I couldn’t keep secrets. One day I asked the Mussalman cook at the sarai if he had ever heard of Shivaji. He almost spat in my face. ‘Where did you pick up the name of that dirty kafir?’ he asked angrily. ‘He murdered the brave General Afzal Khan who was embracing him as a friend. That is the kind of moozi he is. The badshah has sent an army against him. If Allah wills, the rat will be flushed out of his hole and destroyed. Inshallah!’
Some months later the Mussalman cook gave me an extra large portion of leftovers. He looked very happy. ‘Have you heard of that Shivaji of yours? He has been captured and brought in chains to Agra. He will be sent to hell.’ When I told this to the Bania, he said it was a lie and that Shivaji had come of his own free will to talk to the king. For many days everyone in Dilli was talking of this man Shivaji. The Mussalmans said he was a great villain and that the king would cut off his head. The Hindus said he was a great hero. Then we heard that he had escaped and returned to his mountain kingdom in the Deccan. ‘Didn’t I tell you so?’ said the Bania to me. ‘They can never catch him. Ramji is his protector.’
The king was very angry. He ordered Hindu temples at Varanasi and Mathura to be destroyed. The Bania who was so frightened of the Mussalmans called the badshah a zalim. ‘Whenever there is too much zulum,’ he said, ‘God sends an avatar to destroy zalims. It is written in the Gita.’ Even Lakhi Rai who kept up with the Mussalmans wagged his head and said, ‘This is Kaliyuga (the dark age), God will send an avatar to save us.’
The zulum went on but no avatar came to stop it. When the Jats and Brahmins of village Tilpat, which is a few kos in the direction of the rising sun, claimed land which belonged to their temple, the badshah sent his army against them and blew up their village. Their leader, Gokula Jat, and all his supporters were brought to Dilli and executed. No avatar came to save them.
Three years later there was a worse zulum at Narnaul. Sadhus of the Satnami sect were slain by the thousand. No avatar came to save them or punish the zalim badshah.
I asked Lakhi Rai about the coming of the avatar. He just shook his head. I asked him whether our Guru could be the avatar. ‘Which Guru?’ he asked. ‘There are so many. And all they do is to send their agents to collect money.’ That was strange talk from Lakhi Rai!
I began to lose faith in the Guru. The Mussalmans in the sarai made fun of him. ‘Who is this robber you worship?’ one fellow asked me. The mullah of the mosque (may his mouth be filled with dung!) said: ‘The badshah will soon bring this Guru of yours to the path of obedience and teach him that the only way of approaching Allah is through His only Messenger, Mohammed—upon Whom be peace.’ Although I knew nothing about this Guru I did not like Mussalmans talking like that about him. When the Guru was captured at Agra and brought to Dilli in chains, the Mussalmans mocked: ‘We told you this Guru of yours is a robber! The entire gang will be hanged.’
I saw the Guru and three Sikhs who had been arrested with him. I said to myself: ‘If he is an avatar he will save himself and destroy the zalims.’ I prayed that he would fly out of his cell or perform some other miracle so that I could show my face to the Mussalmans of Rikabganj.
But who cares for the prayers of poor untouchables? There was this judge Qazi Abdul Wahab. His Allah had made him so deaf that everyone called him behra qazi. He sentenced the Guru and his three followers to death. He ordered their bodies to be displayed in front of the kotwali for everyone to see. For the first time even the timid Lakhi Rai became brave. ‘This must not happen,’ he said to me. ‘The Guru has refused to save his life, but we must not allow them to dishonour his body.’ The rich contractor addressed me as Jaitaji. Before this he had always called me ‘Jaitoo’ or, worse, ‘O choorha (sweeper).’ How was I to know Lakhi Rai was not a spy? I kept quiet. Silence is the best friend of the poor.
Everyone in Dilli was talking about the miracle the Guru would perform. They said anyone who raised his hand against him or his companions would go blind. The kotwal could not find anyone in Dilli to carry out the sentence of death and had to send for one Jalaluddin all the way from Samana in the Punjab. This Jalaluddin hated the Sikhs and their Gurus …
A few days after the Diwali-without-lights, Jalaluddin cut off the heads of the Sikhs captured with the Guru. Jalaluddin did not go blind; nothing happened to him. Now it was the turn of the Guru. The behra qazi said, ‘Jalaluddin, we’ll cut off the Guru’s head on Thursday. His body will be exposed to public gaze after prayer on Friday. Everyone in Dilli will see which is mightier, the sword of Islam or the neck of an infidel!’ Everyone in the world knows that whenever the blood of a good man is spilled in Dilli, the Great God who lives in the sky makes his anger known. On Thursday the sun came up like a ball of fire. Everyone said: ‘Something terrible is going to happen today.’ Even the Mussalmans were anxious and hoped the badshah who was away beyond the Punjab would get to know and would cancel the order of the behra qazi. The kotwal told me that he had prayed all night. ‘It will be very bad for the Mussalmans if this Guru is martyred,’ he said shaking his head.
The Guru performed no miracle. With the name of God on his lips he permitted the monster Jalaluddin of Samana to sever his head from his body. The town crier went round beating his drum and yelling that ‘justice’ had been done and that the Guru’s body would be exposed in front of the kotwali for two days and nights for all to see and learn a lesson.
I brought the news to Rikabganj. In the afternoon all the Sikhs and Hindus of Rikabganj gathered under a tree. No one said anything. The men sighed and the women wept. The Mussalmans of the sarai watched us from a distance. Even they seemed to be touched by our grief.
As I sat in that crowd listening to the sighing and whimpering a strange feeling came over me. We had done nothing to save the life of our Guru—and now they were going to expose his naked body to the gaze of crowds and for animals to tear and birds to peck! What kind of devotees were we? My blood boiled within me; I felt very hot and angry with myself. Most of the Guru’s disciples were high-born Kshatriyas and Jat peasants who boasted loudly of their bravery. They had done nothing to save their Guru. I, an untouchable, could teach these high-caste fellows how a Guru’s Sikh should act. It might cost me my life, but I would win the respect of the world for my untouchable brethren.
I slipped away. Lakhi Rai saw me get up and followed me. ‘I have some work for you, Jaitaji,’ he said, putting his hand on my shoulder, adding meaningfully, ‘if you are man enough to do it.’ This was the first time he had touched me. I was not sure of this rich contractor—one can never be sure of rich people. I replied, ‘I have to be on duty at the kotwali.’ Lakhi Rai said: ‘I will come with you. I also have business at the kotwali.’ What was his game? I really did not care to find out. However, I felt not Lakhi Rai’s but my Guru’s hand on my shoulder. I was not afraid of anyone in the world—not of the badshah or the behra qazi or that Jalaluddin; not even of the Mughal soldiers or the kotwal and his constabulary.
Lakhi Rai had several bullock carts lined up on the road. They were loaded with bales of cotton. His eight sons were with him. As he was a government contractor, he and his family were allowed to carry weapons. All the men were armed with swords and spears. Lakhi Rai always guarded his caravans in this way and everyone knew him. We left Rikabganj in the afternoon.
When we reached Paharganj, the sun suddenly disappeared. The wind dropped. Hundreds of kites began circling above us. We could see a dark brown wall come sweeping in from the west. As we came to the city wall, the circle of kites moved overhead towards the Royal Mosque. Then the storm overtook us with a fury I would not have thought possible.
The guards at Ajmeri Gate had muffled their faces with the ends of their turbans and waved us on. The storm swept us through Qazi-ka-Hauz, through Lal Kuan and past Begum Fatehpuri’s mosque into Chandni Chowk. We arrived at the kotwali.
Who knows the inscrutable designs of the Guru? The duststorm had turned the day into night. Every door and window had been shut against the dust. The guards
had bolted themselves in their barracks. And the only sound was the howling of the wind.
I had no difficulty in finding the Guru’s body. I touched his feet and then slung his body over my shoulders. I took his head in my hands and walked through the blinding duststorm. Lakhi Rai and his sons also touched the Guru’s feet. We laid his body and head on one of the bullock carts, piled bales of cotton over it and turned our carts around. The storm that had driven us into Chandni Chowk drove us backwards through the same bazaar, out of Ajmeri Gate to Paharganj. When we arrived at Rikabganj, the wind suddenly dropped and the dust disappeared. The night had come on.
Lakhi Rai’s wife and daughters-in-law had made a pyre of sandalwood in the centre of their courtyard. We placed the Guru’s body on it. All the family touched his feet. Lakhi Rai said a short prayer and lit the pyre. His wife brought out a shawl and wrapped the Guru’s head in it. ‘Take this to the Guru’s son in Anandpur,’ she said, handing me the bundle. ‘The Guru will take you there in safety.’
As I went up the ridge, I looked back to make sure no one was following me. In the distance the flames of the funeral pyre in the courtyard of Lakhi Rai’s house flickered. The storm had gone as suddenly as it had come and the sky was clear and full of stars. It was a few days after the full moon. I quickened my steps. By the time the moon came up, I was many kos from Dilli on the way to Anandpur.
At last the Guru had performed the great miracle. He had given a carrier of shit and stinking carcasses the privilege of carrying his sacred head in his arms. Hereafter anyone who called me unclean would have his mouth stuffed with dung. I was now Jaita Rangreta, the true son of the Guru.
In the Time of Aurangzeb
NICCOLAO MANUCCI
This extract is taken from Storia do Mogor, an account of Niccolao Manucci’s travels in India between 1653 and 1708. It has been translated by William Irvine.
After his accession, Aurangzeb observed that chiefly in Dihli, there was great licence among Mohammedans and Hindus in the consumption of wine, although most repugnant to this king, who declared himself a strict follower of the Quran. This licence began in the time of Jahangir, although Akbar was the first to give leave to the Christians to prepare and drink wine; but in his time the Mohammedans did not drink. The evil example of Jahangir established this custom among the Mohammedans. In the days of Shahjahan they drank with full liberty, just as if drinking water, encouraged by Dara’s example. Nor did Shahjahan, although not a drinker himself, care to remedy this disorder, but left everyone to live as he pleased, contenting himself with passing his days among women.
It was so common to drink spirits when Aurangzeb ascended the throne, that one day he said in a passion that in all Hindustan no more than two men could be found who did not drink, namely, himself and Abd-ul-wahhab, the chief qazi appointed by him. But with respect to Abd-ul-wahhab he was in error, for I myself sent him every day a bottle of spirits, which he drank in secret, so that the king could not find it out. Aurangzeb wished to repress this disorder, and therefore ordered that all Christains, excepting physicians and surgeons, should leave the city and remove to near the park of artillery, which was beyond the suburbs at one league’s distance from the city. There they had leave to prepare and drink spirits on condition they did not sell them.
After the issue of this order he directed the kotwal to search out Mohammedans and Hindus who sold spirits, everyone of whom was to lose one hand and one foot. Without fail the kotwal went out to search for the vendors, although himself one of the consumers. One day I saw him carry out such a sentence on six Mohammedans and six Hindus; after the punishment he ordered them to be trailed to a dung heap, leaving them there to die discreetly. This penal order was in force for a time, so that no vendors were to be found; for whenever the kotwal suspected that spirits were made in any house, he sent his soldiers to plunder everything in it. The regulations were strict at first, but little by little they were relaxed; and during the period of strictness the nobles, who found it hard to live without spirits, distilled in their houses, there being few who did not drink secretly.
I have said that the Christians had leave to prepare spirits for their own consumption, but were prohibited from selling them. On this account sentinels were kept over them to watch that they did not sell. In spite of this, the gain being great, they did not refrain, by resorting to a thousand expedients, from selling them on the sly, although when the offence was discovered the kotwal used to send and plunder the house, the still being hung round the offender’s neck, and then he was taken through the streets chained, and buffeted on his way to the kotwal’s house. On arrival there half-dead he was locked up in prison, and only released after many months with a fine and a beating.
So accustomed are the Mohammedans to intoxication that the poor people, who have not enough funds to procure spirits, invented another beverage, called in the language of the country bhang. It is nothing else than leaves of dried hemp ground down, which intoxicate as soon as taken. Aurangzeb also wanted to suppress this disorder. He therefore appointed an official under the title of matucib [muhtasib], whose business it was to prevent the use of this beverage or of others similar to it. Not a day passed that on rising in the morning we did not hear the breaking by blows and strokes of the pots and pans in which these beverages are prepared. But, seeing that the ministers themselves also drank and loved to get drunk, the rigour of prohibition was lightened by degrees.
Aurangzeb did another very ridiculous thing to show himself a scrupulous observer of the faith. This was the issue of an order that no Mohammedan should wear a beard longer than four finger-breadths. Now the Moguls are much concerned with the preservation of their big beards, using for this many unguents. An official was appointed whose business it was, in company with his attendants and soldiers, to measure beards in the middle of the street, and, if necessary, dock them. This order was not carried out, except against ordinary people, the official not daring to meddle with the nobles or the soldiers for fear of receiving injury to himself. It was, however, amusing to see the official in charge of beards rushing hither and thither, laying hold of wretched men by the beard, in order to measure and cut off the excess, and clipping their moustaches to uncover the lips. This last was done so that, when pronouncing the name, there might be no impediment to the sound ascending straight to heaven. It was equally quaint to see the soldiers and others covering their faces with their shawls when they beheld from afar the said official, for fear of some affront.
Not resting content with the above orders, Aurangzeb took steps against the excessive number of musicians. In Hindustan both Moguls and Hindus are very fond of listening to songs and instrumental music. He therefore ordered the same official to stop music. If in any house or elsewhere he heard the sound of singing and instruments, he should forthwith hasten there and arrest as many as he could, breaking the instruments. Thus was caused a great destruction of musical instruments. Finding themselves in this difficulty, their large earnings likely to cease, without there being any other mode of seeking a livelihood, the musicians took counsel together and tried to appease the king in the following way: About one thousand of them assembled on a Friday when Aurangzeb was going to the mosque. They came out with over twenty highly ornamented biers, as is the custom of the country, crying aloud with great grief and many signs of feeling, as if they were escorting to the grave some distinguished defunct. From afar Aurangzeb saw this multitude and heard their great weeping and lamentation, and, wondering, sent to know the cause of so much sorrow. The musicians redoubled their outcry and their tears, fancying the king would take compassion upon them. Lamenting, they replied with sobs that the king’s orders had killed Music, therefore they were bearing her to the grave. Reports were made to the king, who quite calmly remarked that they should pray for the soul of Music, and see that she was thoroughly well buried. In spite of this, the nobles did not cease to listen to songs in secret.
In the reign of Shahjahan female dancers and public women enjoyed
great liberty, and were found in great numbers in the cities. For a time, at the beginning of his reign, Aurangzeb said nothing, but afterwards he ordered that they must either marry or clear out of the realm. This was the cause that the palaces and great enclosures where they dwelt went to ruin little by little; for some of them married and others went away, or, at least, concealed themselves.
The Early Days of the British
WILLIAM DALRYMPLE
This extract is taken from City of Djinns.
The most detailed of the early descriptions [by the first British men to penetrate the city’s walls] was that written by Lieutenant William Franklin. Franklin had been sent to Delhi by the directors of the East India Company to survey the then unknown heartlands of the empire of the Great Mughal. Franklin’s account of his discoveries, published in Calcutta in the 1795 Asiatick Researches (the journal of the newly founded Royal Asiatic Society) painted a melancholy picture of the once-great capital.
Franklin had approached the city on horseback from the northwest. His first glimpse was of a landscape littered with crumbling ruins: ‘The environs are crowded with the remains of spacious gardens and the country houses of the nobility,’ he wrote in his report. ‘The prospect towards Delhi, as far as the eye can reach, is covered with the remains of gardens, pavilions, mosques and burying places. The environs of this once magnificent and celebrated city appear now nothing more than a shapeless heap of ruins …’ Inside the city walls, the decay was equally apparent. Shacks had been erected in the middle of the grandest streets of Delhi ‘so that it is only with difficulty [that] a person can discover their former situation’. The bazaars were ‘indifferently furnished’ and their commerce ‘very trifling’.
City Improbable- Writings on Delhi Page 5