IT started with a phone call in 1997. Amita Baig, then Director, Heritage Division, INTACH, Delhi asked if we, the Architectural Conservation Cell were interested in restoring the cracks in the walls of the Maheshwar fort. Amita was instrumental in introducing me to Richard Holkar, and his problem: the foundation of the fort wall directly below his living section of the palace in Maheshwar near Indore had become dangerously weak. And the funds available for restoration work were meagre.

In an adventurous mood, I took the flight to Indore intending to be back in Mumbai for dinner. ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Rashid saab, a close friend of Richard’s. ‘No one goes to Maheshwar for the day,’ he added before postponing the return ticket. I gave in only to get an opportunity of a lifetime!

It was Mahashivratri, when thousands of devotees throng the great Ahileshwar ghats in full attendance, greeting one and all with Narmade Har. On the ghats (loud)speakers were belting out instructions/warnings to the thronging devotees in all the three languages of the region.

Richard, as per tradition, left to partake prasadam from the priests while we were treated to what was the beginning of an exposure to sheer class, gourmet hospitality at its best. It was clear that only the most authentic things would do here. The hurriedly prepared daal and vegetables by the 85-year old cook Rajaram was divine, giving me a foretaste of the epicurean wonders to come. Rajaram is no longer alive but his many gourmet meals since then live on in my memory.

Over the course of the day, I learned a great deal about the Nimad region and the town of Maheshwar. It is magnificently situated on the north bank of the holy Narmada on the confluence of the cultures of Gujarat, Maharashtra and Malwa.

Lunch was followed by a conducted tour of the fort, both within and without. We were taken through the ramparts and parts of the waada (a Maharashtrian term for traditional houses built with timber frames enclosing mud/brick walls plastered with mud-mathi/lime plaster and sloping roofs originally made of half round clay tiles over bamboo. These were subsequently replaced by tiles placed over GI sheets imported from England in the mid-fifties). Most of the waadas had remained uninhabited for over a century and were taken over by bats and snakes and covered with overgrown vegetation.

 

 

There is an old cloth painting showing the Rajwaada with all the buildings intact. Many of these have since collapsed or were knocked down somewhere down the line. In what has now become a bagicha – a kitchen garden (where Richard grows exotic plants, vegetables, herbs and fruits) – once stood many buildings, remnants of whose foundations can be seen everywhere.

Against the western rampart we found a mountain of rubble shaded by a large tree. The wall had developed fairly large diagonal cracks as a result of pressure created by a large and permanent patch of damp. In addition, water seepage from the base of the foundation had further loosened the soft core of the fort walls.

On removing this soggy heap we discovered that the core of the fort walls was grouted with limesand slurry. The top brick masonry had been redone, the corners rounded and the cracks were stitched with miniature brick masonry making for discontinuity. These repairs were evidently inspired by earlier restorations carried out on the fort walls, presumably after the fierce battle that saw the Holkar army take over the fort in the early 18th century. At that time the existing smaller fort, reputedly built by Akbar, was repaired and enlarged: ramparts, turrets and bastions were added, all in brick, in the Martha tradition, by the Holkars.

 

 

These repairs are like precision works of art, constituting textbook material recommended for those who study the restoration of medieval fort walls. Some significant features of the Holkar’s ‘modernized’ fort are the turrets with gun slots to shoot at wide and close range, and wartime toilets at a height of 50 feet, held up by cantilevered stone beams. One such beam was broken, increasing the likelihood of the turret coming down. By using daring methods, RCC precast beams had been inserted in place of the broken stone bracket. Though not authentic, the RCC precast beams have stood the test of time and, fortunately, do not come across as an eyesore.

The cavity in the fort wall below Richard’s room was ominous in light of the flood marks seen earlier on the ghat. An improvised ‘underpinning’ of the foundation was done with RCC pillars, structural heavy steel sections and stone masonry, and the gaps were filled with shrinkage compensated special grouts. We learned to do without a ‘hard rock strata’, the textbook prescription for foundations, because there is no hard rock in Nimad! Instead, the foundation rests over compacted silt, a fact which would confound foundation engineers.

My only regret is that we lacked the courage to work in lime mortar, which is the way it should have been done. Those were early days for us and we were unsure about the capacity of lime mortar to perform under Narmada floods. We should have learned from the tons of existing, wonderfully performing hydraulic lime mortars on the ghats, temples, and fort walls going back to the 18th century.

Though the repair work carried out has performed well over the past five years, it lacks the aesthetic quality achieved by the inner crack stitching of brick masonry. Likewise, we never quite realised the significance of colour matching lime mortar till we finished crack stitching of stone turrets, because the white of the lime could be seen for miles. Richard was sensitive to the need for correct detailing to send the right signal to visitors and well-wishers and was clear about what worked and what didn’t. Fortunately these streaks are slowly fading. Good repair work should be hard to spot and when done must win aesthetic appreciation.

 

 

The restoration of a part of the fort walls and foundations was completed in 2-3 months in slow-paced Maheshwar, the initial skepticism making way for healthy curiosity. Our lime chakki (a circular pit over which rolls a heavy mill stone pulled by oxen) is a visual treat bringing back the romance of building construction. Traditional ingredients of black jaggery syrup, wood resins, preparation of lime and mortar was seen as reviving a dinosaur. Our link man for communicating with the cynical locals was the venerable 80-year old Poonamchandji, whom we called the chief engineer of the Holkars in the Rajwaada. A simple and hard working man with an astute understanding of the waada structures, he approved of our approach and soon learnt to duplicate the better efforts of our imported team from Mumbai and elsewhere.

Having identified the conservation resources, Richard and other co-trustees were encouraged to take a fresh look at the property in its entirety with a view to preserving this tremendous heritage for future generations. Our team of young architects and engineers was tasked with preparing the architectural drawings, assessing the condition and estimating the required expenses.

This was the conservation professional’s version of ‘starting from zero’. Half the places were inaccessible and inhospitable. Bats, millions of them, resided in all parts and snakes were common.

The Rajwaada is an endless series of waada’s with lovely names like Ahilya waada, Poshak waada, Lingarchan waada, Farashkhana, Nagarkhana, and recently Rajaram waada (named in honour of Rajaram, Richard’s faithful cook). The many waadas, each separated by courtyards invariably with a huge neem tree in its centre, flow into each other, appearing a seamless whole. The task was accomplished and has since become the backbone for the exciting activities that followed. Our team loved the experience.

 

 

Unfortunately, during the next rains half of Lingarchan waada leaned outwards by a meter or so and we had to rush to hold it together. Evidently, the problem had been caused by a combination of the leaning waada and the damp resulting from the vegetation in the basement leading to a decay of the hidden timber connections. The structure was pulled back, walls reconstructed and the space is now being used for lecture demonstrations by artists, for meditation, painting and so on.

We then initiated the ambitious restoration of Ahilya waada, the principal structure, where Ahilya Masaab, as the queen is reverentially addressed, lived/ruled after the demise of the king. On the ground floor of the inner courtyard is the Ahilya gaddi (royal seat), where prayers are offered even now. The south wing behind the gaddi is the family’s temple complex called ‘Devpuja’ where daily full-fledges prayers are held by the head priest Vinayakji, a sight to behold.

 

 

The waada is built of wooden columns usually of Kalia wood called ‘musli’, 8x8 inches teakwood beams called ‘paat’, connected by wooden brackets called ‘titwa’, while the roof sheets rest over wooden poles called ‘aada’. The Maheshwar way of carpentry is unique. They use what looks like a small axe called ‘basula’ to plane timber, a shocking sight to our Kerala carpenters who use more conventional (British?) tools. The result is an unusual wood finish, very different from the more machine-perfected one.

Damp caused by seepage from the enlarged holes in the roof sheets had made the otherwise safe maati (clay mortar) over the timber floor wet, resulting in a decay of the timber. The ‘aada’ supporting the roofing sheets was the worst affected, followed by the attic timber and the first floor. The crack-free, cool and free maati flooring made of local silty soil, gobar and some resins is a wonderful material but needs high maintenance. It cannot handle damp.

Some of the main timber beams at the ground floor had also decayed. Consequently, masonry supports had to be erected below decayed beams. Most importantly, the structural integrity of the timber framed building was not respected by earlier restorers. Often times they had treated the building as if it were a load-bearing structure that converts tensile load to compression and transfers it to the ground. Timber frame structures are tensile structures that distribute the load amongst its infinite joints. Some beams and columns were cut without realizing the repercussion. No wonder the remaining beams had sagged due to uneven distribution of loads supported by even more masonry. As such, the ground floor of the Ahilya waada tended to be full of walls supported by decayed beams! All attempts to make a bathroom on the first floor of the waada failed, only adding to the problem of damp.

 

 

The first step in restoring the waada was to understand the basic timber structure and to undo past mistakes, ensure full timber frame connectivity and attend to long-pending roof and timber restoration works. The structural arrangement has a 1.2 metre thick hollow core wall in the middle of the building in timber with the cavity enclosing stairs to reach the next floor. I was fascinated by this ‘cavity wall concept’, though worried about the amount of timber needed for restoration work and the costs involved. After some exploration we discovered that a considerable amount of excellent timber was available in the region since people were busily demolishing traditional buildings to gratify themselves with new and haute concrete boxes. A wood bank from such accretions was established and used not only for the structural restoration work but for making copies of heritage furniture from the odd surplus pieces.

After a long time there were carpenters displaying actual carpentry skills lost to the plywood craft of today. The challenges were real and appreciation generous. The work helped restore pride among carpenters, masons and painters who were challenged to show their traditional skills of timber joinery, lime mortar plaster and the ageless lime finish.

Meanwhile the lime chakki runs on and has become a symbol of renewed trust in the ability of lime mortar. The ready mix lime mortar ‘maal’ was central to all repair work in the Rajwaada and was ably used by Poonamchand, Laxmandada and others in all building and repair work. Cement is a rarity in the Rajwaada today. Unfortunately, most others assuming it to be unaffordable (as it is used by the Prince) do not use it.

Many local boys learnt traditional crafts on site and were keen to accompany us to other sites in Chennai and Baroda. All of them have since been absorbed into our various projects and continue to do us proud with their skill.

 

 

The main waadas have been structurally restored over the past 3-4 years. The rotten timber was replaced and the masonry rebuilt where in severe distress (using locally custom made to match the size, though not as good as the quality original pan tile bricks). For some waadas, including main areas of Ahilya waada, Poshak waada and Lingarchan waada, old paint was removed from the wood and new finishing carried out with varnishes and kajli. The walls were lime washed and the flooring was finished with clay tiles over lime brick. Wattle and daub (mud over bamboo wattles) walls were made to create flexible and suitable partition walls. The original pink colour and murals emerged while removing the past lime wash layers. These have been left untouched.

This was a part of what was considered ‘essential’ to the restoration programme – leaving much of the interior presentation intact for a later date depending on the end use envisaged for the space in the future. However, there is too little activity in many of the waadas. This continues to be a problem – of finding compatible and viable use for the waadas.

One initiative towards helping to create a self-sustainable conservation programme, while keeping the integrity and essence of the Rajwaada, was the creation of ‘Fort Ahilya’, a heritage hotel.

 

 

In restoring the Poshak waada, hitherto lying unused, we went beyond normal structural restoration into issues of redefining heritage buildings for (commercial) use of like-minded visitors who come in search of eternal beauty and solace. In the restoration of Poshak waada we were inadvertently drawn into issues of interior decoration; the end result has elicited varied reactions ranging from great appreciation to dismay.

The Rajwaada is a green oasis enclosed in the fort walls. It has the appearance of a botanical garden with plant nurseries growing zucchini, parsnip, basil, lime, brussels sprouts, chikoos, papaya and avocado – a miracle of organic farming using natural compost and drip irrigation. Recently a small swimming pool, lined with old carved stones to reduce the modernity of the intervention, has been built in the bagicha. The Rajwaada has been transformed, some say too much, others too fast. Nevertheless, I feel that we were successful in adhering to basic principles of conservation, ensuring that the work did not result in an irreversible intervention.

This could well be among the largest long term conservation programmes in full adherence to internationally accepted principles anywhere in India at private initiative (no government funding or expertise is involved). A wise man remarked, ‘Thank god we don’t have too much money.’ What really helped and worked was the trust built in understanding the problem, the methodology of conservation, and the free hand provided to tackle matters. Maheshwar served as a conservation classroom for all us.