Mysore Palace

Take off your shoes, and feel the stone under your feet. It is cool, smooth, and polished by millions of bare soles before yours. Around you, the air carries the scent of jasmine from flower sellers outside the gates, mixed with dust and the faint smell of incense. Ahead, grey granite rises into domes of deep pink. This is Mysore Palace, and it is far younger than it looks.

The palace you see today was finished in 1912. Before it, a much older wooden palace stood on this ground. That palace was the seat of the Wodeyar family, who ruled the Kingdom of Mysore across several centuries. In 1897, during a royal wedding, fire broke out. The timber halls burned. Within a single day, generations of royal history were damaged or lost.

What happened next is the first surprise. The rebuilding was not led by a king. It was ordered by a queen regent, who governed on behalf of her young son, the future Maharaja Krishnaraja Wodeyar the Fourth. She chose not to recreate the old wooden palace. Instead, she commissioned something new, built in stone, and built to resist fire.

The design came from Henry Irwin, a British architect working in India. He used a style called Indo-Saracenic. That name sounds complicated, but the idea is simple. It mixes Hindu temple forms, Mughal domes and arches, Rajput balconies, and touches of European Gothic. Look up at the façade, and you can pick out each tradition, layered one on top of another.

Start with the shapes. The broad arches along the front come from Islamic architecture. The small domed pavilions on the roof echo the chhatris of Rajasthan — open kiosks once used for shade and for watching. The central tower climbs several storeys and ends in a gilded dome. Down below, look for carved figures and details that belong to the Hindu world. The building is a conversation between styles.

Now, a moment on the old fort around you. The palace stands inside fortified walls, and within those walls sit several temples. Some are older than the palace itself. This tells you something important. The royal family here did not separate faith from rule. The goddess Chamundeshwari, a form of the Hindu goddess Durga, was the family deity. Her temple sits on Chamundi Hill, which you can see rising to the south-east.

Inside the palace, the route usually leads through some of its most decorated rooms. One of them is the Kalyana Mantapa, the marriage hall. Look straight up. The ceiling is stained glass, made in Glasgow, in Scotland, and shipped across the world. Peacock patterns repeat in coloured glass above and in tiles below. The peacock matters here — it is a bird of royalty and of beauty in Indian art.

Along the walls of these halls, you will find large paintings. Many show the royal procession of Dasara, the great autumn festival. Rows of elephants, soldiers, musicians, and officials move across the canvas. Take a moment with them. Each figure is painted with care, and you can follow the order of the parade. These pictures work almost like a photograph from a century ago.

Then comes the Durbar Hall, where the ruler held public audiences. It is a long, open gallery lined with carved and painted pillars. The colours are rich — gold, blue, and cream. From here, the view opens out across the forecourt toward Chamundi Hill. Imagine the hall full of courtiers, with the ruler seated in state, and the hill beyond as a reminder of divine protection.

That festival is the key to this whole place. Dasara in Mysore is one of the oldest royal celebrations in southern India. It lasts ten days and honours the goddess's victory over evil. On the final day, a decorated elephant carries a golden howdah — a seat on its back — through the city streets. The howdah holds an image of the goddess Chamundeshwari. Crowds fill every pavement to watch.

Here is the second surprise. After dark, on Sundays, on some public holidays, and every night during Dasara, the palace lights up. Tens of thousands of small bulbs trace every arch, dome, and edge. The grey stone disappears. In its place stands a building drawn in golden light. It is a short display, so if you are here in the evening, ask locally about timing.

Step back and think about the Wodeyars once more. Their rule was not continuous. In the late eighteenth century, Hyder Ali and then his son Tipu Sultan held real power in Mysore. After Tipu Sultan died in 1799, the Wodeyars were restored under British oversight. So this palace was built in a complicated time. The family still held ceremony and status, while the British held much of the real control.

Today, India is a republic, and the palace belongs to the state of Karnataka. Yet the royal family still keeps a connection here, especially during Dasara, when private rituals continue. The building is both a museum and a living stage. Outside the walls, the city carries on with its own traditions — silk weaving, sandalwood, and the sound of traffic on the ring roads.

Before you leave, stand still in the forecourt. Notice the pigeons on the domes, the warmth coming off the paving, and the families taking photographs in front of the arches. Look once more at that pink and grey stone. It was built because a wooden palace burned. Everything around you is an answer to that fire — solid, bright, and meant to last.