The Ghazi Mystery: India’s Triumph in the Depths

Just a few kilometres off the coast of Visakhapatnam, beneath the waters of the Bay of Bengal, lies the wreckage of a submarine whose final mission became one of the enduring mysteries of the 1971 India–Pakistan War.

It was PNS Ghazi, Pakistan’s long-range submarine.

Its mission was formidable: sail thousands of kilometres around the Indian peninsula, enter the Bay of Bengal and locate INS Vikrant, India’s aircraft carrier and one of the most important naval assets in the eastern theatre.

But Vikrant was not where Pakistan expected it to be.

Indian naval planners anticipated that Ghazi would be sent after the carrier and used deception to encourage the belief that Vikrant was associated with Visakhapatnam. Naval movements, signals and logistical activity helped reinforce that impression while the carrier itself remained safely away from the harbour.

Ghazi came searching.

And Vizag became the setting for what followed.

In this episode of Vizag Chronicles by Visit Vizag, we revisit the extraordinary story of PNS Ghazi’s final voyage—the hunt for Vikrant, India’s wartime deception, the submarine’s arrival off Visakhapatnam and the mysterious explosion that sent it to the bottom on the night of 3–4 December 1971.

The Indian destroyer INS Rajput had left Visakhapatnam harbour that night and dropped depth charges after detecting a possible submarine presence.

Soon afterwards, a powerful underwater explosion was heard.

The following day, debris confirmed that Ghazi had sunk off Vizag with all aboard.

Exactly what destroyed the submarine remains debated.

One account credits the depth charges dropped by INS Rajput. Other interpretations suggest Ghazi may have suffered an internal explosion, possibly connected with the mines or weapons it was carrying. Decades later, the precise sequence of events still resists a definitive answer.

What is beyond dispute is the strategic consequence.

With Ghazi gone, the threat to INS Vikrant was removed. Vikrant and the Eastern Fleet were able to operate aggressively against East Pakistan, contributing to the maritime blockade that became an important part of the 1971 campaign.

For Vizag, the story leaves an extraordinary historical connection.

Beyond the familiar shoreline, fishing boats and ships waiting at anchorage lies the site of a Cold War-era submarine whose crew travelled thousands of kilometres on a secret mission—and never returned.

More than half a century later, Ghazi still lies beneath Vizag’s waters.

The war ended in 1971. The mystery beneath the Bay of Bengal never quite did.

The Battle of Vizagapatam: How the British Secured the City

Imagine Vizag with French street names, French architecture and perhaps a very different cultural identity.

It is not as improbable as it sounds.

In the middle of the eighteenth century, Vizagapatam became part of the struggle between France and Britain for influence along India’s eastern coast. For a brief period, the French actually controlled the town—and the future of Vizag could have taken a very different direction.

In this episode of Vizag Chronicles by Visit Vizag, we return to an era when European wars, local kingdoms and the politics of the Northern Circars collided on the shores of the Bay of Bengal.

In 1757, the French commander Marquis de Bussy advanced on Vizagapatam. The poorly defended English settlement surrendered, placing the town under French control.

But the balance of power was already beginning to shift.

Following the death of the Vizianagaram ruler Vijayarama Raju during the turbulent events surrounding the Battle of Bobbili, his successor Ananda Raju became increasingly hostile towards the French. In 1758, he recovered Vizagapatam and sought British support to drive French influence from the Northern Circars.

What began as shifting alliances between local rulers and European trading companies was becoming something much larger—the contest for political control of eastern India.

British forces under Colonel Forde subsequently joined the campaign against the French, and within a short period French power in the Northern Circars was broken.

Yet Vizag would encounter the French again.

Nearly half a century later, during the Napoleonic Wars, French warships appeared off Vizagapatam.

On 15 September 1804, a powerful French squadron under Rear-Admiral Linois attacked the British ship HMS Centurion and merchant vessels anchored in Vizagapatam Roads.

For several hours, cannon fire echoed across the waters off the town.

The French captured one merchant vessel, but Centurion, despite facing a much stronger squadron, continued fighting and survived the engagement.

Once again, a European conflict fought thousands of kilometres away had arrived directly at Vizag’s shoreline.

These encounters remind us that eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century Vizag was not an isolated coastal settlement.

It stood on an important maritime frontier where Indian kingdoms, European trading companies and global empires competed for power.

And history leaves us with an irresistible question.

What if those events had unfolded differently?

Would Vizag have developed something of Pondicherry’s French character? Would familiar landmarks carry French names? Would another language and architectural tradition have become woven into the city’s identity?

We will never know.

But for a brief period in its history, a French Vizag was not imagination. It was a real possibility.

Unearthing Vizag’s Ancient Buddhist Heritage: A Journey Through Time

One morning in 1976, an Indian Navy aircraft was flying over the hills along Visakhapatnam’s coastline when unusual patterns appeared below.

What looked like little more than shapes on a hill would eventually reveal something extraordinary.

Hidden beneath centuries of earth and vegetation were the remains of Thotlakonda, an ancient Buddhist monastic complex overlooking the Bay of Bengal.

And with its rediscovery, another layer of Vizag’s past began to emerge.

In this episode of Vizag Chronicles by Visit Vizag, we travel back more than two thousand years to a time when the hills around present-day Visakhapatnam were home to Buddhist monks, monasteries, stupas and communities connected to a much wider maritime world.

Thotlakonda was not alone.

Across the region, sites such as Bavikonda, Pavurallakonda and Bojjannakonda reveal how deeply Buddhism once flourished along this part of the eastern coast.

The location itself tells part of the story.

From these hilltop monasteries, monks could look out across the Bay of Bengal towards ancient maritime routes linking India with Sri Lanka and Southeast Asia. Archaeological discoveries at Thotlakonda—including coins and other material evidence—also point towards connections with long-distance trade.

These were therefore not isolated religious retreats.

They belonged to a landscape where faith, learning, travel and maritime commerce met.

Over the centuries, Buddhism declined in the region. The monasteries fell silent, vegetation reclaimed the hills, and much of this history gradually disappeared from public memory.

Until archaeology began bringing it back.

Today, when we stand at Thotlakonda and look down towards the same sea, it is possible to imagine another Vizag entirely—one in which travellers arrived by ship, monks lived and studied on these hills, and Buddhist ideas moved outward across the ocean.

Vizag’s history did not begin with the port, colonial buildings or modern industry.

Long before any of them existed, these hills were already connected to the wider world.

Sometimes, to discover how far Vizag’s story reaches, we have to look beneath our feet.

Read the full article:
https://govindvarma.com/vizags-buddhist-heritage-a-journey-through-time/

Dhimsa – Tribal Dance of Unity

If you have travelled through Araku Valley, you have probably heard the rhythm before you knew its name.

A drumbeat begins. A line of brightly dressed dancers forms. Hands join, feet move together, and slowly the entire group seems to become one flowing rhythm.

This is Dhimsa—one of the most recognisable cultural expressions of the tribal communities of the Eastern Ghats.

Though its roots reach into the Koraput region and the wider tribal landscape bordering Andhra Pradesh and Odisha, Dhimsa has become inseparable from the cultural identity of Araku and the Visakhapatnam region.

In this episode of Vizag Chronicles by Visit Vizag, we travel beyond the familiar tourist performances to understand what Dhimsa actually represents.

Traditionally performed during festivals, marriages, harvest celebrations and community gatherings, Dhimsa is not one single dance. Different forms carry different meanings and movements.

There is Boda Dhimsa, associated with honouring the village deity; Goddi Beta Dhimsa, distinguished by rhythmic forward and backward movements; Tola Dhimsa, connected with the gathering of leaves; Bhag Dhimsa, whose movements evoke escape from a tiger; and Gunduri Dhimsa, where men carrying peacock feathers invite women to join the dance.

Other traditions include forms such as Natakari, Kunda, Baya, Pathartola and Mouli Dhimsa, each reflecting different aspects of community life, ritual, nature and celebration.

And then there is the music.

The distinctive sound of Dhimsa comes from traditional wind and percussion instruments with names many visitors to Araku may never have heard: the Mori, Kiridi, Tudumu, Dappu and Jodukommulu.

Together they create the earthy, repetitive rhythm around which the dancers move—often 15 to 20 people joining hands and performing as a single group.

That collective movement is perhaps the most important part of Dhimsa.

It is not a dance built around an individual performer.

It is about community.

Each dancer follows the rhythm of the others. Each movement complements the next. The line bends, circles and changes direction, but rarely loses its unity.

Perhaps that is why Dhimsa has survived across generations.

For visitors, it may be one of the most beautiful sights of Araku.

For the communities that created it, however, Dhimsa is something deeper—a language of celebration, devotion, nature, companionship and belonging.

The next time you hear those drums somewhere in the hills of Araku, listen a little more closely.

Behind the rhythm is the story of a people—and a tradition still dancing its way from one generation to the next.

Sustainable Art of Toy Making: Etikoppaka’s Legacy

Some places remind us of history through forts and monuments.

Etikoppaka does it through toys.

Spinning tops, tiny kitchen sets, colourful animals, rattles, boxes and figurines—these simple wooden objects have carried the colours of childhood from one generation to another.

On the banks of the Varaha River, the artisans of Etikoppaka have developed a remarkable tradition of transforming soft wood into bright, beautifully lacquered objects known today as Etikoppaka Bommalu.

In this episode of Vizag Chronicles by Visit Vizag, we step inside that tradition to discover how these toys are actually made.

The process begins with Ankudu wood, valued by craftsmen for its softness and fine grain. After the wood is seasoned, it is shaped while rotating on a lathe.

Then comes the part that gives Etikoppaka toys their unmistakable character.

Coloured lacquer is pressed against the spinning wood. Friction creates heat, allowing the colour to spread across the surface in smooth, brilliant layers. Natural dyes derived from materials such as turmeric, indigo and other plant sources bring the toys to life before the finished surface is carefully polished.

What looks like a simple wooden toy is therefore the result of an extraordinary combination of timber, colour, heat, movement and the practiced hand of an artisan.

The craft itself has evolved with time.

Etikoppaka’s makers have moved beyond traditional children’s toys to create decorative pieces, jewellery, household objects and contemporary designs—while designers and institutions have helped artisans explore new forms without abandoning the character of the original craft.

Yet some of the most fascinating objects remain the simplest.

The little kitchen sets once given to children.
The spinning tops sold at fairs and railway stations.
The boxes used for kumkum and jewellery.
The toys that somehow survived childhood long enough to become memories.

That is perhaps the real beauty of Etikoppaka.

These artisans are not simply manufacturing objects.

They are preserving a technique, a village economy and a visual language that has travelled across generations.

And in an age of plastic toys and mass production, there is something remarkably contemporary about this old craft: local wood, natural colours, handmade production and objects designed to last.

Etikoppaka reminds us that sustainability is not always a new invention.

Sometimes, it is an old tradition we are only beginning to appreciate again.

Araku Coffee: From Seed to Sip

There are places you remember by how they look.

Araku is also a place you remember by how it smells.

The cool air of the Eastern Ghats, wet earth after rain, pepper creepers winding around shade trees—and somewhere in between, the unmistakable aroma of freshly roasted coffee.

In this episode of Vizag Chronicles by Visit Vizag, we follow the remarkable journey of Araku coffee, from a cherry growing on a mist-covered hillside to the cup placed before us at the Araku Valley Coffee Museum.

Coffee arrived in this part of the Eastern Ghats during the colonial period, but over time it became something much more local. Today, coffee cultivation is deeply connected with the lives of the Adivasi farming communities of Araku, who tend plantations spread across the slopes and valleys of the region.

The landscape itself plays an important role.

Araku’s Arabica coffee grows at elevation, beneath the shade of trees and alongside crops such as pepper. The cooler climate, forest cover and slower maturation of the coffee cherries help create the distinctive character for which the region has become known.

But how does a red coffee cherry become the dark, aromatic bean we recognise?

At the Araku Valley Coffee Museum, murals, displays and demonstrations take visitors through that transformation—picking the cherries, pulping them, fermentation, drying, roasting, grinding and finally brewing.

The museum has its own story too.

Its origins can be traced to a small coffee shop established near Araku railway station in 1954 by Prakash Rao, long before the present museum took shape. That modest beginning eventually grew into a space devoted to telling the story of coffee and the people behind it.

And this is where the story becomes larger than the drink itself.

Araku coffee represents an intersection of geography, indigenous communities, agriculture, sustainability and enterprise. What began as a crop introduced into these hills gradually became part of the valley’s identity—and eventually a name recognised far beyond Andhra Pradesh.

The journey from seed to sip therefore carries many stories.

Of farmers working beneath the shade trees.

Of bright red cherries being harvested by hand.

Of beans being dried, roasted and carefully evaluated.

And of a remote valley in the Eastern Ghats finding its place on the world’s coffee map.

So the next time you hold a cup of Araku coffee, pause before the first sip.

Because inside that aroma is not merely coffee.

It is a little of the mist, soil, forests and people of Araku itself.