by R V Smith
The remark shows that young people have no intention of ostracizing Ghalib. Probably some of them lit a candle at the haveli that evening. But there was no euphoria as such to mark the day when Assadullah Beg Khan Ghalib, alias Mirza Nosha joined his peers 143 years ago in the Elysian Fields. However, one little-known fact is that he had once, in a letter to his friend Hargobind Tafta, desired to be buried near the statue of the Red Horse on the Delhi-Agra Road, to which he was forever sending salaams, and to the Pir Sahib’s grave close by. Had that wish been fulfilled, Ghalib’s admirers would have been paying homage in the city of the Taj, where he was born, besides Gali Qasim Jan, on his birth and death anniversaries.
46
Moonlight Chowk’s Many Names
he abortive move to rename Chandni Chowk after Sachin Tendulkar is in keeping with earlier attempts to commemorate the Chowk after somebody or the other. During the time of Jahandar Shah (1711-12) the dandy emperor’s detractor used to refer it to as Kothawali Ka Rasta because his concubine Lal Kanwar came that way to the Red Fort before she became a queen. In Mohammad Shah Rangila’s reign it acquired the epithet of Rangila Chowk, but in 1739, when Nadir Shah held Delhi for fifty-eight days and massacred the residents while sitting at the Sunheri Masjid, it was branded Khooni Chowk. In Begum Sumroo’s heyday, part of it was briefly known as Chooriwali Ka Adda.
When the Rohilla Chief Ghulam Qadir raided Delhi and blinded Shah Alam, his clansmen swarmed Chandni Chowk and people started warning fellow citizens of avoiding ‘Rohilla Chowk’. That was in 1788. After the Mutiny of 1857 the Chowk began to be referred as Murdon-ka-Chowk because of the large number of sepoys and others killed there when the John Company’s troops recaptured Delhi. The British, however, at least some of them, thought of calling the place Bersford Road after the London and Delhi Bank Manger was killed there on 11 May 1857, along with his family. In 1887 when James Skinner Jr presented a statue of Queen Victoria (installed in front of Town Hall) to mark her golden jubilee there was a move to rename the chowk Victoria Square, but for the viceroy, Lord Dufferin’s advice to the contrary.
During the freedom struggle the freedom fighters toyed with the idea of calling it Kranti Chowk and later when independence came, there were suggestions (shot down by Jawaharlal Nehru) to call it Azadi Chowk. The demand to name it after Tendulkar brought a rejoinder from the Sikhs, that it should be known after Guru Tegh Bahadur who was executed by Aurangzeb at the place where now stands Gurdwara Sis Ganj. Incidentally, the part of the Chowk around Northbrook Fountain (phawara) was earlier named Bhai Mati Das Chowk.
It would be pertinent to point out that the real Chandni Chowk was the square in front of the Town Hall, where once the Clock Tower stood. That was as per the wishes of Shah Jahan’s daughter Jehanara Begum who had a magnificent Sarai built close by in the space now occupied by Gandhi Park (earlier Queen’s garden). The original Chandni Chowk was, however, in the Agra Fort and it was from it that the princess got the idea of having a more spacious one of that name in Shahjahanabad, after her father moved the capital back to Delhi. Slowly, the whole street from Fatehpuri Masjid to Lal Mandir facing the Red Fort came to be known as Chandni Chowk.
It was a beautiful place in those days with a canal flowing through it and roads on either side along which were shops of diamond, gold and silver merchants, fruit sellers, and cloth sellers. Huge trees shaded the Chowk and when Mughal princesses came shopping, the place acquired a fairyland atmosphere. Compare the plight of the chowk with those far off days. But Chandni Chowk has always been and so it will remain. The present demands will die down much as the one to name it Inquilab Chowk 100 years ago in 1912, after a bomb was thrown at the Viceroy Lord Hardinge by revolutionaries. But even now when the moon spreads its magic after the hurly-burly of the livelong day, Chandni Chowk glosses over its scars and reclaims its serenity as Moonlight Street.
47
Mystique of Dak Bungalows
ak Bungalows were essentially a British creation. But they had a certain mystique about them. Some of them were said to be haunted by the ghosts of sahibs long dead and gone. Then there were the spectres of native women who had fallen in love with a passing feringhi and died of a broken heart when he left them in the lurch. Besides these, there were old khansamas whose spirit could not rest in peace and made an occasional appearance at midnight to surprise some young Englishman with a tray of whisky-soda that soon vanished with them.
In Delhi there were some PWD Dak Bungalows, like the ones at Alipur Road, beyond Nizamuddin and Mehrauli for which the khansama bought weekly provisions. But the meat was bought only when an officer in transit arrived. If he came late in the evening, he could only be served vegetable soup, egg curry, and potato cutlets, rounded off with a dessert of pudding made of baker’s bread and milk bought from a nearby gwala (milkman). The sahib had to make do with his own bottle of whisky or rum. That was what William Chinga, the late six-fingered PWD overseer used to say.
These dak bunglows, to quote Alan Barkley (late Alan Baba) being small ones, lacked a name and were only known by their number. No. 9 in Mehrauli had frequent visitors. No. 6 near Nizamuddin was less frequented somehow. This would mean that there were at least ten such rest houses in Delhi district. Mutton, beef, and poultry dishes were for those who stayed more than a day so that the khansama could buy the meat or chicken on the morning after the visitor’s arrival. But he seldom went to the butcher, who made daily rounds of the dak bungalow and provided the meat on demand. It was very cheap in those days. Five annas a seer for mutton, five paise for beef, and a chicken for four annas.
The most famous was the Delhi Dak Bunglow which has now passed into legend. You may have heard of Siri Dak Bungalow made famous by Kipling where the old khansama had lost touch with the world and used to call dinner ‘ratab’ or dog’s food. The dak bungalow at Murree, now in Pakistan, was the centre of strange happenings at night, when unseen guests lounged in its rooms.
The dak bungalow at Fatehpur Sikri was frequented by British officers on their way to the erstwhile Rajputana. It now serves tourists and other visitors to Akbar’s dream city – as well as officials of the UP Government.
The dak bungalow at Sikandra was preserved in the nineteenth-century style, complete with a lantern, until recently. There are extensive grounds all around with shady trees. If one doesn’t mind the bugs that infest its ancient beds, one can enjoy a stay there. And incidentally, watch the herd of deer which, though now disappearing are nevertheless an attraction. Years ago some of the deer were sent to the Sarnath park, near Varanasi, but those that remained slowly multiplied, much to the delight of poachers – and predatory animals who killed them with much impunity.
Delhi Dak Bungalow was situated where the ‘Mutiny’ memorial now stands, opposite the telegraph office. It was the abode of officers in transit – or on holiday. Some of the old residents used to recall how it looked. It provided easy access to Skinner’s church, the Kashmiri Gate, the Civil Lines, and the railway station. This dak bungalow also had its share of strange happenings, as a young British Officer shot himself dead there after an affair with a pretty dame. Some said she was already married, others disclosed that when she decided to get engaged to someone else, the officer blew out his brains. Local lore has it that the sahib haunts the road at night, head in hand.
Some claim that his route is all the way up to Red Fort.
The story does not end here. The woman who spurned the officer died of remorse. Are both of them buried in the nearby Lothian Road cemetery? There are no tombstones to testify this and in any case the cemetery has been so badly encroached upon that one can find more living beings in it than memorials to the dead.
48
Names Tell a Tale
ver wondered why Chandni Mahal is so named or why the area in West Delhi is called Zakhira? People tell you all sorts of tales about how these places and many more got their names. Chandni Mahal may have little to do with moonlight and more to do with the whims of the prince who hit
upon that name. But Zakhira is said to have been a royal granary in Mughal days that is why the older folk talk about the food grains once available there. In the decadent years of the eighteenth century, the area had a taksal or mint operated by the Marathas. It may be hard to believe these stories, but there is some semblance of truth in them. Here are some more to titillate the palate. According to Haji Faiyazuddin, Chandni Mahal (which houses a police station) was one of three residences of the sons of Bahadur Shah Zafar. The other two being the nonexistent Sheesh Mahal and Rang Mahal. However, Chandni Mahal was later owned by Mirza Elahi Bux, the ‘samdhi’ or kinsman of Zafar by his daughter’s marriage.
Those boarding long-distance buses from Sarai Kale Khan are hardly aware that there was even an inn after which the area is named.
Kale Khan seems to have belonged to the decadent Mughal period, though the more famous man of that name was Bahlol Lodhi. His real name Mubarak Khan and it is after them that Khale Khan ka Gumbad beyond South Extension is named.
Kale Khan who built a sarai in south-east Delhi was probably born in the early nineteenth century and lived on to see the Mutiny of 1857 and its aftermath. Unlike Bhuli Bhatiyari ka Mahal no fair innkeeper was associated with Kale Khan’s sarai, who must have borne some other name and came to be known as Kale Khan because of his dark complexion. There is a Kale Khan ka Ahata in Ballimaran in which Ghalib lived for some time after his release from debtors’ prison. The poet tongue-in-cheek remarked that after Gore (British’s) Prison, he was now a captive of a dark person.
While taking a bus from Sarai Kale Khan one wonders if poor girls were employed there to feed the horses who formed part of medieval caravans. It was usually boys but sometimes their sisters also stepped in to lend a hand. This led to romances with a weary and lonely traveller falling in love with a blossoming girl, though in the case of Bhuli Bhatiyari, it was Firoz Shah Tughlaq who is said to have fallen in love with a fair girl and made her his country wife.
Many wonder about why Bengali Market is called so. There is no large concentration of Bengalis there now, nor was it so in the past. The quest to find the reason for this has been long but fruitful for a friend, P.C. Bose, a retired officer of ICAR, who probably has the best library in Mayapuri after the death of N.N. Basu. He solved the mystery which turned out to have a short and sweet ending.
During the days of the Raj, the British gave a piece of land to a Rajasthani trader, Bengali Mull for development. It was on this land that the market and the surrounding houses came up. Hence the name Bengali Market. An interesting story about Bengali Market is that quite a few romances happened there over the years, including that of a Canadian journalist and a Hyderabadi girl. But it did not have a happy ending. Panchkuian Road, which everybody associates with traffic congestion and flooded roads during the monsoons, got its name from five wells that existed in the area once. You might still find one or two of them in the ramshackled building that houses a school for the blind and a shrine. Incidentally, there are Panchkuians in Agra and some other towns too but the one in Delhi is the most famous because of its Mughal connection. In the last century, Mahatma Gandhi often resided and had his prayer meetings in the sweepers’ colony there. The adjacent road, however, was named after the viceroy, Lord Reading.
49
Old Hunting Tower
ashtsal Minar is one of those landmarks which time seems to have cornered off in its apron. Situated 17 kilometres from Delhi near a monsoon pond in the village of Hashtsal, the minar is 17 metres high and rises above a two-tiered platform. It is made of bricks and red sandstone, with a narrow staircase. Historical accounts are silent about its origin, but the Hathikhana or elephant house of Shah Jahan, is close by and now in ruins. It is believed that the minar was erected by the Mughal emperor as a shooting tower.
In those days, wildlife was plentiful in the area. Early in the morning, the hunters left for the place from the Red Fort and reached before sunrise on horseback. Sometimes they camped there for a night in the summer months and early winter, in which case the party left the fort in the evening to reach its destination before nightfall.
Shah Jahan had inherited his love for shikar from his father and grandfather, though Babar himself was a great hunter who once killed a tiger single-handedly. But Babar was more like Bairam, the legendary Persian who usually hunted all by himself. His descendants had a large retinue to aid them in a big game of hunting.
Akbar had the knack of taming wild animals, especially elephants. He was also fond of watching fights among the various animals kept at the Agra Fort. Shah Jahan heard his grandsire’s tales from Jahangir who often painted old shikar scenes. Shah Jahan himself was an authority of sorts when it came to elephants. Once, when an elephant ran amok and headed for a pavilion where the emperor was seated, Aurangzeb then a lad of seventeen, bounded forward and attacked the animal’s trunk with his spear. Shah Jahan came down from his makeshift throne and patted the prince on his back. ‘Wah, Wah,’ he said, ‘Well done, but on such occasions it is better to step aside and not insist on a show of gallantry.’ How well Aurangzeb remembered his father’s words is evident from his long reign.
The villagers of Hasthsal tether their domesticated animals near the Hathikhana now and sometimes climb the minar to look for goats which fail to return from the grazing ground. The minar is in a sad state of neglect, with its dirty staircase and is sometimes stuffed with straw and other village refuse. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea to preserve it, along with the Hathikhana, before it is too late and posterity forgets that such landmarks existed even 350 years after the death of Shah Jahan.
About the Hathikhana a strange tale is told. There was an elephant in it, a huge one, which once belonged to Mahabat Khan, the Mughal general at the time of Jahangir. This elephant later came into the possession of Shah Jahan and carried him safely through many a battle. Incidentally, Shah Jahan didn’t fight many battles after his ascension to the throne. His time on the battlefield was spent mostly when he was known as Prince Khurram. How Mahabat Khan took him captive at the behest of Nur Jahan and how later the two found themselves on the same side is another story.
The elephant of Mahabat Khan attracted Shah Jahan’s fancy as it was so intelligent that it knew how to protect its owner and eventually left the battlefield with him sensing that the battle was not turning in his favour. But after many years the elephant became old and was given away to its keeper to draw water from the royal well says a treatise by my father. This well gave enough water to irrigate the shahi gardens. But when the well went dry, Shah Jahan ordered that it be closed. The elephant keeper however pleaded with the emperor to give him a chance to save the well. One day he descended into the enormous well along with the elephant. Both of them presumably died but the well began to overflow after that.
In honour of the elephant and its keeper, a fair is still held on the outskirts of Agra in the month of Kuar, at which silver elephants are offered to the well, from which twelve oxen could draw water at one time. Few know that the fabled elephant once graced the Hathikhana at Hasthsal, which is now facing a big threat from rampant encroachment.
50
Ramzan Aura & Piety
tears ago, when Inder Lok had just come up as a predominantly Muslim locality, there were just a few shops in the area and it was difficult to buy sehri stuff for Ramzan. That was when a group of young men, led by Hasin Ahmed decided to lend a helping hand. They hit upon the novel idea of bringing nahari, biryani, kebabs, phirnee, tandoori rotis, and jalebi all the way to Inder Lok. An old jeep was used to ferry the stuff from Bara Hindu Rao. Sometimes they went all the way to Jama Masjid or Ballimaran for it.
Now for the distribution. It was carried out through sales at a makeshift shop. The prices were a little high but people did not mind paying, as going and getting the foodstuff would have been even more expensive. There was Fatty Mahmud who wanted to buy as much as he could. But seeing that it led to shortage for other people, Hasin and his friends put a limit on how much
he could buy.
Another problem was waking up the rozadars for sehri. That got solved when Habib Mian who had recently come from UP volunteered to do the job. Habib started making his rounds an hour before the time for the last meal. He would sing in a loud voice about the glories of Islam and the need to keep the fast and then urge the sleepers to get up and start preparing for the roza.
Now Inder Lok does not face any problems during Ramzan. They have a beautiful mosque and quite a number of shops. But some residents still remember the old days when Hasin Ahmed and Habib Mian played a pioneering role during the month-long fast.
As for Old Delhi, the sighting of the Ramzan moon changes the very complexion of the Walled City. Areas that look dull and uninviting at night illuminate and bustle with life until the wee hours of the morning. The galis of the Mughal cooks are asleep all day but awake all night, just like the adjoining streets. Bazaar Matia Mahal looks like a sumptuous fairyland. In front of it is the Jama Masjid, glittering with multi-coloured lights, its doors open to all who want to pray even at odd hours. Below is the eid bazaar where brisk sales are made, courtesy the hordes of burqa-clad women out to make a gala night of it.
They make their purchases and then buy sweets at the Haji Kallan’s shop, while the men accompanying them refresh themselves with tall glasses of creamy milk. Others prefer lassis and yet others, colas. The women depart with their children but those in search of a delayed dinner make a beeline for Karim’s, Jawahar’s, or the many other eating joints which are patronized for their wide variety of inexpensive dishes.