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SPECIAL SECTION: New Epistemologies of Water in India  
 

Imperilled Waterscapes: The Social-Ecological 
Transformation of Lakes in Bengaluru 
 

Amrita Sen, Hita Unnikrishnan, and Harini Nagendra  
 
The water in this lake was very clear. You could see a silver coin in its depths—the 

water flowed and it was healthy. Today, if you drop a coin into this lake—even if 
you can fish it out, which I don‘t think is possible—it will be black. There is no 

flow. The water is not pure; it is dirty.  

– Real estate owner and former agriculturist, 70, Bellandur Lake, Bengaluru  

(translated from Kannada; Interview conducted by Hita Unnikrishnan on 20 February, 2015) 

Abstract: This paper examines the historical waterscapes of Bengaluru, now 
imperilled by development. Earlier a garden city, the agrarian landscape of 
Bengaluru was formerly supplied with water from an interconnected lake system. 
This system has since been fragmented due to urbanization and changes in land 
cover, impacting local institutions and livelihoods dependent on the lakes. In this 
paper, we use the case of the city‘s largest lake, Bellandur, to demonstrate the 
transformation of the waterscape from an open semi-arid landscape pre-dating the 
city into an agrarian water-dependent landscape characterized by flows of water in 
pre-colonial and colonial Bengaluru, and finally into a concretized landscape and 
the individualization of lakes in the ―modern‖ city. Claims to and associations with 
the lake ecosystem have altered through changing hydrological, institutional, and 
social relations, leading to shifts in imaginations of the lake as well.  

Keywords: Waterscapes, Lakes, Urbanisation, Bellandur, Bengaluru 

                                                           
 Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, Indian Institute of Technology Kharagpur 
721302, India and Azim Premji University, Bangalore 562125, India; 

mailtoamrita29@gmail.com.  

 Urban Institute, ICOSS, The University of Sheffield, 219, Portobello, Sheffield S1 4DP, 
UK and Azim Premji University, Bangalore 562125, India; h.unnikrishnan@sheffield.ac.uk. 

 School of Development, Azim Premji University, Burugunte Village, Sarjapur Hobli, 
Anekal Taluk, Bangalore 562125, India; harini.nagendra@apu.edu.in. 

Copyright © Sen, Unnikrishnan, Nagendra 2020. Released under Creative Commons 
Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International licence (CC BY-NC 4.0) by the author.  

Published by Indian Society for Ecological Economics (INSEE), c/o Institute of Economic 
Growth, University Enclave, North Campus, Delhi 110007.  

ISSN: 2581-6152 (print); 2581-6101 (web). 

DOI: https://doi.org/10.37773/ees.v3i2.229  

https://doi.org/10.37773/ees.v3i2.229


Ecology, Economy and Society–the INSEE Journal [126] 

1. INTRODUCTION 

Since ancient times, water has been imbued with various imaginaries 
depending upon its perceived utility. At the same time, it is feared for its 
ability to destroy lives through floods, disease, or accidents. Water is 
simultaneously seen as an economic good, a provisioning service, a 
common pool resource, a sacred entity, and an untameable force of nature 
(Rodriguez-Labajos and Martinez-Alier 2015; Wright-Contreras 2018), even 
in urban contexts (Nagendra 2016; Mukherjee 2018; Goh 2019).  

Imaginaries of water play an important role in shaping urban waterscapes—
they contribute to a city‘s resilience and adaptive capacities in today‘s 
context of global environmental change (Van Ginkel et al. 2018). 
Contemporary cities are facing unprecedented water availability crises; 
several cities, such as Cape Town, Chennai, and Bengaluru, are running out 
of water or are poised to do so in the near future. Most of these cities have 
polluted their waterbodies. How did this crisis occur? What caused the shift 
in the meanings ascribed to these important infrastructures? These are 
some of the questions we address in this article.  

We illustrate our case using the former cascaded irrigation tank (now lake) 
network in the city of Bengaluru. Specifically, we consider the case of 
Bellandur Lake to demonstrate the link between changing imaginaries of 
water and the transformation of Bengaluru‘s waterscape. From a semi-arid 
region with limited water availability prior to the formation of the city, 
Bengaluru evolved into a market city characterized by the flow of water, 
and, more recently, into a global city filled with stagnant and polluted water. 
We used a mixed methods approach that combined an analysis of historical 
sources (inscriptions, archival records, historical maps, and oral history 
interviews) and primary fieldwork conducted by the authors over the past 
six years. A series of field interviews were conducted in February–May in 
2013 and 2014, October–December in 2013 and 2014, July 2018, and April 
2019. 

 

2. THE TANK SYSTEM OF BENGALURU 

Tanks in South India, as Mosse (1999) points out, are man-made reservoirs 
created by embanking river water. Apart from irrigation, they help with 
percolation and groundwater recharge, flood control, and silt capture. 
These tanks were constructed because the region was semi-arid and lacked 
any major perennial water source required for agriculture (Gurukkal 1986). 
This locally crafted system of transforming an essentially semi-arid 
landscape of thorny scrub to an irrigated one helped craft liveable spaces 



[127] Amrita Sen, Hita Unnikrishnan, and Harini Nagendra 

out of harsh geographies, although they were often built on a structure of 
deep social inequity (Shah 2012; Unnikrishnan, Mundoli, and Nagendra 
2017).  

In Bengaluru, these tank networks date back to at least the sixth century 
CE, as documented by stone inscriptions. Tanks operated in association 
with common village grazing lands and wooded groves to support local 
livelihoods through a system of collective governance (Mundoli, 
Manjunatha, and Nagendra 2017). The water within the tanks was a 
resource that was simultaneously venerated and controlled. Successive 
dynasties attempted to expand their political and territorial domains by 
creating and extending tank systems; thus, many discourses hold that the 
system was not exclusively of local design but was also supported by the 
state (Mosse 1997). Inscriptional sources testify that tanks were also built 
for different social, economic, and religious reasons (Nagendra 2016).  

With the introduction of piped water systems in the mid to late nineteenth 
century, tanks began to lose their significance. Many tanks became polluted 
due to the impacts of urbanization (Nagendra 2010). Rapid industrialization 
coupled with growing real estate demands meant that several tanks and the 
channels connecting them were repurposed into land for built structures, 
while others were transformed into conduits for sewage disposal within the 
landlocked city. Tanks thus lost their interlinkages and physically 
transformed into stagnant, isolated pools of water in many parts of the city.  

A system once characterized by engineered water flow was transformed 
into one with mostly stagnant water. This change brought with it different 
perceptions of the waterbodies that testified to changing epistemologies of 
water within this landscape. Community narratives, which once mentioned 
a self-sufficient and sustainable social ecology with a flowing waterscape 
that supported livelihoods, now refer to these waterbodies as inert, static, 
and barren. Once considered tanks, they transformed in the public 
imagination into lakes: ecological and recreational spaces, rather than being 
water reservoirs for irrigation. As such, village communities regard the 
present lakes as recreational spaces that are patrolled by security guards. 
Thus, the lakes have been severed from their traditional usage patterns and 
are no longer seen as a source of livelihood (Unnikrishnan et al. 2016, 10).  

The next section demonstrates these changing narratives—using the case of 
the iconic Bellandur Lake—that are representative of Bengaluru‘s shifting 
waterscape.  

 



Ecology, Economy and Society–the INSEE Journal [128] 

3. CHANGING IMAGINATIONS: BELLANDUR LAKE IN 
BENGALURU 

Bellandur is the largest lake in Bengaluru, situated in the south-eastern part 
of the city and covering approximately 892 acres. The lake was once a 
lifeline for 18 villages and supported local economies dependent on 
agriculture, fishing, livestock, and orchards. In recent years, the lake has 
attracted international attention because of frothing due to contamination 
(Sengupta, Pallavi, and Goswami 2017). Residents living close by suffer 
from a range of health problems as a result of living in close proximity to 
the contaminated lake.  

3.1. Myths, legends, and the production of an urban social-ecological 
system 

The earliest reference to the system of lakes is from a stone inscription 
dated to 870 CE and attributed to the region‘s Ganga dynasty (Rice 1915). 
The inscription reads: ―Be it well. In the victorious year of the S‘rirajya, 
under Satyavakya-Permmadi‘s Kali-yuga Hanuman, Nagattara—the 
Irvvuliyur odeya, Irugamayya‘s son Siriyamayya fixed sluices to the two 
tanks, had the eastern tank built, and obtained the bittmatta of the three 
tanks. Imprecation‖ (17). 

While not directly referencing Bellandur Lake, this inscription refers to 
Agara Lake, which is situated upstream, and gives us a sense of how old 
these waterbodies are. As with anything that represents a connection to 
people who lived centuries ago, these waterbodies are associated with myths 
of inception and survival, which have endured through stories that have 
been passed down over several generations. 

In multiple interviews, we heard various versions of the legend of the origin 
of Bellandur Lake. All versions speak of a hungry and thirsty woman (in 
some versions she is old, and in others she is young and pregnant) who 
approached the local villagers for food and water. She is always credited 
with creating the lake from a barren landscape; the idea of barrenness 
assumes multiple meanings depending on whether she was offered help or 
turned away. One version of the legend, narrated to us by an elderly 
respondent, is this:  

There was a hungry old woman who visited Bellandur Village. There was no 
lake then; there was only a village here. She went from house to house begging 
for alms, but not one single person helped her. No one gave her food or water. 
She became angry, and in her anger, very powerful. She cursed the villagers by 
creating a flood—the water swept away many people and their homes and 



[129] Amrita Sen, Hita Unnikrishnan, and Harini Nagendra 

belongings. The water has remained since then, as a reminder of what happens 
when people do not help those in need.1 

Barrenness here assumes a metaphorical meaning—the barren nature of 
human society was made fluid (and more empathetic) with the influx of 
water. Water then became a purifier that washed away sins, thus creating a 
kinder social system.  

The lake was surrounded by open wells that tapped into shallow aquifers 
that it recharged. Communities had strict rules about managing the 
waterbody and specific members of the community performed particular 
roles in relation to this. In the words of another elderly interviewee: 

The neerganti (village waterman) would let out the right amount of water into 
each field using the sluice gates; he would also monitor the level of water in the 
lake. There was a stone placed on each bank of the lake that would tell us the 
level of water each year. If the water levels went up or down, we would pray to 
the lake goddess to help us. The town crier would also make announcements if 
there was a chance that the village was going to be flooded or if a drought was 
likely. 2 

Bellandur Lake is associated with two female deities—Gangamma and 
Dugalamma—who are locally worshipped through practices that evoke the 
plural ways in which the lake has both sustained and endangered the lives 
and livelihoods of the nearby communities. The legend of Dugalamma, for 
instance, is invoked when people are in danger of drowning in the deep 
waters of the lake. One interviewee told us, ―In days long past, there were 
not as many roads that people could travel on. To get to another part of 
this area, we had to cross a canal that was deep and dangerous. Before 
crossing this canal, it was our custom to pray to Dugalamma to protect and 
return us safely to our families.‖3  

Even today, locals worship this goddess, especially when they are about to 
undertake long journeys. Indeed, present-day road accidents in the locality 
continue to be attributed to her wrath and are interpreted as a sign that the 
deity‘s temple should be renovated or improved.  

Different occupational groups had multiple ways of invoking divine 
protection, often relating to the ways in which they used the lake. Women 
provided clothes or ornaments as offerings to enhance the well-being of 
those in the village. Farmers and livestock owners performed other rituals 
involving the sacrifice of sheep or buffaloes and the sprinkling of sacrificial 

                                                           
1 Interview conducted by Hita Unnikrishnan on February 20, 2015. 
2 Interview conducted by Hita Unnikrishnan on February 22, 2015. 
3 Interview conducted by Hita Unnikrishnan with priestess of the Dugalamma Temple on 28 
July, 2016. 



Ecology, Economy and Society–the INSEE Journal [130] 

blood on farmland. There were also village processions and community 
feasts to pray for adequate supplies of water or to invoke blessings for a 
healthy crop.  

Our interviewees recalled stories of how the daily upkeep and maintenance 
of the waterbody was considered both important and sacred; further, these 
everyday practices were intimately intertwined with the cultural landscape of 
the area. For instance, it was important that silt deposits within the channels 
and lakebed were monitored and managed. This was done in a rather 
unique fashion; in the words of one of our interviewees, ―It was important 
to remove the mud from the kaluves (channels) and the kere (lake). The lake 
is so big that a few people alone could not do it. So prisoners were brought 
from the jail to help. This was their community service—they had to 
remove the mud from the lakebed and channels.‖4  

The collected silt was then used to make religious idols, once again invoking 
the sacrality attributed to the waterbody. All these narratives provide 
fascinating insights into how the lake, the benefits people drew from it, as 
well as the dangers associated with the waterbody were highly integrated 
into the belief systems, rituals, and everyday practices of people. This 
produced a distinctive urban space that contributed to shaping, and in turn 
was shaped by, both societal and natural elements of the social-ecological 
system.  

3.2. Engineered flows and transformations within the urban social-
ecological system 

Oral history interviews conducted around Bellandur reflect the importance 
attached to the flow of water within the network of lakes and channels. 
One of our respondents said, ―Before all these buildings came up here, 
water would flow in and out of the lake—it was clean water; it was pure. 
We could drink it.‖5 Another noted, ―The water was so pure that it tasted 
like tender coconut water.‖6  

This system of flow represented a fundamental change within the social-
ecological landscape of the city. It transformed a landscape devoid of 
flowing water into one where water could be channelled, harnessed, and 
used over large swathes of land.  

Other commons were associated with Bellandur Lake, including nearby 
grazing lands and gunda thopes (village forests) that provided shelter to 

                                                           
4 Interview conducted with elderly resident of the area by Hita Unnikrishnan on February 
23, 2015. 
5 Interview conducted on September 11, 2018 by Amrita Sen, with a villager from Bellandur. 
6 Interview conducted on September 11, 2018 by Amrita Sen, with a villager from Bellandur. 



[131] Amrita Sen, Hita Unnikrishnan, and Harini Nagendra 

nomadic communities and functioned as a collective resource for wood. 
The deity Gangamma was worshipped through a massive celebration 
(Gange Puje) when the lake filled up and overflowed. During the festival, 
people cleaned and whitewashed their homes, made lamps, and sacrificed 
buffaloes and lambs to celebrate. Songs were sung to appease and thank the 
lake goddess for her benevolence; she was believed to be extremely 
powerful and was considered the protector of the lake bund.  

The advent of piped water in Bengaluru during the late eighteenth century 
signalled the arrival of a new era of transformation within the social-
ecological system. The luxury afforded by pipes bringing water from distant 
sources meant that the lakes no longer occupied a central position in 
meeting the needs of villagers. Although Bellandur was located outside the 
main city of Bengaluru then, many smaller lakes within the older parts of 
the city were connected to Bellandur Lake. Some of these lakes and their 
interconnecting channels were slowly built over, while others were filled 
with sewage. Several smaller lakes began to dry up as connectivity and, 
therefore, the flow of water into these lakes reduced. Other lakes within the 
network transformed from seasonal, rain-filled lakes into perennial, sewage-
filled lakes because of the continuous supply of sewage into them. The 
quality of water deteriorated, and native fish populations declined. Most 
agriculturists moved away or adopted other occupations, and the domestic 
use of the lake water reduced.  

The associated cultural practices also evolved. Today, lake deities are not 
worshipped in relation to the waterbody with which they were once 
associated, but for their own characteristics (such as providing protection to 
people undertaking a long journey). Additionally, ceremonies associated 
with the flow of water are not practised anymore or have dramatically 
reduced. In the words of one of our interviewees, ―We go to the lakes every 
day, but we don‘t use the water. We go to the bund to perform religious 
rituals, but we take clean water from our homes. The frequency of annual 
worships has also decreased. I won‘t feel sad if this polluted lake dries up. 
I‘ll actually be happy if this dirty water clears out of here and the menace 
reduces!‖7 

3.3. Negotiating previously networked waters as standalone 
waterbodies 

Every year since the early 2000s, Bellandur Lake has attracted both national 
and international attention as it froths up during the monsoon. Headlines 
such as ―It‘s not Switzerland! Bengaluru‘s Bellandur Lake Spews 10-ft High 

                                                           
7 Interview conducted by Hita Unnikrishnan on 20 February, 2015. 



Ecology, Economy and Society–the INSEE Journal [132] 

Toxic Foam‖ are accompanied by dramatic pictures of the toxic foam (The 
Economic Times 2018).  

Barely a few yards from this foam, real estate boards advertise the benefits 
of their premium ―lake-facing apartments‖, lending irony to this scene of 
chaos. Local governments assure citizens that the lake will be cleaned and 
sewage diverted and promise to allocate large sums of money for these 
activities. Several community collectives have been formed to organize 
clean-up drives, protests, and online petitions to restore the lake. These 
diverse and often conflicting activities around Bellandur Lake have one 
thing in common—an internalization of the new static identity of 
Bengaluru‘s lakes. Bellandur Lake is now seen as a standalone waterbody, 
whose connections to lakes either upstream or downstream have been 
rendered invisible. The significance of lakes within an interconnected 
system loses ground, thus giving way to isolated and compartmentalized 
attempts at restoring them, which do not often succeed due to a lack of 
systemic engagement with the dynamics of this complex social-ecological 
system.  

3.4. Changing epistemologies and an evolving waterscape: 
conclusions 

Despite the physical transformation of the landscape and the discursive 
shifts in the way the lake is perceived, in many ways, Bellandur remains an 
integral part of the city‘s fractured waterscape. The froth and fire that 
disrupted life around this lake are, in part, the effects of activities occurring 
upstream. Similarly, water flowing out of the lake affects other areas and 
lakes downstream. Where connections between individual lakes have been 
lost, monsoons wreak havoc, causing widespread flooding and damage, 
especially in those areas formerly occupied by a waterbody or its channels. 
It is these systemic connections that need to be re-engaged within this 
waterscape. The idea is that the water contained within these lakes is part of 
a larger urban circulatory network and that actions taken in one part of the 
city can indeed affect events occurring elsewhere.  

The history of Bellandur Lake informs us that restorative activities should 
be directed at the network and not just at individual lakes. This leads to the 
key message of this article—the need for cities, municipal bodies, and 
policy analysts to recognize the effective role that lakes as ―systems‖ can 
play in augmenting urban environmental resilience. Systemic activities also 
need to recognize that a lake is not just a hydrological or ecological entity, 
but a social-ecological space. Restoration needs to move beyond the current 
focus on hydrology and technology and aim to bring back the cultural 
connect to the waterbody. This can be achieved by making decisions that 



[133] Amrita Sen, Hita Unnikrishnan, and Harini Nagendra 

include under-represented voices and engaging with local traditions that 
respect the flow of water, while providing incentives to continue such 
engagement. In doing so, the city of Bengaluru must seek to make invisible 
epistemologies of water visible again. 

 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS 

The authors gratefully acknowledge funding from Azim Premji University 
in support of this research. Hita Unnikrishnan is also thankful for the 
British Academy-funded Newton International Fellowship awarded to her, 
which enabled this research.  

 

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