It all began with a dream about coffee: davarah-tumbler, a rich brown liquid, sweet, slightly bitter, only as hot as the tongue can take—a sort of Platonic ideal of coffee. The dream was framed in tube-lit blue, the backdrop an entirely natural distressed finish. The air was light, the smiles were bright, and there was a faint scent of jasmine.
Vaibhav and I had been walking around Thanjavur's main market for half an hour. We had made frequent stops: I, distracted by a compulsion to buy little bits from the piles of gundu milagu and vatthal, as well as by the dazzling white smiles of women who closed their mouths only long enough to frame giggling replies to my pidgin Tamil; Vaibhav, intent on his photographic duties.
"Kaapi kadai engey, please," and so it went, from street to little street. Then we turned a corner, and there it was—Coffee Palace, Kasi Kadai Street. My dream was not a dream but a memory, the sight bathed in that same joyful blue, the coffee exactly as I had thought I’d dreamt it. We had two servings each and stopped only because we were a bit dizzy with the perfection of the moment. We had only met the day before, but Vaibhav was just as overcome as I was, and we nearly hugged in happiness.
This is what suddenly finding oneself at the centre of one's universe can do to an otherwise reasonably rational, not overly sentimental, only moderately greedy person. I am not particularly interested in tourists' fantasies, but since it has been said before, I may as well say it again—if there's one place in Tamil Nadu you must visit before you die, it is Thanjavur. This is the heart of Tamil culture, a musical place fed by gently thrumming arteries with names just as mellifluous if your tongue can wrap itself around the syllables correctly: Thiruvaiyaru, Kumbakonam, Darasuram, Papanasam, Swamimalai, Gangaikondacholapuram.
My previous visit to Thanjavur many years ago—the same one that had fed my dream—was a different experience. I had set off from Chennai in a non-AC Maruti van with a grumpy driver who insisted on playing a trendy Tamil film song on a loop as we rattled around Tamil Nadu on the Chola Temple Circuit. During this first romantic encounter with the Tamil heartland, I had stayed at TTDC's Hotel Tamil Nadu in Thanjavur. Still, I was almost charmed by the cockroaches scurrying into the tears of the raggedy coir "carpet." This time, as I said, it's different. Very different.
And that is because I am staying at the resplendent Svatma, Thanjavur's first bona fide luxury hotel—the kind of place where elegant staff drape an angavastram around you, garland you with mallipu, and serve you cool coconut water before you even step across the thinnai. I had arrived in style, too, flying into Trichy and then being driven in an SUV along an excellent road to the hotel.
Krithika Subrahmanian had been on the same flight from Chennai. Architect, Bharatanatyam dancer, and fierce health freak ("I never eat anything out of a packet. Except ice cream."), this wonder woman is the raison d'être for Svatma. Married into a family that made its wealth in the building business, she epitomizes TamBrahm gentility and business sense. It beggars belief that no one in the industry has thus far seized the opportunity to provide a commodious luxury base for tourism in this region.
Subrahmanian has restored a century-old traditional mansion, which now houses an open-air café, an assortment of banquet areas, and, on the upper floors, seven "heritage rooms." She has also built an adjoining structure offering an additional 31 rooms. Though Svatma likes to describe all the rooms as "heritage," those in the "millennium wing" are fairly standard five-star rooms, albeit with local colour in the form of fat-figured Nayak art and thoughtful touches like a pocket Bhagavad Gita by Annie Besant on every bedside table. The rooms in the old wing are downright gorgeous, featuring antique furniture and custom-woven rugs that are thrown in brilliant Tamil colours. A few rooms have private balconies overlooking the beautiful old tree that frames the façade of the building. If you've got money to spend, make sure you direct it toward this particular indulgence.
After over a dozen years and counting at OT, I've seen many luxury hotels. And yes, the phenomenon of too much of a good thing exists. My eye tends to glaze over these days at power showers, espresso machines, and pillow menus. It brightens, however, at any display of, to use that coy phrase, "a special something." The last thing I had expected was that it would arrive on a platter. (I was mildly sulky about the fact that I would have to go vegetarian for my three days at Svatma.) But the Tanjore Maratha food here is a revelation.
Any guidebook will tell you about the diverse heritage of this storied city—its rule by the great monument-builders, the Cholas, followed by the Pandyas, the Nayaks, and the Marathas, who eventually ceded to the British ("four dynasties," as Mr Raja, Tourist Guide, told us at the Thanjavur Palace, but I'll return to him shortly). However, apart from the built heritage—most notably the stupendous 11th-century Brihadisvara Temple (Chola) and the Thanjavur Palace (Nayak and Maratha)—there is little immediate evidence of that diverse culture for the visitor.
So, I am grateful to receive a gleaming brass thali at Svatma. Multiple bowls contain a variety of unfamiliar foods. Arun Kumar, the F&B manager, is happy to rattle off the names: Ambat Rasa (spicy Indian curry with yam stick, onion, and 15 secret spices), Udidal Saakla (boiled black gram with onion and tomato), Ambat Bindiya (okra tossed with Indian spices), and my favourite, Kaccha Pulicha (uncooked tamarind extract with onion and coriander). The last looks like Arasam and feels like Arasam but isn't Arasam—if it's possible to improve upon Arasam in idea and expression, this is it—thin, light, cooling, and incredibly delicious. Thanjavur is famous for its refined Brahmin vegetarian food. While it is possible to eat well elsewhere in town, no trace of this fascinating Maratha culinary legacy has been seen thus far, not for love or money.
Even if you’re not staying at Svatma, drop by for lunch. Subrahmanian and her able cohort, Francophone food consultant JK Madan, spent months searching out Maratha families still residing in Thanjavur and persuaded some ladies to bring their recipes from their kitchens into Svatma’s. The result is both a sensory delight and an important documentary exercise.
A meal at Svatma is just one of the latest additions to the list of "things to do" in Thanjavur. Two weeks every year might suffice for those who share my depth of romantic affection for the city. But for most tourists, two days here once in their lives seems enough to 1) visit the Brihadisvara Temple, 2) explore the Thanjavur Palace, and 3) buy a Tanjore painting or silk sari. However, another advantage of staying at Svatma is its range of "experience modules." These include culinary classes, bronze-casting demonstrations, Vedic chanting by priests, Bharatanatyam recitals from the Thanjavur school, veena chamber concerts, visits to handloom weavers or Tanjore painting artisans, and even a trip to the Big Temple with an academic expert. Vaibhav and I participated in the music and dance sessions, arranged to improve a group of somewhat puzzled Westerners, and then decided to strike out on our own for the rest.
Thus, we encounter another highlight: Mr. Raja, the Tourist Guide. Anyone who has used the services of such professionals in India will have their own charming experiences to relate to. I, too, have met a few, but Raja is special. He confounds Vaibhav by proclaiming loudly, "Wybow, what a name! The great Lord Vishnu." Then, at the art gallery in the Thanjavur Palace, with its priceless collection of massive antique Nataraja bronzes, Raja pleases Vaibhav further by striking a series of tandava poses, excellently balanced despite his apparent decrepitude.
We had arranged to meet at the Periya Koil, or Big Temple, at 6:00 a.m. the next day. It seemed entirely in keeping with Raja's happy, whimsical character that he stood us up. This left 'Wybow' and me un-lectured and unentertained, which, in hindsight, was probably for the best. It is fitting to approach the grand edifice with solemnity and awe. I am content to gaze quietly at the gopuram, perform an irreligious but deeply respectful couple of parikramas, and watch the worshippers. They are here in droves, a spillover from neighbouring Kumbakonam, where the massive Mahamaham festival has just concluded.
And then we meet another Raja. A real one—at least, he would have been if the 'sovereign democratic republic' of India hadn't gotten in the way. His card reads 'Ry. B. Sambaji Rajah Bhonsle,' and his brothers live in one wing of the Thanjavur Palace, though not quite like their ancestors from a century and a half ago. Mr. Bhonsle and his brother are extremely gracious and display painting after painting, casually stacked against peeling walls in dark, musty, low-ceilinged rooms. This is how the family makes a living, selling these coveted artefacts for as little as three thousand rupees for a small Tanjore painting to lakhs for a vast and intricate piece. It is a touching encounter—a conversation conducted largely through gesture and smile—that seems fitting for dispossessed royalty despite the modest environment.
I bow my way out through the short door with regret. I sigh for a lost time when the great Thyagaraja shaped Carnatic music on the banks of the nearby Kaveri and the fascinating local, Balasaraswati, brought Bharatanatyam to the world stage. But there is still grace to be found here, as Mr. Bhonsle showed me. I could live with a leader like this, in times like these, in a town like this.
The closest airport is Trichy, which is 50 km (about 45 minutes) away. Madurai airport is 2 hours away. Thanjavur also has a railway station connected to Chennai and other cities in Tamil Nadu.
Svatma offers refined Tamil vegetarian food, and if you visit on the right day, you might also experience exciting Maratha-Tamil dishes. For a traditional meal served on a banana leaf, visit Sri Venkata Lodge on Gandhiji Road. Thevar's, also on Gandhiji Road, serves a good chicken biryani. Gnanam and Sangam also have restaurants that serve palatable fare.
Visit the Brihadisvara Temple—this is why you're here. Go early to wander the vast courtyard in peace and capture the best light for your photos.
Spend an hour or two at the Thanjavur Palace. The art gallery boasts a jaw-dropping collection of bronzes, including a large room dedicated entirely to massive antique Natarajas. The Palace also houses the Saraswathi Mahal Library, which contains a staggering collection of old Sanskrit manuscripts and colonial texts.
Make an appointment with the Bhonsle family to watch respectfully as a Tanjore painting comes to life. And don’t forget to buy one too.
Visit a handloom weaver to explore another Thanjavur specialty: the korai interlocking system of border-weaving. The family of SV Rajaratinam is welcoming and articulate, and they also have a small collection of gorgeous saris for sale.
Go in January for the Thyagaraja Aradhana, one of the biggest Carnatic music festivals, held annually in Thiruvaiyaru (13 km) to commemorate the saint's birth anniversary. Hundreds of musicians gather for this massive and enchanting display.