India: Marvels & Mysteries | Full Episode | Episode 4 | Great Stones

Thousands of years in the making, unearthed from the depths of the past, are tales of an untold history. In high valleys, burning wastelands, and the thickest of jungles, lie incredible stories of India. Her marvels and mysteries. On this episode, first, a giant jigsaw puzzle of shattered stones, the lost temples of Bateswara, once home to dangerous decoys. Then, South India's Hoysaleswara temple and its unexplained precision. What secrets do its 900-year-old stones hide? And the mighty stone fortress of Jinji in Tamil Nadu, a geological wonder coveted by all, conquered by greed. Both banks of the Chambal River on the border of Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh, are crisscrossed with ravines. Formed by the natural erosion of the loose soil typical to this area, this is a vast network of inhospitable canyons and gorges. A gigantic maze. The Chambal Badlands, the perfect hideout for gangs of decoys, where even police forces feared to tread. These desperados knew the lay of the land. Vigilant, armed and ready to take down intruders. They ruled the roost till the early 21st century, when the law caught up with them. One of the last of the infamous bandit leaders was Nirbhay Singh Gurjar. He operated near the village of Morena. One of his favorite hideouts was the ruins of an ancient temple complex. Deep in the Chambal Valley, these are the temples of Bateswara. A name derived from Bhuteshwar, a form of Shiva, the destroyer. The lost temple complex consisted of almost 200 sandstone structures. Possibly the largest number of temples at any one spot in India. The first of these structures was built almost 1300 years ago by the Gurjara Prathihara dynasty. Over the next 200 years, more temples were added. At its peak, the Gurjara Prathihara kings created an empire that stretched from Gujarat to northern Bengal. They built the Bateswara group of temples about 35 kilometers north of Gwalior and about 30 kilometers east of Morena town. But Bateswara was doomed. In the 13th century, a devastating earthquake flattened the place. The ruins became a mystical spot, avoided by most except the decoyates of the Chambal. It had a mystery of its own. It was breathing some kind of spirit. But the question is how to get into that place and how to carry out the conservation work. Neither the local people nor the government had the courage to do it. But Nirbhay Gurjara and his men were as God-fearing as they were dangerous. Despite their crimes and killings, the outlaws revered the ancient ruins and its deities. Nirbhay Gurjara and his men were worshippers of Shiva. Their devotion became Bateswara's protection. They actually conserved and preserved those temples. And especially you have beautiful pieces of Brahma, Vishnu, Mahesh, all the goddesses and goddesses there. If they were not there, all these beautiful sculptures and icons would have been taken by smugglers. So in fact it was because these people were there, all these monuments, all these sculptures were also protected. Built around a kund or water body, most of the temples at Bateswara are dedicated to Shiva, Vishnu and Shakti. Some are small, at only 5 feet. Others stand over 50 feet high. By the 10th century, Bateswara was a cluster of some of the most beautiful temples in India. But after the earthquake, it was reduced to rubble and restoration was fraught with danger. In 2005, a channel of communication was established with the Dacoits. Representatives of the Archaeological Survey of India arranged meetings at the bandit hideout in the Bateswara ruins. They had entered the lion's den to meet the fearsome Nirbhay Singh Gurjar. The officials assured the Dacoit that their intentions were only to restore the sacred temples. They meant no harm to him and his men. Gurjar agreed to allow the experts in. Perhaps he knew that his days as a Dacoit would end soon and he was atoning for past sins. The bandit leader had given his word. Now the conservation of Bateswara could begin. Restoring the temples was a challenge like no other. The complex was a pile of shattered stones. A gigantic jigsaw puzzle. How would the archaeological team do it? Where would they begin? I just looked back and I saw some of the stones lying there. But these were unusual stones. Then we saw a small pillar base and the pillar was lying just by the side of it. So that gave us the initial clue. This is the temple entrance gate. And so it began. Thousand-year-old stone slabs, pillars and idols were matched to corresponding temples. That done, the reassembly of the structures would take place. Bit by bit, the lost temples began to reappear. One day I was moving from one place to another place and in one of the temples I saw a man smoking. I became angry and I asked him, are you not ashamed of smoking in a temple area? He looked at me very seriously. The superintending archaeologist was unaware that he was ticking off none other than the dreaded Nirbhay Singh Gurjar. For the first time I realised that I am in front of the most wanted decoit of the area. The situation could rapidly go out of control. And then I said that God has sent you with some purpose. He became very curious. What is that purpose? And then I said, Sir, your name is Nirbhay Singh Gurjar which means you belong to that great Gurjar Pradihara dynasty and it is exactly because of this thing God has sent you for the protection of this site. So that was ultimately how I could win the trust of these people. It's taken eight years to restore about 80 of Bateswara's temples. While the temples have found a new lease of life, the days of the decoits have ended, hunted down one by one. And finally our friend, Nirbhay Singh Gurjar, he was also shot dead and that was a very bad moment for us. He had met with his fate for whatever he had done earlier. But at the same time we all felt really sorry for that. The temples of Bateswara are forgotten no more. They are among India's great treasures. As the restoration continues, more temples shall emerge from the scattered stones, perhaps revealing new facts about our past. In Karnataka, on the Deccan Plateau, lies a beautiful stretch of land, once called Diwar Samudra. For 300 years, this was the capital of the ancient Hoysala Empire. But in the 14th century, armies of the Delhi Sultans invaded and destroyed the city. Fortunately, some temples outside the capital, now the town of Hale Bidu, survived the plunder. Among them is Hoysaleswara temple, beautiful, mysterious. Its stone sculptures and carvings have baffled experts with their detail and complexity. Its pillars have been built with such precision that they appear to have been made with modern machine tools. Yet Hoysaleswara is 900 years old. It was a time of the greatest of the Hoysala kings. He was first known as Bitti Deva and was a follower of the Jain faith. But he was greatly influenced by a Hindu philosopher, Ramanujacharya. The great sage convinced the Jain king to adopt new beliefs. And so, in the early 12th century, he converted to the Hindu Vaishnav sect. He also changed his name to Vishnu Vardhana. Under him, Hoysala became an independent Karnataka Empire. Hoysaleswara temple is almost halfway between Bengaluru and Bangalore. It stands on the outskirts of Hale Bidu, near the city of Hassan. King Vishnu Vardhana was a patron of many great architectural projects. One of the finest is the temple of Hoysaleswara. Hoysaleswara has two identical chambers that stand side by side. One for Vishnu Vardhana and the other for his queen, Shantala Devi. Vishnu Vardhana was believed to be more than a warrior king. He was an intellectual under whom literature and the arts flourished. Queen Shantala was known to be an accomplished dancer. The Hoysaleswara temple is dedicated to her as much as it is to her husband. The building is raised on an elevated platform. Upon this platform are 12 carved stone layers. No cement or mortar is used to bind these layers. They are made of interlocking stones, a clever technique used almost a millennia ago. It is not clear how the builders conceptualized and drafted the temple's building plan. Could they have experimented with wooden blocks or scaled models? No records for any blueprints have ever been found. The interlocking stone building techniques they adopted not only impressed the king, but have stood the test of time. Almost a thousand years later, the temple still stands strong. Hundreds of exquisite sculptures adorn the exterior walls, depicting scenes of life in those times, as well as from stories in Hindu mythology. Hoysaleswara is a Shaivite temple, yet it makes place for Vishnu and other Hindu deities. The carving is on soapstone that is soft when quarried and hardens with time. This allowed the artisans to create shapes of incredible detail. But inside, the craftsmanship is simply jaw-dropping. In the dim interiors stand statues of Shiva, the destroyer, each carved from single blocks of stone. The sculptural details defy logic. Skulls adorn Shiva's crown, each just about an inch wide, yet mysteriously. The inside of these tiny spheres have been perfectly hollowed out, allowing light to pass from the eye holes to the mouth through to the ears. How were these tiny spaces made hollow using hand tools a thousand years ago? The questions don't end here. The Hoysaleswara pillars, made from singular blocks of stone, are an enigma. Their perfect circular grooves indicate that they have not been made with chisel and hammer. Experts agree that these were possibly made by a machine tool called a lathe. Lathes are machines that turn an object on a fixed axis of rotation. Pressure can then be applied to it to create a symmetrical shape or pattern. In today's times, lathes are an integral part of most industries. But how did ancient Indians rotate huge pieces of stone? What machine did they use? To believe that a Hoysala temple was built with something inferior to the lathe, because lathe is the best tool available today, I think would be kind of undermining the human mind. To think that what we know today is the ultimate in the journey of the human mind and something else different didn't exist, that would be quite the opposite of the cleverness of the human mind. There are no conclusive explanations. Theories abound. Some go so far to suggest that this is not the work of humans at all. Hoysaleswara remains one of southern India's finest architectural marvels. Parallel to the east coast of south India are the eastern Ghats. Stretching southwards from Odisha, these low hills end in Tamil Nadu. On them stands an architectural marvel, the fortress complex of Jinji. Located in the south Arcut region in Villupuram district, Jinji is 160 kilometers southwest of the capital city of Chennai. Its location was strategic. Holders of this fort controlled the lucrative trade routes that led to and from crucial seaports like Puducherry. Its vantage point was coveted by many. Over a thousand years, the fort has hosted the Konar kings, the Cholas, the Vijayanagara rulers. In 1677, the great Maratha Chhatrapati Shivaji captured Jinji when his empire extended southwards. While their war with the Mughals raged on many fronts, the Marathas resisted them at Jinji for eight long years. The longest siege laid by any Mughal army in history. Eventually, in 1698, Jinji fell to Emperor Aurangzeb's generals. The Mughals appointed a Khiladar, or fort commander. In return for his military services, Raja Swaroop Singh, a Bundela chieftain, controlled Jinji for 14 years in the name of the Mughals. After him, command passed to his son, Tej Singh. The Jinji complex consists of a series of structures within a three-kilometer perimeter. Three fortifications built over three hills protect a palace citadel in the valley below. Among the hill forts, two were strategically vital. Rajagiri and Krishnagiri. Militarily, Rajagiri, at 800 feet high, was unassailable by enemy troops. Any person sitting on the fort can see any troops approaching within a distance of 10 to 12 kilometers. And if a weapon system is deployed on it, the weapon system can take on any enemy approaching to the maximum ranges. It has sheer cliffs on all sides, which means that infantry cannot assault the feature in a standard formation. In today's warfare, we call it a cliff-chop assault. Not more than eight to 10 troops can mount an attack on a feature like that. The only entry path was over a narrow bridge across a ravine. In years past, this was a collapsible device. The bridge could be raised, cutting off access when required. A little over a kilometer away is the other hill citadel, Krishnagiri. It isn't as high as Rajagiri, but just as formidable. The fort is placed amidst a mammoth rock slide, a geological deterrent. There are huge boulders, starting from the top right to the bottom. The rocks would not allow any form of mobile troops, whether it was in horses or any other way, to mount an assault onto the feature. Jinji was no ordinary citadel. It was a strategic asset to anyone who desired control of this part of the peninsula. By the middle of the 18th century, the British and the French began competing for control of large parts of the south of India. The shadow of foreign rule began falling across the region. As the Mughal Empire collapsed, the British began to connive with the Nawabs of the southern states. As British influence grew, so did their greed. And the locals paid handsomely to keep them on their side. In only a few years, large parts of the south, including Jinji, found new overlords. The British East India Company. Today, the mighty fort of Jinji stands lonely and forgotten, its stories of battle and siege scattered to the wind. Centuries of history still buried beneath its stones.