Nocolo De Conti in Vijaynagara: Flames in the City

Nicolo de Conti

Nicolo de Conti was a Venetian merchant and traveler who lived in the late 14th and early 15th centuries. He is said to be one of the greatest European travelers to the East given the extent of his travel. He started his journey in the East in Damascus, where he had come as a trader. Then he went on to travel to Persia, and from there he took a ship with many other merchants to the coast of Malabar. He then moved on to Vijaynagara and then to the Coromandel coast, from where he journeyed to Ceylon and finally to the Indonesian islands where he reached the furthest most eastern region in his journey before returning back. He traveled most of its length with his wife(an Indian woman) and two children who passed away before completing the journey. 

Conti’s travels in Vijayanagara are taken in great regard as they are the earliest surviving records of a European traveler in the empire. But he did not record them in his travelogue. On the contrary, he was forced to record his travels. As the story goes, on his return to Venice in 1444, Nicolo encountered resistance from the church and was left to seek absolution from Pope Eugenius IV. The condition of absolution was that he recount everything that he saw in his journey to the east. His stories were recorded by the Pope's secretary, Poggio Bracciolini, in Latin. These original documents were later lost and only resurfaced in 1723 in Paris where they were published as Historia de Varietate Fortunae in the name of the original author, Bracciolini. This work was translated into English in the later centuries.   

The story below as adopted from the accounts in, “The Travels of Nicolo Conti in the East”, in the Early Part Of The Fifteenth Century, is an attempt at imagining his life and thoughts on his visit to the sprawling kingdom of Vijaynagara.  

   

Flames in the City

I wake up, sweat trickling down my neck, my breath heavy with uneasiness. I had the same dream again. The roaring sound of a hundred hoofs treading through the land. The demon men were passing by our settlement on horseback. They came in great numbers, but as they got closer, they became as silent as the midnight breeze. Their faces were shadowed by the ragged veils over their head, yet their eyes sparkled with moonlight. It was like we were invisible to them. They did not turn or did not stop, and at a moment’s notice, they were gone. 

We thought that they were Arabs, but Arabs weren’t peaceful people. They wouldn't have thought twice before molesting and looting us. It wasn’t until the many others who saw these men started identifying them as demons, that my nightmares started. The thought of them being creatures of the dark seemed more horrifying to me. 

This was during my time in the Euphrates. It has been long since this mystical encounter and yet it stays with me like it was yesterday.

“We are almost there.”, shouts the bullock cart driver from the front.

I quickly rub my face to rid myself of the sleep and part the curtains to get a view of my surroundings. What welcomes me are steep mountains majestically soaring into the sky, with the city’s walls being a massive architectural feat, lining the mountains and barricading the valley from external danger. 

As the cart tugs along, I am lost in the hustle of the grand city that I have just entered. The city of Bezenegalia*. I wholly immerse myself in its exotic smells and vibrant colors. Multiple shops line the streets selling all things from finely crafted wooden toys to the best silk garments. There are people from all around India, and many other parts of the world. Different languages are heard and exchanged, blessing my ears with new sounds and pronunciations. I am told that the city spans an area of sixty miles and I wonder if the same grandeur persists throughout its land.

A few miles into the city, the air starts turning dark and heavy with ashes. Flakes of white settled on the street fly up as the cart passes. No sooner, a strong pungent stench consumes the atmosphere. As we draw closer to the site, the sound of wailing women overpowers the senses. It is a scene that can never be forgotten. 

I get off the cart with my wife, while leaving my children behind to protect their eyes from this excruciatingly extravagant showcase. But even though the scene hurts the eye, there is a sort of beauty in its portrayal. 

Loud horns and drums uplift the glum nature of the occasion, while the people wearing lavish garments make the surroundings vibrant. 

“What is happening here?”, I ask my cart driver. “These women are performing Sati, sir. Their husband has died, and so they will sacrifice themselves in his pyre.”, he replies.

Five women decked in gold ornaments and wearing bright red saris are seen circling the pyre. They are the wives of the man who has died. I hear that his first two wives had already jumped, as custom required the wives to sacrifice themselves in order of seniority. Now it is time for the rest of them to follow suit.

The wife next in line slowly starts making her way toward the pyre. Her face is lifeless, her eyes, hollow. As she gets closer to the burning odoriferous wood, a small tear collects in the corner of her eye. I wonder if it is the heat that is producing it or the fear of the jump that she will eventually have to make.  

The high priest, who I learn is called Bachali stands on a pedestal while chanting hymns. My cart driver tells me that he is blessing the wife with well-being and happiness with her husband in the afterlife. Step by step she now starts climbing the pedestal, until her face is as bright as the flame raging right in front of her. The priest asks her to strip herself of her clothes. She follows. He then pours water on her body and gives her a white linen to wear. She follows. She is then instructed to bow to the audience. She follows.

It is now time for her to make her descent into the pyre. The priest asks her to jump. Everyone is patiently waiting in silence to witness her final act. But she is frozen in place. She does not shiver, nor does she let out a cry. She stands firmly in place, staring right into the flame.

The audience is getting impatient, and the other wives are slowly breaking into tears. They all seem to know what's coming next. Before I know it, a man quickly makes his way up the steps and pushes her into the pyre. And the song and dance resume. Within seconds, her body is consumed by the flame, gone from this world forever. The flame hisses and growls, satisfied by the sacrifice, and then it settles, silently waiting for the next.

I am horrified. I think of my wife standing beside me and imagine her being in the place of this woman. It is unimaginable. I could never destine her to such a fate, even after my death. I look at my wife. She looks faint. Her face is drained of color, and her eyes have teared up. I place her head on my shoulder and we walk away from the scene, not waiting to witness the next demonstration.  

 * City in Vijaynagara

Nicolo Conti's experience in India has been comparatively studied with that of Zheng He - who also traveled in the subcontinent during the same time-  in order to get a relative view of the place from the perspective of an outsider/foreigner. Nicolo's records along with the writings of Marco Polo have also played an important role in the making of the Fra Mauro map, which is considered to be one of the greatest world maps from the Medieval centuries.