16 February 2026
The Incredible Elephant Stables of Hampi
You have quite likely never heard of Hampi. Yet in the year 1500, it was the second-largest city in the world, surpassed only by Beijing. Situated in the Vijayanagara district of the Indian state of Karnataka, Hampi was the epicentre of the medieval Karnata Kingdom, part of the Vijayanagara Empire. Founded in the 1330s, this Hindu empire ruled over most of South India. A symbol of royal power and military might, its rulers maintained vast numbers of war elephants, both as a display of authority and for use to stunning and brutal effect in military campaigns. They were, quite literally, the tanks of their day.
We do not know precisely which ruler ordered the construction of the magnificent stables to house his most valuable elephants, but it was most likely Krishna Deva Raya, who ruled from 1509 to 1529 at the height of the empire’s power. The elephant stables remain the world’s only surviving example of this type of architecture. It stands as a rare reminder of how architecture, power, and animals were once bound together in the making of empire. Above you can see part of the interior; the mahout entrance has been mysteriously bricked up, probably to discourage after-hours visitors.
The structure may have replaced an earlier stable. An
earlier ruler, Deva Raya II, who reigned in the early 1400s, was famous for his
love of elephants. Whatever their origins, these stables were designed to be
far more than practical animal housing. Their impressive design blends
Indo-Islamic and Hindu architectural styles and was intended to show visitors
and subjects alike how powerful, cosmopolitan, and wealthy the empire was. The
building consists of eleven vast chambers, each with high ceilings and metal
hooks used to secure the elephants.
Both the interior and exterior would originally have been
painted brightly. Over the years, this colour has worn away, much like the
surface of ancient Roman statues. So what we see is the bare stone
structure beneath, stripped of its original colour but not its grandeur.
If you haven't quite taken in the size of the structure, let's place some humans into the frame. Each arched entrance of the elephant stables (gajashala) opens into a spacious interior, while alternating fluted and smooth domes rise above, reinforcing the deliberate blend of architectural influences. Stairs hidden within the central chamber lead to the roof, suggesting the building was meant not only to function efficiently but also to be admired. The stables formed part of a carefully planned royal landscape in which power was displayed as much as it was exercised. Together, these structures reveal the rulers’ ambition to project authority, wealth, and cultural sophistication through architecture as monumental as the elephants it sheltered.
Elephants were central to the empire’s military and
ceremonial life, used both as shock troops in battle and in grand processions
during festivals such as the Mahanavami celebrations, later echoed in Dasara
processions. The stables overlook a parade ground where troops and animals
would gather before marching to war. They were not tucked away at the edge of
the palace complex; their location near the Zenana Enclosure (the royal women’s
quarters) and other key buildings shows just how integrated elephants were into
royal life and ceremony.
Although the stables themselves do not contain statuary, the Zanana Enclosure is home to many - again underlining the importance of the elephant to the people of Hampi.
So what happened to the city, and more specifically to the
royal grounds in which the Elephant Stables stand? Ironically, we may owe their
survival to the city’s destruction. In 1565, centuries of intermittent conflict
culminated in The Battle of Talikota. King Aliya Rama Raya deployed his war
elephants but was defeated, captured, and beheaded. Hampi was left exposed, and
what followed was a six-month period of looting, burning, and destruction,
particularly within the royal complex.
The battle is commemorated in an illustration from the
contemporary manuscript Ta'rif-i Husain Shahi, which records the victory of
Husain Shah and the end of the Karnata Kingdom. What remained of the royal
complex was abandoned and left to the ghosts. Had the city continued under
Hindu rule, many of its buildings might eventually have been replaced. Instead,
as temples, palaces, and the elephant stables were slowly reclaimed by nature,
their stone structures were left untouched by human hands for centuries.
Just a few decades after the city’s destruction, Cesare
Federici, an Italian merchant and traveller, visited the ruins. By then, the
once-great city had been transformed beyond recognition. As noted by Sinopoli,
Johansen, and Morrison, Federici described a place that still stood physically
intact but was completely abandoned. He wrote that the city was “not altogether
destroyed,” yet the houses stood empty, inhabited only by tigers and other wild
beasts.
And so it remained, largely ignored until the mid-19th
century, when Alexander Greenlaw visited and photographed the site in 1856.
Since then, the city has been reclaimed from ruin, and today it draws vast
crowds of visitors. Yet if you listen closely, you might still imagine the echo
of elephants’ footsteps and the distant sounds of a once-great imperial city.
