Also Read
A sleepy little town in North Gujarat, Sidhpur has its rightful place both in history and mythology. It was here on the banks of the mythical Saraswati river the great warrior Parasurama performed the last rites of his mother. Thus, Sidhpur became a sacred pilgrimage among Hindu devotees honouring their maternal ancestors. For its special place in collective Hindu consciousness, Sidhpur came to be known as the ‘Kashi of the west’.
But today, the crowning glory of Sidhpur is the gorgeous European-styled architecture built over a century ago in the neighbourhood of Najampura, the ancestral place of the Dawood Bohras. A close-knit, prosperous trading community, they have significant presence in the cities of Mumbai, Ahmedabad and Calcutta. The successful migrants had built magnificent mansions in their hometown, Sidhpur.
The highway from Ahmedabad to Sidhpur cutting through the semi-arid countryside does not prepare you for the magic of Sidhpur. The new part of the town wears a drab and dusty look with its ubiquitous trading shops and non-descript houses (European in provenance, the Vohrawad houses belong to the wealthy Dawoodi Bohra community in picture). At a roadside sweet shop where we stop for a short break, the elderly owner explains how to reach the famous neighbourhood of Vohrawad.
A few minutes later, we get down from the car at the entrance of a small street and look in amazement at the unbroken line of delicately ornamented wood-brick-and-plaster houses lining both sides of the street. The houses are so similar in design and architecture that the elegant facades look more like magnificently decorated walls flanking the street, protecting it from the scorching mid-morning sun. In the diffused shadow, the cool pastel shades of the century-old mansions look almost chimerical. It’s like walking through a surreal street of a 19th-century Parisian neighbourhood, with perfectly aligned building blocks rising on sides, their scale and height immaculately synchronised.
With a closer and more attentive inspection, the strong European influence in the architecture of Vohrawad homes becomes more evident with their gabled roofs, ornate banisters, pilasters, columns and decorated doors and windows (The ornate and symmetric interiors speak an intimate oriental language with their beautiful motifs and designs in picture). The street plan also loosely resembles that of urban neighbourhoods of European cities; a well-planned grid organised around a main street that veers off into narrow side streets either terminating in blind alleys or looping back to rejoin the main thoroughfare at another point.
But amid all the subtle splendour, a sense of desolation is palpable. The streets wear a deserted look, with only an occasional passer-by here and there, casting a curious look at our motley group. Vohrawad, evidently, is not very used to visitors. I remember that just before we left Ahmedabad, the owner of our hotel had jokingly referred to Sidhpur as a ‘ghost town’.
As we wander deep through the settlement, a singular thing continue to pique us – the heaps of rubble strewn on the streets. At a street corner, we spot a pile of debris and our dismayed mutters brings an elderly bearded man out of a finely carved wooden door – the main entrance to an exquisitely beautiful house. He introduces himself as Mir Asgar Ali.
“This part of the country is fairly dry, but we face occasional cloudbursts,” Ali says and adds that these Bohra mansions are quite vulnerable to torrential rains that often leads to this wreckage. He politely asks if we would come inside. And in we go.
The door closes behind us with a rusty creak and we are plunged into a tobacco-coloured semi darkness (The interiors are often warped in a time capsule in picture). If the facades bear brilliant testimony of fantastically intricate and symmetric architecture, the ornate interiors speak an intimate oriental language with their dainty motifs and designs. While flowers and creepers are the prime decor of the expansive verandah, the balustrades form ornamental parapets resembling geometric designs.
The antique pieces of rosewood and mahogany furniture – dark-brown cabinets and cupboards, exquisitely designed corner pieces and majestic four-posters - are synchronised into the archaic charm. The painted Belgian glasses stand out among the brightly polished furniture reflecting the glory of a time long gone by.
Ali explains the rise and fall of Vohrawad; his baritone gently reverberating in the large room where we are seated. Migration of the Dawoodi Bohra community in search of greener pastures in big cities began about 150 years ago. It was the first-generation migrants, after setting up their trade successfully in their adopted cities, who had built most of Vohrawad’s majestic houses (The elegant facades of the houses are similar in design and architecture in picture). In some cases, their sons had built them with their father’s remittances. Family ties had been strong and the merchants regularly visited their hometown and invested in it. With passing of every generation, the migration included the women and children of the families to the adopted cities and old ties to the native land weakened.
The grand residences stood in majestic melancholy, stolid but forlorn, as sad reminders of a forgotten past. “Now these houses are either in the hands of caretakers or people like us, relatives of the original owners,” Mir Asgar Ali concludes. We finish our tea and prepare to leave. As we bid farewell to our affable host, Ali shows us an adroitly carved monogram on the wall beside the front door – a whimsical extravaganza of artistry with which the initials of the family name have been fashioned.
We retrace our steps through the Vohrawad lanes, marvelling at the subtle and graceful architectural drama around us (The grand residences stand in majestic melancholy, stolid but forlorn, as sad reminders of a forgotten past in picture). In the illuminated glow of the mid-afternoon sun that filters through the century-old mansions, Vohrawad looks more like the grand set of a period drama that was never dismantled.
