Mandagapattu - The Courage to Build for Posterity...

Anybody who steps into the arena of Temple Art and Architecture (especially with reference to Tamil Nadu), comes across Mahendra Pallava's Cave temple at Mandagapattu, in the very first chapter.

So did I, when I ventured into this subject almost 4 years back. However it wasn't just the seemingly simple and basic structure of the cave, (apparently a prototype for the fascinating Pallava pantheon of building works that followed) that intrigued and mesmerized me.

It was the inscription on the front wall, that evoked feelings in me, I found difficult to articulate then.

Earlier this week, a few of us were out on a temple tour, with a flexible itinerary. On the last day, post lunch, when I was almost beginning to doze off, imagine how I felt when I heard Gopu say - Get down! We are at Mandagapattu!

Intrigued ... Yes! Perhaps Thrilled.... Also Yes! But I didn't realise then that this could be an epiphanous moment for me.

The Cave and its structure...

First glimpse as you approach....

The Mandagapattu Cave Temple, built in the 7th century under Mahendravarman I, is perhaps the earliest Pallava rock-cut shrine. The pillared façade, triple sanctum concept, and restrained ornament show an experimental phase of Dravidian temple design, which went onto serve as a prototype for the fully developed Pallava monuments that followed.

Plan (Wikepedia) and the Front View

The shrine, called the Trimurti Temple, was commissioned by Mahendra I in the early 7th century on a 100ft hillock. Steps at the end of a wide stone courtyard lead up to an uncovered porch before a simple rectangular mandapa with four massive equidistant pillars. The pillars of the mandapa facade have square bases, octagonal central sections and square capitals with curved corbels. Inside, another row of similar pillars divides the mandapa into three aisles. The aisles lead to the Trimurti shrines, deep plain niches cut into the rear wall.

The Pillars and the Central Shrine...

Carved on the northern face of a large rock overlooking the irrigation tank to the west of the Mandagapattu village, the cave is cut fairly deep, measuring 4 feet from the ground and 2 feet in the top. There are 2 pillars and 2 pilasters on the northern and inner faces with 2 recesses at the extreme ends of the facade housing 2 Dwarapalakas, mismatched, yet complimentary in design.

The Dwarapalakas...

Supposed to be representing the Mahakala (Shiva's Dwarapala) and Garuda (Vishnu's Vahana), these earliest attempts to carve sculptures in Granite give us a glimpse into the marvelous Pallava aesthetics and the abundance of sculptural beauty that was to follow.

Anatomically refined, perfect compositions within the niche space available, minimally ornamented, it is evident these are experiments of idioms in art, craft and material understanding.

The absence of idols within the shrines, is also explained by scholars that, at that time, either only painted images on cloth were worshipped or sculptures were made of impermanent materials that did not survive. 

Discovery and Documentation...

Earliest (modern) reference of this monument is found in 1882, in the list of antiquarian remains of the Madras Presidency1, where Viluppuram is mentioned as an important taluk.

In 1918, Dubreuil mentions this cave temple among the Pallava antiquities.

Although the inscription of this cave-temple was copied in 1905, it was studied and documented only in 1923 -24 by T A Gopinatha Rao, who proposed that it was Mahendravarman I who introduced the rock-cut shrines in southern India. 

Even A H Longhurst, who took up the study of Pallava architecture in detail, did not explicitly mention the cave-temple as the pioneering landmark of Pallavas.

It was only in 1958 that K R Srinivasan identified this as the beginning of Pallava creations with specific markers like the typical pillars and of course the inscription. This landmark study is considered to be the source material for all scholarly studies on, not just Pallava Architecture, but even Temple Architecture in Tamil Nadu as a whole.

The Inscription ... 

Estampage (Wikepedia) and the actual carving

The earliest known rock-cut Sanskrit inscription written in Grantha script and attributed to the Pallava king Mahendravarman I (600–630 CE), is located on the first pilaster on the extreme right of the facade.

The inscription reads:

atadniṣṭakaṃdruṃ[malo]- 
hamasudhaṃ [vicitraci]ttena 
nimmarpitannrape[ṇa] brahmo – 
śvaraviṣṇula[kṣi]tāyanaṃ

Transliteration into Devanagari:

अतद्निष्टकंद्रुं[मलो]-

हमसुधं [विचित्रचि]त्तेन
निम्मर्पितन्न्रपे[ण] ब्रह्मो –
श्वरविष्णुल[क्षि]तायनं

Translation:

"This temple dedicated to Brahma, Siva and Vishnu was excavated by Vichitrachitta without using brick, timber, metal and mortar."

As architects, we are trained to dream in space, light, and material. Yet the reality of practice often pulls us in another direction — budgets tighten, clients calculate returns, and the lowest bidder quietly becomes the loudest voice in the room. Somewhere between intent and execution, creativity risks becoming a negotiable commodity.

On that day, when I encountered history, these were the thoughts that clouded my mind, questioning my professional identity as a whole. 

And then in that inscription, I saw him. Mahendravarman I, and realised what it is that he has been whispering to me, ever since I read his inscription.

This 7th-century Pallava king did not merely build a temple — he made a declaration about architecture itself. The Mandagapattu inscription proudly records that the shrine was created:

“without the use of brick, timber, metal, or mortar.”

In other words, this was not just construction. It was an ideological shift. A conscious move toward permanence. Toward architecture that would resist decay, politics, and time.

I could just visualise the king, standing before a rock face and choosing not convenience, but conviction. His inscription does not read like a technical note — it reads like a manifesto:

One can imagine the pride behind those words, the refusal to build something temporary. The insistence that architecture could be an idea carved into time itself.

When I read that line, something in me stirred — not nostalgia, but recognition. The same impulse that still exists in all of us today: the desire to make something that will outlast approvals, budgets, and us.

Along with the  surge of admiration was also envy. Here was a ruler who saw architecture not as a contract, but as a cultural statement. Not as a product, but as a legacy. What stood out was the clarity of intent. Mahendravarman was not reacting to market forces or competing tenders. He was responding to a deeper question: What should endure?

For all of us, contemporary architects, that question is all that matters. Even in a commercial landscape dominated by cost comparisons and rapid turnover, the Mandagapattu inscription reminds us that architecture has always been more than a transaction. It is an act of belief — belief that the built form can outlast us, speak for us, and represent what we value as a society.

Of course we cannot be our own clients, nor can we build in stone or always win against the economic compulsions or spreadsheets, for that matter. But we can still design with the same aspiration: to make something honest, thoughtful, and worthy of posterity.

I think that is the real lesson I learnt that day - that architecture begins the moment we decide something is worth making permanent.

Gopu reads out the inscription and my epiphanous moment... (Sridhar Ganapathy)

 

As Gopu read out the inscription and explained what was written - an epiphany washed over me. Years seemed to slip away and I realised times may change, society  and even values may change. But Human Aspiration has by and large been the same. 

To do ones best, without compromise and leave the rest to history. 

Our Group at Mandagapattu
as each of us dreams of leaving our own bit of History behind! (Sridhar Ganapathy)