Begums, Thugs and White Mughals

by Fanny Parkes

  FEBRUARY 22ND 1838 – In the cool of the evening we mounted our horses and rode to Ancient Delhi, or Indrapesta, now called Marowlie, the capital of the former Rajas. At this place many houses were pointed out to us as having belonged to the mighty dead; but my attention was arrested by a bā’olī, an immense well. From the top of the well to the surface of the water the depth is sixty feet, and the depth of water below forty feet; just above the surface of the water the side of the well opens on a flight of stone steps, which lead to the upper regions. I peered over the well to see the water, and shuddered as I looked into the dark cold depth below; at that instant a man jumped from the top into the well, sank a great depth, rose again, and swimming to the opening, came up the steps like a drenched rat; three more immediately followed his example, and then gaily claimed a bakshish, or reward, begging a rupee, which was given: we did not stay to see the sport repeated, at which the jumpers appeared disappointed.

  Quitting the bā’olī, we visited the tombs of the three last emperors of Delhi – Bahādur Shāh, Shāh’ālam, and Akbar Shāh. The latter had been placed there within a few weeks; the tomb of Shāh’ālam is of white marble, and about eighteen inches distant from that of the Emperor Bahādur Shāh, over whose tomb flourishes a white jasmine. How are the mighty fallen! I had visited the tomb of Humaioon and the still grander monument of Akbar at Sikandra; had admired the magnificent building, its park and portal. The last Akbar reposes side by side with the two former emperors. Three marble tombs, prettily sculptured in a small open court the walls of which are of white marble, is all that adorns the burial-place of the descendants of Tamurlane!

  The building that most interested me was the Royal Zenāna Ghār. At certain times of the year the Emperor of Delhi used to retire to this spot with all his ladies; the place is prettily situated amidst rocks and trees: there, seated at ease on his cushions of state, his amusement was to watch the sports of the ladies of the zenāna, as they jumped from the roof of a verandah into the water below and then came up to jump in again. On the other side is another tank, with a sloping bank of masonry; on this slope the ladies used to sit and slide down into the tank. In the water, amidst the trees, the graceful drapery of the Musulmān and Hindu ladies clinging to their well-formed persons must have had a beautiful effect. During these sports guards were stationed around to prevent the intrusion of any profane eye on the sacredness of the zenāna.

  At nine o’clock we revisited the minār: the night was remarkably fine, no moon, but a dark blue, clear starlight. The minār is fine by day, its magnitude surprising; but by night a feeling of awe is inspired by its unearthly appearance. If you ask a native, ‘Who built the Kutab?’ His answer will generally be – ‘God built it – who else could have built it?’ And such is the feeling as you stand at the base, looking up to the top of the column of the polar star, which appears to tower into the skies: I could not withdraw my eyes from it; the ornaments, beautiful as they are by day, at night, shadowed as they were into the mass of building, only added to its grandeur. We roamed through the colonnades, in the court of the beautiful arches, and returned most unwillingly to our tents.

  February 23rd – Quitted the Kutab without revisiting Tuglukabad, our time not admitting of it; and I greatly regretted not having the power of visiting the tombs that surrounded us on every side – the ruins of Ancient Delhi. The extent of these ruins is supposed not to be less than a circumference of twenty miles, reckoning from the gardens of Shalimar on the northwest, to the Kutab Minār on the southeast, and proceeding thence along the centre of the old city, by way of the mausoleum of Nizam-al-Deen, the tomb of Humaioon, which adjoins, and the old fort of Delhi, on the Jumna, to the Ajmeer gate of Shāhjahānābād. The environs to the north and west are crowded with the remains of the spacious gardens and country houses of the nobility, which in former times were abundantly supplied with water by means of the noble canal dug by Ali Merdān Khān.

  Franklin remarks – ‘Ancient Delhi is said by historians to have been erected by Rajah Delu, who reigned in Hindustan prior to the invasion of Alexander the Great: others affirm it to have been built by Rajah Pettouvar, who flourished at a much later period. It is called in Sanscrit Indraput, or the Abode of Indra, one of the Hindu deities, and is thus distinguished in the royal diplomas of the Chancery office.’

  The Observatory

  On our road home, about a mile and a half from the present city of Delhi, we stopped to visit the Observatory, Jantr-Mantr, a building well worthy the inspection of the traveller. The name of Jayasinha, the Rajah of Ambhere, or Jayanagar and his astronomical labours, are not unknown in Europe; but yet the extent of his exertions in the cause of science is little known; his just claims to superior genius and zeal demand some enumeration of the labours of one whose name is conspicuous in the annals of Hindustan. Jey-sing or Jayasinha succeeded to the inheritance of the ancient Rajahs of Ambhere in the year of Vicramadittya 1750, corresponding to 1693 of the Christian era. His mind had been early stored with the knowledge contained in the Hindu writings, but he appears to have peculiarly attached himself to the mathematical sciences and his reputation for skill in them stood so high, that he was chosen by the Emperor Mahommed Shāh to reform the calendar which, from the inaccuracy of the existing tables, had ceased to correspond with the actual appearance of the heavens. Jayasinha undertook the task and constructed a new set of tables; which, in honour of the reigning prince, he named Zeej Mahommedshāhy. By these, almanacs are constructed at Delhi and all astronomical computations made at the present time.

  The five observatories, which were built and finished by Jayasinha, still exist in a state more or less perfect; they were erected at Jaipur, Matra, Benares, Oujein, and Delhi.

  [ … ]

  After this most interesting visit to the Observatory, we returned to Delhi.

  The Zenāna

  During my visit at Khasganj, Mr James Gardner gave me an introduction to one of the princesses of Delhi, Hyāt-ool-Nissa Begum, the aunt of the present, and sister of the late king. Mr James Gardner is her adopted son. The princess sent one of her ladies to say she should be happy to receive me, and requested me to appoint an hour. The weather was excessively hot, but my time was so much employed I had not an hour to spare but one at noonday, which was accordingly fixed upon.

  I was taken in a palanquin to the door of the court of the building set apart for the women, where some old ladies met and welcomed me. Having quitted the palanquin, they conducted me through such queer places, filled with women of all ages; the narrow passages were dirty and wet – an odd sort of entrance to the apartment of a princess!

  Under a verandah, I found the princess seated on a gaddī, of a green colour. In this verandah she appeared to live and sleep, as her charpaāī, covered with a green razā’ī, stood at the further end. She is an aged woman; her features, which are good, must have been handsome in youth; now they only tell of good descent. Green is the mourning worn by the followers of the Prophet. The princess was in mourning for her late brother, the Emperor Akbar Shāh. Her attire consisted of trousers of green satin, an angiya, or bodice of green, and a cashmere shawl of the same colour: jewels are laid aside during the days of mourning (mātam). I put off my shoes before I stepped on the white cloth that covered the carpet, and advancing, made my bahut bahut adab salam, and presented a nazr of one gold mohur. The princess received me very kindly, gave me a seat by her side, and we had a long conversation. It is usual to offer a gold mohur on visiting a person of rank; it is the homage paid by the inferior to the superior: on the occasion of a second visit it is still correct to offer a nazr, which may then consist of a bouquet of freshly-gathered flowers. The compliment is graciously received, this homage being the custom of the country.

  I had the greatest difficulty in understanding what the begum said, the loss of her teeth rendering her utterance imperfect. After some time, she called for her women to play and sing for my amusement. I was obliged to appear pleased but my aching head would willingl
y have been spared the noise. Her adopted son, the son of the present King Bahādur Shāh, came in; he is a remarkably fine, intelligent boy, about ten years old, with a handsome countenance. Several other young princes also appeared and some of their betrothed wives, little girls of five and six years old: the girls were plain. The princess requested me to spend the day with her, saying that if I would do so, at four o’clock I should be introduced to the Emperor (they think it an indignity to call him the king), and if I would stay with her until the evening, I should have nāchs for my amusement all night. In the meantime she desired some of her ladies to show me the part of the palace occupied by the zenāna. Her young adopted son, the heir-apparent, took my hand and conducted me over the apartments of the women. The ladies ran out to see the stranger: my guide pointed them all out by name and I had an opportunity of seeing and conversing with almost all the begums. A plainer set I never beheld: the verandahs, in which they principally appeared to live, and the passages between the apartments, were mal propre. The young prince led me through different parts of the palace and I was taken into a superb hall: formerly fountains had played there; the ceiling was painted and inlaid with gold. In this hall were three old women on chārpāīs (native beds) looking like hags; and over the marble floor, and in the place where fountains once played, was collected a quantity of offensive black water as if from the drains of the cook rooms. From a verandah, the young prince pointed out a bastion in which the king was then asleep, and I quitted that part of the palace, fearing the talking of those who attended me, and the laughing of the children might arouse His Majesty from his noonday slumbers.

  On my return to the princess I found her sister with her, a good-humoured, portly-looking person. They were both seated on chairs and gave me one. This was in compliment, lest the native fashion of sitting on the ground might fatigue me. The heat of the sun had given me a violent headache. I declined staying to see the king and requested permission to depart.

  Four trays, filled with fruit and sweetmeats, were presented to me; two necklaces of jasmine flowers, fresh gathered and strung with tinsel, were put round my neck; and the princess gave me a little embroidered bag filled with spices. It is one of the amusements of the young girls in a zenāna to embroider little bags, which they do very beautifully; these they fill with spices and betel-nut, cut up into small bits; this mixture they take great delight in chewing. An English lady is not more vain of a great cat and kitten with staring eyes, worked by herself in Berlin wool, than the ladies behind the parda of their skill in embroidery. On taking my departure the princess requested me to pay her another visit; it gave her pleasure to speak of her friends at Khasganj. She is herself a clever, intelligent woman and her manners are good. I had satisfied my curiosity and had seen native life in a palace; as for beauty, in a whole zenāna there may be two or three handsome women and all the rest remarkably ugly. I looked with wonder at the number of plain faces round me.

  When any man wishes to ascend the minarets of the Jāma Masjid, he is obliged to send word to the captain of the gate of the palace that the ladies may be apprised and no veiled one may be beheld, even from that distance: the fame of the beauty of the generality of the women may be continued, provided they never show their faces. Those women who are beautiful are very rare, but then their beauty is very great; the rest are generally plain. In England beauty is more commonly diffused amongst all classes. Perhaps the most voluptuously beautiful woman I ever saw was an Asiatic.

  I heard that I was much blamed for visiting the princess, it being supposed I went for the sake of presents. Natives do not offer presents unless they think there is something to be gained in return; and that I knew perfectly well. I went there from curiosity, not avarice, offered one gold mohur and received in return the customary sweetmeats and necklaces of flowers. Look at the poverty, the wretched poverty of these descendants of the emperors! In former times strings of pearls and valuable jewels were placed on the necks of departing visitors. When the Princess Hyāt-ool-Nissa Begum in her fallen fortunes put the necklace of freshly-gathered white jasmine flowers over my head, I bowed with as much respect as if she had been the queen of the universe. Others may look upon these people with contempt, I cannot; look at what they are, at what they have been!

  The indecision and effeminacy of the character of the Emperor is often a subject of surprise. Why should it be so? Where is the difference in intellect between a man and a woman brought up in a zenāna? There they both receive the same education, and the result is similar. In Europe men have so greatly the advantage of women from receiving a superior education, and in being made to act for, and depend upon themselves from childhood, that of course the superiority is on the male side; the women are kept under and have not fair play.

  One day a gentleman, speaking to me of the extravagance of one of the young princes, mentioned he was always in debt, he could never live upon his allowance. The allowance of the prince was Rs 12 a month! – not more than the wages of a head servant!

  With respect to my visit, I felt it hard to be judged by people who were ignorant of my being the friend of the relatives of those whom I visited in the zenāna. People who themselves had, perhaps, no curiosity respecting native life and manners and who, even if they had the curiosity, might have been utterly unable to gratify it unless by an introduction which they were probably unable to obtain.

  It is a curious fact that a native lady in a large house always selects the smallest room for her own apartment. A number of ladies from the palace at Delhi were staying in a distant house, to which place a friend having gone to visit them, found them all in the bathing-room, they having selected that as the smallest apartment in which they could crowd together.

  I will here insert an extract from the Delhi Gazette of January 13th 1849.

  ‘On Thursday morning, departed this life, Prince Dara Bukht, heir-apparent to the throne of Delhi, and with him, we have some reason to believe, all the right of the royal house to the succession, such having been guaranteed to him individually, and to no other member of the family. We sincerely trust that such is really the case, and that our Government will now be in a position to adopt steps for making efficient arrangements for the dispersion, with a suitable provision, of the family on the death of the present king. The remains of the deceased prince were interred near Cheeragh Delhi within a few hours of his death. It is a curious fact, that nearly all the native papers have long since omitted the designation of “Pādshāh” when alluding to the King of Delhi, styling him merely “Shāh”.’

  [ … ]

  It was my intention to have gone round the walls in the cool of the evening, with my relative, but I was so much disgusted with the ill-natured remarks I had heard, I would not enter the place again.

  The gardens of Shalimar are worthy of a visit, from which the prospect to the south, towards Delhi as far as the eye can reach, is covered with the remains of extensive gardens, pavilions, mosques and burial-places. The environs of this once magnificent city appear now nothing more than a heap of ruins, and the country around is equally desolate and forlorn:

  The spider hath woven his web in the royal palace of the Caesars,

  The owl standeth sentinel on the watchtowers of Afrāsiāb!

  Sadi

  [ … ]

  Near the Ajimere Gate is a Madrasa, or college, erected by Gazooddeen Cawn, nephew of Nizam-ool-Mooluk; it is built of red stone and situated in the centre of a spacious quadrangle, with a fountain, lined with stone. At the upper end of the area is a handsome mosque, built of red stone and inlaid with white marble. This college is now uninhabited.

  [ … ]

  Exclusive of the mosques before described, there are in Shāhjahānābād and its environs above forty others; most of them of inferior size and beauty, but all of them of a similar fashion. In the evening, we drove to the Turkoman Gate of the city, to see the Kala Masjid or Black Mosque. We found our way with difficulty into the very worst part of Delhi: my companion had never been the
re before and its character was unknown to us; he did not much like my going over the mosque, amid the wretches that surrounded us; but my curiosity carried the day. The appearance of the building from the entrance is most singular and extraordinary; it would form an excellent subject for a sketch. You ascend a flight of stone steps, and then enter the gateway of the masjid: the centre is a square; the pillars that support the arches are of rude construction – stone placed upon stone without mortar between; there are twelve or fifteen small domes on three sides of the square. I wished to sketch the place, but my relative hurried me away, fearful of insult from the people around. The masjid was built four hundred and fifty years ago, before the building of the modern Delhi. The tradition of the place is this:

  In former times the masjid was built of white stone. A father committed a horrible crime within its walls. The stones of the masjid turned from white to black. It obtained the name of the black mosque. No service was ever performed there, and the spot was regarded as unholy: none but the lowest of the people now frequent the place; and any stranger visiting it might as well take a barkandāz as a protection against insult. Hindu Rāo, the brother of the Bāiza Bāī, lives near Delhi in the house of the late Mr Frazer; he came in his curricle to call on Captain S—: I saw him; he is a short, thickset, fat Mahratta, very independent in speech and bearing. After some conversation, he arose to depart, shook hands with me and said, ‘How do you do?’ Thinking he was bidding me ‘good-night’. This being all the English he has acquired, he is very fond of displaying it. Some young officer, in a fit of tāmashā (i.e. fun) must have taught him his ‘How do you do?’

  [ … ]

  CHAPTER XLIX

  DEPARTURE FOR THE HILLS – LANDOWR