Over the years, I have come to disbelieve folklore accounts on the names Chennai/Madras and also those of many localities within the metropolis. They, however, make for amusing reading if you set aside your irritation at patent disregard for facts. The latest I have received are absolute gems — Rajakilpakkam apparently gets its name because the Pallava ruler (Raja) who endowed the Madambakkam Dhenupureeswarar Temple came down (Kil) to address his people there and hence the name. I presume he descended from the gopuram of the temple. The other is that Saidapet takes its name from Sadayu Varma Pallavan, whoever that is, and not Sadatullah Khan, who was Mohammed Syed before he became Nawab.
But, on a more serious note, I have been asked recently by Marturi Vasanth, a reader from Udumalpet, as to why I consistently ignore Telugu versions of the city’s history. Sadly, I do not know how to read, write or speak that language, a felicity that Vasanth has. And he seems equally good at Tamil too! I agree with him that writers have relied mostly on colonial records as far as Chennai’s past is concerned, while there is a treasure trove out there waiting to be discovered in Indian languages. In my own limited way, I have been trying to correct this imbalance but Telugu to me is a closed book. I manage only with Tamil and Sanskrit sources.
The discussion with Vasanth led me to realise that there is a whole Telugu history of Chennai — partly factual and partly made up. There is a strong view out there that many areas of the city, and indeed the names, Madras and Chennai, too have Telugu roots, which were mutilated by Tamils when they gradually took over the village administrative posts traditionally held by Telugu-speaking Brahmins and Kapus. Some of their explanations for place names make for interesting reading too, though I cannot vouch for their veracity. Just as in Tamil, Telugu is plagued with a lack of factual record and the usual answer, when pressed, is “I have heard it said so”, or “my grandfather told me”. I have increasingly concluded that grandfathers, once they attained that status, spent their time making up explanations for Chennai place names.
Thus, the Telugus have it that Madraspatnam was Mudirazupatnam, the name being in honour of Madirazu, the father of Chennappa Nayaka. Diwan Bahadur S. Krishnaswami Iyengar has, however, conclusively proved, based on inscriptional evidence, that Chennappa’s father was Damarla Venkatappa Nayak. While that theory can therefore be safely dismissed, what cannot be is the origin of the place name Tondiarpet. It is commonly believed that the name obtains from the saint Kunangudi Mastan Sahib who was originally from Tondi and who is buried in nearby Washermanpet. But Mastan Sahib lived from 1792 to 1838, while the East India Company records mention the place to be Tondor/Tandore/Thandavur. The earliest reference I can find dates to 1692.
The Telugu version of this is that this was where a considerable army presence existed, chiefly comprising members of the Balija Naidu community. Military camps were referred to as Dandu and so this was Danduvari Petta (the place of the camp) and over time, aided by the fact that Tamil does not have grouped consonants, was corrupted to Tandaiyarpet. The English used Tondiarpet in their correspondence and that still remains the official name. Danduvari Petta seems a perfectly acceptable explanation for the place. However, I must add that there is no backing from records for this, as yet. Even the EIC records of the 1690s do not support this.
(V. Sriram is a writer and historian.)
