Tag Archives: Buniyadi Begum

Remembering Umrao Begum

Basti Nizamuddin, NEW DELHI  :

RAVE CONCERN Umrao Begum’s grave, covered in green cloth in Nizamuddin | Photo Credit: V. Sudershan
RAVE CONCERN Umrao Begum’s grave, covered in green cloth in Nizamuddin | Photo Credit: V. Sudershan

The unmarked resting place of Miza Ghalib’s wife deserves an epitaph

The grave of Mirza Ghalib’s wife, Umrao Begum, in Basti Nizamuddin, just at the side of her husband’s tomb, lacks an epitaph, probably because nobody tried to inscribe one on it in 1955 (when the poet’s memorial was built) or because she preferred anonymity as per the strictest tenets of Islam. Even so she deserves one for posterity’s sake. Umrao Begum was a pre-teenager when she married Ghalib, who himself was just 13 at that time, and the two shared conjugal bliss for nearly 57 years.

Umrao Begum was a kinswoman of the Nawab of Loharu, an erstwhile State now merged with Rajasthan, and her cousin was Bunyadi Begum, Ghalib’s sister-in-law. The begum, who was the Nawab’s sister, gave her haveli in Gali Mir Qasim Jan to Ghalib when he was in need of accommodation.

Umrao Begum bore seven children, all of whom died in infancy, leaving her and the poet heart-broken all their lives. Even the nephew, Nawab Zainul-abadin Khan Arif, whom they adopted, died young at the age of 18, though he had made his mark in Urdu poetry by then.

Strict lady

Umrao Begum was a strict Muslim lady, whereas Ghalib was not at all orthodox. After the First War of Independence of 1857, the poet was accosted by an English officer who asked him if he was a Muslim (as most members of the community were suspects in the eyes of the British). Ghalib replied “Half”. The officer sought an explanation to which Ghalib said that though he drank, he did not eat pork. The amused officer, marvelling at his wit, left him in peace.

Once Ghalib came home with a man carrying a basket full of wine bottles, bought with his first pay. Umrao Begum asked him why he had spent all the money on liquor, to which his reply was that God had promised to feed everyone but had not made any provision for drink, for which one had to make one’s own arrangements.

At another time he entered the courtyard of the house with his shoes on his head. To the Begum’s query, he replied that as she had made the whole haveli a masjid by her piety he had no other option. Umrao Begum died in 1870, a year after Ghalib, when Mahatma Gandhi was only a few months old and was buried according to her wish next to the poet.

Unfortunately, the Ghalib memorial built 85 years later became a barrier between the two graves, both of which should have come within its ambit. But it’s never too late to make amends for an oversight — if need be with Government help.

Her love for Ghalib was intense or he wouldn’t have been able to lead the carefree life he did. She was the one who took care of the house despite the poet’s love for gambling and dance girls, one of whom took undue advantage of him. Despite mischievous gossip by mohalla women, Umrao Begum was unruffled because she was convinced of her husband’s goodness of heart. Even when there was paucity of funds, she managed to see it to that Ghalib and nephew Arif got three square meals a day.

After the death of her children, she was the one who comforted her Mian Nausha so that the misfortune did not affect his mental equilibrium, without which his wit would not have continued to flow like the sparkling Thames.

Facing the music

Ghalib spent most of his time outside the haveli, except when he was writing poetry, having his meals or resting. So it was Umrao Begum who faced the creditors as she was the one who responded to the knock on the door in the absence of a regular maid. When the fat Kotwal of Delhi tried to bully Ghalib, as he disliked the poet because of their love for the same tawwaif and considered him a potential rival (as he always stole the limelight at the kotha), his wife was the one who confronted the Kotwal’s importunate minions at the haveli’s entrance and sent them away with the proverbial flea in the ear.

When Arif was grooming Alexander Heatherley “Azad” as a shair, despite his Anglo-Indian antecedents, Umrao Begum took it upon herself to see to it that they were not disturbed and had some refreshments too during the long hours of coaching. Ghalib who had earlier imbibed the love for shairi in Arif, also fawned on him and when he died an untimely death, poured out his grief in a heartfelt elegy (quoted from memory) that is among his best poems: “Jatey huey kehtey ho qayamat ko milenge kya khoob, qayamat ka goya din hai koi aur!” (While departing you say will meet on the Last Day of Judgement, what an excuse on the pretext of a reunion on a vague day in Eternity).

Reading the elegy Umrao Begum burst into tears and told Ghalib not to rub salt into her raw wounds, according to Arif’s pupil, Alexander Heatherley’s descendant, George Heatherley who died in Perth a few years ago. Umrao Begum’s grave close to Ghalib’s is testimony enough, if one were needed indeed, of the emotional link between the two. Then why deny her the courtesy of an epitaph to seal the bond for the benefit of future generations? No matter how distant may be Arif’s final place of repose.

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Society> Down Memory Lane – History & Culture / by R.V. Smith / November 27th, 2017

Gore, Kale and Ghalib

NEW DELHI :

GhalibMPOs01jul2017

THE HAVELI of Kale Sahib is no more but the ahata (compound) still exists, and what a slum it has become since 1847 when Ghalib lived there after his release from prison for debt default! The poet quipped that after being freed by Gore (the British) he had been “imprisoned” by Kale. Kale Sahib was a highly venerated man. Whether he got this name because of his complexion is not known, but it is quite likely that the saint was not as fair as Ghalib. The Moghul emperor was among his devotees and so were Ghalib and his family. As a matter of fact, Ghalib’s sister-in-law, Bunyiadi Begum gifted the ahata to Kale Sahib and the name stuck.

Kale Sahib was a practical minded saint who refused to perform miracles just to please his devotees. He counselled them to pray fervently, pointing out at the same time that in 90 per cent cases prayers went unanswered. But there were instances when he did help people out of their difficulties. He once admonished a man from whom he had driven out an evil spirit that if he went back to his sinful ways he would again become possessed and then even miracles might not help. Apparently Kale Sahib did not have to exorcise him again.

Situated in the Ballimaran area of Delhi, Ahata Kale Sahib forms part of the locality founded by a Persian, Qasim Khan, who first settled down in Lahore about the year 1750 and was befriended by the Governor of Punjab, Moinul Mulk. When Ahmed Shah Abdali invaded Punjab, Moinul Mulk resisted him and was killed. His widow, Mughlai Begum then became the virtual ruler and made Qasim Khan her chief adviser. There were insinuations, but then which young widow is safe from wagging tongues if she befriends a man?

Qasim Khan later came to the court of Shah Alam where he was accepted as a nobleman. The place in which he lived is known to this day as Gali Qasim Jan. Qasim Khan’s son, Faizullah Beg built the ahata. But how Buniyadi Begum came to possess it is not clear.

Congested mohalla

Ahata Kale Sahib now is a congested mohalla. Few of its residents remember Kale Sahib. But the ahata is in the news generally, for whenever BSES resorts to power cuts, Ahata Kale Sahib is as much affected as distant Janakpuri. In fact one finds this link between what was once Asia’s biggest colony and one of the dirtiest amusing. After Ghalib’s joke about Gore and Kale this should surely take the cake for it would have tickled the poet too. But he is long dead and gone.. But one has the feeling that he couldn’t be resting peacefully in Nizamuddin for he was essentially a man of the walled city of Delhi whose charms began and ended within its confines.

The charms are still reflected in a slight difference in speech, the flavour of the kababs and the taste of the water from Hare Bhare Sahib. The breeze that springs from the Jamuna goes past the Red Fort, negotiates the many arches of the Jama Masjid and merges with the smell of the motia and chameli sold at the crossroads before cooling the courtyards of the houses in the narrow gullies.

Ghalib liked to move about in this area of which the Kashmere and Delhi gates were the two extremities, with the fort being the hub and centre and the mosque the cultural bastion of the city. Yes, of course, Ghalib always had a soft corner for Agra, because he was born there and passed his boyhood in Kala Mahal from which the Taj looks just like a building in the next locality.

But his heart had been won over by Shahjehanabad. From Ballimaran to Jama Masjid the walk was long enough via Chandni Chowk. Sometimes one could meet Mir Ashiq who came from the opposite direction and went back to his kucha via Ballimaran. Was the tilt of his cap different from that of the residents of Nizamuddin? People noticed such traits and developed their pet notions.

For a man of such intense likes and dislikes as Ghalib, his grave in Nizamuddin is out of the milieu in which he flourished. It is a small enclosure though beautiful in its own way where sparrows make love in the afternoon. The illiterate take it for another shrine where obeisance must be paid, and budding poets hope to imbibe some of the virtues of the great “shair”.

An old man who sometimes steals up to the mausoleum feels that even a blank page touching the “mazar” would instantly be graced with a ghazal. He has never seen it happen, nor would we surely, but such feelings are the stuff legends are made of.

R.V.SMITH

source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> MetroPlus Delhi / by R V Smith / Monday – November 29th, 2004