A Sea Fortress in Ruins : Murud-Janjira
In a way, the Murud-Janjira fort is a living symbol of the criminal apathy we exhibit towards our cultural heritage. About 146 kilometres from Mumbai, Murud-janjira is a tiny, fortified island off the Konkan coast. Considered in its heyday as one of the strongest marine forts of India, it repelled the powers-to-be (Mughals, Marathas, Portuguese, British) for three centuries until its integration to Indian republic in 1947. Built on an oval shaped rock, it was a full-fledged living fort with palaces, officer’s quarters, mosque, and two fresh-water lakes. Today, here, walking amidst piles of broken black rocks, rampant vegetation — verdant and lush, dried and brown, burnt and black — and passing by ponds coated in toxic-green moss all one can sense is abandonment, decay, and depredation.
Getting to the fort is a two-step process. First you get into a chartered motor boat, a rectangular wooden contraption, that runs once every hour. From the shore you can hear the phut-phuts of its loud engine. 20’x 10’ in dimensions, it is painted blue and white and divided into two sections, the entryway divided into two leads you to either section — to your left (or right), benches run along the edge of the boat — the “window” seats); gaps in these benches lead to the benches in middle and the wooden beams that divide this middle section as well as support the roof overhead; and as you seat yourself you see the three orange life-jackets (for a passenger count of 50 or so) hanging on the metal hooks on the wooden beams. A typical village ferry boat.
Most of the trippers are small-town-folk with small purses on a family outing. A line forms. And as soon the gangplank is lowered, everyone rushes in — like rush-hour passengers scurrying, jostling, jumping into the compartments of a Mumbai-local train — to grab a “window” seat. The boat-operators keep letting passengers in until the boat is one-passenger-weight shy of capsizing; only then does they think it worth- their-while to start chugging towards the fort, whose silhouette looks like oil-tankers in the horizon.
The second step, after a twenty-five minute boat ride, is the transfer of passengers into a rowboat, the fort-surrounding waters being too shallow for a motorboat to approach. We are about fifty feet from the fort entrance waiting in a queue of four-five boats, brimful of passengers. The fort, now up-close-and-personal, juts out of the murky green sea water, and its salt-stained ramparts tower over us like an ocean-cliff. 80 feet high in low tide, made from cut black stones — Sang-e-khara, with tiny arched shaped windows carved into them (vantage points to shoot at enemy ships), with a massive doorway between two bastions, and stone steps leading into the fort, the spectacle before us is awe-inspiring. But even from afar, the signs of decay are visible: dried brown grass growing between the stones, ever-green shrubs with heart-shaped leaves peeping from a crevice, lichen covered stone, and the dust-coloured roots of a whole tree springing out of the top of the rampart above the second bastion. All of them taking roots on the mortar between the cut-stones of the walls.
Queued up for ten minutes, our rower puts down his oars and transforms into a “guide”:
“A Muslim merchant who traded elaichi and cloves for rice and coins built the fort in the 11th century. There was a dargah here, where he made offerings.
The merchant, sheltering in the island from a passing storm, saw water seeping up to the dargah. It felt wrong to him. And with the help of the Koli fishermen he began fortifying the island. Starting in 1118 AD and completing in 1140AD, it took 22 years.”
A complete concoction. The bastions? The canons? The 80-feet walls? This was clearly a military fort not a shrine.
The forts origins can be traced to the local fisherfolk (Kohlis) and their thanedars, the Sidis⁴. The Sidis, taking over the wooden fortified structure built by a Kohli Patil who rebelled against their authority, completed this stone fortress in 1567 AD. It was reconstructed by Sidi Surur Khan in 1728. The mighty walls of this fort have withstood relentless attacks by the powerful Marathas. Generations of Maratha rulers — Shivaji, his son Sambhaji, Peshwa Balaji, Bajirao, Maratha General Angre — were rendered impotent against the superior architecture of this fort, its powerful defense with 572 cannons firing on enemy ships, and the fabulous courage of the Sidis. In its three centuries of existence, this fort remained unconquered.
The guide continued spinning his yarn:
“Now look a the rocks eroded by the tides but the joints protrude. The joint material is stronger than the stone!
I am telling based on my knowledge. They used binding made of glass powder, jaggery, and egg-white; they knew better chemistry than we know today.”
His monologue ended with stories about the naming of the fortress, the existence of an underground tunnel to the coast, the freshwater well. And finally a spiel for tips. A few pursestrings opened. I gave the man a fifty for his efforts.
But who are the Sidis? With the help of a Sahapedia Researcher⁵, I did some digging. Sidis are Africans (from present-day Ethiopia) who entered India as traders and slaves during the 15th century. The Sidis of Janjira, rose from traders to become a political force thanks to their battle prowess. In Shivaji’s time their allegiance was to the Mughals. This fort, the stronghold of the Sidis, therefore has national as well as international historical importance. Perhaps enough to become a UNESCO heritage site³.
But when you enter the fort, any such hopes would be dashed. The entrance is a chaotic huddle of boats embarking/disembarking. There is carving of elephants and tiger in battle on the salt-stained stones, but you are too busy trying not to lose your balance while wading up the stairs. The rampant vegetation — unruly trees, thick shrubs, and saplings growing upon the walls — take up your sight. Except for a rusty blue-red sign that declares this fort to be protected under the 1958 Ancient Monuments and Archaeological Sites and Remains Act in four languages, there is no signage.
We ran into the “guide”. I asked him about the maintenance of the fort.
“Once, I met a ASI surveyor who came to the fort. He looked around, he was so frustrated, he threw his laptop on the ground and left. Never seen once since. They take 25 rupees per passenger from us, I don’t know what they do with it.”
“Why don’t you guys, who make your livelihood exploiting this place, do something?” I wanted to ask. But I didn’t. I couldn’t chide him. It was not his fault.
Walking through the blasted wasteland, on the dry dusty trail, amidst piles of misshapen rocks to the right, the twice damned ruins of once proud buildings (not just crumbling, but taken over by roots raiding every crevice between the stones) to the left, we trekked to the top of the ramparts of forts, to reach the terrace and the arches through which soldiers used to observe and attack enemy ships with cannons.
Cannons overlooking the high seas. Seven of them were imported from Europe (three from Sweden, one each from Spain, France, Holland), the rest are Indian-made. The largest and the most famous cannon, the Kalal Bangadi, was an Indian-made Maratha cannon captured from the Marathas after one of their unsuccessful sieges of the fort⁴. Tourist walk along the vantage points from one cannon to another, clicking selfies or oceanic views, never knowing where the cannons came from, nor knowing how the cannons were deployed. They ask nothing, learn nothing. Even if they wanted to, how could they?
Walking past the fluorescent-green mossy pond on the banks with a quick gaze at the ruins of the Rani Mahal (palace of the royal ladies), we passed a bridge over a large freshwater pond, to climb up to the Mahal — the palace of the Nawab. We paused on the banks to watch the spectacle of 100s of fishes — mostly Trouts and Catlas — circling and swirling around tidbits of Parle-G thrown down by a seven-year old boy wearing a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses too big for his face. His hand was held by a proud but impatient father egging him on.
Climbing up the stairs, we reached the Mahal. The Mahal was a few ruined walls, a small rusty cannon lay forlorn on a rocky floor, a vantage point reduced to pile of stones overlooked the sea, the land was dusty and parched with swirls of dry-brownish jungle grass. A sad state of affairs for a Mahal where the Nawab of yore used to live, where the numerous balconies were adorned with intricate carvings, where the numerous rooms had walls covered in delicately coloured glass pieces. Of course, there were a few whippersnappers on the ledge perilously posing for selfies. Time is a cruel mistress.
Another hillock overhead. A storehouse where the fort’s artillery and armoury was kept. A flagpole where the Nawab’s standard used to be flown is atop it. It was houseful. Their bony fingers brandishing smartphones and attired in their best Sunday clothes, local trippers, young and scrawny, were posing for pictures, making V-signs, pointing somewhere for the click, right arm on the left hip with a selfie-smile, side-angled looking up for a “natural pose”, enjoying the view, clicking the view, posting on Instagram, Tiktok, Facebook, WhatsApp.
Negligent authorities, tramping tourists, freebooting locals this fort deserved better. Even the gentle sea-breeze atop the hillock couldn’t lift my spirits. I got ready to leave, and that’s when I saw it. At eye-level, a majestic snow-white Sea-Eagle glid past me. Its wings beat down once, twice, and then it soared into the horizon. Its wings beat down and once, twice, and then it winked out of my sight. A White-bellied Sea-Eagle — it’s a common raptor in the Konkan coast. But in that fleeting moment, in the flicker of its eyes, shone the flames of eternity. Nature. It refilled my cup back to the brim with life and light.
With a lighter heart, I hurried to the entrance, almost missing the ferry back. We were given only an hour. Tramp around, ogle the cannons, feed the fish, climb up to the Mahal ruins, take selfies and back. That’s all we were expected to do. But this Fort deserves better:
This fort where the Kohlis found a trunk containing models of a metal hand symbolising the Islamic Panjattan Pak⁵; and a Dargah was built; and the event is celebrated amongst the locals to this date.
This fort where the cowardly plot of then-Nawab Sidi Fateh Khan in handing over the keys to Shivaji during his 1659 siege, was thwarted by two brave Sidi brothers, who sailed into the fort in secret, imprisoned the Nawab and eventually fought off the Marathas.
This fort which Shivaji demanded from the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb as part of a peace treaty; was denied; he attacked the fort again in 1665, and lost again.
This fort which repelled Shivaji’s son Sambhaji, who tried filling the channel of water with boulders and turning a water siege into land warfare. And failed. 1682.
This fort which repelled the great Bajirao who enlisted the Portuguese in 1732, and numerous other Maratha attacks, all through the 18th, and early 19th century.
This fort, with numerous carvings, Persian inscriptions, rich African diaspora history, with Islamic and Yadava architecture, where battle drums rang over the bastions of the East Gate, daily renditions of woodwind compositions played each evening; and holds in its heart, stories that could power a dozen Bollywood movies.
This fort, possibly the only invincible fort in the history of India, deserves better.
¹ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murud-Janjira
² https://www.sahapedia.org/multiple-pasts-and-presents-siddis-india
³ The criterion for selection: https://whc.unesco.org/en/criteria/
⁴ Faaeza Jasdanwalla (2015) The Invincible Fort of the Nawabs of Janjira, Journal of African Diaspora Archaeology and Heritage, 4:1, 72–91, DOI: 10.1179/2161944114Z.00000000023
⁵ The Multiple Pasts and Presents of Siddis in India https://www.sahapedia.org/multiple-pasts-and-presents-siddis-india
