Geetanjali Krishna: The legend of the Black Mango

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The fields were full of paddy, delicate green spears waving peacefully in the breeze. A white horse lazily munched some hay by the road side. Eight kilometres from Panipat's crowded and dirty environs, the scenery had suddenly gotten better. We got out of the car to admire the vista and the driver remarked, "have you seen the strange reddish brown colour of the soil here? They say that the soil of Panipat turned red because of all the blood shed here during the three historical battles!" I scuffed the mud under my feet and asked, "where were the battles fought?"

The driver looked at the bucolic fields, then at the somnolent horse, and said, "they took place right here, where you stand."

The place looked as unlike a battlefield as any, not that I'd seen others. "Why were the three battles of Panipat fought here?" I asked. It was not exactly close to the main town, and there were no old monuments to indicate that there had ever been anything but fields here. The driver was clueless. But he offered to take us to the Battle of Panipat memorial just a short distance away. This was, said he, the exact spot where the third battle of Panipat was fought in 1761. The area was once marked by a large mango tree, now long gone. Some say that its leaves were naturally darker than normal, and that is why it came to be known as the Kala Amb(Black Mango). There is another, more gruesome legend of the Black Mango tree "" according to it, the blood of the dead soldiers caused the fruit of the mango tree to turn black.

The memorial was flanked by some old walls, all spruced up to look new.

A dingy museum inside housed blurry photographs of archeological sites in Haryana "" but no information about the epic battle fought here. Apart from some gardeners sleeping under the trees, there wasn't a soul around. The place where the Maratha Peshwa's son, Sadashiv Rao Bhau commanded his forces during battle was marked by some new, garish frescoes, an obelisk and a withered old tree. "They say that this dead tree is also a mango tree, probably a descendent of the original Black Mango tree," said the driver.

The mid-morning sun was intense, beating down upon the stone paving of the area around the memorial. I sat on a stone in the shade, closed my eyes to imagine how this place must have looked during battle. After all, this was the exact spot where Sadashiv Rao Bhau's army was defeated by the wily Afghan Ahmed Shah Abdali. The young Maratha fell in battle, and his army never recovered from the resultant rout. The outcome of this battle had far reaching effects "" apart from the obvious loss of Maratha life and resources, the battle also marked the beginning of the downfall of the Mughals, and the rise of British power in India.

I have to confess my imagination failed me. Although I was standing on the ground where so much history had occurred, I couldn't imagine anything more gruesome than a school picnic happening there. For beds full of some nondescript flowers flanked the manicured grass that grew over the land where thousands once rode to their deaths. Thanks to the Haryana government's efforts to "beautify" this grim battlefield, little evidence remains today of the battle that once shaped the course of our history. As we drove away, the driver said, "it will be nice to get something to eat when you visit next "" isn't this a great place for a picnic?"