared and Arun’s regiment (under the command of 47 Infantry Brigade, also called the Black Arrow Brigade) was ordered to establish a bridgehead across the Basantar river in the Shakargarh sector — a 30 km dagger-shaped bulge of the Pakistan boundary towards Indian territory through which river Basantar gently meandered.
Close to the Pakistani base in Sialkot, this territory was of strategic importance for both sides as it comprised road and rail links to Jammu from Punjab which, if cut off by Pakistan, could have led to snapping of a key link to Jammu and Kashmir. Also, sensitive areas such as Amritsar, Pathankot and Gurdaspur lay within easy striking distance.
Recognising the importance of controlling this position, the 47th Brigade responded with alacrity, building the bridgehead by 2100 hours on December 15, 1971. For the uninitiated, a bridgehead is a strong position secured by an army inside enemy territory from which it can advance or attack.
Now, it was the job of the brigade’s engineers to breach the enemy minefields and create a safe lane that would allow the induction of the 17 Poona Horse tanks. The army engineers were halfway through their task when the Indian troops at the bridge-head reported alarming activity of Pakistani artillery and requested immediate tank support.
At this critical juncture, the 17 Poona Horse decided to push through the minefield despite it being only partially cleared by that time. On the fateful morning of December 16, two tank troops of Poona Horse (one of which was under the command of 2/Lt Arun Khetarpal) were ordered to move towards Jarpal in Pakistan.
En route, while crossing the Basantar River, the tank troops came under fire from Pakistani tanks as well as recoil gun nests that were still holding out. They retaliated fiercely, destroying tanks, capturing gun nests and over-running enemy defences.
During these ferocious skirmishes, one of the tank troops were hit and the commander killed on spot. This left Arun and his tank troops all alone in the combat zone with a squadron of 14 Pakistani Patton tanks approaching them.
Outnumbered but undeterred, the gutsy 21-year-old led a daring and highly skilled counter-attack. His Famagusta JX 202 (named after a township in East Cyprus where the Poona Horse was stationed in the late 1940s) single-handedly destroyed five of the enemy tanks before both the tank and Arun were hit by a shell.
As he was grievously injured and his tank was aflame, Arun was asked by his superior to withdraw but the young officer with barely six months of service refused to budge ’till his gun would fire.’
The gallant officer sent a message to his Commander — “No Sir, I will not abandon my tank. My gun is still working and I will get these guys” — before switching off his transmitter (so that he did not receive any further orders to evacuate his tank) and continuing his relentless pursuit of the enemy.
Fighting till his last breath, Arun destroyed two more Pakistani tanks and forced one to be abandoned before his tank was hit a second time and he was martyred. But by then, he had accomplished what he had set out to do — give the Indian Army a crucial edge that would lay the foundation for victory
The following days saw Indian troops making massive gains and conducting successive military thrusts deep inside enemy territory, coming threateningly close to the Pakistan Army base at Sialkot.
Alarmed the Pakistan Army called in the Pakistan Air Force to repel the Indian attack on the base. However, they soon realised that they were in no position to counter another massive assault by the Indian Army, this time backed by the Indian Air Force, and offered unconditional surrender which led to a ceasefire.
India’s resounding victory in the Battle of Basantar resulted in the capture of a significant area ( including nearly 500 villages) under the control of Pakistan in Chhamb sector, apart from cutting off the line of retreat for Pakistani troops.
Indian Army personnel celebrate Indian victory at the end Battle of Basantar on top of a knocked out Pakistani Patton tank.
But the victory came at a great cost for the Indian Army. Seven officers, four junior commissioned officers and 24 other soldiers laid down their lives while defending the nation, including 2/Lt Arun Khetarpal who was posthumously honoured with the Param Vir Chakra for displaying “inspiring qualities of leadership, tenacity and exceptional courage in the face of the enemy”.
The youngest Indian to win the country’s highest wartime gallantry award, Arun’s PVC citation said:
“His intrepid valour saved the day; the enemy was denied the breakthrough they were so desperately seeking. Not one enemy tank got through.”
Soldiers like Arun Khetarpal are not born every day. The sacrifice of this heroic warrior must forever be remembered with gratitude by the country he died protecting.
Here’s some interesting trivia to end this epic saga:
As a result of the humiliating defeat at Basantar, Pakistan removed the commanding officers of 1 Corps and 8 Division as well as the commander of the armoured brigade. In contrast, the then-commander of the 47th Brigade, Brig AS Vaidya, won his second Maha Vir Chakra in the 1971 war and rose to become the country’s Army Chief.
The 47th Infantry Brigade — whose motto “Bash on Regardless”sums up its fighting spirit —was also renamed the Basantar Brigade in honour of its thumping victory in 1971 and is today regarded as one of the most decorated Brigades of the Indian Army.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
Present-day India owes an immeasurable debt of gratitude to the vision, tact, diplomacy and pragmatic approach of Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, the indomitable man who integrated 562 princely states with the Union of India and prevented the Balkanisation of the newly-independent country.
Back in 1947, India had finally gained a hard-fought independence but it had come with besetting problems —partition, communal riots and a refugee crisis. Add to that crippling resource constraint, fledgeling institutions and an ill-equipped colonial machinery and it’s not difficult to understand why India’s new government found the integration of more than 500 princely states a tough nut to crack.
Patel, India’s first deputy prime minister and the minister of home affairs, would not just handle these problems with deftness and dexterity but would go on to truly become the “Architect of Modern India”.
Here’s the story of how the visionary leader shaped India’s destiny with single-minded devotion.
Having made his mark in the Kheda and Bardoli satyagrahas (during which he earned the title of ‘Sardar’) by 1946, Vallabhbhai Patel had already become one of the most popular leaders of the freedom struggle. Stoic and simple in his habits, he was a man of few words but when he did talk, people listened.
Which is why he was given the formidable task of integrating the princely states as India’s first deputy prime minister and home minister. With the swiftness of a military commander and skill of an innate diplomat, he got to work, ably assisted by V.P. Menon (Constitutional Adviser to Lord Mountbatten and later, the secretary of the Ministry of the States ).
Back then, the princely states covered 48% of the area of pre-Independent India and constituted 28% of its population. While these kingdoms were not legally a part of British India, in reality, they were completely subordinate to the British Crown.
The Indian Independence Act, 1947 (based on the Mountbatten Plan), provided for the lapse of paramountcy of the British Crown over the Indian states and gave each of these rulers the option to accede to the newly born dominions India or Pakistan or continue as an independent sovereign state.
Realising the need to get these 500-odd chiefdoms to accede to India before the day of independence, Patel and Menon began using all the tricks in the bag — including the use of both force and friendly advice — to achieve their integration with the Indian dominion.
But the process was far from simple. Mollycoddled as well as simultaneously exploited by the British for decades, many of the rulers saw the departure of the British as the ideal moment to declare autonomy and announce their independent statehood on the world map.
However, the brilliant team of Patel (who laid out the framework) and Menon (who did the actual groundwork) persevered.
Sardar Patel and V.P. Menon with Maharaja of Kochin
From invoking the patriotism of the princes to reminding them of the possibility of anarchy on event of their refusal to join, he kept trying to convince them to join India. He also introduced the concept of “privy purses” — a payment to be made to royal families for their agreement to merge with India.
“Through the spring of 1947, Patel threw a series of lunch parties, where he urged his princely guests to help the Congress in framing a new constitution of India,” writes historian Ramachandra Guha in his work, “India after Gandhi.”
Patel’s tireless efforts paid off when most of the rulers agreed to the dissolution of their respective states, surrendering control of thousands of villages, jagirs, palaces, institutes, cash balances amounting to crores and a railway system of about 12,000 miles to the Indian government without receiving any compensation.
By 15 August 1947, the process of integration of princely states was almost complete except for a few, who held out. Some simply delayed signing the Instrument of Accession — like Piploda, a small state in central India that did not accede to India until March 1948.
The biggest problems, however, arose with Jodhpur, which tried to negotiate better deals with Pakistan, with Junagadh, which actually did accede to Pakistan, and with Hyderabad and Kashmir, both of which declared that they intended to remain independent.
In June 1947, with the transfer of power looming on the horizon, Maharaja Hanvant Singh ascended the throne of Jodhpur and began faltering in the commitment his predecessor had made about joining India. Young and inexperienced, he reckoned that may get a better “deal” from Pakistan since his state was contiguous with the country.
So Hanvant Singh entered into negotiations with Mohammed Ali Jinnah, who is reported to have given the Maharaja a signed blank sheet of paper to list all his demands. From free access to the Karachi port to arms manufacturing and importing, the princely state were permitted to accede to Pakistan on any terms it chose.
Seeing the risks in the border state acceding to Pakistan, Patel immediately met Hanvant Singh and assured him that importing arms would be allowed, that Jodhpur would be connected to Kathiawar by rail and that India would supply grain to it during famines.
After the carrots, came the more important warnings – it was pointed out that the accession of a predominantly Hindu state to Pakistan would violate the basic tenet of the two-nation theory and was likely to cause communal violence in the State. Thus, Jinnah’s blank cheque was quickly negated and Jodhpur acceded to India.
Next came Junagadh (now in Gujarat), a kingdom with nearly 80% Hindu population whose Muslim ruler decided to accede to Pakistan on September 15, 1947. Its outraged people rose against the Nawab’s rule in several parts of Junagadh, forcing the ruler to flee to Karachi with his family and formed a provisional Government there.
Patel asked Pakistan to reverse its acceptance of the accession and to hold a plebiscite. When it refused, he sent the Indian Army to annex the princely state on November 1, 1947.
A plebiscite was held in December the same year during which 99% of Junagadh’s people chose India over Pakistan.
As for Kashmir, a princely state with a Hindu king ruling over a predominant Muslim population, it had remained reluctant to join either of the two dominions. The case of this strategically-located kingdom was not just very different but also one of the toughest as it had important international boundaries — to the east was Tibet, to the northeast lay China and to the northwest was Afghanistan.
Knowing Pakistan’s intentions about the volatile situation in Kashmir, Patel took a series of steps immediately. Planes were diverted to Delhi-Srinagar route, and telephone and telegraph lines were laid between Pathankot, Amritsar and Jammu as well. He further undertook strategic steps to place the Indian Army in an advantageous position.
Watching the prospects of Kashmir slipping out of its hand, Pakistan planned an invasion. On October 22, 1947, over 5,000 Pakistani lashkars (armed tribesmen) Army, invaded Kashmir. Two days later, a desperate Maharaja Hari Singh offered to accede to India in return for immediate military assistance.
This was followed by an emergency meeting of India’s Defence Committee (comprising Nehru, Patel and defence minister Baldev Singh), which ordered troops in the Valley to evict the Pakistani invaders.
Patel realised immediately that the battle would be long and planned for the same. With India’s only motorable road link to Jammu and Srinagar (passing through Sialkot in Pakistan) being snapped, Indian troops were facing great difficulty in their strategic movement.
Taking it upon himself to build the missing link, Patel ensured that, within a fortnight, necessary materials had been sourced and workers brought through special trains started working round the clock job. His resolute and focussed efforts worked — a road (capable of carrying the heavy army traffic) between Jammu and Pathankot was constructed within eight months.
Meanwhile, the ruling clique in Hyderabad (the largest and richest of all princely states) had blatantly refused to join the Indian dominion. Both requests and threats from Patel and others mediators failed to change the mind of the wily Nizam, who kept expanding his army by importing arms from Europe.
Things took a turn for the worse when armed fanatics (called Razakars) unleashed violence targeted at Hyderabad’s Hindu residents. Patel acted again. On September 17, 1948, Indian forces marched into Hyderabad under what came to be known as ‘Operation Polo’.
The armed encounter (that lasted four days), forced the Nizam to surrender and merge his kingdom with the Indian Union, 13 months after India had become an independent country.
Interestingly, while Patel’s roles in bringing these royal territories into the fold of the Indian union is pretty well-known, few people know about that he also integrated Lakshadweep in time, ensuring that the beautiful coral atolls remained with India.
Immediately after August 15, 1947, Pakistan had started eyeing the the strategically located and almost “out-of-sight” island archipelago that was barely informed of the Independence. The attempts of the Pakistani Navy to seize Lakshadweep were thwarted when Patel acted with alacrity to send Indian naval ships to defend the island.
Thus, the ever-pragmatic Patel and his brilliant secretary accomplished the monumental task of unifying the princely states into the Indian union.
Article 1 of the Constitution states that “India, that is, Bharat, shall be a Union of States”. And there is no person who can claim greater credit for the creation of modern India than Sardar Vallabhai Patel. At a time when differences, disputes and divides in the country are on the rise, its time we remembered the words this legendary leader had said during the Quit India Movement,
“We have to shed mutual bickering, shed the difference of being high or low and develop the sense of equality…We have to live like the children of the same father”.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
December 22nd is a landmark date. The first train in India, made its maiden journey, to solve the irrigation woes of farmers—allegedly.
This potentially disrupts the earlier claim that the first train ran in 1853, between Mumbai and Thane. The 1853 train journey was a commercial one, making it the first commercial train journey.
The first train in India ran in 1851. Representative image only. Image Credit: Pixabay.
An old book, ‘Report on Ganga Canal’ published in 1860, authored by PT Cautley, says the first train was bought from Britain in 1851 and began its maiden journey in the same year. The book itself dealt with a plan to construct a canal on the Ganga.
The vast amount of clay which was needed for the said construction, was available in Piran Kaliyar area, 10 km away from Roorkee. Necessity gave way to innovation, as the engineers required to transport clay.
This fact was chanced upon by Yogendra Singh, a librarian in IIT Roorkee, who was perusing its rich collection of books. He then conveyed this information to Prof. Prem Vrat, the former Director of the institute.
The book, published in London in 1860, mentions that the train’s engine was brought from England in 1851 and named after the executive engineer, Thompson, credited with the plan to run a train on that route.
The train had two bogies, with a capacity to carry 180-200 tonnes of material. The train used to cover a distance of 2.5 miles in 38 minutes between Roorkee and Piran Kaliyar with a speed of four miles an hour. It operated for nine months till the engine caught fire in 1852. Thankfully, construction of the canal construction had been completed by that time.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
Forts have been monuments of great glory and pride since historical times. They attract tourists and trekkers and are keepers of history.
In October 2016, the central government had undertaken an initiative to maintain and develop five forts — Raigad, Rajgad, Sindhudurg, Panhala and Vijaydurg — and had appointed Rajya Sabha member Sambhajiraje Chhatrapati as a brand ambassador for the project.
Following in the footsteps of the central government, the Maharashtra State Tourism Department (MTDC) plans to develop five historic forts in Pune district as model monuments.
Jaykumar Rawal, state tourism minister, said, “We are thinking along the same lines as the Centre. The state government is planning to develop these five forts mostly around Pune. So far, Rs 10 crore has been handed over to the MTDC to start various works.”
The five forts, Shivneri, Torna, Sinhagad, Lohagad, and Rajmachi, which have been shortlisted are of great historical significance in Maharashtra.
Shivneri is the birthplace of Chhatrapati Shivaji and Torna was the first ever fort that he captured. Sinhagad was previously known as Kondhana but got its name as a symbol of the lion-like bravery of Tanaji Malusare, who won the fort for Shivaji.
Lohagad, where tourists flock for a good trek, is famous for its height and stone carvings. Rajmachi has twin fortresses of Shriwardhan and Manaranjan, also popular trekking destinations.
Speaking to Pune Mirror, Rawal said, “An amount of Rs 63.38 lakh has already been spent on the infrastructure of these forts.”
The state government hopes not only to ensure better maintenance of these forts through this step but also preserve and share the stories behind them, with tourists.
“As a part of the plan, we would create a mechanism in which people who visit the fort will come to know of the stories attached with each wall and structure inside the structure,” an MTDC officer told Pune Mirror.
The officer said, “The state has more than 350 such structures, and each fort has its own history. There is also a plan to bring together all organisations working towards the conservation of forts.”
Whether it is Pondicherry’s decadent Vivikam, Goa’s rose-scented Baath or Allahabad’s unique spice cake, Christmas cakes hold a special place in many Indian homes. This is not only by virtue of their flavours, but also due to their cultural origin and history.
However, few Indians know the story of how the country’s first Christmas cake was baked way back in 1883.
The year was 1880. In the small coastal town of Thalasserry in north Kerala, Mambally Bapu — a businessman who shipped milk, tea and bread to British troops in Egypt — decided to set up his own little borma (bakery).
He had just returned from Burma, where he had mastered the art of biscuit making, and wanted to popularise baked goods among the local Malayalis (back then, there was just one other bakery in the country and it catered solely to the British).
So Bapu set up his small bakery, named it Royal Biscuit Factory and got to work. He began producing almost 40 different varieties of biscuits, rusks, bread and buns.
Interestingly, the bread dough was made using local toddy (for fermenting) until the British started importing yeast into the country.
In 1883, a few days before Christmas, Murdoch Brown (a British planter who had started a cinnamon plantation at Anjarakkandy) got off his jadka (carriage) and walked into the bakery with a rich plum cake he had brought from England. He asked Bapu to taste the cake and asked him if he could bake one just like that.
Intrigued, the busy baker agreed to try, having no clue that he was about to create culinary history!
To start off with, Brown gave a 10 minute demonstration about the basics of cake baking. He then handed over a sundry bunch of ingredients (that included cocoa, dates, raisins and other dry fruits) and suggested a French brandy from erstwhile Mayyazhi (now Mahe), for the Christmas cake.
But Bapu had his own ideas about how he would go about this novel project. He procured the mould from a blacksmith in Dharmadam, sourced the choicest of spices from farms along the Malabar coast and introduced a desi flavour by using a local brew made using cashew apple and kadalipazham, a variety of banana.
On December 20, 1884, Bapu presented his creation to Brown. On tasting, the delighted Briton certified it as “one of the best cakes he had ever had” and ordered a dozen more!
Unsurprisingly, the Christmas cakes quickly became a favourite with the locals and Bapu’s business flourished. In the years that followed, his descendants went on to establish successful bakery chains in different parts of the states.
Today, more than 130 years after Bapu made India’s first Christmas cake was presented, Thalassery remains a trendsetter in the cake industry of not just Kerala but of India. Every year, expatriates from USA and UAE place huge orders of Christmas cakes from the town’s bakeries, so much so that many of them stock nothing else nor accept orders for birthday cakes during the whole of December.
The numerous bakeries set up by branches of the Mambally family also continue to cater to Malayali taste buds. The more popular stores in this illustrious list include KR Bakes in Ernakulam, Cochin Bakery in Kochi, Shantha Bakery in Thiruvananthapuram, Modern Bakery in Kozhikode, Tops Bakery in Nagercoil and Best Bakery in Kottayam.
In fact, the ubiquitousness of bakeries has made them innate to the Malayali existence — in Kerala, each panchayat has an estimated 25-40 bakeries and picking favourites from each bakery is an indulgence that is exercised religiously.
Interestingly, the walls of Best Bakery are adorned by two paintings depicting the historic moment of Bapu handing over the cake to Brown.
The Cochin Bakery too has a fascinating legacy of its own — such was the Maharajah of Cochin’s fondness for its bakes that every day his car would be specially sent to procure some along with the daily newspaper!
Another oft-recited family folklore of the Mamballys goes that Field Marshal KM Cariappa had tasted their bakery’s biscuits in Egypt while fighting in the World War II. He liked it so much that when he returned to Coorg, he sent people to the bakery especially for the biscuits.
So the next time you are in Thalassery, remember to get yourself a slice of history!
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
Though most historical accounts cite the revolt of 1857 as the ‘first war of independence’ in India against the British, they seem to overlook a valiant chieftain from Tamil Nadu in the late 18th century who refused to align with the sovereignty of the British East India Company, and singlehandedly waged war against the colonialists.
Born to Jagaveera Kattabomman and Arumugathammal on 3 January 1760, Veerapandiya Kattabomman belonged to the Bommu and Aathi Kattabomman clan in the village of Panchalankurichi in Thoothukudi district of Tamil Nadu.
His father was a Palayakarar (a feudal title for a class of territorial administrative and military governors appointed by the Nayaka dynasty in southern India during the 16th and 18th centuries), from whom Veerapandiya assumed the position of the 47th Palayakarar when he turned 30.
At the time the East India Company was establishing itself in the southern parts of the Indian peninsula, and a base was set up in Tirunelveli.
The valiant chieftain, Veerapandiya Kattabomman. Source: Ashwini’s Space.
So how did the British manage to maintain a stronghold in the region? It was a well-calculated move. They lent huge sums of money to the Nawab of Arcot and demanded to be repaid through taxes and levies from all the Palayakarars under the Nawab’s domain.
As the Nawab was in severe debt, watched as his people were plundered by the British in the name of tax collection.
Except for Veerapandiya, every other Palayakarar yielded to the diktat of the company. In fact, the British were quite crafty and tried to establish cordial alliances with all the regional statesmen, who in turn tried advising Veerapandiya to ally with the former and live in peace.
However, the young chieftain wasn’t one to relent and resisted all forms of pressure from the British. He openly declared his dissent against the regime and refused to support them in any of their undertakings.
The postal stamp commemorating the bicentenary of Veerapandiya’s execution. Source: AmrutPhilately.
Emerging as an undesirable element in the plan that the British had for the region, they began working on different conspiracies to bring the rebellious chieftain down. However, they remained unsuccessful in their schemes until the British army suddenly decided to raid Panchalankurichi under the command of Major J. Bannerman in 1799.
As the entire village had been in Thiruchendur for a temple festival, the British hoped to ambush Veerapandiya unawares. But he had already learnt of the attack through his informers and had prepared well in advance.
Right before the attack, Veerapandiya was ordered to surrender unconditionally through a messenger sent by Bannerman. “We are the sons of this soil. We live with prestige, honour and dignity and we let our soul die for the prestige, honour and dignity of our land. We don’t bow down to the foreigners. We will fight until death,” was the smarting message taken back to the army commander.
Veerapandiya and his men held the fort quite valiantly against British troops, who couldn’t quite match up to their expertise and had to withdraw. However, Veerapandiya knew that his fort would not be able to withstand the onslaught if the British were to unleash their cannons.
That night, he left the fort with his men and took refuge in the forests of Thirukkalambur close to Pudukottai.
The legendary Veerapandiya Kattabomman. Source: Youtube.
Upon receiving information about their hideout, the British threatened the king of Pudukottai, Vijaya Raghunatha Tondaiman to trace and handover the elusive chieftain or face similar consequences.
Buckling under pressure, he sent his soldiers to track down Veerapandiya, who was subsequently arrested at Kayathar on October 1, 1799. Following an interrogation stretching over 15 days and a ridiculous trial, Veerapandiya was sentenced to public execution.
Even in the face of death, he didn’t flinch and continued to stand by his ideals of honour, dignity and prestige. He even boldly argued for the right of his homeland and admonished the British for their immoral and illegal occupation.
Veerapandiya Kattabomman was hanged on October 16, 1799, thus putting an end to the first ever known revolt against the Empire.
As an ode to the great chieftain, the state government of Tamil Nadu erected a memorial in Kayathar, which was inaugurated by the then Chief Minister late J Jayalalitha in 2015.
The remnants of his old fort at Panchalankurichi is protected by Archaeological Survey of India.
On October 16, 1999, a postage stamp commemorating the bicentenary of Veerapandiya’s execution was released by the government of India in his remembrance.
Every year, the district administration of Tirunelveli honours the legend and his heroic deeds by celebrating the ‘Veerapandiya Kattabomman festival’ at Panchalankurichi on his birth anniversary. Besides, there is an Indian Navy communications centre at Vijayanarayanam, which is named INS Kattabomman after the brave freedom fighter.
On his 258th birth anniversary, let’s remember the valiant Palayakarar from Panchalankurichi who refused to bow down to the British and sacrificed his life for his homeland.
Hailing from the beautiful hill station of Manali, Aanchal Thakur etched her names in the history books when she became the first Indian to win the nation’s first-ever skiing medal at the prestigious Alpine Ejder 3200 Cup in Turkey. While Aanchal has grabbed attention now, her brother Himanshu is also one of India’s foremost skiers and has competed in the Sochi Winter Olympics in 2014.
However, few Indians know that their event – alpine skiing, which involves skiing around flags or markers – has a long history of Indian participation – longer than any other winter sport.
Fifty-four years ago in Innsbruck, Austria, alpine skier Jeremy Bujakowski, a Poland-born Indian citizen, became the first person ever to represent India at the Winter Olympics.
Here’s the little-known story of this forgotten sportsman.
Better known by his nickname Jerry, Jeremy John Bujakowski was born on March 30, 1939, in Druskininkai (a riverside town in southern Lithuania) to Polish couple, Halina Korolec-Bujakowski and Stanisław Bujakowski. His parents were avid globe-trotters and had travelled by motorcycle from Druskininkai to Shanghai between 1934 and 1936.
A few years later, Stanislaw found work in the burgeoning oil industry of India and the family moved to India. Jerry, who was just seven when he came to India, joined St Joseph’s North Point school in Darjeeling. Subsequently becoming a naturalised citizen of India, he graduated from Kolkata’s St Xavier’s College before leaving for the United States for higher studies.
It was during his time in the US, particularly in Idaho, that Jerry was introduced to skiing and fell in love with the exhilarating sport. Undeterred by the language barriers and occasional cultural shocks he faced during his stay, he poured his blood and sweat into excelling at alpine skiing.
In fact, he became so good in skiing and so fast that he was offered a full scholarship at the University of Denver. In 1963, Jerry decided to compete at the Winter Olympics and etch his name in the annals of history — till then, nobody from India had ever competed in the Winter Games.
The next year found Jerry at the Winter Olympics (being held at Innsbrook, Austria), standing next to a young Jean-Claude Killy and Egon Zimmerman as they stared down at a two-mile-long gnarly snow chute nicknamed the “Course of Fear.”
Not the one to give up easily, Jerry did compete in the incredibly tough race.
However, his maiden tryst with the Winter Olympics ended when he suffered a serious accident that threatened to cut short his career in skiing — it left him with a broken back, a fractured leg, concussions and internal haemorrhages.
Jerry with other athletes at the Winter Olympics, 1968.
With four complicated surgeries over the next 18 months, it was an uphill battle to complete recovery. But the tenacious skiier persevered, eager to regain his fitness, resume his training and prepare for the next edition of the global competition. And so he did, with one ski and his left leg under a cast!
In 1968, Jerry returned to represent India at the Winter Olympics being held at Grenoble in France, competing again in the downhill, slalom, and giant slalom events of alpine skiing. In downhill and giant slalom, he finished with the rank of 53 and 65 respectively. Being the sole Indian athlete at the event, he was also India’s ‘Chef de Mission’ ( head of the nation’s delegation)!
Interestingly, Jerry was also a surfing enthusiast and raised eyebrows in the 1968 World Surfing Championships (where he represented India) when he wore sneakers while surfing as a protection against sea urchins!
Following Jerry’s Olympics appearance in 1968, India had to wait a good 20 years before its athletes participated in the Winter Olympics. In 1988, Gul Dev, Kishir Rahtna and Shailaja Kumar, (the first Indian woman to participate in the Winter Olympics) were a part of the three-member Indian contingent that competed in alpine skiing.
As India’s latest contingent readies itself to participate in the Winter Olympics 2018 (scheduled to take place between February 9 and February 25 at PyeongChang, South Korea), its time we acknowledged the man who took such the painstaking efforts to make India become a Winter Olympic nation.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
For centuries, the region of Ladakh, particularly Leh, was an important stopover along international trade routes—from Mongolia, China and Tibet in the east to Kashmir, Central Asia, and Europe in the West.
Salt, grain, pashmina or cashmere wool, charas or cannabis resin from the Tarim Basin in northwest China, silk yarn, cotton and indigo were among the goods that traversed through these parts.
Pashmina stands out for its role in determining the economic fate of Ladakh and is deeply interwoven with its history. Kashmiri artisans, traders and merchants brought the attention of the world to this fine fabric with their exquisite finished products like shawls and other apparel.
The raw material for this fabric comes from the famous Changra goats which graze the high pastures of the Changthang region perched 14,000 feet above sea level in East-Southeast Ladakh, and the highlands of Western Tibet. These goats are reared by the Changpas, an agro-pastoralist community.
A girl from the Changpa community. (Source: Wikimedia Commons)
Although Pashmina has been deeply intertwined with the economic and political fortunes of Ladakh since many centuries, for the sake of brevity it is essential to begin in the 17th century. One can trace the contours of modern Ladakh, and the role played by the Pashmina trade, in the famous Treaty of Tingmosgang of 1684, a tripartite agreement between the then King of Ladakh, the Tibetan kingdom and the Mughals.
Although the Mughals during the reign of Aurangzeb were successful in protecting Ladakh from a Tibeto-Mongol invasion (the king of Ladakh had sought the help of the Mughals to repel the army), he had to comply with a tripartite agreement.
Signed in 1684, the treaty stated that all pashmina from Western Tibet would find its way through Ladakh, while Kashmiri traders would have exclusive rights to purchase pashmina from Ladakh.
For representational purposes
With the disintegration of the Mughal Empire, Ladakh began to exercise a certain degree of independence, but the pashmina trade went along the contours of the original treaty. Everything changed in 1834, when the legendary Dogra general, Zorawar Singh, launched vicious military campaigns in the region driven by the desire to control the pashmina trade.
It was Zorawar Singh’s campaigns that effectively brought an end to any aspirations of an independent Ladakhi kingdom. The Dogras, one must note, were vassals of the Sikh Empire.
After suffering defeat at the hands of the Dogras, the then royal prince of Ladakh and his third wife escaped to a British protectorate and sought their assistance. Unfortunately, none was forthcoming because the East India Company had just fought brutal and expensive battles against the Gorkhas of Nepal, and did not fancy administering remote areas. More importantly, they had signed a treaty with the Sikhs in 1809, in which it was agreed that Punjab would stand as a bulwark against the Afghans, while the British would not interfere in affairs north of the Sutlej river.
However, it was the Treaty of Leh signed between the Tibetan kingdom and the Dogras in 1842, which officially marked the end of Ladakh’s independence. Under this treaty, the Tibetans recognised Dogra dominion over the region, while reaffirming previous trade arrangements.
Leh, capital of Ladakh, crica 1857 (Source: Wikimedia Commons)
Matters came to a head once again when the East India Company defeated the Sikh Empire in first Anglo-Sikh War in 1845-46. When the British won the war, the Dogras under Maharaja Gulab Singh switched sides, and they signed the Treaty of Amritsar with the British in 1846.
“According to the Treaty of Amritsar, signed in 1846, the British were to get a war indemnity of Rs 7.5 million and an annual payment of ‘one horse, twelve perfect shawl goats of approved breed (six males and six females) and three pairs of Cashmere shawls.’ With this treaty, the Dogra king could rule over “all the hilly or mountainous country, situation to the eastward of the river Indus and westward of river Ravee,” writes Ravina Aggarwal, a noted anthropologist, in her book “Beyond Lines of Control: Performance and Politics on the Disputed Borders of Ladakh, India.”
The Treaty of Amritsar began an era of Dogra allegiance, and in 1858, when the British monarchy formally took over India, all princely states agreed to its authority.
“Although they did not deem Ladakh economically viable for direct rule, the British pushed for control over regional trade with a commercial treaty that the Dogra Maharaja was made to sign in 1870. This accord facilitated the British access to lucrative raw pashmina and allowed them to establish the post of a British joint commissioner to be stationed in Leh for three months to monitor trade,” writes Aggarwal.
In addition to the control of pashmina trade, the Dogra kings imposed a series of economic measures that had a debilitating effect on the Ladakhi economy. Fast forward to 1948, and when Maharaja Hari Singh, the last Dogra king, signed the Instrument of Accession with India, it was the contours of the Treaty of Amritsar that was used to justify bringing Ladakh under the administrative control of the new state of Jammu and Kashmir.
Successive wars against Pakistan and China devastated economic opportunities in the region with trade links on either side of the border significantly diminished, leaving Ladakh with little to no chance at any real economic development until the advent of tourism in the 1970s.
Once a critical stop along international trade routes, the livelihood for the people of Ladakh today stands on three pillars—the Indian Army, government jobs, and tourism.
There are efforts underway to revive the local economy with both the J&K government and Centre supporting a whole host of micro-small and medium enterprises. There are also local efforts underway to reclaim ownership of the pashmina trade with ventures moving into the production of finished products. With most of the value in pashmina locked higher up in the supply chain, the region has long deprived itself of economic benefits.
There is hope that pashmina can once again play a role in regenerating the local economy.
Like this story? Or have something to share? Write to us: contact@thebetterindia.com, or connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.
NEW: Click here to get positive news on WhatsApp!
