The eden gardens

What better project for a historian than an itinerary of gardens? For more than a decade my research has drawn me to gardens across India, from Mysore to Darjeeling, from Mumbai to Konark. But gardens are among the most ephemeral of creations. We do know that Indian gardens have long embraced all the senses equally — the brilliant colours of coxcomb and marigold, the sound of songbirds and sprays of water, the smells of jasmine and blossoming fruit trees. One longs in vain, however, for more precise descriptions of the garden cities of Ayodhya or Ravana’s Lanka. When the author of the Kama Sutra instructs the well-bred young man to be familiar with gardening, what did he have in mind? Even the original plantings in the parterres of the Taj Mahal are only partially known. But doffing my historian’s cap in favour of that of the traveller, here are several of my own favourites.

Emperor’s plot

The gardens of Kashmir dotting the shores of Dal Lake must top any list. Shalimar, the ‘paradise within a paradise’, was conceived by the Emperor Jahangir and his wife Nur Jahan, and embellished by his son Shah Jahan. Although Jahangir was a cruel and dissolute prince, he was obsessed with the natural world — and with Kashmir. He would rather lose all his empire, he declared, than Kashmir. More and more he left the duties of state in the hands of his adored and capable wife to devote himself to the study of plants and the making of gardens.

Like many Mughal gardens, Shalimar has been ‘anglicised’ with its lawns, flowerbeds and topiary, and is approached now by road rather than by the original canal from the lake. Nevertheless, it retains its basic layout: the succession of pavilioned terraces with their watercourses and fountains, set against a backdrop of mountains. In the Diwan-i-Am, the Hall of Public Audience, straddling the cascading water above the first level of the garden, the emperor once held forth on this black marble throne. Above this come two terraces, the last climaxing in the zenana garden with its beautiful black marble pavilion. At night, lamps were lit in the little niches behind the waterfalls — perhaps, they still are on special occasions. Majestic chinars border the pathways along the channels, interspersed with an abundance of bright flowers and masses of contrasting white alyssum. On a Sunday the crowds of women in their colourful attire add magic to the scene.

Sprawling greens

Shalimar inspired Sir Mirza Ismail, Dewan of Mysore, to create his own terraced garden far to the south in 1927. The Brindavan Gardens were conceived as a complement to the newly built Krishnarajasagara Dam on the Kaveri River. Like Shalimar, it is laid out in three terraces gently sweeping down the hillside. In addition to extensive (perhaps too extensive) lawns and fountains, it boasts ficus trees, shrubs and luxuriant bursts of celosia, marigold, bougainvillea and other flowering plants, as well as animal-shaped topiary, pergolas and gazebos.

At the top of the hill is not a hall of private audience but a large white luxury hotel, intended to bring in enough revenue to support the gardens. When I last visited, much-needed renovations were underway. Since then the gardens have been outfitted with psychedelic jets of water synchronised with digitised music. One does wonder what Sir Mirza would make of it all! With or without the light show, they are testimony to Mirza’s belief that the populace needs open space and access to nature as much as food and shelter. As the inscription reads:

You’re nearer god’s heart in a garden,

Than anywhere else on earth.

Handmaidens of nature

The Saheliyon-ki-Bari in Udaipur is a quite different garden. It was created by an 18th-century raja for his wife and the 48 maidens who came with her as part of her dowry — a place to get away from it all, to escape from the intrigues of the palace. It is pleasantly un-geometric, with meandering walkways, lush undergrowth, and numerous pools and fountains. One of the pools is thick with lotuses, another has a kiosk in the centre with baluster columns. Everywhere sprays of water fill the air. Marble elephants and other animals and birds adorn the water features, more in the European than Indian manner. Although it has its quota of lawns and hedges, there are few open vistas; the dominant impression is of a monsoon garden with its enveloping shrubs and trees. To be sure, bougainvillea, rather a cliché in Indian gardens these days, grow rampant — but what bougainvillea!

(eugenia w herbert’s last book was Flora’s Empire on ‘garden imperialism’ in India)

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