Shaniwar Wada

Start with your hands, if you can. Rest them on the old wooden doors of the main gate and feel how heavy they are. Look up, and you will see rows of iron spikes standing out from the timber. Behind you, the traffic of old Pune hums and honks. In front of you, the high stone walls hold a different kind of quiet, broken only by pigeons and the soft scuff of sandals on stone.

This is Shaniwar Wada, the fortified palace of the Peshwas. In the eighteenth century, the Peshwas were the chief ministers of the Maratha Empire. The Marathas were a power from western India that, at its height, controlled much of the subcontinent. Over time, the Peshwas became the real rulers of that empire. And for most of that century, the decisions that shaped India were made here, inside these walls.

The palace was built by Peshwa Bajirao the First, a cavalry commander known for his speed in war. Work began in the early 1730s. The name carries a small surprise. In Marathi, the language of this region, Shaniwar means Saturday, and a wada is a large residence. According to tradition, the foundation stone was laid on a Saturday, and the name simply stayed. So this palace is, quite literally, the Saturday Mansion.

Now look again at the great gate you are standing beside. It is called the Delhi Darwaza, or Delhi Gate. It faces north, toward Delhi, the seat of the Mughal emperors. Many people read that direction as a quiet statement of ambition. The spikes on the doors had a practical purpose. They were set at a height meant to stop war elephants from ramming the gate open. Notice, too, the small door cut into the larger one. People could pass through it without opening the whole gate.

Picture this place in its prime. Behind the walls stood a palace of several storeys, with halls, courtyards, gardens and fountains. The lower parts were built in stone. Much of the upper structure was carved teak, with painted walls and decorated ceilings. Clerks kept records, soldiers stood guard, and messengers came and went with news from distant campaigns. This was a home, but it was also a working centre of government. Much of what made it beautiful was made of wood, and that detail matters later in the story.

The walls carry several gates, and each one has a name. One of them is known as the Mastani Darwaza. It recalls Mastani, a companion of Bajirao the First. Their relationship faced strong disapproval at court, and it has become one of the best-known love stories in Indian popular culture. It has been retold in songs, plays and a major Hindi film. Much of the romantic detail belongs to storytelling rather than firm record. Still, many visitors come here with that story already in their minds.

The darkest chapter of the palace comes in 1773. That year, the young Peshwa Narayanrao was killed inside these walls. He was still a teenager. Palace guards attacked him, and blame has long fallen on his uncle, Raghunathrao, and on Raghunathrao's wife, Anandibai. A famous account says that an order to capture the boy was changed, with a single letter, into an order to kill him. Historians still debate exactly who was responsible. But the murder shook the Maratha state and weakened it from within.

From that killing came the legend that many locals still tell. They say that on full moon nights, a voice can be heard inside the walls, crying in Marathi, "Kaka, mala vachva" — "Uncle, save me." This is folklore, not history. Nobody has ever proven a ghost here. Even so, the story is part of how Pune remembers this place, and some visitors look at the palace a little differently after hearing it.

The end of Peshwa rule came in 1818. After the Third Anglo-Maratha War, the last Peshwa, Bajirao the Second, surrendered to the British East India Company. The flag of the British was raised over the palace. In a single moment, the house that had once looked toward Delhi with confidence became the property of a foreign company. For the Marathas, this palace became a symbol of what they had lost.

Then came the fire. In 1828, a great blaze swept through the palace. Accounts say that it burned for days. Remember all that carved teak? It fed the flames. When the fire finally died, most of the grand upper storeys were gone. Here is the part many visitors miss: what you see today is largely the stone shell and the foundations. The palace itself, with its painted halls and wooden galleries, survives mainly in descriptions and in imagination.

Walk inside, and the foundations show you the outline of the old rooms. Low stone plinths mark where halls and chambers once stood. Look for the remains of the Hazari Karanje, often translated as the Fountain of a Thousand Jets. Its shape is based on a lotus flower, a sacred symbol in Indian art. Climb up to the ramparts where access allows. From there you can see how the bastions project from the walls, giving defenders clear lines along the stone.

Step back outside and notice the city around you. This is the oldest part of Pune, a dense quarter of temples, markets and narrow lanes. Not far away stands Lal Mahal, a reconstruction marking the site of the childhood home of Shivaji, the founder of the Maratha state. In the evening, a light and sound show often brings the palace history to life with voices and colour. The grounds are also a place where local families stroll and students sit in the shade.

Before you go, look once more at the walls. Their stone has watched the rise of an empire, a murder, a surrender and a fire. Today, the noise of scooters and street vendors flows past them, and the gate stands open to anyone. Run your eyes along the spikes on the Delhi Gate one last time. Then, as you walk back into the lanes of old Pune, listen to the city... and notice how it simply carries on around its quiet stone heart.