Forgotten civilization in a rocky land
Exquisite monuments, impressive landscape add to Hampi’s charm
Most people don’t associate the monuments of Hampi, left over from a once-thriving civilization in a remote corner of the South Indian state of Karnataka, with the same level of grandeur as the Taj Mahal or Old Delhi. But they should. My parents joined me in Hampi, the 43rd stop of my trip around the world. I was confronted by my own ignorance about the place, but took comfort in the fact that my father, who is from Mumbai, was also unaware of its significance and beauty.
Hampi is not easy to get to — and that made it feel as if I was being shown an archeological secret. The nearest major cities, Goa and Bengaluru, are around 320 kilometres away.
Until the recent introduction of daily direct flights to the nearby city of Ballari, travellers had to drive for six hours, take an even longer bus or opt for an overnight train trip. The newfound accessibility is the reason the site made this year’s list of 52 Places to Go.
Hampi is home to more than 1,000 monuments and temples from the Vijayanagara Empire, one of the last southern Hindu kingdoms, which ruled a large swath of South India from the 14th century until succumbing to invasions from northern sultanates in the 16th century. The ruins are spread over 41 square kilometres near the banks of the Tungabhadra River.
Today, the remarkably wellpreserved remains at the site of the kingdom’s capital are part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site and a destination for Hindu pilgrims.
The walled royal compounds, the giant temples, the market stalls that line what must have once been bustling avenues — they all had me asking a single question: how do so few people know about this chapter in Indian history?
Traces of modernity, like the autorickshaws that shuttle tourists between sites for inflated fares, feel out of place.
The grey langurs — who treat the monuments like their personal playgrounds — paid little attention to passing tourists, but competed with them for prime sunset-viewing spots like on Hemakuta Hill.
Just as impressive as the monuments is the landscape that glows around it. Arriving just after the monsoon, we encountered Hampi at its greenest, when it was easy to imagine how nature kept these ruins largely hidden until the 19th century.
To fully appreciate the scale of the site, we climbed up two of Hampi’s biggest hills, Matanga and Anjanadri.
From there, we saw Hampi’s famous boulders, strewn across the landscape as if they had been poured out of some divine bucket.
The boulders, which also make Hampi a world-class rock-climbing destination, blend seamlessly into the greys and browns of the monuments.
But you have to get up close to appreciate the mind-boggling craftsmanship that has gone into every single detail, chiselled into the pillars and walls of Hampi’s temples.
And then, as if it’s not impressive enough, you remember that at one point, much of it was brightly painted in Technicolor vegetable dyes.
At the 15th-century Vittala Temple, one of Hampi’s most visited sites, scenes from the Ramayana feature prominently in wall carvings.
A short boat ride across the Tungabhadra River reveals another facet of Hampi’s appeal.
There, we rented motorbikes and rode through rice paddies to Sanapur Lake, where travellers and locals jumped off rocks into the refreshing water. On both sides of the river are small markets selling handicrafts and freshly pressed sugar-cane juice, economies built out of the tourism industry.
Touring Hampi’s sites and hearing for the first time of a robust civilization that attracted traders and thinkers from China to Portugal, I found myself thinking about why certain historical narratives get all the spotlight while others languish.
It was encouraging to see that the vast majority of tourists I encountered were Indian, visiting a place that might instil a historical pride that goes beyond the Mughal Empire or what the country has achieved since.
But Hampi, like so many places, is also experiencing the pressures of growing tourism, with new five-star resorts and tour companies attracting travellers previously turned off by its ruggedness.
Hampi is at a tipping point. I felt lucky to see it now when the biggest crowds were schoolchildren on field trips.
There are still temple ruins you can just stumble upon and walk into, as if you’re the first person seeing it for hundreds of years. With bigger crowds will come bigger controls; initials carved into centuries-old stone are already revealing the dangers of unfettered access.
What, I found myself thinking, will this place look like in 10 years? In 20?
Will it still be easy to imagine what came before?