The East Coast Road teems like an anthill — cars full of people heading to Kovalam for its annual surf festival. With its gates away from the road and only its moss-lined ramparts overlooking the Bay of Bengal, it’s easy to miss this ASI monument that stands on the outskirts of the atomic research township of Kalpakkam.
The town of Sadurangapattinam predates the arrival of the Dutch by at least four centuries. Thirteenth-Century inscriptions call it Rajanarayan Pattinam, from a time when the Sambuvaraya chieftains, vassals of the Cholas, ruled vast tracts of land here. When the Dutch arrived on the Coromandel coast in 1606, they first pitched base at Pulicat, to the North of Madras. By 1612, they had laid the foundations for a fort in Sadras to its South, then a well-known centre for muslin weaving and brick making. The Dutch fortified its early outposts in Ceylon (Fort Hammenhiel, Jaffna; Kalpitiya Fort) and Batavia (modern-day Jakarta) with bricks made in kilns here.
For the next 200 years, the British, Dutch and the French fought for the mastery of the Coromandel coast, that meant control over the vast blue ocean that rolled away from these shores to other colonies in Asia. The Battle of Sadras was the first in a series of indecisive battles fought between the British and the French for colonial power, in various theatres of war across the world. By 1854, Sadras Fort had passed into the hands of the British.
The best time to visit the fort is when the sun is peeping from behind the monsoon clouds hanging low over the Bay. In that surreal light, the green grass that fills up its vast innards is more vivid, and an unusual radiance graces its ageing walls.
Enter through the gates, surmounted by a bell tower and guarded by cannon, and simply follow the lone goat that seems to know its way around. Inside the vast open space, a mud pathway divides the fort into two. On the right, accessed through a small archway, lies a well-kept cemetery. The beautifully-carved tombstones, dating from 1620 to 1769, are replete with the names of Dutch sailors, skulls and crossbones, ships with billowing sails and man-of-war. A five-foot-high table-like double tombstone head bears names from the same family. Beyond it lies a warren of tunnels, some still being repaired by the ASI.
To the left of the gateway, is a lone tree bending low over a well with a grate. Further ahead are mounting blocks — most likely for the elephants — spacious and clean granaries with well-laid-out pipelines that indicate an advanced drainage system, and dining and dancing halls that are on the long road to some sort of restoration.
Away from these crumbling edifices stand stout brick-red walls accessed through narrow steps. It’s a dangerous climb, but one well worth it. Look East when you get to the top. In the quiet of the early afternoon, you can hear the toll of the bells from the ancient temple nearby, dedicated to Vishnu, and the call of the muezzin to prayer. Behind a palisade of coconut trees lies a clean beach with painted jungle gyms. Beyond that lies the Bay from where the English bombed this fort — the calm waves whispering a tale that began four centuries ago and tumbles into the present.
