It was just another day at the office, filled with the usual banter that keeps the monotony at bay. The topic? The origins of music. Amidst the chatter, I found myself sharing a story that took me back to a place I hadn’t thought of in years—a small coastal village in Tamil Nadu, India, poetically named Tarangambadi, or the “Land of Singing Waves.”

The name alone sparked a vivid memory of a trip I took with my beloved wife, Jagrata, and our young son, Judhajit, back in November 2010. It was a journey that wove together history, nature, and the kind of quiet magic that only a place like Tarangambadi can offer. Let me take you along on that unforgettable adventure.

The Call of the Unknown

Our trip began in Pondicherry, a charming coastal town steeped in spiritual allure and French colonial history. We were there to explore its serene streets and the unique township of Auroville, a place that feels like a world unto itself.

During our wanderings, we stumbled upon the name Tarangambadi in a guidebook. Its original name, Sadanganpadi, and its evocative title, “Land of Singing Waves,” piqued our curiosity. A quick check revealed it was about 135 kilometres south of Pondicherry, nestled along the Coromandel Coast in the Nagapattinam district. The idea of visiting an obscure port town with whispers of a bygone era was too tempting to resist.

So, we packed our bags, piled into our hired car, and set off from Pondicherry. The journey itself was a delight, with the coastal road offering glimpses of the Bay of Bengal shimmering under the sun. Our first stop was the magnificent 10th-century Nataraja Shiva temple in Chidambaram, a masterpiece of Chola architecture. The temple’s towering gopurams, adorned with intricate carvings, stood as a testament to the region’s rich cultural heritage.

After soaking in its spiritual energy, we continued our drive, the anticipation building as we neared Tarangambadi after about three hours on the road.

Stepping into History

Arriving in Tarangambadi felt like stepping into a forgotten chapter of history. The air carried a sense of timelessness, as if the village had quietly preserved centuries of stories within its boundaries. Our first stop was the ancient Masilamani Nathar temple, a 14th-century Shiva temple built in 1306 on land gifted by the Pandya king, Maravarman Kulasekhara Pandyan I. Perched right by the shore, the temple seemed to commune with the sea, its steps kissed by the gentle waves. But time and tide had not been kind. Erosion had claimed parts of the structure, and the front portion bore visible scars from the relentless sea. Yet, there was a quiet resilience about it. We learned that the temple had even survived the devastating 2004 tsunami, though not without significant damage. Standing there, watching the waves lap at the ancient stones, I felt a profound connection to the passage of time.

Tarangambadi’s history stretches back to the 14th century, when it was a thriving port under the Chola and Pandya dynasties. By the 15th century, its strategic location on the Coromandel Coast had made it a bustling hub for trade.

Today, it’s a quiet panchayat town near the mouth of a branch of the Kaveri River, nestled between the historic Chola port of Poompuhar to the south and the former French trading post of Karaikal to the north. But it was the arrival of the Danes in 1620 that truly shaped Tarangambadi’s modern identity.

The Danish Legacy

The Danes transformed Tarangambadi into Tranquebar, a name that still lingers in its colonial relics. The story of their arrival is as fascinating as it is improbable. In 1620, a Danish naval fleet, led by Admiral Ove Gjedde, anchored off the Coromandel Coast. A shrewd Dutch captain in their ranks recognised the potential for trade, and Gjedde negotiated a treaty with the Thanjavur king, Vijaya Raghunatha Nayak. In the name of King Christian IV of Denmark and Norway, the Danes acquired a narrow strip of land in the fishing village, agreeing to pay an annual rent. Thus, Tranquebar was born, and by 1622, the imposing Fort Dansborg began to take shape under the auspices of the Danish East India Company.

Fort Dansborg, the second-largest Danish fort ever built (after Kronborg in Denmark), was a sight to behold. Its sturdy rampart walls formed a large square, with bastions at each corner, standing guard against potential invaders. Along three inner sides, single-storied buildings housed barracks, warehouses, a kitchen, and even a jail.

The eastern side, facing the sea, was dominated by a grand two-story structure. Its vaulted lower level served as a magazine and storage, while the upper level housed a church, the governor’s quarters, and rooms for senior merchants and the chaplain. Originally protected by a moat and drawbridge (now long gone), the fort was a formidable symbol of Danish ambition, its cannons once poised to fend off pirates from the Bay of Bengal.

As we wandered through the fort, I could almost hear the echoes of Danish merchants bartering for silk, spices, and textiles. The fort’s weathered walls told stories of a time when Tarangambadi was a vibrant hub of global trade, connecting Europe with the riches of the East.

The Birth of Indian Printing

One of the most unexpected discoveries in Tarangambadi was its connection to a pivotal moment in Indian history: the establishment of the country’s first printing press in an Indian script. In 1706, Bartholomaus Ziegenbalg, a German Lutheran missionary sent by King Frederick IV of Denmark, arrived in Tranquebar. His mission to spread Christianity was met with resistance from the Danish merchants and officers within Fort Dansborg, who feared complications with the local population. Ziegenbalg was even briefly imprisoned on a flimsy pretext. But his determination was unshakable. He immersed himself in Tamil, learned the language, and set about translating the Bible—the first such translation into an Indian script.

In 1712, Ziegenbalg established India’s first printing press in Tarangambadi, and by 1715, he had published the first Tamil translation of the New Testament. Over 300 Tamil books were printed during this period, a monumental achievement that marked the beginning of vernacular printing in India.

While an earlier printing press had existed in Goa since 1576, it focused on the Roman alphabet. Tarangambadi holds the distinction of being the birthplace of printing in Indian scripts. Visiting the building that once housed Ziegenbalg’s printing press felt like touching a piece of history, a quiet reminder of how a small village played a role in a transformative moment.

After a period of British control during the Napoleonic Wars, Tarangambadi was briefly returned to Denmark before being finally sold to Great Britain in 1845, along with other Danish settlements in India.

The Beach Where Waves Sing

No visit to Tarangambadi would be complete without experiencing its namesake—the “singing waves.” As we strolled along the beach, the rhythmic crash of the waves against the shore created a natural symphony, a melody that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. The sound was soothing, almost meditative, and it was easy to see why this place had earned its poetic name. Our son, Judhajit, was in his element, splashing in the shallow waves, oblivious to the historical and scientific wonders around him.

Speaking of science, we learned something remarkable about Tarangambadi’s beach. Studies conducted by Danish and Indian researchers in the 1960s and beyond revealed that this stretch of coastline is one of the most ozone-rich beaches in the world, particularly between April and July.

The high ozone content helps absorb harmful ultraviolet rays, a natural phenomenon that adds an invisible layer of magic to the place. Yet, this fact remains largely unknown to locals and visitors alike, a hidden gem in a village full of surprises.

As we walked, we spotted the ruins of an old port, a reminder of Tarangambadi’s maritime past. In the distance, a ship sailed slowly across the horizon, adding to the timeless beauty of the scene. The beach wasn’t crowded, and the absence of tourist bustle only enhanced its serene charm.

Bungalow on the Beach – A Taste of Heritage

Our day in Tarangambadi included a delightful lunch at the “Bungalow on the Beach,” a beautifully restored 19th-century heritage hotel managed by the Neemrana Group. Once the residence of a Danish captain, the bungalow had a storied past, having passed through the hands of Arabella Matilda Peterson, the wife of a Danish civil officer, and later the Nadar family, who maintained it for 125 years.

The manicured lawns and elegant interiors provided the perfect setting for a meal, and we savoured every moment of the tranquillity. Jagrata was particularly charmed by the bungalow’s story, from its days of disrepair to its rebirth as a heritage property.

Reflections on a Quiet Haven

Tarangambadi’s prominence as a major port faded with the advent of the railway to Nagapattinam, and the 2004 tsunami left scars that are still visible. Yet, the village exudes a quiet resilience, a sense of peace that’s hard to find in more touristy destinations. It’s not a place that demands your attention with flashy attractions; instead, it invites you to slow down, listen to the waves, and lose yourself in its stories.

As we prepared to leave Tarangambadi after our day trip, a pang of regret tugged at my heart. This “Land of Singing Waves” deserved more than a fleeting visit. Jagrata and I agreed that we’d return someday, perhaps for a longer stay, to fully immerse ourselves in its history and serenity. The memories of Fort Dansborg, the ancient temple, the ozone-rich beach, and the warm hospitality of the bungalow lingered with us as we drove back to Pondicherry.

Tarangambadi had sung its way into our hearts, its waves whispering tales of Chola kings, Danish traders, and a missionary who changed the course of Indian printing. It’s a place where history, nature, and tranquillity converge, creating a melody that resonates long after you’ve left its shores. If you ever find yourself on the Coromandel Coast, take the road less travelled to Tarangambadi. You might just hear the waves sing.