How colonisation shaped Bengaluru’s fort and pete areas Premium

The sun is already high in the sky, beating down fiercely on our heads, when we reach Tipu Sultan’s Summer Palace in Chamrajpet, Bengaluru. But inside the beautiful high-ceilinged structure, it is surprisingly pleasant, the interiors airy and light-filled. According to a plaque outside the two-storied edifice made out of wood, stone, mortar and plaster, construction here was started by Hyder Ali Khan in 1781 and completed by his son, Tipu Sultan, in 1791, eight years before the Tiger of Mysore would be killed by the British in 1799.

The sun is already high in the sky, beating down fiercely on our heads, when we reach Tipu Sultan’s Summer Palace in Chamrajpet, Bengaluru. But inside the beautiful high-ceilinged structure, it is surprisingly pleasant, the interiors airy and light-filled. According to a plaque outside the two-storied edifice made out of wood, stone, mortar and plaster, construction here was started by Hyder Ali Khan in 1781 and completed by his son, Tipu Sultan, in 1791, eight years before the Tiger of Mysore would be killed by the British in 1799.

“It was finished just a few years before he lost the fourth Anglo-Mysore War. While he kept his zenana of women here, he was mostly out fighting various battles. So, he couldn’t enjoy it for long,“ says heritage enthusiast and fourth-generation Bengalurean Sunil Pichamuthu, who is leading this heritage walk titled ‘KYC Bangalore@ War Walk, ’ an exploration of the city’s fort and pete area and how British colonisation shaped them.

This walk, says Sunil, is part of a regular set of walks, which will cover both the cantonment and pete area. “There are a lot of history walks happening in Bengaluru now, but they often focus on the more popular locations. Many other aspects of the city remain uncovered,” argues Sunil, who has been interested in the city’s history since childhood, especially its colonial past. “If you look at it, Bengaluru has been largely shaped by it, whether for good or for bad. We have to acknowledge this,” he says.

At the palace, we walk past the intricately carved teak pillars, multiple arches and embellished walls so typical of Indo-Islamic architecture, pausing to admire the vestiges of floral motifs still lingering on the walls under the layers of grime and proclamations of endearing love (an unfortunate, somewhat ironical, contemporary addition to most Indian monuments) scratched onto them.

Adjacent to the palace is the Vijayanagara-style Kote Venkataramana Temple, the construction of which was completed by King Chikka Devaraja Wadiyar in 1689. Pointing to the temple, Sunil notes that Tipu himself was its patron, illustrating the complexity of the ruler’s religious policy that continues to shape modern rhetoric around his legacy.

Four intricately carved wooden staircases open into a large hall with four rooms believed to be the Zenana quarters, overlooking bright-green lawns.

“Did you know the British set up a gym in this palace?” asks Sunil, adding that it was supposed to be a way to distract and bring discipline to the officers. We spill down one of the wooden staircases and enter a small museum on the ground floor, crammed with artefacts, including old sketches of the palace by the military artist James Hunter and a replica of Tipu’s Tiger (the original is in the British Museum) depicting a man in European costume being mauled by a tiger, clearly emblematic of his deep hatred for the British East India Company.