If the government has its way, swathes of India could be blacked out from interactive maps we use on smartphones and devices. The Geo-spatial Information Regulation (GIR) Bill is an example of sarkari cartographic paranoia: it proposes ridiculously high fines of up to Rs. 100 Crore and / or jail of up to seven years for violators.
'Culprits' could range from companies like Google or Apple, which provide these maps, to users like Uber, or shop or hospital or restaurant-locator sites that use such maps. It could be even be you. Its defenders in government use words like 'cartographic colonialism' or 'national security'. What rubbish.
The GIR insanity takes India back around 2,000 years in history. In the early 1970's, Hendon Harris, a Baptist missionary fluent in Chinese, Japanese and Korean, discovered a rare trove of ancient Chinese maps, One, called 'Tian Xia', or 'Everything under Heaven', was particularly exciting.
China and Korea took up the centre of the world. But off to one side, was a coast-line, called 'Fu Sang' that looked oddly familiar to Harris. It was the coast of America. "I became weak. I was forced to sit down", he wrote later. His collection is now curated. It is almost certain now that the Chinese had reached America 1,500 years before Columbus.
Empires, like nations, used to guard their maps jealously. Chinese exploration and trade reached its zenith under the eunuch Muslim admiral Zheng He in the fifteenth century. Then, the emperor decided that too much knowledge was a bad thing. Zheng had died in Kozhikode, Kerala. His fleet was grounded and allowed to wither. Maps were locked up in imperial vaults.
China's ;oss was Europe's gain. Because of Europe's incessant conflicts over trade and territory, its map-makers - of land and sea - were prized. But their output became state secrets. One new trade route, one shortcut through a mountain range could yield windfall gains to which ever despot learnt of it first.
By 1500, Portuguese voyages yielded a huge hoard of information which royal cartographers put down on a remarkable map. This charted the eastern coast of South America, the African-Atlantic coast, but most important, located India with proper latitude numbers. It was, literally, priceless. Everyone wanted it.
So the Italians sent in a spy called Alberto Cantino, disguised as a horse trader. Cantino actually got the map and smuggled it back to Ferrara, Italy. Ironically, it is after the spy and not its makers that the map is now celebrated as the Cantino Planisphere.
Soon after the Battle of Plassey, 1757, the British East India Company commissioned the Survey of India (SoI). It was called an engineering institute, but its real job was to map territories west of British-controlled Bengal-Bihar-Orissa, overrun by Marathas and others, which the Brits wanted to seize.
By the 1850's the British were terrified about Russia's 'plans' to expand southward. Thus began the Great Game of the nineteenth century. The Brits created a contingent of spies, drawn from local 'pandits', to travel uncharted territory from Tibet to Central Asia and provide data to make maps.
Their methods, described by historian Peter Hopkirk, were ingenious. First, each was taught to maintain a pace of exactly the same length whether they went up or downhill, or flat land. To keep count, they used a rosary, which had 100, instead of the usual 108 beads: at every 100th step, the pandit would turn one bead: one complete circuit would be 10,000 paces.
Prayer wheels were useful. Instead of the usual prayer scroll inside, there was a roll of blank paper to record a day's observations. Compasses were concealed on top of the wheels, thermometers hidden in walking sticks, mercury in cowrie shells, sextants in hidden pockets in robes.
I cannot resist mentioning fellow Bengali Sarat Chandra Das, who not only survived two clandestine trips to Tibet between 1879 and 1882, but wrote books about his travels afterwards. He was the man after whom Rudyard Kipling modelled Hurree Chunder Mookherjee, boss of Kim the child spy, in his eponymous bestseller. Imagine, a Bong Bond.
All were trained at the SoI's headquarters in Dehradun. Despite all these precautions, around one in four of these intrepid explorer-sleuths returned alive. Even today the SoI's website marks out certain categories of maps as off-limits to civilians and foreigners.
During the Cold War, the US and Soviet Union competed to map the other's territories and hide their own. Secrets once thought well-kept by America have been blown apart by the hundreds of satellites that orbit earth today.
The Soviet Union's collapse released a gigantic horde of classified cartography which astonished western researchers: for example, European road networks also showed their load-carrying capacities. Local British maps from the 1980's had blanked out a coastal region, which the Soviets had plotted accurately as a submarine base, down to loading docks. Cols War veterans say the penalty for losing maps was imprisonment or worse.
But globally, this cartographic paranoia has receded: simply because it is impossible to hide much from highly sensitive eyes-in-the-skies. How silly, then, that India wants to retreat a few centuries into the past and pursue the technologically impossible mirage of map secrecy. -- Based on an article by Abheek.Barman@timesgroup.com published in The Times of India dated 18th May, 2016. --
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