The Bend on the River

As per the customs of modern life,he who drives the car gets the casting vote. Regensburg wins it is a three-hour drive away. Also,it is a medieval town,next to the Danube and getting there entails driving through the Bavarian forest. All the virtues as it were.

Regensburg is located on the northernmost bend of the mighty Danube. The Proto-Indo-Europeans named the river after the Vedic goddess Danu,the mother of the Danavas who rather in the manner of the Titans,fight and are ultimately defeated by the Devas.

Flowing from its origins in the streams of the Black Forest,the Danube describes a great curve to the north before it angles back and flows down,eventually draining into the Black Sea more than a thousand kilometres away.

The river for many centuries formed the northern boundary of the Roman Empire,a barrier against the turbulent Germanic tribes. When these barbarians began making incursions into Roman territory,Emperor Marcus Aurelius launched a series of campaigns against them to stabilise the volatile front. It was against these tribes that Russell Crowe flashed muscle and unleashed hell in Gladiator.

As part of the war,in 179 AD it was decided to build a stronghold on the frontier. The strategic confluence of the Danube and Regen rivers,which already had a small Roman presence,was significantly enlarged and fortified. The Castra Regina was established,which would be the nucleus around which Regensburg would eventually grow.

The highway is packed,with weekend crowds from various cities running into each other. Oncoming traffic is thick with SUVs,skis on their overhead racks betraying their destination,the slopes of the Bavarian alps. Others tow trailers with small sailboats on them.

The Bavarian countryside unspools around the autobahn. The present peace of the quaint towns,rustic countryside belie the truth. These same towns were bombed to rubble in World War II raids. Regensburg itself is one of the most bombed places on the planet. As an industrial hub,it was a prime target in the American air forces massive precision strategic bombing offensive against the Third Reich.

We make a pit stop at the tiny village of Pentling,the native place of the Pope,who has a house there. He has served for many years as a professor of theology at the University of Regensburg.

At the gas station,my friends son wants to use the loo. The attendant,however,demands an euro. Russians,like Indians are temperamentally unsuited for such transactions. While his mother argues with the attendant,the boy tired of waiting,answers natures call next to a nearby tree. A range of expressions flit across the attendants face surprise,grief and finally,rage. We leave hurriedly.

The city centre is closed to traffic,so after parking the car,we explore the towns cobble-stoned streets on foot. Intricately carved doorways line the brightly coloured walls. The town is dominated by the immense Gothic spires of the cathedral dedicated to St Peter. Construction of the Dom began in 1275 and only finished in the 19th century with the towers going up last.

The other defining feature of Regensburg is the bridge. A stone bridge,imaginatively called The Stone Bridge,was built in the 12th century. Its influence stretches far beyond as it was the model for many bridges all over Europe including the London Bridge. Having seen everyone from the Crusaders to Hitler march over it,the bridge is also one of the main connectors between north and south Europe.

At the south end,there are shops full of peculiar curios and trinkets including an establishment which seems to specialise in wooden dogs wearing 18th century costumes. Passing the befrilled and beruffled canines we get to the Regensburg sausage kitchen which has been dispensing sausages for 800 years. My friends however are not keen on 800-year-old sausages and we press on to the bridge.

Walking over the pedestrian-only bridge,one is struck by a bizarre collection of sculptures and peculiar carvings. A curious legend connects the cathedral and the bridge. It is said that the master builders of the bridge and the cathedral had a wager to see who would finish first. The bridge builder was tardy and realised that the cathedral was almost done while the bridge was nowhere near completion. So,in a familiar motif of medieval tales,he turned to the lender of last resort,His Infernal Majesty himself. The Devil agreed to build the bridge overnight with the standard clause souls of the first three people to cross the bridge would be given to him. Of course,at the last minute the builder baffled the Devil by contriving to send a dog,a hen and a rooster first. A carving of a hen and a rooster commemorates their brave deed. It is not clear what the Devil did with their souls.

We browse through bookstores founded in the 12th century,catering to the student population of the theological colleges here. I come across coffee-table books of photography. Some of them have fantastic aerial views of the city. It is not surprising for Bavaria was Zeppelin country. The main factory of those long-vanished giants of the air was in Friedrichshafen,in the west of the country.

After all the walking,we rest at the rooftop cafe of the mall near Domplatz,the shadows of the cathedral spires grace our coffees. There is a nip in the air as a chill wind blows in over the slowly turning waters of the river. Evening falls. The stars wheel overhead.

Johannes Kepler is buried somewhere in the city. The tomb is now lost. He died in Regensburg after a lifetime of searching for god in geometry. Only the memory of his self-composed epitaph survives,Mensus eram coelos,nunc terrae metior umbras. I measured the skies,now the shadows I measure.