Where does history begin? With Krishna? Or the dinosaurs? The mythologist in me seeks Krishna, but the scientist sought out India’s very own Jurassic Park. This is where history begins. Not with gods or humans, certainly not with kings and their palaces, but in nature. So I took that long drive to the village of Raiyoli, near Balasinor, and spent a few hours identifying the outlines of shells of eggs laid maybe 100 million years ago by dinosaurs. Circle after circle after circle after circle. I even held a dinosaur egg and a dinosaur bone in my hand. All thanks to the well-trained local guide. If not for him, no one would guess that this flat, barren, rocky land was, in fact, once the graveyard of dinosaurs and the world’s largest hatchery.
On a hill overlooking this spot, I found a tiny shrine dedicated to Shiva and a nath jogi mendicants who trace their spiritual ancestry to the medieval yogis, Matsyendranath and Gorakhnath, and seek immortality. Invariably they build shrines in places linked to death, unlike today’s Hindus, who shun such places. Which is why Prabhas Patan in south Gujarat, where Krishna died, is not as popular with pilgrims as it should be. They prefer the Somnath temple, where the moon, Soma, cured of wasting disease by Shiva, built a temple in his honour. Perhaps this is because in their minds, the Somnath temple is proof that even a place associated with a near-death experience can become a wellspring of immortality. Or perhaps it’s because of the temple’s reputation of rising like a phoenix despite repeated plundering.
The sight of a Shiva shrine at Raiyoli made me think of Sharabha, a fierce manifestation of Shiva as a lion with eight legs and the tail of a serpent, that could easily be considered a Puranic dinosaur. I asked the local caretaker if he knew the story, trying to see if there was a link between the lore, the dinosaur fossils and the shrine built by the nath jogis. He just smiled, offered me cold water from his tiny fridge, and a receipt for my donation. Intellectual talk did not interest him. He was content immersing himself in the seva of his long-dead guruji.
I, on the other hand, was embarking on an anthropological quest to explore India through the history of one state, Gujarat. No other state offers such an expanse of time—dinosaurs, Krishna, the Indus Valley (Harappan) civilisation, Eurasian migrants, Greek mercenaries, Arabs, Huns and Indo-Eurasian invaders, Siddi slaves from Africa, Sultans from Central Asia, Mughals, Marathas and the British. In times when politicians would like us to believe that India is a homogenous Hindu matrix threatened by Islamic and Western ideologies, trips like this remind us that India is a palimpsest of people, cultures and ideas. Hinduism is a river with many tributaries, not just Vedic. And India is a mightier river still, with even more tributaries, nourishing a way of being that is unique in these days of the hegemonic global village. With a population of over 60 million people, Gujarat, India’s westernmost state, has a long coastline jutting into the Arabian Sea, that resembles a lion in profile: Kutch forms its upper jaw, Saurashtra the lower, while North, Central and South Gujarat are its eye, ear and neck. This is remarkable since it is the last refuge of the Asiatic lions, and has produced lion-like leaders such as Mahatma Gandhi, Mohammed Ali Jinnah, Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel and now Narendra Modi—men whose actions have shaped, and continue to shape, the history of India.
It also has two of India’s earliest cities: Dholavira in Kutch and the smaller settlement of Lothal. These were sites of the Indus Valley civilisation, which thrived over 4,000 years ago. Though they left many artefacts, especially seals with numerous symbols, we know tantalisingly little about them. How similar were they to those who sang the Vedic hymns? They were certainly different from India’s historic and modern cities, both in physical and social structure. Lothal followed a strict grid aligned in perfect parallels and perpendiculars, with careful attention to slopes. There was clear stratification, with separate living areas for workers, away from the employers.
But the stratification did not come without all the basic amenities: running water, indoor plumbing and drainage. Hierarchy, though present, did not mean a denial of dignity, a denial that is, sadly, the hallmark of the draconian caste system that plagues India even today. When the Harappan cities died, the Vedic culture rose. And while the former left us with vast archaeological remains, the latter has mostly left its imprint on our consciousness with its stories. They tell us how the sage Bhrigu came on a turtle to the port city that was once known as Bhrigukachchha, now Bharuch, in southern Gujarat. Did that refer to Vedic-era ships? Many Indians would like to believe that everything was invented in the ‘Great Indian Culture’. The less chauvinistic mind can only speculate. It is from 2,300 years ago, when the Mauryas extended their empire (centred around today’s Patna) to include Saurashtra, that we have a clear epigraphic marker for recorded Indian history, a gap of nearly 2,000 years since the Harappan age.
We find in Junagadh one of Ashoka’s major rock edicts, written in one of India’s oldest known scripts, Brahmi, in the Pali language: “To foster one’s own sect, depreciating the others out of affection for one’s own, to exalt its merit, is to do the worst harm to one’s own sect.” The king was clearly referring to the tension in his time between the followers of the Vedas, who believed in rituals, and the hermits, such as Buddhists and Jains, who rejected them in favour of meditation and contemplation. But to me, standing there and reading it in the 21st century, it felt most relevant to the angry times we live in.
The other thing that struck me is that while Ashoka’s edict records the Vedic people and Jain hermits being at odds, there is also a lot of overlap between their myths. Neminatha, the 22nd Jain Tirthankar (a title given to the foremost all-knowing Jain seers), is described as the non-violent cousin of the rather violent Krishna who was forced out of Mathura, Uttar Pradesh, and made Dwarka, in Gujarat, his home. In Dakor stands the idol of Ranchhodrai, the four-armed Krishna, embodying the spirit of the warrior who withdrew from battle, choosing discretion over valour, to live to fight another day. A devotee named Bodana is said to have brought the idol of Krishna here from Dwarka. At Dakor, Krishna’s consort is Lakshmi, not Rukmini as is traditionally held. And Lakshmi is enshrined separately, in a temple of her own, in a nearby lane. Most modern Hindus who wonder why are unfamiliar with the idea of feminine autonomy inherent in Hindu mythology. In sacred lore, the conscious mind (embodied by God) has a complex relationship with matter (embodied by Goddess). Mind is not creator of matter, and matter is not creator of mind. The two nourish each other and so need to be respected as interdependent, but autonomous, entities—like Krishna and Radha, Vishnu and Lakshmi. Dakor was also the place to eat the famous Dakor na gota—spicy, fried balls of Bengal gram, to be dipped in curd and popped into the mouth.
I spent a night at Bhavnagar, where dinner began with Surendranagari samosas, followed by bajra rotlo, topped with white butter and jaggery, to be eaten with stuffed brinjal and tangy tomato sev curry. I bought many packets of methi no sambar, a local, spicy, red chutney to be unleashed in true desi style on bland dishes when one travels through Europe. While a Hindu pilgrimage focuses on food (the all-important prasad), a Jain pilgrimage is marked with austerity. Ashoka’s edict stands on the road to Mount Girnar, where Neminath attained wisdom. The other 23 Tirthankars attained wisdom atop Shatrunjaya hill, also in Saurashtra, in Palitana near Bhavnagar. I went up this hill, climbing some of its over 3,700 steps, taking a palanquin at intervals. It’s an exhausting journey, where one is deeply impressed and motivated by the sight of young and old Jain pilgrims, walking up patiently. No food, only water is allowed on the path and hill. And it is best to climb before the sun rises (we began at 5am) for, by midday, the heat atop the peak is unbearable. The hill has nearly 860 temples, built over the last 500 years, dedicated to sages who are said to have lived thousands of years ago. In the light of the rising sun, they glint like jewels adorning the head of a performer.
Much in contrast with Jainism’s monastic traditions, the pillars of the marbled temples are full of images of dancing girls and warriors, although modern renovations sadly overshadow the exquisite carvings of the past. It made me realise how the faithful are no longer familiar with the true aesthetic traditions; yet another manifestation of the global rupture between philosophy and its artistic rendition. At the heart of the complex is the shrine of Adinath Rishabhdev, where one can see families bidding for the right to perform a particular worship. For a monastic order led by austere, disciplined monks and nuns, such open transactions, which may seem odd to an outsider, are part of worldly life, until one is ready to give up all. But of all places, here in Gujarat, such transactions might even find a root in the state’s commercial history. Along the coast of Gujarat, we find many historic ports and cities linked to various communities who did business with what are today Iran, Iraq, Egypt, Yemen and South Africa. If the Parsis, who escaped persecution in Iran, first established their business interests in places like Sanjan and Udvada, in Sidhpur, we find the grand havelis of the prosperous Bohra Muslims who sailed to trade in, among other places, East Africa.
Over the last 600 years, Gujarat became home to many Muslim communities. For instance, Jinnah’s ancestors were Gujarati Ismailis by faith, weavers and merchants by profession and residents of the erstwhile princely state of Gondal. Gujarat on the whole was a rich Sultanate before becoming a Mughal province and finally fragmenting into many princely states governed first by the Maratha confederacy and later the British. During this period, the unique Gujarat school of Islamic architecture emerged, as local kings, notably Ahmed Shah and his son Mahmud Begada, built impressive structures in Ahmedabad, Junagadh, Champaner and Pavagarh using local Hindu artisans. The sultans built the city of Ahmedabad, with its walls and 12 gates. And their Siddi slaves, trafficked in from Africa and now a recognised ethnic community in Gujarat, rose to power under their Muslim masters, and under the Mughals.
The famous jali at Sidi Sayeed Mosque, with its tree of life motif, is now the unofficial symbol of Ahmedabad, and the logo of the city’s Indian Institute of Management. One thing that caught my attention throughout my journey was the syncretism of religious traditions that manifest themselves across Gujarat, such as dargahs of pir babas that often sit next to Hindu and Jain shrines, like the Angar Pir shrine in Palitana, which neighbours the Adeshwara temple. Then there’s the black stone tomb to Pir Ghaus Muhammed in the sparsely populated town of Lakhpat on the border between India and Pakistan. Close to it is a gurudwara that marks the spot from where Guru Nanak made his journey to Mecca. Among these saints, one cannot forget the modern saint, Mahatma Gandhi, who popularised the use of non-violence as a political tool. A visit to his childhood home in Porbandar, and to his ashram on the banks of the Sabarmati River in Ahmedabad, is required to truly understand his role in our history. That the country he fought for has come a long way is evidenced from the fullness of the Sabarmati, thanks to a canal linking it to the Narmada, and in the architecture of the Indian Institute of Management, by Louis Kahn; it breaks away from the past, to create functional spaces not moored to any tradition. A far cry from the ornate stepwells of Gujarat such as the ones at Adalaj and Patan. These structures, I feel, are highly efficient, but as soulless as what remains of the Harappan cities of yore. At the end of all my travels, I realised I prefer the bustling crowded, chaotic markets of Ahmedabad where buildings lean into each other and keep the harsh sun out, where neighbours can talk to each other while managing shops and warehouses and negotiating with vendors and hawkers, while Jain and Hindu pilgrims walk silently to the local temple, and the air is filled with the timely call to prayer from the mosque. I prefer the colourful Patola saris and the intricate jewellery of the local tribes, and the fact that the man speaking on the phone next to me is probably a Patel from America visiting the local Swami Narayan temple, and is waiting for a childhood friend from the Palanpuri Jain community who trades diamonds in Antwerp. That diverse land, with every flavour of India’s long history, is my Gujarat.
A guided tour similar to the writer’s, with visits to Balasinor, Dholavira, Lothal, Somnath, Dakor, Udvada, Ahmedabad, Junagadh, Champaner and Pavagarh, among others, can be arranged through Bharat Travel Service Website.