Partha Pratim Vashist

Whispers in Stone

Partha Pratim Vashist

The dust of travel settles slowly, not just on my boots, but within my thoughts, mingling with memories of soaring arches, intricate carvings, and the sheer, overwhelming presence of structures-built centuries ago. My name is Partha Pratim Vashist, and I find myself drawn, time and again, to the monumental architecture of the medieval world – those colossal testaments to faith, power, and human ingenuity that punctuate landscapes across continents. These journeys are not mere sightseeing; they are dialogues with the past, attempts to understand the ambitions and aesthetics of societies long gone, etched permanently in stone and mortar.

My recent travels brought me to the vibrant, chaotic heart of Gujarat, specifically to the old walled city of Ahmedabad. It was there, amidst the relentless energy of modern life, that I encountered a structure that prompted a deeper dive into this fascinating subject: the Jama Masjid.

I am now at the Jama Masjid of Ahmedabad. Standing within its vast, open courtyard, the Sahn, the noise of the city seemed to recede, replaced by a sense of quiet grandeur. The scale is immediately impressive – a sprawling space designed to accommodate thousands of worshippers, enclosed by colonnades and dominated at one end by the imposing prayer hall facade. This is the oldest, I was told, before the Delhi Jama Masjid built by the Mughals. This piece of information, casually offered by a local elder resting in the shade, struck a chord. It immediately framed the building not just as a magnificent structure in its own right, but as a significant precursor, a product of a different era and dynasty – the Gujarat Sultanate, founded by Sultan Ahmed Shah I in the early 15th century, who also established Ahmedabad itself around 1411. The mosque's construction, completed in 1424, predates the grand Mughal mosques of Delhi and Agra by over two centuries. This temporal distinction hinted at stylistic differences, prompting a closer look.

What I could see the distinction is the architecture, the arcs what you have. Indeed, the arches are prominent, defining the entranceways and the facade of the prayer hall. They possess a specific character – pointed arches, yes, a hallmark of Islamic architecture across the world, but rendered here with a certain solidity and proportion that felt rooted in the region. The traditional Islamic architecture, the traditional Islamic arc. It’s a fundamental element, facilitating wide, covered spaces without relying solely on post-and-lintel systems, allowing for the creation of the expansive prayer hall (Liwan) with its forest of pillars – over 260 of them, I learned later.

But it wasn't just the form; it was the material and decoration. And with ornamentation which is distinct of the sandstone variant with the two minarets which is supporting the main arc. The mosque is constructed primarily from yellow sandstone, a material that lends itself beautifully to carving. The ornamentation, while adhering to Islamic aniconic principles (avoiding representations of living beings), is rich and intricate. Geometric patterns interlace with floral motifs and calligraphic inscriptions. There’s a finesse here that speaks volumes about the skill of the local artisans. It felt like a fascinating fusion – Islamic architectural grammar interpreted through a distinct regional vocabulary, perhaps subtly influenced by the long-standing traditions of Hindu and Jain temple carving in Gujarat, particularly in the detailing of the pillars and niches, though masterfully adapted to the mosque's context. The two main minarets flanking the central archway, though partially damaged in earthquakes centuries ago (their upper sections are lost), still anchor the facade with imposing verticality. Their bases are richly carved, integrating seamlessly with the overall design.

However, the most striking feature, or rather, the lack thereof, was what truly set it apart in my mind from the later, more familiar Mughal mosques. And it does not have any dome, it does not have any dome which is one of the distinctive part of this architecture. This was startling. The grand, bulbous central dome is so often considered synonymous with major congregational mosques, especially those built under imperial patronage like the ones in Delhi, Agra, or Lahore. Here, the roofline of the main prayer hall is relatively flat, punctuated not by one dominant dome, but by a series of smaller ones. And you can see the smaller domes which are there, that is one of the distinctions of this. Looking up from within the prayer hall, or observing the roofline from the courtyard, one sees these numerous smaller domes, corresponding to the bays created by the grid of pillars. They cap the structure, allowing light to filter in certain areas, but they don't create that single, vast, soaring space beneath a central dome that characterizes many later mosques. This architectural choice reflects a different aesthetic and perhaps different structural priorities prevalent during the Gujarat Sultanate, setting it apart from the Perso-Timurid influences that would later dominate Mughal architecture.

Within the main city, within the old Ahmedabad city, the walled city and has got a distinctive look. The mosque isn't an isolated monument; it's embedded in the very fabric of the historic city Ahmed Shah founded. Its presence feels organic, a spiritual and communal heart that has beaten for six centuries. Its architecture, while monumental, feels connected to the texture of the old city, its sandstone harmonizing with the surrounding structures. It possesses an undeniable character, a gravitas that is both imposing and inviting. Pleasure to the eyes, do visit to come. Absolutely. The interplay of light and shadow in the colonnades, the sheer scale of the courtyard, the intricate details revealing themselves upon closer inspection – it is a deeply rewarding visual and spatial experience. But bear the huge traffic you have to face while coming inside. A practical footnote, but a real one! Navigating the bustling, narrow streets of the old city to reach this sanctuary requires patience, but the destination is undoubtedly worth the journey.

This encounter at the Ahmedabad Jama Masjid became a catalyst, prompting me to reflect more broadly on the concept of monumental architecture during the medieval period (roughly spanning from the 5th to the 15th centuries, though definitions vary). What drives civilizations to erect such structures? What stories do they tell?

"Monumental" implies more than just size. It speaks of intent, significance, and endurance. Medieval monumental architecture served primarily to project and solidify power – be it divine or temporal. Cathedrals reached for the heavens, tangible manifestations of Christian faith and the Church's authority. Mosques, like the one in Ahmedabad, provided vast spaces for communal prayer, embodying the unity and presence of Islam. Temples in India, Cambodia, or elsewhere housed deities and served as centres of religious, social, and economic life. Fortresses and castles, with their thick walls and imposing keeps, were unambiguous statements of feudal power, designed for defence and control. Palaces reflected the glory and wealth of rulers.

The materials and techniques were dictated by local availability and technological prowess. Stone, whether sandstone, limestone, granite, or marble, was favoured for its durability and capacity for intricate carving. Brick, particularly in regions like Bengal or parts of Italy and Northern Europe, offered flexibility and decorative possibilities. Timber was used for roofing and internal structures, though much has perished over time. The engineering feats were often astounding. Consider the development of the pointed arch, the rib vault, and the flying buttress in Gothic Europe. These weren't mere stylistic choices; they were structural innovations that allowed architects to build higher, pierce walls with vast stained-glass windows, and dematerialize stone, creating interiors bathed in coloured light – a stark contrast to the massive, earthbound solidity of earlier Romanesque architecture.

In the Islamic world, the arch (pointed, horseshoe, multifoil), the dome, and the minaret became defining features, though with immense regional variation. The hypostyle hall, a large flat-roofed space supported by numerous columns, seen in early mosques like Kairouan or Cordoba, and echoed in Ahmedabad, provided a practical solution for large congregations. Later, influenced by Byzantine and Persian traditions, the central dome gained prominence, particularly in Ottoman architecture, culminating in masterpieces like the Süleymaniye Mosque in Istanbul, where engineering prowess created vast, unified interior spaces under a single, immense dome – a completely different spatial philosophy compared to the multi-domed, pillared expanse of Ahmedabad's Jama Masjid.

Let's journey briefly to medieval Europe to appreciate the contrasts. The Romanesque style, flourishing roughly between 1000 and 1150 AD, speaks of a world re-emerging, consolidating power after periods of turmoil. Structures like Durham Cathedral in England (though transitional, its nave is powerfully Romanesque) or the Abbey Church of Saint-Savin-sur-Gartempe in France convey immense strength and permanence. Thick walls, massive piers, rounded arches, and barrel or groin vaults create spaces that are often dimly lit by small windows. There's a fortress-like quality, a sense of grounded solemnity. The sculpture, often found on capitals and portals, is vigorous, sometimes stylized or abstract, depicting biblical scenes or moral allegories with raw energy. Standing inside a Romanesque church, I often feel a sense of profound, almost subterranean security, enveloped by the sheer weight and mass of the stone.

Then comes the Gothic revolution, starting in the mid-12th century. Driven by theological desires for light (representing the divine) and structural innovation, it transformed architecture. The Abbey Church of Saint-Denis near Paris is often cited as the birthplace, but cathedrals like Chartres, Reims, Amiens in France, or Cologne in Germany and Canterbury in England exemplify its aspirations. The key innovations – pointed arch (directing thrust downwards more efficiently than the round arch), rib vault (concentrating roof weight onto specific points), and flying buttress (transferring the outward thrust from the vaults, over the aisles, down to external piers) – liberated the walls. Stone dissolved into intricate tracery holding vast expanses of stained glass. Interiors soared to dizzying heights, drawing the eye and spirit upwards. The sensation is one of aspiration, light, and complex, skeletal grace. It feels less like being enclosed by stone and more like standing within a carefully balanced framework reaching for the heavens. The contrast with the earthbound Romanesque or even the horizontally expansive, multi-pillared Jama Masjid of Ahmedabad is profound. Each represents a different solution to the challenge of enclosing space, driven by different cultural, religious, and technological contexts.

Returning our focus to the Islamic world, the diversity is just as staggering. The early masterpieces, like the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem (late 7th century), with its central plan, glittering mosaics, and prominent dome, drew heavily on Byzantine and Sasanian precedents but established a unique Islamic identity. The Great Mosque of Damascus (early 8th century) repurposed elements of a Roman temple and Christian church into a grand hypostyle plan that would influence mosque design for centuries.

Further west, the Great Mosque of Cordoba in Spain (begun 8th century, expanded over centuries) stands as a unique monument with its seemingly endless forest of columns supporting two tiers of arches, many of them distinctive horseshoe arches, creating a mesmerizing and spatially complex interior. In North Africa, the Great Mosque of Kairouan in Tunisia (primarily 9th century) retains much of its early Aghlabid character, with a massive, somewhat fortress-like minaret (resembling a Roman lighthouse) and a vast hypostyle prayer hall.

Moving eastwards and later in time, Persian influences brought sophisticated tilework, intricate muqarnas (stalactite-like vaulting), and grand Iwans (vaulted halls opening onto a courtyard) into the architectural vocabulary, exemplified in mosques like the Shah Mosque (Masjid-e Imam) in Isfahan, albeit dating slightly later than the strict medieval period. In Mamluk Egypt (13th-16th centuries), Cairo saw the construction of monumental mosque-madrasa complexes, often characterized by complex layouts, imposing portals, striped stonework (ablaq), and distinctive dome profiles.

And then, the Ottomans, rising to power towards the end of the medieval period, synthesized various traditions. Inspired by the monumental scale and central dome of Hagia Sophia (originally a Byzantine cathedral), architects like Mimar Sinan perfected the centrally planned mosque in the 16th century, creating structures like the Süleymaniye and Selimiye Mosques, where vast, luminous interiors are unified under enormous domes, supported by semi-domes and intricate buttressing systems. This represents yet another trajectory, aiming for spatial unity and overwhelming verticality beneath a single celestial canopy – again, a fascinating counterpoint to the path taken by the architects in Ahmedabad centuries earlier, who prioritized width and relied on a multitude of pillars and smaller domes.

Placing the Jama Masjid of Ahmedabad within the broader context of medieval Indian monumental architecture is also crucial. The Indian subcontinent already had millennia-long traditions of sophisticated stone construction, primarily religious temples. The Chola temples of South India, like the Brihadeeswarar Temple in Thanjavur (early 11th century), with its towering vimana (superstructure) and intricate sculptures, or the Hoysala temples of Karnataka (12th-13th centuries) with their star-shaped plans and incredibly detailed carvings, represent indigenous monumental traditions focused on housing deities and facilitating complex rituals.

With the arrival of Turkic dynasties and the establishment of the Delhi Sultanate from the 13th century onwards, a new architectural synthesis began – Indo-Islamic architecture. Early examples, like the Qutb complex in Delhi, show a fascinating blend. The Quwwat-ul-Islam Mosque famously reuses carved pillars from demolished Hindu and Jain temples, adapting them within an Islamic plan featuring pointed arches and screens. The Qutb Minar itself, a towering minaret begun in the late 12th century, combines Islamic commemorative and call-to-prayer functions with decorative bands that echo local traditions.

Later Delhi Sultanate architecture saw further refinement. The Alai Darwaza (early 14th century), a gateway added to the Qutb complex, demonstrates a mastery of true dome construction, pointed horseshoe arches, intricate surface decoration combining red sandstone and white marble, and calligraphic inscriptions – a mature Indo-Islamic style emerging in the capital.

Simultaneously, regional sultanates developed their own distinct styles. Bengal, rich in clay but lacking stone, developed a unique brick architecture with curved cornices derived from local bamboo structures and intricate terracotta ornamentation. The Gujarat Sultanate, as seen in Ahmedabad, leveraged its skilled artisans and abundant sandstone to create its own sophisticated fusion, blending the hypostyle mosque plan and pointed arches with trabeated elements (post-and-lintel, visible in some colonnades and internal structures) and ornamentation that resonated with local aesthetics, all while making unique choices like foregoing the large central dome in its congregational mosques. This regional flowering is a vital part of the medieval Indian story.

Reflecting on these diverse examples, from the soaring lightness of Gothic cathedrals to the earthbound mass of Romanesque abbeys, from the dazzling complexity of Cordoba's arches to the unified expanse beneath an Ottoman dome, and the intricate fusion of styles in India, one realizes that "medieval monumental architecture" is not a single entity. It is a vast collection of regional dialogues, technological experiments, and artistic expressions, all grappling with fundamental human concerns: connecting with the divine, organizing society, projecting authority, and leaving an enduring mark on the landscape.

My time at the Jama Masjid of Ahmedabad, initially just a stop on a journey, became a key. It unlocked a deeper appreciation for the nuances within Islamic architecture itself, highlighting how a fundamental building type could be interpreted so differently based on time, place, patronage, and available expertise. The absence of the grand central dome, which initially seemed like a lack, revealed itself as a deliberate choice, a feature of a distinct and confident regional style that prioritized horizontal expanse and intricate detail over singular vertical focus. Seeing it not just in isolation, but against the backdrop of Delhi's later Mughal mosques, European cathedrals, and other Islamic regional styles, illuminates its unique genius.

These stone structures are not silent. They whisper tales of faith that moved mountains of material, of rulers who sought immortality in their constructions, of engineers who pushed the boundaries of the possible, and of countless artisans whose skilled hands shaped raw materials into forms of breathtaking beauty. They speak of pilgrimage, of defence, of communal gathering, of learning, and of governance. Standing within them, whether dwarfed by the scale of a Gothic nave or lost in the forest of columns in a hypostyle hall, is to feel a tangible connection to the aspirations and anxieties of the past.

The traffic outside the Ahmedabad Jama Masjid eventually faded as I walked back through the gates, but the impression of its distinctive arches, its sandstone tracery, and its confidently un-domed prayer hall remained vivid. It served as a powerful reminder that the story of human creativity is often best read in the monumental stones left behind, each a chapter in a long and varied global narrative. The journey to understand these whispers continues, one magnificent structure at a time.