Lake Chimay Myth: The Lake That Never Existed

The phase between the 1200s and the mid-1800s saw Mediterranean seafaring Europeans, followed by Renaissance and early-modern cartographers from France, England, Holland, the Holy Roman Empire, and the Italian kingdoms, begin mapping what they considered the 'unexplored' regions of Africa, the Americas, Asia, and Australia. In the process, they introduced several inaccuracies and errors: California was shown as an island, an imaginary southern continent was marked as Terra Australis Incognita, and the Japanese islands were depicted as distorted, oversized landmasses. One such enduring error was Lake Chimay—an imaginary lake placed around today’s Assam region, in the valley of China’s Yunnan province. It was believed that several rivers of northeast India, northern Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, and Yunnan originated from a single water body called Lake Chimay. First appearing in 1554, the lake continued to be reproduced on maps until the early 19th century, when it was finally understood to be nothing more than a cartographic myth.

Yunnan province borders the northern reaches of Myanmar, Laos, and Vietnam and lies roughly 200 kilometres from India’s closest village in Arunachal Pradesh. Rivers such as the Brahmaputra, Irrawaddy, Salween, Dharla, Mekong, Red River, Chao Phraya, along with several others in the Upper Assam valley and Myanmar’s Kachin State, all flow through this broader region. For centuries, it was believed that this vast imagined lake was the source of all these rivers. The first cartographer to map it was Giacomo Gastaldi in 1554—an Italian cartographer who worked with Ptolemaic traditions and relied heavily on accounts from European and Asian travellers. The practice continued, with successive maps reproducing this fictitious lake and adding towns and river names that appear almost comical in today’s context. A map dated 1705 by Guillaume de L’Isle marks rivers named Laquia, Caipoumo, Casa, and Asa. While it is difficult to identify these precisely today, the Brahmaputra, Irrawaddy, Dharla, and Chao Phraya were believed to originate from this lake. The Brahmaputra, or Tsangpo, rises from the Angsi Glacier near Lake Mansarovar and Mount Kailash in Tibet; the Irrawaddy originates in Myanmar’s Kachin State and drains into the Andaman Sea; the Dharla flows from the foothills of Sikkim and joins the Brahmaputra in northern Bangladesh as the Jamuna; and the Chao Phraya flows from Nakhon Sawan in Thailand and empties into the Gulf of Thailand. European cartographers had not traversed or mapped the Himalayas or the regions east of them and therefore made this erroneous assumption. In reality, none of these river sources are even remotely close to one another, making the eventual collapse of the Lake Chimay myth inevitable.

The reality behind Lake Chimay began to emerge through 17th-century Jesuit missionaries during their journeys to spread Christian teachings in China and Macau. In 1685, when Aurangzeb ruled Mughal India, the Kangxi Emperor (Shengzu of Qing) ruled Qing China, and King Narai ruled Ayutthaya in present-day Thailand, a French Jesuit missionary, Father Guy Tachard, discovered that the size and position of Siam were not as European cartographers had assumed. Mapmakers had placed Siam about 24 degrees too far east—a displacement of nearly 2,500 kilometres. When Tachard reached Siam, he realised that Asia was significantly smaller than it appeared on European maps. This revelation made it impossible to reconcile the supposed position of Lake Chimay, and although Tachard did not explicitly deny the lake’s existence, it no longer fit within his geographical understanding. Earlier Jesuits, such as Martino Martini and others, had already noted multiple variations in the lake’s supposed outlets and argued that rivers like the Red River and the Chao Phraya had different sources. Such observations began to sow doubt among Europeans about the lake’s existence and accuracy, though it continued to appear on maps with conflicting information about the rivers flowing from it.

Guillaume de L’Isle was among the first to seriously question the authenticity of Lake Chimay in the early 1700s, though he continued to depict it on his maps. By the 1730s, however, Jean-Baptiste Bourguignon d’Anville—another French cartographer—accurately mapped Tibet, Yunnan, and the entire river system of the region, leaving no place for Lake Chimay. By the early 19th century, the lake had disappeared entirely from European maps. The mythical lake had a long and curious life—imagined by Europeans and ultimately dismissed by them. Below is a recreation of Guillaume de L’Isle’s 1705 map depicting Lake Chimay.

Sachin State: The Forgotten Muslim Gujarati State in the Bombay Presidency

The Bombay Presidency, during the late 19th to early 20th centuries, was divided into six major ‘agencies’ - Kathiawar, Gujarat States, Rewa Kantha, Mahi Kantha, Palanpur and Surat. While there were several smaller agencies and political charges such as Thana, Kolaba, Bijapur, Sawantwadi, Aundh, Bhor and Phaltan. This post shall talk about one tiny princely state of one of the major agencies, which has a peculiar name and a very interesting history behind it. Among the various smaller states under Surat Agency, there existed one name called the Sachin State. What is more mind-boggling is that it was a Muslim state even though its name has a full-fledged Sanskritised Hindu origin.

Sachin—as millions resonate with the God of cricket, Sachin Tendulkar. Then we have one of the pioneers of music in cinema, Sachin Dev Burman (1906–1975), giving some exceptionally good chartbusters especially in the 1970s. Then what is the origin of this name and how come it became a Muslim Gujarati state, that too having an African origin? Well, at least the word's origin is formed from Sanskrit, meaning epithet of Lord Indra and is applicable sometimes to Lord Shiva. It means that 'the one who is endowed with truth/pure existence' and on similar grounds. But then how it became a Muslim state is the premise of this post. 

The answer goes back to 1791. The Janjira State on the Konkan coast had a three-centuries-old dynasty of Siddis of East African (Habshi/Zanj coast) origin—later described in Indian sources as Abyssinian—originating from the Zanj coast around today’s Kenya, Tanzania and Mozambique. Another entity that is important here is to mention that the term ‘Abyssinian’ or ‘Ethiopian’ was a major African realm back in the days. For Indian rulers, it was an umbrella term for Ethiopians or Bantus or anyone coming from African realms, and they called them ‘Habashi’ (belonging from Abyssinia or Al-Habash). Under the Gujarat Sultanate (1407‑1573), these Siddis were made naval commanders for ports such as Broach (Bharuch), Surat, Diu, Cambay (Khambhat) etc., but their base had always been Janjira. In fact, even after the dismantling of the Gujarat Sultanate, the heat between the Siddis and the newly emerging Marathas continued for the next centuries. The conflict was costly and inconclusive, with the Siddis retaining naval superiority. It began in 1657 and continued in various forms until 1818. But in between these times, shortly before 1818, a significant shift took place in the history of Siddis.

As every empire’s collapse is caused because of internal rivalries and disruptions in smooth succession of power, the Siddis were no different. Both Marathas and Siddis started to decline in the 18th century, and in 1733 a treaty was signed between Baji Rao I and Siddi Yakut Khan—the Peshwa and the Sultan. The treaty was the Maratha recognition of Janjira’s autonomy and a cessation of hostile naval actions against Maratha shipping; large-scale hostilities ceased after 1733, though minor skirmishes persisted until 1818. In between this, the political misalignment of Siddis in Janjira had increased and meanwhile the rampant takeover of smaller territories across Konkan and Gujarat by the British had tossed the administration of western India. The Siddis, sandwiched between their internal turmoil and external British threats, sought a stable inland revenue settlement for a cadet branch of the ruling house, and so they turned northwards into Gujarat. While Janjira remained the Siddis’ base, a tiny Rajput agrarian land near Surat was granted through a diplomatic settlement. This region, away from the coast, inland and quiet from the mayhem, was Sachin. Politically, it was not a loss for the British to have another Siddi region on the coast of Gujarat, close to Surat, also because they had themselves shifted from Surat to Bombay and continued developing the latter. Hence, Sachin State, formed in 1791, was a tiny Siddi princely state, which years later was clubbed under Surat Agency and annexed to the larger Gujarat States group of princely states. Shortly, in 1829, the British took over all the administrative and political power from the Sultan but retained his title, thus assimilating it under the British rule formally. 

Today, the dying Siddi legacy can still be seen in Sachin’s heritage. Sachin Fort was constructed sometime after the state was founded in 1791 and served as the Nawab’s residence and seat of authority. While exact construction dates are not documented, most accounts place its construction in the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century. The fort’s design does not showcase overtly African motifs; instead, it blends Mughal and European architectural influences typical of western India. Its cultural significance comes from its association with the Siddi dynasty—an African‑origin ruling family—rather than from specific structural elements. In other words, the fort’s African aspect lies in the identity of its builders and occupants, not in the architecture itself. Although much of the state’s heritage has faded into the fabric of modern Surat, Sachin Fort endures as a quiet witness to this unique history.

Serampore: The Forgotten Danish Colony in Bengal

The Kingdom of Denmark, one of the oldest existing monarchies in the world since the 10th century AD, had a rather interesting three-century-long colonial timeline. This existed during the era when Denmark was in a multi-lingual union with Norway, thus the kingdom's name was Denmark-Norway. It is also the only colonial power that technically started its overseas expansion from India, in the year 1620—almost a decade before the construction of the Taj Mahal began. This reference is important, as a Danish factory was also established in Agra, which witnessed the construction of this giant marble marvel in the early 1630s. Apart from India, Danish factories and colonies had a foothold in Canada, Norway, Iceland, Puerto Rico, the US Virgin Islands, Morocco, Ghana, São Tomé & Príncipe, Sierra Leone, Iran, Yemen, China, Sri Lanka, Myanmar, and Indonesia. Greenland was a colony between 1721 and 1953; thereafter, until 2009, it was treated as an integral part of Denmark. Post-2009, Greenland has run a self-government and holds a legal right to independence through a referendum.

But this post is not about Danish colonies in general; rather, it focuses on a very special district of present-day West Bengal that once witnessed a cosmopolitan amalgamation of European colonisation. The city of Bishnupur, in today’s Bankura district, once extended closer to the outer suburbs of colonial Calcutta and encompassed a town called Srirampur or Sitarampur. It was here that the oddest of European colonists established one of their several trade factories, thereby creating a quieter Danish presence while avoiding conflicts with the rising English and the Dutch. In fact, Denmark is also unique in being the only European coloniser that began in India before expanding into Africa, the Americas, and Southeast Asia. Returning to Srirampur, which was later christened Serampore or Frederiknagore, it became the only Danish base in Bengal and the last to be added to Danish India in 1755. It was here that a remarkable episode unfolded, one that unfortunately became submerged in the margins of history.

This period coincided with the early phase of the Industrial Revolution, when many important inventions were emerging across Europe. While most pioneers benefited from European patronage, one such invention had a direct connection to Serampore. During the pre-industrial phase, the English engineer Thomas Newcomen designed an atmospheric steam engine in 1712, a precursor to the improvements James Watt would introduce in 1765. At this time, England had yet to develop a factory system or railways, even as it focused on expanding overseas trade networks and consolidating a mercantile capitalist economy. Bengal, on the other hand, was collapsing politically, and an unstable Mughal administration found itself surrounded by a growing number of European trade factories along the Hooghly River. It was in this context that a paper mill established in Serampore in the 18th century witnessed a key milestone nearly five decades after James Watt’s invention. An Indian blacksmith from the Serampore region, Golak Chandra, without any English backing or support, invented another prototype of a steam engine in the 1820s. His idea was not patented, first because he did not formally apply for a patent, and second because the English dismissed it as an 'imitative skill,' reflecting the belief that Indians could merely learn European science without originality. This notion has been strongly challenged in post-independence scholarship, and the claim that Indians merely 'mimicked' European inventions is now recognised as a manifestation of racial prejudice rooted in white superiority.

The Danes, however, were different. There is no recorded war or even a significant conflict in India involving the Danes. They functioned primarily as traders and followed Mughal rules to acquire trade centres. In many ways, Danish colonies served as safe havens for Indians seeking to escape English rule, and local populations were not displaced, unlike in many English settlements. Although Serampore (Frederiknagore) and Tranquebar (Tharangambadi, in the Mayiladuthurai district of Tamil Nadu) were official Danish colonies, the Danes never intended to expand beyond their immediate surroundings. This does not absolve them of responsibility elsewhere, as Danish colonists created severe disruption in African and Caribbean colonies, in stark contrast to their conduct in India. In the competitive race of colonisation in India, the Danes lacked the ambition to dominate, ultimately leading them to sell their colonies and trade factories to the British in 1845.

Danish India did not significantly alter the course of Indian history and is therefore often viewed as a relatively mild colonial presence. Denmark arrived with a clear commercial agenda, which it pursued for nearly three centuries but ultimately failed to sustain. This is why modern historians do not portray Danish rule in India as harshly as other colonial regimes. Today, in Serampore, several Danish-era structures survive in restored or semi-restored conditions, including St. Olav’s Church (built between 1755 and 1845, when the town was known as Frederiknagore), the Danish Government House (built between 1755 and 1860 and under restoration since 2008), and the Denmark Tavern, a former colonial guesthouse converted into a luxury hotel in 2016–17 under the Park Hotels group. A ruined Danish cemetery also survives, which was used to bury other Europeans residing in the town. The most significant surviving institutional legacy, however, is Serampore College, established in 1818 and granted a Royal Charter of Incorporation in Copenhagen in 1827. At the time, it awarded degrees equivalent to those conferred by institutions in Copenhagen and imparted education in the arts and European sciences to Indians.

Today, although Denmark is not regarded as a major colonial power in Indian history, its presence in India for nearly three centuries remains undeniable—a phase that cannot be erased, even if its overall impact was more limited than that of other European powers.