Those Were The Days: The now-forgotten People’s Park, and the little remembered inferno

Much before the Marina became the largest spot for social congregation in Madras, the Governor of the Presidency, Sir Charles Trevelyan, had this brainwave in the late 1850s to set up a spot for leisure and recreation for the people. That was the origin of the once-sprawling People’s Park, presently the congested area between MGR Central Railway Station and Ripon Building.

When it was opened for the public in 1859, the 116-acre park had amenities never heard of before in Madras. There was a public bath, an equestrian track of 5 ½ miles and tennis courts. For those who just wanted to laze around, there were 11 lakes with boating and splendid lawns. To top it all, the zoo was moved from the museum premises to the park, housing tigers, cheetah, bear, deer, and aviary.

Being just outside crowded Black Town where the natives resided, the ones who had little option for social recreation, it was an instant hit. 

There were annual fairs at the park that were held during Christmas. Soon, the People’s Park became a point of interest among the middleclass Indians and Europeans, and remained the biggest entertainment hub in the city till the 1960s when it was slowly encroached upon by the Railways and other government buildings.

Nearly two decades after the park was opened, in 1887, the whole British empire geared up to celebrate the golden jubilee of Queen Victoria’s accession. The queen, who directly controlled the subcontinent since the exit of the East India Company three decades prior to that, was seemingly loved by her subjects.

As a part of the celebrations, one Madras gentleman was anointed a Rajah, three as Dewan Bahadurs, thirteen Rao Bahadurs, and three Khan Bahadurs. The presidency also commissioned the Victoria Public Hall on the ground of the park to mark the milestone.

For the common public, the annual Christmas-New Year fair was upgraded – that year, it was dedicated to Queen Victoria, and was to be celebrated on a large scale. Festoons, fluttering flags and arches adorned the entrances. 

There were booths for enactments and vending food. Military and police bands played throughout the day, while there were firework displays at dusk. 

It all made the fair a must-visit event for every citizen of Madras, with crowds of 20,000 thronging the premises to witness special performances. On New Year’s Eve, there were around 6,000 people inside the band stand, many of them children. That was when the tragedy struck.

A fire broke out in one of the temporary stalls, and as these were thatched structures, it became an inferno in just a few minutes. The fire rapidly consumed the stalls and burnt itself out in little more than a quarter of an hour; it burnt itself out even before the horse drawn fire engines could find their way in. But even more deadly was the panic it triggered among the thousands of visitors.

The fire spread horror among the people present there, who rushed to get out of the park in panic. However, at the entrance were hundreds who were trying to come inside, with no knowledge of the calamity inside. This made their exit almost impossible, and resulted in a block at the entrance.

Scores were crushed during their efforts to escape. Some were killed by the fire, while a few who jumped into the lakes in the park drowned. Many were frightfully burned, others had limbs broken or crushed.

The Commander-in- Chief, General Arbuthnot, was present in the enclosure at the time of the disaster, as was the first Prince of Travancore. Neither of them sustained any injury, though the prince reportedly had a narrow escape.

The British troops immediately began rescue work. The injured were carried to the General Hospital across the road. The hospital had never seen so many burn cases at the same time, so much so that the mattresses there were reportedly ripped open to supply cotton to dress the wounds. In the end, 402 persons died in the fire, all of them natives.

The bodies of those burnt beyond recognition were buried at midday after a formal inquiry by Eardley Norton, the coroner. At the St George’s Cathedral, the Archbishop delivered a solemn sermon where he referred to the fire and its aftermath as an example of the uncertainty of life. 

The investigation undertaken by the police later to ascertain the origin of the fire concluded that it was purely an accident, and that no handiwork of miscreants could be detected.

The loss of native lives, however, did not seem to have any lasting impact. In February, just a month after the disaster, the Golden Jubilee celebrations were held on a grand scale. The fair continued to be held right up to the 1970s at the park.

(With Inputs from historian Karthik Bhatt)