Bombay to Beijing by Bicycle by Russell McGilton Read Free Book Online Page A

Raja Bhillamraj, Daulatabad is a fortress carved out of a cliff face. But the fortress wasn’t known merely for this natural geological feature: it was infamous for its array of booby traps, moats, unclimbable walls and sheer sadistic ingenuity. It was the whispered talk of soldiers’ nightmares, a veritable hell, and was thought for many years to be impregnable until the Sultan of Delhi invaded it in 1308. Even today it seems an impossible accomplishment, and I was mindful of this as my guide led me past two huge doors with long horizontal spikes.
    ‘These are to stop elephants charging,’ said the guide. ‘But the enemy is thinking it is possible to get in, so they sacrifice camels onto the spikes. But once past here they have two doors; one big one and a smaller one. Of course, the enemy thinks that he must take the bigger one, as surely this is the way into the city. But no, my friend. It is a trap. It is a dead end and men with hot oil lay in wait for them. Notice the path as we go? It is staggered in steps and turns so that the elephant cannot get a run up.’
    We continued on and he directed me onto a shaky ladder leading up a turret. He remained on the ground and called up to me.
    ‘You see the cannon? See how beautifully carved it is? It is the Kila Shikan. You see that the cannon can only be moved 180 degrees. This is so that if it were captured it could not be turned and used on the palace. They think of everything!’
    Down a small tunnel, a torchbearer led the way over steps.
    ‘If they got past the gates and the cannon and the hot oil and then went down into these caves, they would find themselves impaled on spikes laid on the steps.’
    He said something to the torchbearer, who then blew out the light, leaving us in complete darkness.
    ‘Imagine trying to attack your enemy and you cannot see him? Here there are two tunnels. The enemy think they go in different directions, but no. They connect and so they end up killing each other. Magnificent, yes?’
    The torchbearer flicked a match and we could see again. A window of light shot into the middle of the darkness.
    ‘Once they had realised they were killing each other, they would stop then head to this light. As their eyes tried to adjust to the light, the palace guards would attack them. Very clever!’
    The guide led me out of the cave through a narrow opening.
    ‘See how you have to move your head out first? A guard would be standing here to chop your head off. Come.’
    ‘Not exactly The House of Fun, is it?’
    ‘Oh, no, no, no! Tis not fun!’
    We were outside now, the sun blinding.
    ‘The palace is on the top of that cliff; it has been carved flat so that iguanas could not climb up.’
    ‘Iguanas?’
    ‘Yes, they were used to secure ropes for the men. But this is too steep for them; no grip with the claw. In the moat they kept the crocodiles. You had to cross it to reach the Bala Kot citadel. At the top you can see the Baradi residence of the queen, Yadavi. You may go to the top. I am an old man, as you can see, so I will not join you. Goodbye and I hope you enjoy India.’
    The ‘old man’ turned and bounced vigorously down the narrow steps. Perhaps it wasn’t the several flights of stairs that had sent him packing but the rush of loud, happy schoolchildren tearing down towards me. They pushed past, laughing and pointing at me and my big, cumbersome SLR camera.
    Some years after the first invasion, the Sultan Muhammad Tughlak ascended the Delhi throne. Tughlak was so impressed with nasty little Daulatabad that he ordered the entire population of Delhi to move to the new capital. No one was exempt, and thousands died on the way. Fifteen years later the Sultan, having had his fill of this place, suddenly changed his mind about the new address and ordered the whole population to move back to Delhi.
    Outside the fortress, I went to my bike, which I had left locked up at a police traffic gazebo and in the care of three boys hawking