Mandu was originally founded in the Sixth Century by a Rajput warrior prince, it passed in and out of several dynasties, but is best remembered for the romantic story of Rani Roopamati and Baz Bahadur, lovers of music and of each other. Roopamati's Pavilion atop a hill, with its exquisite arched cupolas, turrets and balconies looks down on the palace of Baz Bahadur. Imagine then that liquid voice pouring out melodies on a moonlit night! Our guide standing picturesquely on a balcony sang us a fragment of ghazal, which sent shivers up and down the spine! He also conducted a muted conversation with village children, down below and far away. Unbelievable! The sound systems, loudspeakers and mikes of modern technology are a sad regression from earlier ability. Baz Bahadur also built the Rewa Kund to hold the waters of the Narmada for Roopamati's pleasure. Madhya Pradesh was said to be a State filled with lakes and streams, now these are sadly depleted. Of course you are told "visit during the monsoon", but if you can't the imagination is quite useful.

Mandu is encircled by 45 miles of wall with 12 gates, from the Delhi to the Bhangi Dharwazas, which are in various stages of disrepair. Entering the fort complex we found the Jahaz Mahal or Ship Palace which stood between two artificial lakes. The one is quite dried up and the other struggles for survival with weeds, plants, animals and polluting man. It is an impressive structure, 360 feet long in two story's, with a swimming pool on the terrace and a rain water saving scheme! It was built by a Sultan who had a 1,600 strong harem; while this speaks much for his sexual prowess, his aesthetic prowess should also be noted. The elegant Hindola Mahal with its sloping walls and molded columns; the underground vaulted rooms with hot and cold water, and air conditioned effects, the baolis or wells bear ample testimony to this.

Hoshang Shah's Tomb is both magnificent and charming. The marble lattice work, the enormous domes, the numerous pillars, arches and bays are stupendous.

Everywhere you turn on the drive you see the ruins of old grandeur, buildings large and small, the crumbling hastened by village dwellers whose huts brazenly sport hewn slabs from the nearby chatri or memorial. The poverty and simplicity of these tribals defies description.

 

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