In the heart of Pune, stands with dignity, the salvaged remains of Ghashi Ram Kotwal’s
former residence. Even today, it proudly bears the last vestiges of a glorious
era. This monument of great antiquity, appears like the black pearl, rare
and lustrous, in an otherwise austere environment.
It stands in stark contrast to the spartan layout of its surroundings. The ancient landmark carries on its stony shoulders the
weight of history, and the legacy of the pomp and glory of the Peshwas.
Superbly crafted and chiseled to perfection, a magnificent
stone archway welcomed me to a small green quadrangle. The youthful grass which
sprang underfoot was the living, vibrant present.
It was enclosed by two narrow galleries on either side, which had
beautiful fluted pillars, broad at the base and tapering at the top where
they supported exquisitely, scalloped arches.
Stone steps lead up to both the galleries. Their walls had alcoves, where a long time back, wick lamps must have spilled golden light on the rough stone walls and the floors.
This morning, as I strode across the narrow verandah, I felt the soft,
damp earth underfoot. The ceiling, gray and flaky, refused to give up and held on bravely
At the end of each gallery was a small entrance
from which lead a narrow spiral stone stairway to the upper floor, where again
the pillars, arches and alcoves were repeated. The uneven steps sloping up,
ended abruptly on an uneven, crumbling roof, making one wonder, whatever
happened to the rest of the structure?
Sunlight which slanted through the open space above the quadrangle, wrapped the fluted sides of the pillars with gold dust, and picked out the yellowish green moss nestling in the curves of the scalloped arches.
In the hushed silence, as I touched the coarse walls of this
stunning entrance, I wondered, what it would be like to be here alone in the
dead of night.
Will the walls be a-whisper then, with tales of treachery and treason linked to Ghashi Ram Kotwal? Will I hear the moan of a father who sacrificed his daughter to perpetuate his grandiose plans of self aggrandizement? Will I hear his tormented shriek,as his mangled body fell under the hail of stones which were pelted at him by a savage crowd gone insane?
Will the walls be a-whisper then, with tales of treachery and treason linked to Ghashi Ram Kotwal? Will I hear the moan of a father who sacrificed his daughter to perpetuate his grandiose plans of self aggrandizement? Will I hear his tormented shriek,as his mangled body fell under the hail of stones which were pelted at him by a savage crowd gone insane?
And here was I, standing at the
very stunning, imposing entrance to a house, where once lived a power
hungry man.
This was this the doorway from which he had
strutted into his residence, drunk with power; the door from which he had sent
his daughter away to her doom, the door through which he had exited in fear and
was given up to an angry mob which treated him in the most humiliating manner, and then stoned him to death, in
front of the very temple and tank, which
he had constructed when he was at pinnacle of his power.
Life had come full circle for Ghashiram. His
despicable rise to power was matched by his equally steep descent to oblivion.
Even during the British period, the main portions of the house were dismantled to make way for the expansion of the city.
Even during the British period, the main portions of the house were dismantled to make way for the expansion of the city.
300 years later, despite lashing tropical rains
and blazing sun, there stands with great dignity, a small remnant of a
magnificent structure. While it commands unqualified respect from
those who get to see it, it also leaves them with a deep sense
of sadness, when they remember the tragedies that befell Ghashiram Kotwal.
