Iossif was a travel writer and as per his signature style, had convinced his friend to join him on another adventure. This time, they were headed to Hampi. Misha had purchased a new car just a month earlier and was thrilled about their upcoming 1,600 km round-trip journey. Iossif, however, was characteristically relaxed in the passenger seat—a position that had become merely symbolic now that drivers relied on Google Maps. The final stretch of highway to Bangalore was a smooth, sturdy 300 km freeway that earned Misha’s enthusiastic approval.

“What’s there in Hampi?” This conversation starter quickly faded, with neither traveler wanting to spoil the anticipation.

“Take the left and you have reached your destination,” announced the navigation app’s voice. The landscape had transformed into something neither had seen before—hills composed of cube-shaped rocks of various sizes stacked atop one another as if by design. They had noticed these terrain changes several kilometers back. Finding a state-run tourism center, they decided to make it their accommodation for the night. Through the trees from their room, they caught glimpses of nearby ruins—the very attractions that make Hampi famous.

“Look,” Iossif pointed toward the ruins, “They used these same rocks to build them.”

“According to Google,” Misha read, “Hampi was a temple town recognized as a UNESCO World Heritage site, with ruins dating from 1343 to 1565 AD. It was the wealthy capital of the Vijayanagara Empire during its 14th-century peak.”

“I smell treasure,” Iossif joked.

With several hours of daylight remaining, they decided to explore the area. Back in the car, they headed toward the main temple complex. Ruins passed by their windows—an entrance with wall remnants, a stone bull, and other artifacts—each marked with informative multilingual signs along the winding road. At the main entrance, they parked and entered the stone-walled temple where pilgrims engaged in various stages of worship throughout the expansive grounds. A stone altar with wheels the size of a grown man stood before the temple entrance. This chariot-like structure, as tall as a single-story building, would require thousands of pilgrims to move it.

“It could easily have served as a tank,” Iossif remarked.

They noticed the entire temple complex, including the tourist market, maintained a strictly vegetarian policy out of respect for the sacred grounds. After traversing the entire settlement, they reached the banks of the Tungabhadra River. The river flowed gently, its current regulated by a dam a couple of kilometers upstream. A motorized coracle lazily crossed the water.

“How do they determine which side is port and which is starboard?” Misha wondered, staring at the round boat.

“It can’t carry more than a handful of people,” Iossif observed, “Yet look—it’s ferrying motorcycles too!”

The opposite bank led to what locals called “mini-Hampi.”

“We’ll visit there during our last two days,” Misha decided.

Iossif nodded as his friend captured sunset photos on his smartphone.

“The photos won’t capture the drainage smell, you know,” Iossif remarked.

Misha simply smiled in response. They retreated, careful not to irritate each other. Back at their hotel, they enjoyed dinner with a couple of beers while planning the next day’s itinerary.

“Something interesting happened when you were freshening up before dinner and I went to the nearby store,” Iossif said.

“Hmm?” his friend responded mid-sip.

“I started chatting with the shopkeeper about treasure,” Iossif continued.

“I can imagine you making all sorts of gestures to overcome the language barrier,” Misha laughed.

“I asked if any treasure could be found around here,” Iossif went on. “The man pointed at the full moon and said it was a good time for treasure hunting, but warned we might encounter local troublemakers doing the same.”

They headed to their room, immediately noticing the lobby filled with people. A large family would be their noisy neighbors for the night. Thanks to the commotion, they woke early the next morning to continue their exploration. During the first half of the day, they visited the ruins they had passed the previous evening—a mixture of temples, military quarters, the main palace, remnants of a queen’s bath, elephant stables, granary ruins, an octagonal bath, watchtowers, and more—all constructed from the same distinctive cuboid rocks.

“According to legend, Ram used these rocks to build the bridge to Sri Lanka,” Misha referenced the mythological story from the Ramayana.

“So were the rocks there before Ram, or did he use his powers to transform entire hills into cube pyramids?” Iossif wondered.

Earlier, they had visited temples featuring detailed carvings of monkey-men who had assisted Ram in building the bridge to Sri Lanka to rescue his wife Sita from Ravana. One temple displayed carvings showing each monkey-man wearing different armor in preparation for battle. The solid stone temples stood as testament to the religious traditions of the Indian subcontinent, causing Iossif to question his own beliefs.

Their next stop, the official museum, provided greater insight into life during the reign of the Devarayas. Krishnadevaraya, the most renowned ruler of the dynasty, would rise before dawn, ride horses vigorously, practice with weapons, and handle administrative duties—all before lunch.

“Speaking of which, let’s have lunch after this,” Misha suggested.

They examined a painting by Domingo Paes, a Portuguese traveler who had captured Hampi’s marketplace during its golden age.

“Look at those sacks filled with precious stones,” Iossif pointed to one corner of the crowded scene—a tableau featuring merchants atop elephants, horsemen negotiating with foreign traders wearing pointed caps. The ancient city’s past glory was vividly depicted rather than left to imagination.

“I’ve never seen so many people in a single painting,” Iossif remarked over lunch. “It could pass for a recent photo of any Mumbai railway station.”

They settled for the first restaurant they found and quickly consumed a simple meal. Their next destination was the place they had just seen depicted in the painting. Driving eastward to another cluster of ruins that eventually reconnected with the Tungabhadra, they parked and prepared to step into history. Battery-powered elongated golf carts transported tourists along the entire bazaar area, now reduced to ruins. The marketplace, as long as a football field, terminated at a temple flanked by several others.

A nearby arch known as the “King’s Balance” had once been used to weigh valuable goods from the bazaar. A two-story building in this area was also constructed from the same cubic rock blocks.

“So these temples were built to honor Ram who had used Hampi’s rocks,” Iossif pondered. “I wonder why they didn’t build any toilets, though. Where did they relieve themselves?”

“The landscape was more densely vegetated 500 years ago,” Misha reasoned.

Exploring the outlying ruins brought them to the riverside for sunset. Another coracle ferried tourists to a fourth set of ruins. They sat along the bank enjoying the sunset while Iossif made mental notes for his article. An unfinished bridge spanned the river—apparently abandoned, with several tireless dump trucks nearby and a nearly complete uphill slope on the opposite bank, suggesting work had halted at least several years earlier.

Misha pointed to the tallest hill across the river and said, “We’ll catch tomorrow’s sunset from there.”

Upon returning to their hotel, they were greeted by their neighbors’ extended family gathering. Iossif lingered in the lobby watching children play and women chat—it seemed the entire family tree had come on vacation. A middle-aged man approached him.

“We come here annually—it’s a good outing for everyone,” he explained with a pronounced South Indian accent.

“Hampi is beauti—” Iossif began, but was interrupted.

The man spoke rapidly in the local language, then kindly translated: “If you have eyes, you can see Karnataka, but if you have legs, you can see Hampi. It’s an old Karnataka saying.”

“Are these your children?” Iossif asked.

“Yes, those two over there, and those are my elder brother’s kids…” the man’s voice faded as Iossif drifted into his own thoughts.

Iossif knew he would incorporate this “old Karnataka saying” into his story. He was receptive to these random inputs from strangers. He wasn’t sure why—perhaps he had an approachable face—but he had grown accustomed to such encounters where total strangers would unknowingly provide the perfect twist for his writing. He appreciated this aspect of travel, which perhaps explained the saying, “You journey to find yourself.”

He made several entries in his notebook before bed. The next day, they headed to the fourth set of ruins. The coracle ride moved slowly, and Iossif watched the water threatening to enter their bowl-shaped vessel.

“I wonder why they can’t complete this bridge,” Iossif commented over the motor’s noise.

Misha, who had been chatting with another passenger, turned and explained, “This local says the bridge was nearly finished when the Tungabhadra flooded and destroyed it.”

The remainder of the boat ride passed in silence. Iossif wondered whether everyone had understood their English conversation and was respectfully acknowledging nature’s power, or if it was mere coincidence.

The fourth set of ruins connected to mini-Hampi via several kilometers of road. However, since their car remained on the other side and Misha was reluctant to leave his new vehicle unattended overnight, they quickly completed their tour of Gagan Mahal—once home to an ancient lord and his family—before returning across the river.

After several animated inquiries in the coracle, they confirmed the land route they needed. They would have to travel through Annegundi, a town 10 kilometers downstream with a bridge to cross by car. They completed this journey by 5 PM after a bumpy, slow three-hour drive. Despite the challenging ride, mini-Hampi’s atmosphere resembled Goa—alleyways lined with souvenir shops, foreigners strolling with backpacks, non-vegetarian cuisine and alcoholic beverages widely available, cool breezes flowing over lush green rice paddies, coconut palms completing the scene, and rental motorcycles available. Iossif and Misha negotiated for a bike and headed to the tallest hill to witness the sunset.

Atop the hill stood a temple—not a ruin but famous nonetheless. For easier tourist access, 1,500 steps led to the summit, where visitors had grown accustomed to the distinctive cubic rocks. The setting sun highlighted each group of ruins as it descended westward toward the horizon. From this vantage point, they enjoyed a panoramic view of the entire area. Some four-pillared ruins visible on adjacent hilltops had likely served as lookout posts.

Iossif tried to trace their route from the main temple to their current location. Across the river opposite the main temple was mini-Hampi—an island formed by the river splitting and rejoining around it. Further downstream lay the third and fourth sets of ruins. The pillars of the ancient bridge were visible, and suddenly Iossif knew how he would conclude his story. The ancient inhabitants had been resilient people with a ruler who promoted fair trade and civilized society, yet they fell short. They constructed palaces, marketplaces, outposts, granaries, and gardens, but no toilets. Their outposts and military settlements were few compared to their accumulated wealth. They might have flourished for another century had they focused more on fortifications rather than temple construction. Both the ancient bridge and the recently destroyed modern one stood as testaments to the tragic fate of an empire’s capital, ultimately conquered by the flooding river.