Exploring Mehrauli-Part 1: Google Map and tracing the route of Phoolwalon-ki-Sair

A few weeks back, I went to Mehrauli Archaeological Park with Delhi Heritage Walks. The park is magnificent and the stories about the monuments were quite interesting, to say the least. I especially liked two of them. One was about a gentleman named Sir Thomas Metcalfe who was Resident in the then Mughal emperor’s court for 40 years from 1813 and who landscaped some parts of the area where the park stands today. He built several follies (a folly is a structure meant for decoration, serving no practical purpose), the most well-known of which is situated near a Lodi-era tank that was turned by him into a boathouse. He also refurbished a Mughal tomb, made it his

summer retreat and named it “Dilkhusha”! The other story was about the four-layered Rajon ki Baoli. Built during Sikander Lodi’s time, it is said to have got its name from a group of masons who used it for some time. The walk leader mentioned that not very far from there is Gandhak Ki Baoli. Its water contains sulphur and many people believe that it has curative properties. It was built by Sultan Iltutmish (1296–1316) for Sufi saint Hazarat Qutbuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki, to whom the Qutb Minar is dedicated (I always thought it was named after Qutb-ud-din Aibak!). The dargah and the Yogmaya temple are the two important stops of the annual “Phoolwalon Ki Sair”, the festival/procession that was started in 1812 by the Queen of Akbar Shah II (one of those unknown powerless Mughal kings; Bahadur Shah Zafar’s pitaji) in thanksgiving after the return of her exiled son Mirza Jahangir.

Curious to see more, I decided to further explore Mehrauli on my own. On my next off-day, I started my walk (armed with Google maps) from the main gate of Yogmaya temple. It is an Adishakti Peeth dedicated to Devi Jogmaya (the story here refers to the girl child who was kept in place of Lord Krishna, was thrown into the wall by Kansa and who vanished after predicting his death). It was said to have been destroyed by Mahmood of Ghazni and has been reconstructed several times. The temple is regarded as one of five “Pandav Kalin” temples of Delhi. “Yeh 5000 saal purana hai beta,” said the elderly man selling “puja samagri” in a cart near the entrance. He also helpfully offered me a matchbox (“diya jalakar wapas le ana”). 

The present temple is a modern marbled one, with intricate carvings on the outer wall. There was a string of beautiful brass bells near ‘garbh griha’ but I refrained from clicking a picture as I was not sure if that was allowed. During Phoolwalon Ki Sair, floral ‘pankha’ (fans) are offered in this temple as well as at the nearby dargah of Bakhtiyar Kaki, a tradition that was started by Akbar Shah II himself.

From the temple gateway (opposite the Qutb Minar complex), it takes around 10 minutes to reach the dargah. The narrow pathway near its entrance has the usual ensemble of chadar and flower sellers, souvenir shops, and a number of alms seekers. A group of three ladies kept on asking me to treat them to tea. I went into the main courtyard of the dargah which was teeming with devotees. A group of qawwals were singing amidst the din. Ladies are not allowed near the main tomb and I took a photo from behind a “jali”. Here, a server himself said photography is allowed, so I didn’t hesitate.

The dargah once shared its boundary with “Zafar Mahal”, the last palace built by the Mughals. It was started by Akbar II and completed by the last Mughal Bahadur Shah Zafar, who, it is said, wanted to be buried there and even kept a place reserved, but that did not happen as he was deported to Rangoon by the British after the 1857 mutiny, to suffer a lonely death. Google map was failing as too many shops and buildings have come up in between the dargah and the palace. I asked a shopkeeper who said he never heard the name Zafar Mahal. A lady flower seller (Many of the stalls outside the premises are being run by women) said “arre usko sheesh mahal kehte hai” and

showed me the way. 

I braved a narrow sloping lane full of cramped houses, tailoring and grocery shops with god-knows-what-kind-of-water overflowing into the path and walked on -- and suddenly, the imposing “haathi gate” of the palace sprang up before me. I looked at the huge closed doorway of the red-and-cream-coloured structure and took a few pictures, earning amused glances from some passers-by. There was a small opening in the gate but I decided against going in, thinking of safety aspects. There are ruins of the palace, a few graves and a white mosque inside – the second Moti Masjid in Delhi after the one at Red Fort. Those interested to know further can refer to Mayank Austen Soofi's blog.

I returned to the lane leading to the dargah. The three ladies were still there. One shouted, “arre aab toh chaye pila de”. I really wanted to treat a fellow tea-lover but wasn’t sure how that will turn out, and made a quick exit towards Gandhak ki Baoli. The water in the stepwell appeared stagnant but people say it looks completely different during the rainy season.

My last stop for the day was Dadabari Jain temple. Said to be 800 years old, the temple is around one km from the dargah but I took an autorickshaw because I was not sure of the safety of the route. However, I found out that the road is quite okay. Next time, I can walk.

The Dadabari temple is very beautiful, with excellent marble and coloured glass work on the outer surface and inner shrine, respectively. It is built on the cremation ground of Jain Saint Manidhari Dada Shri Jinchandra Suri. The complex is considerably large, though not all of it is visible from the road (Devpurji Ashram Marg). There was a steady stream of visitors but it was quiet and peaceful. Dadabari is a common name for some Jain temples dedicated to saints revered as Dada Guru Dev. I searched for Jain Dadabari Temple, Kolkata and yes! There is one at the famous Parshwanath temple complex in our very own Manicktala.

Speaking of Bengal connection, did you know that Rabindranath Tagore wrote a long poem called “Bandi Bir” on the valiant Baba Banda Singh Bahadur, the respected Sikh warrior? His “shaheedi asthan” is also nearby. (For information I took help from several websites, including the blogs of Soofi, Anuradha Goyal, Rangan Dutta and Vikarmjit Singh Rooprai.)

<February 2018; Next: Exploring Mehrauli Part-II>

A Chance Meeting with the Poet

Staying near Nizamuddin for 15 years has its advantages. Even if you are not a strong believer, you cannot but get attracted by the sights and sounds of the famous Sufi dargah and its surroundings. The chaos, colour and character of the area urge the curious visitor to look for more, and over the years, with the help of a few friends, I not only explored the shrine and nearby places but also discovered well-decorated restaurants tucked inside shabby lanes and quaint tea shops serving “chai” with extra “malai”. 
But I never went to the tomb of Mirza Ghalib. 

Now, that’s a bit odd for a poetry enthusiast (I don’t claim to be proficient in Urdu but Ghalib is beyond any language barrier). The problem is that Mazar-e-Mirza Ghalib is very easy to miss. There’s this pharmacy in the corner of Karim’s lane, the shop selling newspapers and books, the flower and ‘chadar’ sellers screaming “juta yahan rakhiye, juta yahan rakhiye” and then the Ghalib Academy gate. In between, there is a small slice of a path leading to the gate of Urs Mahal, cultural events are held there during the Urs of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya and other such special days. This also serves as the entry point to the tomb of the man who wrote “hazaron ḳhwahishen aisi...”

On one Sunday, after taking part in a heritage walk in Humayun’s Tomb just across the Mathura Road, I and a friend decided to visit Ghalib’s grave. I actually missed the entry again and had to ask a shopkeeper. The Urs Mahal compound was empty, barring a few children who were playing cricket. We noticed a large white marbled structure on the right side, but it did not look like Ghalib’s tomb as I had seen in internet. “I don’t think this one is Ghalib’s,” I said.

At that moment, a security guard, wearing a fluorescent green jacket, walked up to us. “Yeh Chausanth Khamba hai. Aapko mazar-e-Ghalib dekhna hai? Aiye main dono dikha deta hoon”.
The guard-turned-guide then took us to Chausanth Khamba, a tomb built for himself by Mughal nobleman Mirza Aziz Koka/Kokaltash. The guard described him as Akbar ka “satela bhai” though Google search shows that he was actually the foster brother of the emperor and son of his minister Atgah Khan. Chausanth Khamba is called thus because 64 pillars are said to be supporting its roof (though Mayank Austen Soofi of famous “Delhi Walla” blog says one can count only up to 36). 

Chausanth Khamba is the larger building in the complex and Ghalib’s tomb, a beautiful but small structure also made of white marble, is kind of hidden behind it. As one enters the courtyard (renovated in 2009 by Agha Khan Trust), the first thing anyone will notice is how quiet it is. The hustle and bustle of Nizamuddin Basti suddenly seems to be a mile away. As if the poet wanted a peaceful abode and it has been granted to him. Or maybe I imagined all that, I don’t know. Maybe reading a Ghalib couplet inscribed on a plaque in the soft glow of twilight makes one’s imagination run too far.
“na tha kuchh to ḳhuda tha kuchh na hota to ḳhuda hota
Duboya mujh ko hone ne na hota main to kya hota”. 

“Aapne time mein sirf India nahi, Asia ka best poet the.” said Mr Singh, our guide, while sharing snippets of information on Ghalib’s life and work. I was busy taking pictures of the tombstone, where a few lines were written in Urdu. (Later found out that it is the same couplet as cited above). As we crossed the gate of the Urs Mahal and returned to the busy crowd of devotees, shopkeepers, beggars and tramps, it felt like we had just been to another world.

P.S.: From poetic to the mundane: While returning, discovered a bakery selling excellent “dilwala feni” (French Palmier cookie) and “nan khatai”.

Trivia: (Not on Ghalib). Atgah Khan was murdered by Adham Khan, son of Akbar’s chief nurse and advisor Maham Anga. Adham Khan is the same guy whom we have seen in “Jodha Akbar”, being thrown off Agra Fort twice as punishment for the same crime.

(February 2018)

A Trek to Lakes

I had the good fortune of enjoying the breathtaking view of blue-eyed Pangong Tso in Ladakh and Nainital-Bhimtal-Sattal in Uttarakhand. I plan to visit Damdama Lake in Gurugram someday, despite being warned about overcrowding. My fascination with lakes is such that I often look at DTC bus 310 which goes to “Jheel” and think of travelling till its last stoppage.

So, when I came across a Facebook post by DelhiByFoot inviting adventure enthusiasts to explore the “secret lakes of Delhi” near Asola Bhatti wildlife sanctuary, I thought of grabbing the opportunity. After all, you can visit some places in and around Delhi (such as Asola or Najafgarh marshlands or Tughlakabad) only in a group. There was one strong reason not to go; it will involve walking around 8 km and I was not sure whether I can manage that. A few years back, I had walked 13 km up the hills from Katra to Vaishno Devi but my health condition has changed since then.

Finally, I registered for it with a chalo-jo-hoga-dekha-jayega attitude. The meeting place was Anangpur village in Faridabad (a few of us got a lift from a kind-hearted co-walker) from where the fairly large group started after having a cup of leathery and very sweet tea. Google baba informed that Anangpur is named after Tomar king Anangpal, who also built a dam nearby (that still exists, said our walk leader). Just two km away is the more famous Suraj Kund, said to have been built by king Surajpal of the same dynasty.

The lakes of Asola, nestled in the Aravali ranges, however, are not natural. In fact, they are a result of unchecked human consumption. Deep pits were dug during unregulated mining activities in the area, which have turned into large lakes. The Supreme Court in 2002 banned mining in the ecologically sensitive Aravalis. The lakes offer no hint about their dark past. They are beautiful, with clear green-blue water, surrounded by saffron rocks, not tourist-riddled barring a few cyclists (therefore litter-free) and they can transport you to another world despite being so near to the madding crowd of Delhi. There are quite a few lakes in that zone but we saw only three. The local villager who was guiding us said their depth is 200 feet or more. Swimming is prohibited and should not be attempted, he said. 

The jungle trail is not easy either. The woods are not lovely, dark and deep but thorny, rugged, stony and steep. The thorns are capable of even pricking through your denim or cargo trousers. My beloved pair of jeans once saved me from the bite of one of the patriarchal dogs in my society (I call them so because they appear unhappy with women like me who sometimes come home after 9 pm) but it is of

not much use in the sea of thorns. There are only the “kante” and hardly any “phool” in the jungle. I got a few scratches and like a true-blue Bengali, took out my Boroline tube. Some others also shared it. I was feeling proud of Shri Gourmohan Dutta.

Our journey ended at someone’s outhouse in the village with a brunch of makki ki roti, white butter, dal and sabji, being cooked by two widely smiling local ladies. After hours of walking, I started admiring even the vegetarian dishes (quite unlike me). In the morning, I thought of visiting the Surajkund Mela (it was the last day of the fair) after the trip but dropped the plan because 1) I was tired and 2) who wants to see hundreds of people pushing and jostling each other after you have seen those lakes?

Statutory warning: If anyone wants to visit, summers are not a good time and you must go with one of the walking groups. It is not a picnic spot and a couple or family visit may turn unsafe. Without local guidance, it is fairly easy to lose your way. And yes, mobile phones may show “no network”.

(February 2018; Next: Exploring Mehrauli – 1st part)