Running the Old Waterways – Agara to Madiwala to agara

We knew the route this time. No wrong turns, no U-turns. Parked in the quiet lane near the Bosch bike service, and by 5:45 we were off, moving clockwise from Agara. The city was still half asleep, traffic only beginning to build.

Suresh set the pace — steady, relaxed. He doesn’t complicate running. No splits, no heart rate, just the road and the joy of moving. “Run happy” is his mantra.

I was distracted — vehicles coming from the opposite direction, but more than that, the thoughts running in my mind. I paused at the Agara Someshwara temple, clicked a photo, and a girl passing by asked me for directions. I smiled to myself: “I’m just a visitor here… actually, I’m time-traveling to witness the history of these lakes. Don’t ask me about the present places, ask me about the past 🤗.” I didn’t say it aloud. The look on her face was enough. She might have thought a local runner would know the place for sure.

We turned toward Silk Board. The chaos was beginning — honking, buses, bikes squeezing through. The famous Silk Board on one side, and nearby, the city’s new “magical weapon” to ease traffic — the yellow line metro. Just ahead stood another reminder of continuity: Madiwala Lake.

At the gate, I nearly slipped on the rain-soaked mud. Madiwala is one of Bengaluru’s largest and oldest lakes, once spread across nearly 280 acres. Tradition and records suggest it was built during the Chola period, around the 9th century CE, to collect monsoon water and supply surrounding villages. For centuries it supported farming, fishing, and washermen — madiwalas — who gave the lake its name. And it was not isolated. Water from Madiwala flowed into Agara, then Bellandur. A cascading system that made sure no drop was wasted and you are not allowing lakes to die down 

Inside, the path was slushy, under renovation, uneven for running. Boards announced projects and plans. I thought to myself: rulers of the past would have left a stone inscription — a record of what was done, a message for the future. Today we put up plastic flex banners. They flutter for a few days and vanish.

That’s where today’s political leaders could learn. Lakes were once power centers, and kings knew that maintaining them was part of their legacy. Without water there was no farming, no life, no city. Investing in tanks wasn’t charity — it was survival planning. If leaders treated lakes with the same seriousness now, 

We decided to make a U-turn and run back toward Agara, following the Raja Kaluve. Today it still carries water — but with stink instead of clarity. I imagined farmers or soldiers of the Chola period swimming from one lake to another, boasting of their strength, the way we ran between them. The thought made me smile, and then frown. Today we wouldn’t dare touch that water.

Back at Agara, I finished the last few kilometers, while Suresh kept his steady rhythm. I dragged myself to complete 18. Another lake run done. Number 20.

Each run is different, but a pattern is forming. Every lake tells a different story. They were once lifelines for survival. Today they are lungs for living. Whether they remain so depends on what we learn from the past, and what choices we make in the present.

Disclaimer:

This article is based on my personal run, observations, and reflections. The draft has been edited and refined using AI tools to improve readability. The thoughts and experiences remain my own

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