The Flood and the Tamarind Tree
[The first in an occasional series on the trees that make up the city of Hyderabad. Heritage buildings tell a story, but so do the trees.]
On September 26, 1908, steady rains started lashing the city of Hyderabad. Over 18 inches of rainfall fell in a span of just 48 hours. By September 28, 1908, the normally placid Musi River rose above its embankments and submerged vast areas of the city.
The bridges over the river were washed away, and water rose, sometimes to a height of over 20 feet. It is estimated that over 15,000 people lost their lives and 2,000 houses were washed away.
Tughyani Sitambar it is called- the most horrible of months. Even today, when you least expect to find it, you stumble upon yet another floor marker. The first one I saw was near the Shivala Ghat Temple at Purana Pul. There is another on the Empress Gate at the erstwhile British Residency. If you look closely at the pietra dura work on the walls of the Ashookhaana, you can see that the original artwork has been washed away till a height of about six feet and is only visible above that height.
Once the flood water receded, the Nizam took care to ensure such devastation would not occur again. M. Visvesvaraya, one of the foremost civil engineers of his time was commissioned to flood-proof the river.
The Osman Sagar and Himayat Sagar reservoirs were constructed upstream to act as flood catchment area. For the next century, these reservoirs also served as a water source for the rapidly expanding city. 112 years after the Great Flood, there is another flood warning in the city. The reservoirs are full, and the waters will be released into the Musi on Saturday.
Meanwhile, the city reels under a different kind of flooding. Water channels have been destroyed due to over construction, so after the slightest rainfall, many of the roads turn into minor streams. This happens a few times every year, and is exasperated because the drains meant to handle the runoff are chocked with the plastic we carelessly discard. It is sad that a city known for the skills of its hydrological skills is not able to flood proof itself.
Meanwhile, back in 1908, as the flood waters swirled around it’s trunk, one heroic tamarind tree stood firm on the banks of the Musi, providing safety to the people who climbed atop it for safety. It is estimated at over 150 people sought refuge on its branches and were able to save their lives. The tree still stands on the grounds of the Osmania Medical College, spreading its branches wide, offering shelter from the sun and rain to anyone who seeks it.
A nondescript plaque hangs on its trunk a mute testament to the heroism displayed by the tree, but for most part, the tree is ignored and few are even aware of it’s existence. But to those of us who seek to connect with the past, the tree has stories to tell.
Stories of the glory days where the Musi riverfront with the stunning structures lining its banks was the epicenter of the city. Of the gradual shifting of power away from the area. Of the smell of decay and neglect now hanging faintly in the air, even as the bustling life continues at the bus terminus nearby.
The tamarind can tell us the history of the city. If only we care to listen.
