Tucked away near the town of Azmatgarh in Azamgarh, just two kilometers from the bustling bazaar, lies a place that time seems to have paused—Salona Taal. Locally, it’s also referred to as Kothi or Kothiya, a nod to its erstwhile grandeur. But this lake is no ordinary water body. It once fell along the ancient route of Maharishi Vishwamitra, the very path by which the sage, accompanied by a young Ram and Lakshman, traveled to Janakpuri and back. In other words, the footsteps of the Ramayana are etched into this soil.

The Sacred Banks: Four Temples, One Tragedy

On the banks of Salona Taal stand four temples—a remarkable cluster that speaks of deep spiritual layering:

· Two Shiva Mandirs

· One Kali Mandir

· One Thakurdwara (dedicated to Radha-Krishna)

The Thakurdwara once housed a gold idol (vigrah) of Radha-Krishna—until tragedy struck in 1996 or 1997. The idol was stolen, and the temple’s priest was killed in the incident. In the aftermath, the Thakurdwara was forcibly closed. Today, a police chowki stands on the site, a quiet guardian over a temple that no longer rings with bells.

The Builders: A Baniya’s Vision, A King’s Grant

The four temples, along with a fifth—Ram Vatika Shiv Mandir (noticeable among the pictures for its red exterior)—were commissioned by an Agarwal/Baniya family. They had been granted 80 villages in the region by a local king. In gratitude—or perhaps duty—the Baniya built these places of worship. But their generosity didn’t stop there.

In the same village, they donated over 60 bighas of land to the Udasin Akhada, which today houses an ashram of sadhus. This seamless blend of royal patronage, mercantile devotion, and monastic presence makes Salona Taal a unique spiritual ecosystem.

Age, Influence, and Neglect

These temples are approximately 200 years old. The prominence of Shiva among them reveals something larger: the heavy Shaivite tilt of the Purvanchal region. Unlike the dominant Vaishnavism seen elsewhere in the Hindi heartland, this corner of Uttar Pradesh once—and perhaps still—pulsated with the rhythm of damru and ash.

And yet, for all its mythological weight and historical richness, Salona Taal has been forgotten. Today, two of its four lakeside temples lie in ruins. The chowki remains, but the pilgrims have dwindled. The whispers of Ram and Vishwamitra along this route have been replaced by wind through cracked shikharas.

In Conclusion

Salona Taal is not just a lake. It is a memory—of a journey from the Ramayana, of gold idols and brutal thefts, of Baniya kings and Shaivite faith. It waits, silently, to be rediscovered by those who care to walk the ancient road to Janakpuri once more.

Salona Taal, Azmatgarh: A Forgotten Chapter from the Ramayana’s Road