Crossings
AMARAVATI, THE mythical capital of Lord Indra, is said to be a place of magnificent palaces and magical gardens, floating somewhere up there in a distant galaxy far away from us, with soma-drunk gods doing what they enjoy doing the most - watching scantily clad apsaras swaying to the tunes of Gandharvas, the celestial musicians.
Andhra Pradesh chief minister Chandrababu Naidu didn't promise Indra's abode when he announced over two years ago that his state's new capital on the southern bank of Krishna would be called Amaravati. Naidu had pledged it would be the "most beautiful" state capital in the country with swanky buildings, boulevards, riverways, water parks, gardens, golf courses, what not.
But he had a change of heart recently. He perhaps felt the need for a bit of a mythical implant to the proposed city. Enter S.S. Rajamouli, director of the blockbuster Baahubali, who will bring in a bit of Mahishmati, the imaginary capital in the film, to Amaravati. One may expect huge domes, towering statues and imposing colonnades, and maybe horse-drawn carriages too.
The initial excitement of the new capital has ebbed among the people, though Naidu is trying to find ways to keep the fire burning. Even so, what shape the capital will ultimately take, and when, is not something that is making them break into cold sweat.
Rajamouli need not rush with his plans either as the evidence of this dream of a capital emerging from the lush green fields, orchards and sleepy villages is, at best, scanty. An estimated Rs 60,000 crore would be needed to complete just the first phase within the next two years. But despite the state government trying every trick in the book to amass funds, progress has been exceptionally slow.
"What Amaravati... we don't even have the money to create an Ameerpet," complains an official. Ameerpet is a commercial hub in Hyderabad, Telangana's capital, which has risen rapidly in recent years with five-star hotels, plush office buildings, malls and markets.
Never underestimate Naidu, his supporters warn. This is, after all, Andhra, and Telugu film heroes from this region can do anything. They can duck bullets fired at them from behind their backs, break a villain's spine like a twig and send 10 people flying in different directions with just one kick.
Meantime, Naidu has plonked his transitional headquarters at Velagapudi, midway between Vijayawada and Amaravati.
The atmosphere outside the temporary headquarters is no different from any government office in any part of India. From a poor couple pleading before an official to write off of their loan to a group of villagers demanding the government return their lands that were acquired a few months ago to an official trying to stall his transfer.
As the sun sets, Velagapudi wears a deserted look with its daytime occupants emptying into the towns of Guntur, Tenali and Vijayawada. Every morning and evening, officials cross over the Prakasam barrage, exiting and entering Vijayawada, making it the most popular destination of the three.
But the bureaucracy has found ways to entertain itself in the new setting. Vijayawada has all the trappings of a major city with large malls, scores of cinema halls and hundreds of jewellery showrooms. I find a group of government officials, freshly transferred from Hyderabad, with their families at a mall in Labbipet area of the city.
While the men slip away to check out the latest gadgets, the women, most of them in bright saris and jewellery, decide to try their hand at bowling. After some effort and with a bit of help from their children, they slip into the bowling shoes and are all ready to smash the nine pins. But there is a slight problem. Most of them cannot hold the ball in one hand, leave alone throwing it. But they all seem to be having fun.
A few years from now, Amaravati may rise and perhaps outshine Vijayawada. But for now people just want to get on with their lives. Let Naidu do all the dreaming.
V. Kumara Swamy
