With my mother, I shared two common traits – one was driving to distant places and the second was exploring historical edifices.. 

 February 2006:

And by chance, if it happened to be a fort, we both popped out like a cork from a champagne bottle. Sparkles flew out of her eyes; she became sprightly and in spite of her profound interest, most of her wants were a far cry because of her physical disability to walk as she suffered constant pain in her lower vertebral column – she was a patient with acute osteoporosis.

Every movement she made, triggered an excruciating pain, which she always covered with a quivering crack of a smile.

Despite the agony, I drove her to great distances, and when the pain started, we stopped at a highway ‘dhaba’ to take a break and stretched on the ‘charpai’ or Indian camp cot. “Shall we hit the road.. “ she quipped and we were back on the asphalt.

Such was her spirit of adventure and that astounded everyone around her. 

When we were in Hyderabad, I came to know of her fascination for the Golconda fort which is one of the prominent attractions of the city. 

Initially built around 1143 AD by the Kakatiya ruler, Prataprudra, the fort later ceded to Qutub Shahi Sultans of Bahmani Sultanate during 1358 AD.

Later, Sultan Quli, took over and fortified the habitation. It stands in ruins now, and even today under the harsh rays of the 21st century sun, it will attract you to scale the broken steps, ponder in dismay the bygone era.

Every tourist who visits the fort enjoys Son et lumière, the light and sound program which tells the visitor, about the history of the Kakatiya kings who built the fort on the Shepard’s hill around twelfth century AD.

The Golconda fort with its relics captures the fancy of any history lover. The broken walls, the rancid smell of the tall broken alleys, the flapping of bat wings conjure to trap any visitor to tell the tale of its bleak history.

Along with my mother, I got fascinated too and wanted to make an evening tour no matter what it took to show her the program. The only chasm that separated her from the fort was her extreme physical challenges.

Wait ! Not when her son’s probing mind met his trusted ally – The Maruti Zen car. Against her mumbling protests and saddened eyes, I helped her to my Zen and off we went to see the fort.

Albeit her reluctance, I could see the glint in her eyes with excitement in my rear view mirror. After reaching Golconda, I came to know that they do not allow the visitor’s personal cars inside the premises.

The fort is managed by the Indian army. I went up to the fort commandant asking permission to allow us to take my mother in the car.

After a lot of cajoling, the officer relented and was very accommodating.

BUT, the problem was not over… he told me about a challenge that none of us had thought about.

There’s no road for a car to go, only a service road, hardly about eleven feet wide which ran over the rampart of the fort.

The road was broken, littered with stones, and shrubs. Horses and tractors climb it for maintenance purposes. I hiked up and inspected.

Most of the road was covered with grasses and loose stone debris. Only an extremely powerful 4×4 vehicle can even dare to venture, definitely not a low ground clearance Zen with only 2-wheel drive. 

The angle of approach was at thirty degrees, and they refused to give me permission. I pressed on for an hour and told them the plan. I have to do something to show my mother the light and sound show which was almost inside the fort complex and the sitting gallery was way deep inside connected by an arc of a twisty, dusty road. 

Finally, I got the permission, literally begging the officer on my knees. I secured the wheelchair on the roof rack atop the car and with my mother in the rear seat set the controls in motion up front behind the wheel, we started to climb the acute angle.

At first, the car’s front wheels spun furiously, and we did make grounds but after about six feet of movement, the entire car slid back on the rocky road below. The only way if I could climb was by reversing the car all the way up as the engine gets maximum torque which can be harnessed. I came down, reversed, and started my climb again backwards. 

What happened the next fifteen minutes – both of us remembered for the rest of our lives. My mother’s broken frame strapped well held on to the door handle and the upholstery edge. She could only see about a slice through the rear glass and settled back, without a sound.

Her face taught with fear as the broken rocky road scurried past the road edge, a fall which would throw the car 30 feet on to the main road below. I used my mirror, put on the hazard blinker as it was 5.45 pm in the evening and the show started at six-thirty. With the blinkers glowing the dark fort walls, the road behind was partially lit with the reversing lights as my guide, I gunned the engine hard.

The whine of the engine ricocheted off the fort as the car shuddered. It rolled on the loose rocks and pebbles, losing traction momentarily. I released the gas pedal, put the handbrake, and put back the power alternately as my left hand clutched the gear lever and my right hand moving the steering wheel. 

The right side of the rocky road, sloped out to a fall of thirty feet which I had to avoid and if I had lost control, we both would have been dead before we hit the ground within the wrecked metal frame.

The Zen screamed, either with annoyance or having victory in sight as I pressed hard on the throttle and the car brushed the undergrowth of trees and shrubs. The car reached half the climb and traversed a short plateau. Then came the descent of another hundred fifty meters, almost a slide.

The car’s thermostat came on in quick succession as the heat of the engine had increased. With brakes and accelerator interspersing, the car swayed in a wavy movement and finally landed on the level ground.

There was a roar of claps from somewhere that rang out, as I failed to notice the source.

Probably, the soldiers and other visitors. Later on, from my wife I learned, who stood with the crowd told that everyone was staring with furrowed eyebrows at the car transfixed.

Perhaps the dilapidated fort structure saw a hatchback for the first time.

Both the car and the driver, succeeded and we were able to keep the promise of showing Golconda to my mother. No one could believe, a car of this caliber could do what she did.

What was the secret of this success – Was it the culmination of all the appropriate actions working in unison at the exact time or something else…

None of us, the Zen or me, did one single mistake to fail.

Man and machine were in perfect coherence.

These mysteries of life astonish us as they categorically defeat the rational mind from drawing a logical sequence as these unplanned events unfold.

Do not miss the unexplained drives of a smaller car at College and Camac streets, Kolkata. This Zen also saved our bacon at Nagarjuna sagar dam.