My rediscovery of Zeb-un-Nisa

I always liked historical novels and in childhood, my absolute favourite was “Rajsingha”, in which Bankimchandra Chattopadhay pits a brave Rajput King against Mughal emperor Aurangzeb and the former emerges victorious.

I first read the name of Zeb-un-Nisa, Aurangzeb’s eldest daughter, in that book, which depicted her as like her father – cruel and tyrannical. It said she had considerable influence in power corridors and has been a rich and spoilt princess.

Somehow, that depiction stuck in my mind despite knowing that a historical novel is not history itself, even if it gets some of the events, dates, or incidents correct.

I forgot about Zeb-un-Nisa until recently, when I chanced upon her name as I was surfing the net for information on Salimgarh Fort in Delhi. I had visited Salimgarh a few months back and was writing a blog post on it (link given at the end of the post). Several articles mentioned that Zeb-un-Nisa was imprisoned by Aurangzeb in Salimgarh for 20 years, till her death (There are quite a few stories about how some people believe that her ghost still haunts Salimgarh, roaming around in moonlight). I probed further and found information which offers a completely different view of the princess. May be many people know this, but for me, it was a surprise to read that she was a scholar of Persian and Arabic, a Sufi poet and a bibliophile.

She also learned philosophy, mathematics and astronomy, was a calligrapher, and a collector of manuscripts and books. Her library was “one of the most extensive in the country,” writes Ira Mukhoty in her “Daughters of the Sun: Empresses, Queens and Begums of the Mughal Empire”. She wrote poetry under the pen-name “Makhfi” (“the hidden one” in Persian). The majority view of historians is that her ties with Aurangzeb soured because the ambitious princess backed her brother Muhammad Akbar in his plan to de-throne the emperor. After discovering some of her letters to Akbar, the furious emperor had her property confiscated, and put her in prison. She wrote poetry even during her long years of confinement, and years after her death, over 400 of her verses were compiled in a book named “diwan-i- Makhfi”. Its translation is available online.

Zeb-un-Nissa was buried in a garden outside Kabuli Gate, (though her remains were later shifted to Agra by the British), which is said to have been gifted to her by her aunt Jahanara, who also believed in Sufism. Jahanara, the princess who commissioned Chandni Chowk, lies in rest in a small enclosure In the courtyard of the tomb of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya.

Among the tombs of women Sufis in Delhi, the dargah of Hazrat Mai Saheba in Adhchini and the tomb of Bibi Fatima in Kaka Nagar are well-known. The former was the mother of Nizamuddin Auliya, while the latter was also a contemporary of the Sufi saint. Women are allowed upto the inner sanctum in both of these tombs. 

UPDATE: After I uploaded this post in Facebook, heritage enthusiast and photographer Praveen Kumar jee told me about a scheduled event on May 26 on "The Sufi Daughter of Aurangzeb" by storytelling organization "Darwesh", which holds performative walks on history in lesser-visited monuments of Delhi. I had attended an excellent performance by Darwesh in Roshanara Bagh a few months back, which brought alive the Mughal game of thrones involving Dara Sikoh, Aurangzeb, Jahanara and Roshanara with a combination of elements such as storytelling, theatre and narration of history. So, I eagerly registered for this one too. And I was not disappointed at all. The walk in Red Fort and Salimgarh, led by Nitika Arora, nicely set up the context with accounts of the life and times of influential Mughal queens and princesses, topping it up with theatrical rendition of the poems of Zeb-un-Nisa, bringing out different facets of her life, love, poetry, and her long years of isolation at the Salimgarh prisons. What I found interesting in these  performative walks by the group is that how easily the performers/walk leaders switch between narration of history and theatre/drama. As if you are being transported to another time and back within seconds.

Quite a few poems of Zeb-in-Nisa were shared/performed, but I liked this one the best.

"Were an artist to choose me for his model -

How could he draw the form of a sigh."

Salimgarh ruins

Memories of last summer: Full Moon in Kashi, Sunshine in Sikri

A friend of mine says a photograph is a “memory-aider”. I find it as an apt statement. Even after years, if you revisit the pics taken during a trip, the highlights of that tour play on the mind-screen. For the last few days, Google photos app is reminding me of an Agra-Fatehpur Sikri-Varanasi-Allahabad trip I had undertaken last summer with a friend, who is a travel writer. And the photos are making me eager to re-live those moments.

It was memorable in many ways. The extreme heat which was making us question our decision to choose the month of May for travel in North India, the early morning view of the Taj from our Agra hotel roof,  remembering the scenes of the films shot in Kashi by Satyajit Ray as we roamed through the alleys of the temple town, the 14-hour sleeper coach bus journey from Agra to Kashi, the rooftop restaurant along the Ganga where we devoured dinner and a glorious night view of the river, the walk through the ghats of Kashi, the overcrowded bus from Kashi to Allahabad which had a couple that lost the count of their children and almost left one behind if not for the alertness of the conductor – it was a jumble of too many sights and sounds to pack in one post. So, I chose three moments which I still savour.

Moment 1: A touch of nostalgia; We were roaming in the Fatehpur Sikri complex, its architectural splendour making us oblivious to the 42 degree Celsius heat, when I suddenly felt an odd sense of deja vu. Was I here before? But I was visiting the site for the first time. Then? I realized after a few seconds that I have seen a photograph of my father at the exact same spot, taken nearly 50 years back, with Panch Mahal in the backdrop. I tried to recreate family history by posing at the same place, but alas! The photo later got deleted by me mistakenly. Still, it was a moment worth cherishing. 

Moment 2: Taj, unveiled; We reached Agra late in the afternoon, came out of our hotel (Atulyaa Taj) and took a rickshaw to Taj Mahal, only to realize that it was closing time already. The rickshaw-puller told us, “I am dropping you in front of the gate. Walk straight and you will reach the Yamuna Ghat. From there, you can get a nice view. Come back and I will be here.” 

We walked past the East Gate. The road was not crowded except for a few children and a large number of monkeys here and there. The red sandstone side walls of the Taj complex were on our left. We kept on walking, and as if by magic, from behind the vibrant red stone, peeped the glorious white marbled monument. Its silent grandeur was unveiled slowly before our eyes, as we reached the ghat and stood awe-struck beside the sliver of a river Yamuna. At that moment I could understand why it has inspired so many poets and travellers for so many years. 

After we returned, we paid the rickshaw-puller double his due.

Moment 3: Moonrise at Kashi; We were in a small boat, stationed in the water just opposite the Dashashwamedh Ghat, to watch the Ganga aarti live. Young boys selling Bisleri water bottles were jumping from boat to boat, which were stuck together, sometimes swinging from side to side. All the boatmen were trying to push their vessels towards the ghat at the same time, looking for the best position and causing considerable chaos. It was peak summer and there was a reduced flow of water into the river, making the bank on the other side appear quite near. The chanting of shlokas started on the ghat, which had then come alive with thousands of people and lights and huge ceremonial lamps with multi-level flames, swung rhythmically by priests. But I looked towards the other side for no reason and there it was! A brilliant full moon, its shadow on the gentle ripples of the water, the sand-stretch on the bank gleaming like a mystery. A boat painted in bright red and flying a red flag was just passing through, creating a frame which will be a painter’s delight. The photo clicked by me doesn’t do justice to the moment.

Sajan Radio... Bajayio Bajayio Bajayio Zara

Last week, I had the chance to visit the "museum of waste" of Goonj in Sarita Vihar, which showcases a collection of unused old items donated to the NGO. There, I saw this absolute beauty, a large vintage radio set along with speakers, that brought back a few childhood memories.

For middle class families with no store-rooms, balconies were the place to hoard junk items, and ours had a 2 ftx1ft skeleton of a radio taking most of the space. Made by one of my mom's maternal uncles and gifted to her in her wedding, the radio was lying non-functional for quite some time when I first noticed it, but it had its uses for me. The parts of different shapes and sizes fascinated me and I imagined it to be a laboratory full of modern machines and myself as a famous inventor. I was Marie Curie. What science did to me or what I did to science in later years is a different story altogether, one I am not too eager to discuss. The radio set also doubled up as the machine room of Titanic as I played the captain of the ill-fated ship. It always had a happy ending as the 8-year-old version of myself successfully dodged the iceberg every time.

We had a functioning radio too, of Murphy company. Two knobs for power and volume, one for stations, Akashvani Kolkata, Vividh Bharati, Yuva Vani, East Bengal-Mohun Bagan football match relay. The radio used to be on all day, mostly churning out songs and causing no distraction because it is a gadget which can keep running and you can go on with your usual work unhindered. Till now, I inexplicably remember random things I used to hear at that time on the radio, such as a four-line song made for advertising the merits of a particular insecticide or the title track of a horror drama series that used to be on air at 12 noon every Saturday.

But my earliest memory of that radio set is a joyous one. It was during the 1983 cricket World Cup, or the Prudential Cup, as the papers used to call it. I used to watch, half asleep, as everyone else in the family would gather round the radio late at night, in darkness, to listen to the relay of the matches. I will look at the blinking red and yellow lights and drift off to sleep and in the next morning, the breakfast table will come alive with discussions on the exploits of Mahinder Amarnath or Kapil Dev. On the night of the final match, I woke up to the sound of bursting of firecrackers. The lights were on. One of my sisters requested my mom to allow her to go to the flat of one of the neighbours to watch the award presentation ceremony. Mom said yes and she rushed out. Theirs was the only house in the society to have a television set then and it was a common occurrence that half of the mohalla will turn up there for such special occasions. No one used to mind at that time. And no one ever thought there will be a TV in your pocket one day.

That's enough for today, now let me put on my earphones and listen to AIR FM

Exploring Mehrauli–III: Inside Zafar Mahal

In this blog, I have already shared stories of my travels in Mehrauli with the help of Google Map (https://trailoftwocities.blogspot.com/2019/02/exploring-mehrauli-part-1-google-map.html and https://trailoftwocities.blogspot.com/2019/02/exploring-mehrauli-ii-tracing-route-of.html), but as I had mentioned, I was alone, and due to concerns over safety inside a desolate structure (with no security guards seen at that particular time), I could not enter Zafar Mahal, said to be the last palace built by the Mughals.

So, when I found out about a Mehrauli walk being organized by well-known heritage group DelhiByFoot in March thbis year, I thought I should grab this opportunity. The walk, led by Jaya Iyer, one of the prominent walk leaders of the city at present, touched the key points of a typical Mehrauli trail, such as the Yogmaya temple, Hauz-i-Shamsi and Jahaz Mahal, but I will mostly focus on Zafar Mahal.

Its construction was started by Akbar Shah II in 1842 and completed by the last Mughal Bahadur Shah Zafar, who, it is said, wanted to be buried there and even kept a place reserved for himself, but that did not happen as he was deported to Rangoon by the British authorities after the 1857 rebellion, to suffer a lonely death far away from his homeland.

Tucked among the bylanes near the dargah of Sufi saint Kutbuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki, the huge arched gateway of the complex, called “Haathi Gate”, can gives anyone a feeling of being dwarfed. I noticed two windows on the uppermost level, jutting out and covered by Bengal-style chala roofs. The gate was closed and our entrance was through a small square-shaped door on the right lower side, which inexplicably reminded me of a similar small doorway in the gate of in my secondary school. The difference was that I entered through one to build my future and went via the other to find out about our past, I thought.

The complex is in a state of unkemptness, but still very beautiful. The upper floor from where the emperors used to watch the annual Phoolwalon-ki-Sair procession, going to Yogamaya temple and the dargah of Qutb Sahib, has several chambers intact. The dome of the dargah can be seen clearly from here. However, the most distinctive structure at the site, I felt, was the “Moti Masjid”, a private mosque of the royals which may remind one of the Moti Masjid built by Aurangzeb in Red Fort. This one is even simpler in its visual effect. There is no attempt at creating any ornate design or decorations. It is made of white marble, silent and stark in its demeanour.

Next to Moti Masjid is a marbled enclosure with graves of the later Mughal emperors and an empty space which was supposed to be the burial place of Bahadur Shah Zafar.

“Kitna hai bad-nasib ‘Zafar’ dafn ke liye

Do gaz zameen bhi na mili ku-e-yar mein”

(How unlucky is Zafar, to not even find two yards for burial in the land of his beloved).

As DelhiByFoot member Mehtab recited the lines penned by by emperor who was also a poet, it seemed that the walls of the ruins are emanating a sense of forlornness and longing. Last time I had such thoughts about loneliness and despair when I was standing in front of the grave of Razia Sultan, the first female ruler of India, near Turkman Gate in Chandni Chowk. After traversing through dark, congested and dingy lanes, when a visitor comes face to face with the desolate, unmarked, unadorned grave, he or she is bound to contemplate on the futility of life, fame and power.

Our next stop in the tour was also a graveyard, albeit with a difference. The 15^th-century “Hizron Ka Khanqah”, a spiritual retreat for the transgender people of the city. The square-shaped courtyard, where members of the community congregate regularly, has 51 graves of the “kinnars”. The complex, is quiet and peaceful; the hullabaloo of the busy market outside dies down as soon as one enters through the small arched gate with domes on both sides, bearing the crescent-and-star symbol.

When I first came to Delhi, like many others, I thought Mehrauli is only about the Qutub complex. But this “first city” of Delhi, as described by many chroniclers, is full of such hidden gems of history. Even those historians and heritage enthusiasts who have been visiting Mehrauli for years, may find that many aspects of these sites are still left to explore and analyze.

I will go back again someday.

Roam Alone: Bagh-e-Alam

Delhi has been the “city of seven (or eight, or more?) cities”, they say, and as a result, nearly every nook and corner of the national capital offers you a chance to see a historical site, a tomb, or a lesser-known heritage structure. There are so many of them that Delhiites may drive by some of them every day of their lives and not know anything about them at all. Urban lifestyle disorders like encroachment may have led to the death or ill-health of a few of such heritage sites, but there are still plenty on offer to bump into during a casual and unplanned morning walk.

The same happened with me a few weeks back when I had a sudden urge to go and have a close encounter with some of the inhabitants of the Deer Park in Hauz Khas area.

Hauz-I-Alai, the reservoir built by Sultan Allauddin Khalji for use of residents of Siri, the city built by him, and other heritage structures in the Hauz Khas complex such as the tomb of Sultan Firoz Shah Tughlaq are among the historical landmarks of Delhi, but a few other monuments are also situated in the Deer Park, which lies just a few metres away. However, I knew nothing about them. I was just bored of going to Lodi Garden for morning walk every day and was seeking a change of venue on that day.

I have always visited Hauz Khas village -- famous for its posh eateries, designer garment outlets and other such “uber-cool" stuff -- during the evening rush hours. So, it was slightly odd to see rows and rows of closed shops and restaurants. This part of the city sleeps late and wakes up late, I thought, as I went through the gate of Deer Park, looking at the spread of vegetables on a plastic sheet and a group of customers haggling over the price of tomatoes. As the day progresses, they will be replaced by well-attired men and women, discussing “molecular gastronomy” or “gluten-free fast food".

I don't know whether it was the heat, or something else, but none of the four-legged residents of Deer Park were venturing outside, except the stray dogs, with whom I share a long-standing relationship of mutual uneasiness.

Shrugging off my fear of dogs, I  started strolling in the park. Joggers, cyclists, yoga enthusiasts and morning walkers were scattered here and there, among uneven growth of vegetation, thorny shrubs and wide-stemmed trees spread haphazardly. However, after some time, I started missing the orderliness of Lodi Garden. It is much more organized and its better landscaping makes it easier for walkers to move unhindered. View-wise too, Lodi Garden is better, as the red and yellow sandstone of the tombs and monuments looks even more striking in the backdrop of sky-high trees, I thought, as I manoeuvred my way through prickly branches of shrubs.

Suddenly, as if by magic, a small black-domed structure appeared on my right side. As I went nearer, I could see the red-coloured ASI signboard announcing its name – Kali Gumti. No surprises there.

I looked around and there was a larger structure just a few yards away, half-hidden among trees. Internet search displayed its name - Bagh-I-Alam Ka Gumbad, 1501. There was no one around, except one elderly woman sitting on a bench and looking towards a greyish wall mosque adjoining the gumbad. It was like a painting – the old tomb, a few open dust-covered graves on the mosque courtyard, the octagonal pillars of the mosque, green and red leaves of the trees, the woman on the bench, a stray dog keeping a watch – together these elements created a moment of silence and isolation, as if transporting me to a slice of time in the past or in the future.

The tomb was constructed by one Abu Saeed for a mendicant named Sheikh Sahibuddin Taj Khan. Historians say the name Bagh e Alam indicates the presence of a garden at the site. Of course, no such thing can be seen now. But the mosque adjacent to the tomb is quite striking -- in its arched prayer niches, patterns along the upper side of the wall and the unknown graves lined up in what would have been the space for prayer if it would have been anactive mosque. Must be a sight on a moonlit night, this tomb and the mosque, I thought.

Maybe it is not that significant historically,  but Bagh-e-Alam should be visited at least once by all Delhiphilles for its beauty and serenity.