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umarkot The
forgotten university
umarkot
The clear morning sky was the foreboding of a piercing April sun but, an outing to places off the beaten track becoming one of my favourite diversions of late, there was no holding back. Having had a comfortable night stay in the mini Officers’ Mess (which used to be an airport lounge for use by the late Prime Minister Junejo of nearby Sindhri), we set course for Umarkot via Khipro. The more direct route is a jumble of bone-jarring and tyre-slashing craters, so a longer ride was actually welcome. Egrets and herons preyed on unwary frogs in the roadside ponds, while daring little doves lifted off successfully from the middle of the road at the very last moment. The occasional putter of the ubiquitous Qingqi rickshaw — grotesquely loaded as always — reminded us that humanity too was around. By 10am we were at Umarkot,
with my friend Nauman eagerly looking for a hot cup of tea. All shops were
under orders to ‘voluntarily’ remain closed due to the death of a Sindhi
nationalist leader. We were, however, lucky to stumble on to a tea stall
whose owner had cleverly decided to make a day’s living by serving the
‘grieving’ public. Umarkot — purists insist it was always Amarkot —
houses the district headquarters, though it is more famous for being the
birthplace of Emperor Akbar. After tea, we drove into the nearby Umarkot fort and were instantly horrified by the prevalent state of dilapidation and decay. Built by Mian Noor Muhammad Kalhoro in 1746AD over the remains of an earlier mud fort of undetermined antiquity, it served no purpose when the Persian ruler Nadir Shah humiliatingly vanquished the Kalhora ruler while he took refuge there. The fort was later sold to the maharaja of Jodhpur by the penniless last Kalhora ruler, Mian Abdul Nabi, but it was forcibly recovered by the Talpurs in 1813 AD. Though there is nothing remarkable about the fort, the raised central platform, which forms an excellent vantage point overlooking the city, has an impressive battery of seven cannon pointing outwards at possible intruders. It is likely that the battery is the handiwork of the later Talpurs who had learnt a lesson from the Nadir Shah episode and, had bolstered the fort’s defences. A museum inside the fort is yet another example of extreme apathy and neglect. Priceless publications, including a copy of Abul Fazal’s ‘Ain-i-Akbari’, Mughal paintings and motley coins, statuettes, and assorted weaponry lie hopelessly abandoned in an unkempt building. Vagrant beggar women squatting in the dust completed the pathetic scene around the museum. Before leaving the city, we drove to the purported spot where Hamida Bano Begum gave birth to the illustrious Jalal-ud-din Akbar, while her husband Humayun was in flight from Sher Shah’s pursuing forces. A rather ordinary modern day monument, in the shape of a small domed pavilion, marks the birthplace which is a short distance from the present-day fort. “The Rana (Virsal Prasad) gave the Emperor an honourable reception and took him into the fort, and assigned him excellent quarters,” notes Humayun’s sister Gulbadan Begum in ‘Humayun-Nama’. If the predecessor of the present fort that is being implied in the annals was located where the monument stands today, there is no trace of its ruins or the quarters it held inside. One is tempted to assume that the local city administration may have been coaxed into declaring the site as sacrosanct for questionable reasons, or maybe it was just shoddy research about the location. I am reminded of one of our atomic scientists who was immensely moved to honour Sultan Shahab-ud-din Ghauri with a tomb at Dhamyak near Sohawa, over a grave that never was! As soon as we had driven off from Umarkot, the scenery changed to an arid landscape, with shallow sand dunes riveted to the terrain by scrub and bush. Danda thohr (Euphorbia caducifolia), phog (Calligonum polygonoides) and akk (Calotropis gigantea) are the most common plants that could be seen for miles on end. Every once in a while we would come across small Thari settlements which look like African kraals; the accommodation consists of rather spartan huts known as chaunras, which have circular mud walls with a conical thatched roof. Life in these settlements is a never-ending struggle for survival. When not braving intense heat and dust, collection of water becomes the most important chore for Tharis. Womenfolk in colourful dresses with their arms fully swathed in white bangles could often be seen with a couple of water pitchers perched jauntily on their heads. Men were seen usually idling about, while their cattle or sheep grazed nearby. We noted that Tharis are quite malnourished, what with millets and lentils being their staple food. Not a single meat shop was to be seen in any of the small town bazaars that we passed by. After reaching Chachro, we turned south to Islamkot, and then again east towards Virawah, having to go through ID checks at Rangers posts at every stop. The road is in an acceptable condition and is mainly used by open jeeps converted as passenger vehicles. Ex-Army 3-tonne trucks known as kekras (crabs), suitably embellished with our trademark truck art, carry goods to and fro in Thar. Beyond Islamkot, irrigation channels sourced from rainwater catchments have helped in the growth of some hardy trees including peelu, babol and neem. As we got closer to Virawah, which is located on the northern edge of the Rann of Kutch, the sand dunes started to subside while shallow salt flats could be seen all around. Shortly after mid-day, we saw the ‘welcome’ signboard at Nagar Parkar, with the ruddy Karonjhar Hills forming a fascinating backdrop. Going past, yet more rangers and police checkposts — the Indian border being a mere 15km — we drove straight to the bazaar. At the end of a side street is the Jain mandir, said to be at least five centuries old. A notice by the Department of Archaeology warns against any vandalism or damage, the temple being a ‘protected’ monument. The warning flew in the face of the authorities when we were confronted by a pack of dogs resting right inside the inner sanctum of the temple. We took some pictures from a distance and headed for lunch. Dirty as the bazaar was, we had second thoughts about our planned lunch at a dhaba and considered gate-crashing at the Rangers’ Mess. However, aware of military correctness, we spared ourselves and the potential hosts the hassle and settled for a spartan meal, downtown. We were constantly stared at, for it must have been a while since the locals saw trousered baboos eating in their midst! The last stop at Nagar Parkar was the tiny Bhodesar mosque on the northern reaches of Karonjhar Hills. Struggling to rise above the babol shrubbery, its pink painted dome came into view near the hamlet of Bhodesar. Entering through the gate of the mosque compound, we passed by several very old graves. The mosque is a modest structure made of crudely set sandstone blocks. A stub of what might have been a minaret is visible on the roof. The prayer chamber is walled on three sides, while the front is open, supported by four marble pillars. The bottom segment of each pillar has four sides, the one above has eight, then sixteen and finally, the top-most segment is circular. Such pillars are common to the Jain temples in the vicinity, so local craftsmanship had been optimally utilised. A stylised lotus flower embellishes the mehrab, while another lotus finial surmounts the dome; such architectural themes cutting across vastly different faiths are indeed unique. The mosque is attributed to Sultan Mahmud Shah ‘Bagra’ the most eminent ruler of Gujarat. Constructed in 1505 AD, the mosque can be seen as a symbol of his authority which extended as far as Nagar Parkar. The location of the mosque well removed from the town and, in the vicinity of three Jain temples indicates the Sultan’s desire to challenge the temporal power of the Jains. The mosque may well have served its purpose, for Islam gradually took hold in the region and continues to thrive, as the fully functional loudspeakers on the rooftop of the 500-year old mosque testify! Just behind the mosque is the beautiful Bhodesar lake which is actually a rainwater catchment area, with an embankment constructed to serve as a water reservoir for the locals. Set against the Karonjhar Hills over which the locally occurring Dusky Crag Martins could be seen darting and swooping in delightful flight, a camping night would have been a perfect finale to our trip. However, having to get back during daylight lest we ran into potholes or worse, we drove off to Mirpurkhas via Mithi, Naukot and Digri, quite happy having done the Rann in a day! kaiser_mach2@yahoo.com The
forgotten university The sunshine could not be mellower, the late afternoon breeze could not be cooler, and the streets could not be more deserted. It was Christmas day in the middle of what turned out to be a long and particularly cold winter. I stood facing the Church of Aghios Georgios whose façade rose in the middle of dreary apartment blocks close to the centre of Athens. Hardly anything moved but for the Christmas buntings that ran down the Church’s front wall fluttering randomly in the breeze rushing through the narrow streets and alleys. To my right, in the concrete expanse of the plateia or square, a lone immigrant woman, wearing an old black coat, sat on a rickety wooden bench keeping a watchful eye on her playful child. In front of her, a sign, in Greek and in English, announced the presence of ‘Ancient Road to Plato’s Academy’. Behind it, a steel fence enclosed traces of the ancient road that ran from the wall of ancient Athens to Plato’s Academy, a distance of one mile. I was close to my destination. I first learnt of the
Plato’s Academy, or whatever is left of it now, while going through
Elizabeth Speller’s interesting work ‘Athens — A New Guide’ which
takes one through many of the secrets of central Athens in eight separate
walks. Plato’s Academy gets a brief mention in the fourth walk but that was
enough to attract my attention. It took me months, however, to actually venture out in search of the Academy — also occasionally referred to as the world’s first university (though my friend Arsalan disagrees and claims that the world’s first university was in Julian) — into the maze of central Athens by following the route mapped out in Speller’s book. In early December, roughly three weeks before that cold Christmas day, I finally set out in my quest from the bustling Syntagma Square, opposite the Greek parliament and the scene of almost daily demonstrations and protests since the Greek economic crisis erupted in 2008. Not far from where I started, a statue of Plato hovers over the flight of steps leading up into the 19th century Academy of Athens. Dressed in a loose robe and sandals, Plato, with a bald head and scraggly beard, seems to be looking meaningfully at head office of the Bank of Greece right across the road. For almost two hours, I wandered through the commercial hub of central Athens, down the elegant Ermou Street chock-a-block with luxurious brands, past the late 19th century cathedral, or Mitropolis, and right through the lively Plateia Monastiraki with its unending flea markets, home to myriad undiscovered secrets. I strolled past the recently opened Indian Kitchen restaurant, owned by a Pakistani and one of the better outlets of South Asian food in Athens, and at the point where Ermou runs into the ancient Kerameikos graveyard, turned right into the backstreets lined with auto workshops, open spaces, empty shops and churches. Finally, I spotted the Platonos Street across a railway track. Quarter of an hour later, however, there was still no sign of my destination. With the Church of Aghios Georgios looming to my left, I was forced to abandon my quest that day in order to attend to other and more urgent worldly matters. I was back on the spot on Christmas day, this time accompanied by my wife, Sayema, hoping to finally locating Plato’s Academy while the Athenians celebrated their religious festival. Taking a look at the ancient road and ignoring the immigrant woman and her child, we once again ventured further into Platonos Street. Countless funeral offices, flower shops, gas stations and empty buildings later we seemed no closer to our destination. Unending rows of cars parked under orange-laden trees, overlooked by deserted balconies, lined both sides of the street. The sight of each vacant green space raised our hopes. We pressed on. Presently we noticed, to our right, another signpost, hidden behind drooping branches of a tree on a small triangular patch of grassy land, announcing the nearby Plato’s Academy. On the other side of the street, about 20 metres ahead, the countless apartment blocks gave way to a large open rectangular plot of land overflowing with dense green foliage concealing a handful of wobbly benches. We were there. The site of Plato’s Academy ultimately proved to be a deceptively large yet disappointing place. Disappointing not for any lack of history but for its current neglected state, I found it strange that while sites dedicated to the likes of Zeus, Athina and Poseidon (all mythological beings), that lie scattered around Greece, have been preserved or else excavated and restored and thus turned into money-earning tourist spots, a place where Plato established one of the greatest intellectual institutions known to the world lay in such sheer neglect. The site of Plato’s Academy is split into at least three parts lying between criss-crossing streets. The rectangular piece of land, immediately to the left of the Platonos street and directly overlooked by the locality’s apartment blocks, is the only one which is not fenced. Behind it, a triangular wedge formed mainly by the Monastiriou and Kratilou streets contains a couple of sheds, partly hidden overgrown grass and dead trees, covering some excavations. In one corner, stones of various sizes lie in the courtyard of crumbling storage facilities. In the midst of all that, children play a game of football and youngsters while away their time with coffee and gossip. The third part of the site, on the far side of the Kratilou street, is again roughly rectangular but much larger is size. Just right of the entrance from the Kratilou street, the Municipality of Athens has established what it calls a Model Children’s Area and has fixed some modern-looking swings. Across it, a small open-air theatre is in the final stages of completion, the light grey steel steps forming a semi-circular arc facing a recently cleared patch of land. It is, however, to the left that the more interesting, and apparently more historically significant part of the site lies. Hidden behind dense olive groves and overgrown weeds, and separated by walking tracks, lie a number of rectangular and square pieces of low-lying land. There, steps lead down to scattered stones and traces of ancient walls, hardly visible above ground level. These must have been separate blocks of the Academy, each perhaps focused on one specific branch of knowledge or intellectual discourse. In its present state, Plato’s Academy could not be further from its original condition and purpose. Its stone pits are full of rubbish and its glades are havens for stray dogs. Grim looking people, holding old plastic bags, while away time on dark green benches and neighbourhood’s children make use of the play area facility. Occasionally, bells chime in the Church of Aghios Trifonos, barely visible through the dense foliage and beyond the fence on the far side. Disappointed with its present state, I still allowed my imagination to run wild. This was the place that contained a sacred grove of olive trees dedicated to Athina and which sheltered her cult from the Bronze Age onwards. This was the site that gave English language the word ‘academic’ probably from its archaic name Hekademia which had evolved into Akademia by the classical times. This was the patch of land that was inherited by Plato, himself belonging to a wealthy Athenian family, at the age of around 30 and this was where he established his Academy upon return from his first visit to Italy and Sicily. It was here that Plato must have completed Republic — his most famous work — and where Aristotle must have studied for 20 years before founding his own school, the Lyceum. Plato was buried somewhere here too! But now it is a largely ignored place, a forgotten university, attracting no more than a short paragraph in some of the guidebooks and hardly any tourist at all. There is hope though. The Greek government has planned a project worth €1 million for the upgradation of the site. Under the project, the site would be cleared, suitably planted and the paths and information signs improved. New storage spaces and a new enclosed shelter would host the already excavated items. I can only hope that the site of Plato’s Academy will also one day, not in the too distant future, vie with the likes of Acropolis, Delphi and Sounion as a must see for the hordes of history buffs who descend on this ancient country. amsumra@gmail.com
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