The Audacious Theft of 3.5 Tonnes Cannon From Narwar Fort in MP Proves How Little We Care About Our History & Monuments

History did not disappear from Narwar Fort in a single night. It took nearly two weeks.

Around July 3, a group of men quietly entered the sprawling hill fort in Shivpuri district of Madhya Pradesh and attempted to move one of its most treasured relics—a 3.5-tonne cannon that had stood there for more than three centuries. The men allegedly managed to bring the massive gun down from its masonry platform but were unable to transport it any further. They abandoned the effort and left.

A complaint was made to the local police. Nothing happened.

According to P.C. Mahobiya, deputy director (North Zone), Madhya Pradesh State Archaeology Department, the incident was apparently treated as an act of mischief rather than the opening act of a meticulously planned theft.

“The police did not react, perhaps because they thought it was the handiwork of some mischievous elements,” Mahobiya tells Outlook. “They never thought the cannon itself would be stolen.” Twelve days later, on the night of July 15, the gang returned.

This time they came prepared.

Armed with a crane, a mini-truck and apparently intimate knowledge of the fort’s terrain, more than 30 men allegedly rolled the cannon nearly 400 metres downhill to the nearest motorable track before lifting it onto a waiting vehicle. After two attempts to load the enormous gun, they drove away.

Weeks later, despite a joint investigation by the Madhya Pradesh and Rajasthan police, the cannon remains missing. The theft has naturally been described as daring. But the more unsettling story lies elsewhere.

How could a documented, centuries-old cannon weighing 3.5 tonnes disappear from a protected monument after the authorities had already received an advance warning?

A Fort Left Unprotected

Narwar Fort dominates the landscape of Shivpuri district. Spread across nearly eight kilometres, the hill fort has witnessed centuries of political upheaval. Hindu dynasties, the Delhi Sultanate, the Mughals, the Scindias and later powers all occupied this strategic stronghold overlooking central India.

Today, however, its greatest enemy appears to be neglect. “There was no one,” Mahobiya says of the night the cannon disappeared. “We generally have five people looking after the security of the fort during the day, including four private security personnel and one government employee. At night only two private security personnel are posted. But on July 15, when the theft occurred, there was no one.”

The fort also had no CCTV surveillance. “There was no CCTV network inside Narwar Fort. Now we are planning to have one,” Mahobiya says.

That promise arrives only after one of the monument’s most significant artefacts has vanished.

The staffing figures illustrate the scale of the problem. The Gwalior zone of the State Archaeology Department is responsible for nearly 250 protected monuments, including major forts such as Garh Kundar in Niwari district. “For [all of] them, we have just 171 security staff, including some of our employees,” Mahobiya says.

The numbers reveal an uncomfortable reality. Across central India, hundreds of archaeological sites are expected to survive with skeletal security, little surveillance and limited resources. Narwar is not an exception. It is simply the latest example.

Cannon That History Recorded

The missing gun was far more than a large piece of metal. Its importance had been recognised more than a century ago by Sir Alexander Cunningham, the British army engineer who later became the first director-general of the Archaeological Survey of India and is widely regarded as the father of Indian archaeology.

Cunningham devoted 21 pages in the second volume of the Archaeological Survey of India Reports to Narwar. His account reads less like a survey and more like a tribute to a fort that had played a pivotal role in central Indian history.

He chronicled the succession of Hindu and Muslim rulers who governed Narwar, described its formidable defences and noted its strategic location. He also recorded that Emperor Akbar frequently hunted elephants in the forests surrounding Narwar—an indication of the region’s importance during the Mughal period.

Perhaps, even more remarkable were Cunningham’s observations on metallurgy. He wrote that the Narwar-Gwalior region possessed deposits of exceptionally high-quality iron ore and suggested that iron produced there compared favourably with British iron of the period. It is no coincidence that such a region also produced formidable artillery.

Among the cannons that caught Cunningham’s attention was the very gun that has now disappeared. He described it in meticulous detail in a report titled ‘Four Reports Made During the years 1862-63-64-65’.

“The gun is built up of nine parallel iron bars which are held together by an outer casing of bronze,” he wrote. The cannon measured about ten feet in length and bore the Hindi inscription Fateh-Jang: “Victorious in War”. Cunningham dated it to 1696 CE.

Ironically, those 19th-century descriptions have become one of the best surviving records of an artefact that has vanished in the 21st century. “The material used in the cannon itself makes it worth around Rs 1.5 crore,” Mahobiya says. “If you add the archaeological significance, it is much more... almost priceless.”

A Disaster Foretold

For local historian Manoj Maheshwari, the theft was not merely shocking.

It was predictable.

A former chairman of the Narwar municipality who later completed a doctoral study on the fort, Maheshwari has spent years documenting its history and warning about its vulnerability.

“The thieves operated almost the whole night,” he says. “They rolled the heavy cannon…used heavy machinery…There was no one to challenge them.”

Maheshwari says repeated appeals to improve security have gone unanswered. “We have been demanding that gates be installed inside the fort. We wanted doors at the Kachahri Mahal where the cannons are kept. But no one listens to us.”

His criticism becomes even more compelling because this was not the first theft from the fort. Another cannon stolen last year was eventually recovered. Yet it never returned to its original place. “The cannon is still lying in Narwar police station,” Mahobiya says.

That raises an obvious question. If one theft had already exposed the monument’s vulnerability, why were the remaining cannons not given stronger protection?

More Questions Than Answers

The investigation took an unexpected turn after the arrest of two suspects. According to the police, one accused claimed the cannon had not been stolen for its historical value or to sell in the black market. Instead, he allegedly told investigators that it was meant to intimidate members of the Gurjar community in Gavda Meena village in Rajasthan’s Karauli district.

The alleged motive centres on a long-running dispute over the release of water from a local dam. According to the accused’s statement, the stolen cannon was intended to threaten the Gurjars by suggesting that the dam could be blasted open. Whether that explanation reflects the true motive remains uncertain.

The cannon has not been recovered. Nor has the investigation conclusively established where it was taken or what ultimately happened to it.

Adding another layer to the mystery, Vinay Yadav, the station house officer of Narwar Kotwali police station believes the old gun could potentially be made operational.

“They can make the gun operative because they have the technology,” he says, referring to what investigators encountered during their inquiries in parts of Karauli, a region that once formed part of princely Rajasthan.

Whether experts in historical artillery would agree is another question. But the statement illustrates how unusual this investigation has become.

Beyond One Missing Cannon

Even if the police ultimately establish that the theft was linked to a local community dispute, the Narwar case raises broader concerns.

India has struggled for decades to protect its vast archaeological wealth. Ancient idols have disappeared from remote temples. Temple sculptures have surfaced in foreign museums. Historic artefacts have travelled through smuggling networks before eventually being repatriated after years of diplomatic effort.

Investigators have not suggested that the Narwar cannon was stolen for the antiquities market. Yet the operation itself—a reconnaissance visit, heavy machinery, interstate movement and careful planning—demonstrates how vulnerable heritage sites can be when security is weak.

The theft also reveals a persistent imbalance in heritage conservation.

Iconic monuments receive attention, funding and surveillance. Hundreds of lesser-known forts, temples and archaeological sites survive with minimal staffing and almost no technological protection.

Narwar, despite its extraordinary history, appears to have fallen into that category.

The theft also presents an uncomfortable paradox for the Madhya Pradesh government. Successive Bharatiya Janata Party governments at both the Centre and in the state have repeatedly projected the preservation of India’s civilisational heritage and cultural legacy as a governance priority, a senior bureaucrat observes. “Yet the condition of Narwar Fort tells a different story. A monument documented by Alexander Cunningham, left without CCTV coverage, protected by an overstretched security apparatus and, on the night of the theft, without a single guard on duty, raises difficult questions about whether heritage conservation has received the same attention as heritage symbolism,” he says.

The Real Mystery

For centuries, Narwar Fort survived sieges, dynastic struggles and political upheaval. Its cannon outlived kingdoms, the Mughal Empire, British rule and the birth of independent India. Cunningham considered it important enough to document in painstaking detail for future generations. Yet its greatest vulnerability emerged not during war, but during peace.

A warning was missed.

A complaint was overlooked.

No guards were present.

No cameras watched.

And one of central India’s most significant historic cannons disappeared into the night.

Whether investigators eventually recover the gun or not, the theft has already exposed something far larger than a single criminal act. It has revealed how fragile India’s historical inheritance becomes when monuments are left understaffed, underfunded and unprotected.

The missing cannon is still the object of a police search. The larger search, for accountability, for better stewardship of India’s heritage, and for answers to how such an extraordinary theft was allowed to happen, has only just begun.

Corrigendum

In our issue dated July 6, the article on IIM Ahmedabad carried an incorrect photograph of Director Prof Bharat Bhasker. The correct photograph has been updated online. The error is regretted.

Deshdeep Saxena is a Bhopal-based journalist

(This story appeared in Outlook magazine’s August 31 issue, 'Whose Idea of India?', in which India’s noted public intellectuals, policymakers, cultural practitioners, political leaders, scholars and economists write in detail about the idea of India they believe can best secure the nation’s future as we celebrate 80 years of independence.)