New Book , First ever English translation of Nizami’s invaluable Urdu book Begumat ke Aansoo
pix: amazon.in
Apart from the fifteen years that Sher Shah Suri snatched upon defeating Humayun, the flag of the grand Mughal Empire flew over Delhi undefeated for over 300 years.
But then, 1857 arrived and the mighty sword fell helpless in the face of a mightier British force.
After the fall of Delhi and Emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar’s tragic departure from the Red Fort in 1857, members of the royal Mughal court had to flee to safer places. Driven out from their palaces and palanquins onto the streets in search of food and shelter, the dethroned royals scrambled to survive. Some bore their fate with a bitter pride, others succumbed to the adversity.
Through twenty-nine accounts of the survivors of the Uprising of 1857, Khwaja Hasan Nizami documents the devastating tale of the erstwhile glorious royalty’s struggle with the hardships thrust upon them by a ruthless new enemy.
In vivid and tragic stories drawn from the recollection of true events, Nizami paints a picture of a crumbling historical era and another charging forward to take its place.
With the reminiscence of past glory contrasted against the drudgery of everyday survival, Tears of the Begums – the first ever English translation of Nizami’s invaluable Urdu book Begumat ke Aansoo – chronicles the turning of the wheel of fortune in the aftermath of India’s first war of independence.
source: http://www.amazon.in / Amazon / Home> Books> History> World / as on August 06th, 2022
Stories of kings and queens fascinate all children and we were no different.
We never grew tired of hearing Amma tell us stories about the Kashi Naresh (king of Banares) and her life in Ramnagar, in present-day Varanasi. Stories of how my seven-year-old aunt was on the lead elephant in the Ramlila celebrations, because the Kashi Naresh was studying in Mayo College; stories of her roza kushai (celebrations when a child fasts for the first time) which had a 16-year-old Bismillah Khan playing the shehnai; stories of my Nani, Begum Hameeda Khatoon attending state dinners in chiffon saris and brocade blouses with matching brocade shoes and a dash of Tangee, her favourite lipstick. We heard of Khan Bahadur Syed Ali Zamin, MBE, our teetotaller Nana raising the toast to the very senior British dignitaries who came with a glass of water! We heard of Nana ensuring that there was a constant supply of Ganga Jal for the young Kashi Naresh studying in Mayo College, since he could only use that pure water. We often heard stories from my grandmother of the jewels in the state treasury; Nana must have described the jewels to her—the keys to the treasury were kept with him and he discharged his duties with utmost integrity and honesty. Another story, and my favourite, was that Nana personally chose the piece of brocade and silk, which went from Benares as Queen Elizabeth’s wedding present.
The rulers of Benares appointed many of their dewans and other officers from the Syed family of Kajgaon, near Jaunpur… Benares State was the biggest employer of our family!
Our childhood was shaped by these stories of a land where the Ganges flowed and the Ganga Jamuni Tehzeeb, as our syncretic culture is referred to, flourished.
A land where there was a Brahmin king and a Muslim dewan!
The rulers of Benares appointed many of their dewans and other officers from the Syed family of Kajgaon, near Jaunpur. In fact, as my aunt says, back then Benares State was the biggest employer of our family!
A VIEW OF THE GHATS OF BANARAS FROM RAMNAGAR, IN A PHOTO BY RUST, C.1880’S
Ramnagar, which is 18km from Varanasi, was the capital of the erstwhile princely state under the British Raj. Its history dates back to the ancient Kingdom of Kashi and its Brahmin rulers are said to be the incarnation of Shiva.
Mansa Ram Singh founded the Benares estate and in 1740 his son Balwant Singh became its first Raja. It became a princely state in 1911 under the British government.
Maharaja Ishwari Prasad Narayan Singh succeeded his uncle and ruled till his death in 1889.
WWW.COLUMBIA.EDU “The Maharajah of Benares,” from the Illustrated London News, 1876
A family tradition begins
The first dewan from our family was my mother’s great-great-grandfather, Maulana Syed Gulshan Ali, a qualified mujtahid from Najaf in Iraq came in Maharaja Ishwari Prasad Narayan Singh’s reign.
AHMED ZAMIN / Maulana Syed Gulshan Ali
He advised and supported the king’s decision to not get involved in the 1857 Uprising and as chief minister and dewan he was instrumental in getting the estate, which had been confiscated by the British, restored to the Maharaja. According to the family lore, he had the idea of going to England to appeal to the Privy Council for the return of the confiscated land. He took three lakh rupees from the Maharaja and proceeded to the head office of the East India Company in Calcutta (now Kolkata). On the way, he met a British officer associated with Fort William in Calcutta where the head office of the East India Company was located. When the officer discovered that Maulana was a scholar he offered to help him in return for Urdu and Persian lessons. Upon finding out Maulana’s concern, he advised him that there was no need to go to England because the case could be pleaded from India. Maulana stayed in Calcutta for about a year teaching Urdu and Persian to the British officer
His detractors who had spread the rumours that Maulana sahib had decamped with the money were proved wrong when he returned and after deducting his nominal expenses handed over the remaining amount to the Maharaja.
Vignettes to cherish
My cousin Syed Naqi Hasan’s yet-to-be-published memoirs, My Nostalgic Journey, is a storehouse of information and family stories.
His uncle Khan Bahadur Syed Ahmed Hasan CIE was dewan and his grandfather, Syed Ali Sagheer (My Nana’s brother) was a collector in Gyanpur, one of the districts of Benares state. He heard these anecdotes from both our grandfathers and his uncle. Those were the days when elders sat in the courtyard surrounded by the youngsters and told them stories and anecdotes to ensure that family legacies, cultural traditions were carried on. Today’s TV, computers and smart phone have taken this away from us. Oral history will soon die a natural death.
Maharaja Ishwari Parasad Narayan Singh valued Maulana Gulshan Ali’s advice and loyalty so much that when Maulana died, he “wept bitterly and said, ‘Today my father has died.'”
He writes that Maharaja Ishwari Parasad Narayan Singh valued Maulana Gulshan Ali’s advice and loyalty so much that when Maulana died, “Maharaja Ishwari Parsad wept bitterly and said, ‘Today my father has died.'”
Later Maulana Gulshan Ali’s son Syed Ali Mohammad served as Naib Dewan.
AHMED ZAMIN / My grandparents, mother and aunts in their Ramnagar house
My aunt reminisces that amongst the many privileges granted to Maulana and his family by the Maharaja, the most important one was that until the merger of Benares state with India, two white horses were kept in the royal capital of Ramnagar at the State’s expense, and were sent to Kajgaon to be used as Zuljanah (representation of Imam Hussain’s horse) in the Muharram processions.
My elders kept our family’s oral history intact and I share some here.
HTTP://WWW.COLUMBIA.EDU/ “Benares, Maharaja’s Palace,” a professional photo, 1930’s.
Maulana Syed Gulshan Ali’s extraordinary presence of mind and good judgment during the annexation of Awadh by the East India Company in 1856 is still talked about in our family. When the last Nawab of Awadh, Wajid Ali Shah, was deposed and exiled to Calcutta he halted on his way at Benares. It was customary to offer a nazrana usually in the form of gold coins to a visiting king, which the king sometimes doubled and returned to the giver. The dilemma was that not offering a nazrana meant ignoring the king. Offering gold coins was inappropriate because the king was in no position to double it. Maulana thought of presenting the king with tasbih and sajdigah made of khaak e pak or the dust of Karbala where Imam Hussain was martyred, which the Shias revere. It is priceless in terms of its symbolic value and yet not much in monetary terms, which would make giving something in return unnecessary. What could be a better nazrana for a Shia nawab!
His son Maharaja Prabhu Narayan Singh succeeded Maharaja Ishwari Prasad Narayan Singh in 1889 and was the first maharaja of the newly created princely state of Benares in 1911. He died in 1931, and was succeeded by his only son, Aditya Narayan Singh.
Maharaja Aditya Narayan Singh reigned for a very short time.
AHMED ZAMIN / My grandfather Khan Bahadur Syed Ali Zamin
My grandfather, Khan Bahadur Syed Ali Zamin, MBE joined as Chief Secretary of the State in 1939 and the Maharaja died shortly after that.
As the Maharaja was childless he adopted a distant cousin to succeed him. Vibhuti Narayan Singh, the last Maharaja of Benares, was a minor when Maharaja Aditya Narayan Singh died.
Nana [ensured] that there was a constant supply of Ganga Jal for the young Kashi Naresh studying in Mayo College, since he could only use that pure water.
In My Nostalgic Journey, my cousin Syed Naqi Hasan writes that on his deathbed Maharaja Aditya Narayan Singh summoned my grandfather and his adopted son and placed the hand of his son in Nana’s hand and said, “Syed Sahib, I am placing my son under your protection. Please protect him as well as the throne for him.” There were many claimants to the throne. Against all odds, Nana had Vibhuti Narayan Singh perform the funeral rites as required by the Hindu religion to establish his claim to the throne.
As Maharaj Kumar Vibhuti Narayan Singh, a minor, became the maharaja under regency Council of Administration was formed and C.R. Peters Esq was appointed its President and Nana as the Chief Minister was next in line of authority. Peters had to return to England in 1944 after a sudden illness, and Nana was named to act as President of the Council of Administration.
As the President of the Benares State, Nana was responsible not only for the well being of the state but also of his young charge.
Such was the level of comfort of the Maharaja Vibhuti Narayan Singh with our families that he maintained a friendship with the younger generation and decades later in1979, he stayed in the house of my cousin whose husband S.K.R. Zaidi who was the Chief Officer of Reserve Bank of India in Kanpur, rather than a hotel where he wasn’t sure of the purity of the environment. His young son was very keen on cricket and there was a test match between India and Australia in Green Park, Kanpur.
Their children Atiya and Abid Zaidi have fond memories of his charming manners and how the Maharaja floored the servants with his courtesies.
The Maharaja came with his full entourage and was given the lower floor of their huge house, with a kitchen where he could be comfortable.
Maharaja Vibhuti Narayan Singh ascended the throne, before reaching the full legal age on 11 July, 1947, approximately four months short of his 20th birthday. His ascension was speeded up in view of India’s imminent Independence. Charles Allen and Sharada Dwivedi in their book, Lives of the Indian Princes , quote the young Maharaja Vibhuti Narayan Singh as saying that he wanted to finish his education but was told by the political advisor to the Viceroy, Conrad Corfield, “If you waste a day you may not become a Maharaja.” He goes on to add that that the people of Benares were kind to him and how my grandfather, Syed Ali Zamin, who was presiding over the meeting of the Cabinet of Ministers stepped aside and asked him to preside over the meeting so that he “could play a leading part.”
He succeeded to the throne in July 1947 after becoming an adult, a month before India’s independence. The Council of Administration was dissolved after his ascension and the position of President was abolished. Nana became the Dewan.
End of an era
Maharaja Vibuti Narayan Singh signed the Instrument of Accession to India in Oct 1947, and Benares State was merged with the United Provinces now the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh.
In 1948 my grandfather suffered a heart attack while addressing a meeting in Ramnagar, the capital of Benares State, and had to be carried home on a stretcher. He took voluntary retirement from his position as Dewan because of ill health but after helping the young Maharaja to ensure a smooth merger of the state with India.
The last Muslim Dewan of Benares state passed away on 1 November, 1955 a few days before his birthday on the 5th of November.
The Muslim Dewans of Banares
source: http://www.huffingtonpost.in / HuffPost / Home> The Blog / by Rana Safvi / October 27th, 2016
A journey through the ruins of Phuti Masjid, built by Sarfaraz Khan, in Murshidabad
It is difficult to imagine that Murshidabad, now a small, sleepy town in West Bengal, was among the richest courts of the 18th and 19th century. It hides many conspiracies, power brokers, pawns and fallen emperors in its heart.
One such fallen emperor was Sarfaraz Khan, the maternal grandson of Murshid Quli Khan, the founder of the city and the Nasiri dynasty. Nawab Murshid Quli Khan appointed Sarfaraz Khan as his successor before his death in 1727 as there was no direct heir to the throne. However, his son-in-law (Sarfaraz’s father) Shuja Khan frustrated Sarfaraz’s dreams. He felt that he had a bigger claim to the musnad, or the throne, of Murshidabad. Sarfaraz could only ascend the throne in 1739 with the title Alauddin Haider Jung.
A short-lived reign
But his problems did not stop there. The newly crowned Nawab fell out with his Wazir, Haji Ahmed. The Wazir won over the rich banker Jagat Seth Fateh Chand and Rai Rayan Chand and started plotting against the Nawab. Haji Ahmed invited Ali Vardi Khan, the Nawab Nazim of Bihar, to seek someone from the Mughal empire to replace Sarfaraz Khan. In the battle of Giria, Ali Vardi Khan defeated Sarfaraz Khan. The Musnad of Murshidabad, compiled by Purna Chandra Majumdar, mentions that the Jagat Seths suborned the Nawab’s men to place bricks and clods instead of cannon balls and fodder in Sarfaraz Khan’s magazine. Though the Nawab found out and gave charge of his artillery to a Portuguese, he was killed by a bullet as he rode out to battle on his elephant. Nawab Sarfaraz Khan ruled only for a year.
Inside Phuti Masjid
When I went to Murshidabad, I visited the grand mosques, palaces and imambaras constructed by the Nawabs who ruled for a longer time and in happier circumstances. But it was the Phuti Masjid that I found fascinating.
The mosque is quite large: 135 ft. long and 38 ft. wide with four cupolas at the corners. Only two of its five planned domes were completed. Dangerous looking spiral staircases lead up to the cupolas. As the builder died soon after construction began, the mosque was never completed. And so the name Phuti Masjid, or broken mosque. It is also known rather morbidly as Fouti Masjid. ‘Fout’ means death, and the name was apparently given after the builder’s death.
As I approached the mosque, I first saw brick walls surrounded by small cottages and fields on a dusty road. The walls were covered with moss. I went eastward, which is the direction in which people generally enter mosques. But I found to my dismay that the entrance was at a height and there were no steps leading up to it. My guide was young and he quickly climbed up. With his help, I somehow managed to scramble up the mud incline. I am glad that I did, for I immediately saw a huge hall and soaring arches. There was a sense of desolation, mystery and a strange undercurrent of spirituality in the mosque. An extremely religious and devout Nawab with money, power and resources had wanted to build a house of worship, yet no one ever prayed there. It was more like a scene from a horror movie: there was a semi-open roof, wild undergrowth, and trees and the sun rays peeped in through apertures. Just then I heard shrill voices. Two children from a nearby cottage, aged four and five, had clambered up to ask if they could be my guides!
One legend goes that this mosque was built in one night by Sarfaraz Khan. Another says that a number of workers toiled for several months to construct it. During roll call one day, it was found that one worker was not present. This happened a number of times and as the story became famous, the mysterious workman disappeared leaving his work incomplete and no one could match his skill. Both stories point to the hand of Djinns. Whatever be the truth, this broken structure is still standing despite all the odds, surrounded by houses, fields and hostile elements, a mute testimony to broken dreams.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Opinion> Columns – Where Stones Speak / by Rana Safvi / January 06th, 2019
Nasheet Shadani, founder of social media platform Ishq Urdu. Photo: Ramesh Pathania
It’s got tehzeeb, romance and nuance, drawing a growing number of urban Indians to it
Urdu is in our lives even if we don’t realize it. But it is only recently that this love for the sound of Urdu has extended to its script
It’s on a Tuesday evening in January, under a canopy of incandescent bulbs, that I receive my first lesson in Urdu: the difference between alcohol and mirages.I am part of a small mehfil gathered in the courtyard of Prithvi Theatre in Mumbai. People greet each other with adaab, and the bonhomie that strangers share is palpable.
In this session of a monthly Urdu meet-up called Mehfil@Prithvi, we are listening to people read ghazals and nazms by the late Pakistani poet Fahmida Riaz. She lived in exile in India for almost seven years during Zia-ul-Haq’s rule, and died in November in Lahore. Riaz wrote heart-wrenching lines on female desire and communalism, such as:
Sarab hun mein
Teri pyaas kya bujhaungi
Urdu scholar Ilyas Shauqi, who delivers the lines at the mehfil, explains to me later that sarab means mirage, an illusion, and is often mistaken by non-Urdu speakers for sharab, or alcohol. “Urdu is like this—you have to pay attention to the pronunciation,” he adds.
Such is my introduction to Urdu, a language that appears to conceal more than it reveals. Writer Annie Zaidi, who often leads the Mehfil@Prithvi sessions, says that while Urdu runs in her family, she learnt to write the Nasta‘līq script as recently as 2017. Annie’s motivation was access, both to the past and the present. “I always wanted to know more about Urdu literature, and there is only so much that you can understand through transliterations. Besides, my grandfather (Ali Jawad Zaidi) is an Urdu writer, and it was a shame that I couldn’t read his works in the original. Urdu should have been my mother tongue but, as things stand, I am more fluent in Hindi,” she says.
Despite her familiarity with spoken Urdu, the experience of learning the script was nothing short of confounding. She says, “The ligature—the manner in which letters bond with each other in Urdu—was particularly tough. The letters change shape as they form a word and very few phonetic cues are used. I had a friend teach me that over WhatsApp.”
Urdu’s idiosyncrasies are both its charm and challenge, as a growing number of newly forged admirers among urban Indians will testify.
According to 2011 census data on mother tongues released last year, Urdu dropped from sixth to seventh position, showing a drop of 1.58%. The only other language to record a fall was Konkani. Yet Urdu has found new takers. Many of them are spurred on by an interest to read Urdu texts in the original, rather than translations or transliterations. Some want to learn the script for research, for design, or to write poetry. For others, like Annie, it is the chance to revisit their roots. In this mix are non-Muslims, non-Urdu-speaking Muslims, and Urdu-speaking Muslims who never learnt the language formally.
The country’s non-Urdu-speaking population has been nourished for a long time on a literary diet of some of the best prose, poetry and lyrics that the language offers. Bollywood songs, theatre, even the stray couplets that break the monotony of endless Twitter feed scrolls—Urdu is in our lives even if we don’t realize or acknowledge it. But it is only recently that this love for the sound of Urdu has extended to its script as well. Mumbai-based theatre practitioner Danish Husain, who curates the monthly Mehfil@Prithvi and is known for his dastangoi performances, says that while the interest in Urdu has always been there, what he has seen in the last couple of years is “the interest in the text”, whether it’s people reading works intently or dramatizing them.
The revival is linked to the proliferation of online portals and Urdu-themed events in urban centres, such as shayari clubs, Urdu readings and calligraphy classes. Prominent among them is the Noida-based Rekhta Foundation. Through its website Rekhta.org, it offers an Urdu word-of-the-day along with a dictionary (also delivered to users on WhatsApp); offline, it organizes one of the biggest Urdu festivals in the country, Jashn-e-Rekhta. The festival, which debuted in Delhi in 2015, saw over 15,000 visitors; in 2018, the numbers rose to 170,000 (figures from the Rekhta Foundation ).
Visitors at a Sufi concert by the Nooran Sisters at Jashn-e-Rekhta in December. Photo: Rekhta
In 2017, following multiple requests from festival attendees and online users, the foundation started a beginner’s Urdu course, with calligraphy and poetry appreciation thrown in for good measure. Simultaneously, it also launched an online education portal, Aamozish.com, through which 35,000 people have studied Urdu so far.
Sarover Zaidi, an anthropologist based out of Mumbai and Delhi who works on religion, architecture and social spaces, believes this growing interest in Urdu is a natural progression of the impact of social media and online resources, which have provided people with more access to the script, something that wouldn’t have been easy even a decade ago. “A large number of people have always been interested in Urdu—even those who did not grow up in cultures where Urdu was accessible. But more people are now responding to it, whether it is their interest in the poetry, literature, or the culture it represents—they are interested in the poetics and politics of it. They want to make a statement,” she says.
Writing or drawing?
To explore what’s driving urban Indians to the language, I attended an Urdu calligraphy workshop at Mumbai’s Tarq gallery in December. I realized that learning Urdu through the calligraphic Nasta‘līq script requires nothing less than absolute dedication.
Graphic designer, muralist and typographer Zeenat Kulavoor. Photo: Abhijit Bhatlekar/Mint
The workshop was conducted by Zeenat Kulavoor, a 30-year-old graphic designer and typographer, who has created two murals in Urdu. Both were made in 2017, on the premises of a repurposed mill in Mumbai. One of them is “pehle aap“, evoking the Lakhnavi tehzeeb—the courteous mannerisms once associated with Lucknow. The other mural bears stirring verses that only the mind of poet Nida Fazli—a Padma Shri awardee and staunch critic of the Partition—could have conjured up. As a muralist, Kulavoor refers to the characteristics of not just Urdu but of the cultures that use this language. The reason people are learning Urdu is almost the reason why some of us study French in India—we also consume the culture the language represents.
Kulavoor started learning Urdu at the Sir JJ School of Art in 2008, when she was part of a class project on creating a calligraphy manual. “We had to choose a language from those printed on the Indian currency note. Creating the manual meant understanding the script, breaking it down and then showing users the steps to write the script,” recalls Kulavoor. She arrived late for class, and the other languages were taken, leaving only Urdu. “That’s how Urdu found me,” she says.
Kulavoor tried to find an Urdu mentor—but on the internet, the only available resource she could find at the time was a bunch of videos on Arabic calligraphy.
A decade later, she decided to organize workshops focusing not on linguistics but on the form and design elements of the Urdu alphabet. For most of the participants at her 6-hour, beginner-level workshops were looking for something specific—designing calligrams for their projects, for instance.
Entering the world of Urdu calligraphy, however, means unlearning. One of the participants had been meditatively painting a series of be—the second letter of the Urdu alphabet—but realized much later that instead of going from right to left, as Urdu demands, she had been writing instinctively left to right.
Keeping the language alive
Kulavoor’s calligraphy classes come at a time when the generation of veteran kaatibs (calligraphers), the ones who populated Old Delhi’s lanes and Mohammed Ali Road in Mumbai, is fading. On 30 January, one such noted figure, Shilp Guru Irshad Hussain Farooqi, a resident of Delhi, died.
Zeenat Kulavoor taking participants through Urdu calligraphy at her workshop in December at the Tarq gallery, Mumbai. Aniruddha Chowdhury/Mint
Shipra Dutta, 45, got reacquainted with Urdu to save a family legacy. Dutta is a fourth-generation calligrapher—her great-grandfather served as an accountant in the court of Mughal emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar. The story in her family is that he was chosen to maintain the accounts not because of his mathematical skills, but rather for his penmanship in mahajani (a mercantile script) and thuluth (an Islamic calligraphic script). When Dutta was offered the chance to calligraph a set of Urdu poems for a Kashmiri pashmina-weaver, she realized she also wished to learn what the words meant. “Urdu is led through the qalam (pen), and there is a visual pleasure in watching it move on paper. It is essentially a dance of hairline strokes and thick strokes, a jugalbandi,” she says.
A similar interest drew Dhwani Shah, a 31-year-old designer for publisher Tara Books. She signed up in October for Inktober, an annual Instagram hashtag series in which users respond to a word prompt through visual interpretations. Shah drew Urdu translations of the English prompts. She picked up Urdu as a hobby while studying design at Bhasha Bhavan in Gujarat Vidyapeeth, Ahmedabad. Now based out of Chennai, she believes the only way she can keep her interest alive is to go old school—handwritten letters. She is a member of Quillpal.com, a site that helps people make pen pals in the age of blue ticks and DMs. Shah wanted to write her letters in Urdu, and Quillpal luckily matched her with a pen pal fluent in the language.
As with her writing, Shah also tries to infuse her everyday conversations with a dose of Urdu. “Urdu has several words that are poetic and beautiful, but I try to use ordinary words like mehez (merely), fizool (useless), zikr (mention). I can sneak them into conversations without sounding pompous,” she says.
While calligraphy is one means of popularizing the script, its greatest presence is in the digital form. Urdu printing presses have been on the decline, and have been replaced by a number of apps and digital tools that enable people to type away in Urdu on devices. Nasheet Shadani, a 32-year-old Delhi-based advertising professional, has taken it a step further, harnessing the power of memes to convey some fun facts about Urdu. “People are still learning Urdu in a very 1970s method and I want to make it more contemporary,” says Shadani.
In 2015, he started a social media project called Ishq Urdu, which mainly operates through Instagram and Facebook. Look it up and you will find some thought-provoking posts—what would Bollywood dialogues be without Urdu? Could “Mogambo prasann hua?” ever have the same effect as “Mogambo khush hua?”
Shadani’s latest venture introduces the Urdu alphabet to his general audience through a unique series of posts. On a background of pop colours, he designs phrases such as “Hey, what’s up?” or “Good afternoon” where “hey” and “noon” are, in fact, Urdu alphabets. It’s a simple but smart mnemonic device that he prints on a limited edition series of badges and T-shirts.
Delhi-based historian and scholar Rana Safvi, whose eponymous blog is a great resource for all things Urdu, says: “Urdu uses the same grammar as Hindi. Not that of Farsi.” In her blogpost “My Name Is Urdu And I Am Not A Muslim”, Safvi traces the evolution of the language and recalls Australian linguist Peter Austin’s observation that “Urdu and Hindi have the same roots in the emerging Indo-Aryan language varieties spoken in an area centred on Delhi, and specially the variety called Khari Boli, which spread throughout India under the Muslim armies of the Delhi Sultanate (13th to 15th century).”
In present-day India, Safvi notes: “Associated as it is in people’s eyes with Muslims, it has become nothing but a trap for vote-bank politics, unkept promises and empty dreams. The only silver lining is that it still lives in the hearts of many across religious lines, in our Hindi films and TV serials, the crowds flocking to mushairas, and the number of sites which provide SMS lines on the internet. ”
Love it, hate it
So, what’s the culture that Urdu signifies? That of a genteel past or a polarized present?
The recent Twitter hashtag movement #MyNameinUrdudrew attention to a prevalent prejudice against the Urdu script. Using this hashtag, Twitter handles sported user names in Urdu—many among them non-Urdu speakers. It was a statement against communal hatred and incessant trolling, but there was a catch—the Google transliteration app didn’t always succeed accurately. Those familiar with Urdu came forward on Twitter to do the job instead.
In 2016, signboard painter Akhlaq Ahmad and French street artist Swen Simon were forced by a small group of people in Delhi to deface their mural of an Urdu couplet in praise of the city. Their lines read: Dilli tera ujadna, aur phir ujad ke basna. Woh dil hai toone paya, sani nahi hai jiska. It sounds like Hindi, except it was written in Urdu. The group reportedly questioned the artists’ Nasta’līq script and asked them to replace it with the words “Swachh Bharat Abhiyan” and “Narendra Modi”, in Hindi. They labelled the artists “Lahoris”.
The Delhi government, however, has been attempting to promote Urdu. In November, it held Jashn-e-Virasat, a celebration of tehzeeb, with the support of the Urdu Academy. Previously held at Jama Masjid, Old Delhi, this edition took place at Central Park in Connaught Place, a location which brought the event, and the language, closer to a cosmopolitan crowd. But Asad Ashraf, the founder of a community project called Karvaan India, is attempting the reverse—getting people closer to the localities where Urdu is used.
Karvaan’s office, situated in Delhi’s Ghaffar Manzil, a Muslim-dominated area, houses a library and a workspace for creative professionals, writers and “fellow travellers”. In the past year, Karvaan has increased its programming, focusing on topics pertinent to its immediate community, such as the ghettoization of Muslims and talaq, while also opening its doors to a wider public.
It is with the same intent that Ashraf launched Urdu Hai Jiska Naam last year. The title of the weekend classes comes from a famous sher by Urdu poet Dagh Dehlvi. Last year, 35 participants enrolled in the class. This year, there were 300 applicants, but Karvaan has resources enough to register only 100, despite doubling batches. Of these, only eight are Muslims.
The class is conducted by entrepreneur Tanzil Rahman, an Indian Institute of Management Bangalore graduate. He recalls the time when he was first taught the Urdu alphabet in school. “We practised on a wooden plank which functioned as a slate called a takhti, as big as two MacBooks placed side-by-side. On this, we wrote the alphabet in ink. We did this before we switched to paper because kushkhat, or neat handwriting, is very important,” he explains.
As an Urdu mentor, Rahman’s method is different. He prefers to keep the course functional and contemporary, and helps participants recognize Urdu in its popular usage, from film dialogue to signboards at railway stations. “Take Nizamuddin station, for example. Isn’t the iconic yellow signboard a great way to learn how Nizamuddin is written in Urdu?” he says. He delves a little further into the intricacies of Urdu, the manner in which vowel sounds are dropped and how you understand words by contextualizing them.
He says Urdu is taught now only in some public schools but rarely in private schools. “So people have to make use of independent courses like these. The classes are useful also for Muslims whose mother tongue is Urdu because while many may speak the language, not all know how to write it,” he adds.
Savio Pashana, 30, a designer and a spoken word performer, is part of a growing circle of spoken word poets in Thane who organize performances under the banner of Poetry Tuesday. Some of the members performed their Urdu pieces in January at the Spoken Fest in Mumbai. “The biggest disservice we have done to the language is to give it a homeland in Pakistan alone. But think about it—Bhagat Singh wrote letters to his family in Urdu,” he says.
Urdu was once used extensively by Hindus as well as Muslims, and even the British, though it may be mainly Muslim communities that are keeping it alive on a daily basis today. By encouraging participants to come closer to minority communities that still use Urdu as their mother tongue, Karvaan is suggesting that the secularization of Urdu need not mean that it makes Muslims invisible.
Shaikh Aquil Ahmad, director of the National Council for the Promotion of Urdu Language (NCPUL) in Delhi, says, “People are not learning it for religious reasons alone. It’s because Urdu zubaan mein behad mithaas hai (it is a very sweet language).”
Beyond the politics
“A nukta can make a huge difference,” says Mumbai resident Shirlyn Galbao, 44, referring to the wily dot that is the cornerstone of the Urdu alphabet. Galbao says she was already familiar with the lilt of Urdu, but the urge to master the language was driven by two sources—her job as a voice-over artist and a monthly baithak. Galbao wished to perfect her talafuz (pronunciation), particularly because several Hindi commercials, especially on radio, are sprinkled with Urdu words. Her search led her to Katha Kathan.
Katha Kathan, a series of dramatized readings of Urdu’s best literary names, was initiated by former ad-man Jameel Gulrays, after he felt the need to share Urdu’s literary wealth in a time when it is being offered in fewer schools across India as a second language—they would rather offer French, German, even Japanese. Gulrays has translated several short stories by Urdu writers.
He disliked the Nandita Das film Manto, finding it an inauthentic representation of the Urdu writer, and chooses to commemorate the writer across baithaks—celebrating Manto’s “Bambai”, his short stories and his Marathi translations. Gulrays’ readings are available on YouTube; he has made 1,200 videos so far.
Galbao started with these baithaks and eventually found a mentor in Gulrays, who teaches with a blackboard and a list of primary school textbooks, and recommends reading Urdu newspapers. Galbao has piles of Urdu newspapers, which never fail to catch the attention of her friends. “My Muslim friends don’t speak Urdu and often wonder if I will teach them Urdu when they see the newspapers,” she laughs, adding that some acquaintances have asked her why a Catholic should wish to study an “Islamic” language.
As Shadani says, a revival need not be literary or political. Sometimes, a college student may want to study Urdu simply to flaunt it, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. As Ahmad says, “Urdu is mohabbat ki zubaan—the language of love.”
Urdu in your city
1. The National Council for the Promotion of Urdu Language (NCPUL) offers a free diploma as well as certificate courses in Urdu in 1,359 centres across India. It has been systematically scaling up centres; currently, 57,301 students have registered for these courses. Additionally, the NCPUL offers calligraphy classes at select centres.
Urducouncil.nic.in
2. The Zabaan Language Institute at Kailash Colony, Delhi, offers two courses in Urdu reading and writing, a basic and a secondary. It also offers home tutors for private classes if you are willing to pay travel costs.
Zabaan.com; 011-40564840
3. The Hindustani Prachar Sabha at Charni Road, Mumbai, offers three levels of programmes. The basic beginner’s certificate is an year-long course.
Hindustanipracharsabha.org; 022-22812871
4. Kitab Khana, one of Mumbai’s largest book stores, has a modest shelf dedicated to Urdu writing. You can browse through it, and if you spot co-owner Samir Somaiya around this section, don’t be surprised. In 2017, Somaiya learnt Urdu from a mentor who also advises the store on the Urdu titles they should be stocking.
Kitabkhana.in; 022-61702276
5. What Che Guevara was to T-shirts in the 20th century, the late poet Jaun Eliya is to Urdu lovers. Sample these and other contemporary designs, all dedicated to Urdu luminaries, at Shiraz Husain’s Khwaab Tanha Collective.
@khwaabtanhacollective on Facebook
6. On Twitter, @Rekhta and Rana Safvi’s @urdualfaz are dedicated to teaching Urdu, one word at a time. You may also want to check out @TimeUrdu, a linguistic project that promotes the language.
source: http://www.livemint.com / Live Mint / Home> Latest> Trending> My Reads / by Benita Fernando / February 03rd, 2019
A translation of one of the many stories collected by Khwaja Hasan Nizami about the survivors of the Mughal emperor’s family.
Khwaja Hasan Nizami wrote numerous books on the events that unfolded in 1857, all based on eyewitness accounts of the survivors. Begamat ke Aansu: Tears of the Begums are stories collected by Khwaja Hasan Nizami from the survivors of the Mughal family after the fall of Delhi in September 1857, when they had to flee from the Red Fort. Begamat ke Aansu was originally published in 1922 and has been reprinted many times since. This story is one of the accounts from Begamat ke Aansu. It describes Kulsum Zamani Begum’s escape from the Red Fort.
This is the true story of a female dervish who suffered through the travails of life. Her name was Kulsum Zamani Begum, and she was the pampered daughter of Delhi’s last emperor, Abu Zafar Bahadur Shah. Although she died a few years ago, I have heard her story from her own mouth many times. She was a sincere devotee of Mehboob-e-Ilahi Khwaja Nizamuddin Auliya and was so attached to his dargah that she would often come there. I would talk to her there and listen to her tragic tale. Whatever I have written down has been told to me either by her or her daughter, Zainab Zamani Begum, who is still alive and lives in Pandit ka Kucha.
Her story is narrated below in her own words:
“The night my Babajan lost his empire and the end was near, there was a tumult in Lal Qila. The very walls seemed to be weeping.
“The pearly white marble palaces had been blackened by soot from the gunfire and cannon shots in the past four months. No one had eaten for a day and a half. Zainab, my daughter, was a year-and-a-half old and crying for milk. Neither I nor any of the foster mothers were lactating because of the hunger and trouble all around us. We sat disconsolately when Hazrat Zill-e-Subhani’s special khwaja sara came to call us. It was midnight and the pin-drop silence was broken by intermittent cannon shots. We were terrified, but since Zill-e-Subhani had called us, we immediately left our palace and presented ourselves before him.
“Huzur sat on his prayer mat with a rosary in his hands. I stood before him and presented three salutations. Huzur called me close to him with great affection and said, ‘Kulsum, I entrust you to the care of Khuda. If fate permits, we will meet again. Go away immediately with your husband. I am also leaving. I don’t want to separate myself from my beloved children at this stage, but I don’t want to embroil you in my problems. If you are with me, destruction is certain. Maybe if you are alone, God will open a path of escape for you.’
“He raised his shaking hands in prayer and cried out to Allah, ‘Dear god, I entrust this orphan girl into your care. Brought up in magnificent palaces, they now venture into the wilderness and desolate jungles. They have no friends or protectors. Please protect the honour of these princesses of the Timurid dynasty. Preserve their honour. The entire Hindu and Muslim population of Hindustan are my children and trouble surrounds them all. Don’t let them suffer because of my actions. Give them relief from all troubles.’ With that, he patted my head, embraced Zainab, gave a few jewels to my husband Mirza Ziauddin, and sent us off along with Nur Mahal Saheba, who was Huzur’s begum.
“We left the Qila before dawn. My husband, Mirza Ziauddin, and the Badshah’s brother-in-law, Mirza Umar Sultan, accompanied the three women: myself and two other ladies, Nawab Nur Mahal and Hafiza Sultan, whose daughter was married to one of the emperor’s sons.
“When we climbed into our bullock cart, it was dawn. Only the morning star still twinkled in the sky, and all the other stars had vanished. We cast a last glance at the royal palace. We wept and yearned for what had once been our happy abode. Nawab Nur Mahal’s lashes were laden with tears and the morning star was reflected in them.
“We left the Lal Qila forever and reached Kurali village, where we rested for a while in the house of our cart driver. We were given bajra roti and some buttermilk. We were so hungry that the food tasted better than biryani and mutanjan.
“That night was spent peacefully, but the next day jats and gujjars from nearby areas came to loot Kurali. They were accompanied by hundreds of women who encircled us like witches. They took away all our jewellery and clothes. While these coarse women snatched the jewellery off our necks, we got a whiff of their breath which smelt so foul that we felt nauseous. After this, we didn’t even have enough money to buy ourselves our next meal. We didn’t know what was in store for us now.
“Zainab began to howl with hunger. A zamindar was passing by and I cried out, ‘Bhai, please give some water to this baby.’ The blessed man brought some water in an earthen cup and said, ‘From today, you are my sister and I’m your brother.’
“He was a well-to-do person from Kurali, and his name was Basti. He brought his cart and said he would take us wherever we wanted to go. We asked him to take us to Ijara, where Mir Faiz Ali, who was the shahi hakim and a long association with our family, lived. But when we reached Ijara, Mir Faiz Ali was extremely discourteous and refused to shelter us. ‘I am not going to destroy my house by giving you shelter,’ he told us.
“We were heartbroken and didn’t know what to do. Penniless and homeless, we were scared of the British forces chasing after us. Those who were eager to follow every glance of our eyes and obey even our slightest gestures had now turned away from us.
“And then there was Basti, who didn’t leave our side and fulfilled his covenant of calling me his sister. We left Ijara and set our destination as Hyderabad.”
Kulsum Zamani Begum eventually reached Hyderabad with her family and lived there for some time. For some time her husband made a living by making and selling calligraphic pieces and teaching the Quran but as the British influence spread to Hyderabad and they lived in fear of being arrested they were more or less housebound. Whatever jewellery had escaped loot on the way to Hyderabad had been sold off.
The son of Bahadur Shah Zafar’s spiritual master Kale Miyan Saheb Chisti Nizami Fakhri, heard of their plight and arranged finances for them. They left for Mecca to make the Hajj pilgrimage. Basti, who had stood by them like a rock, was sent home from Bombay with whatever reward they afford for his invaluable services.
“Aboard the ship, whoever heard that we were the Shah-e-Hind’s family was eager to meet us. We were all dressed in the clothes of dervishes. One Hindu, who owned a shop in Aden and had no idea who we were, asked us which sect of fakirs we belonged to. The question inflamed our wounded hearts. I replied, ‘We are the disciples of the Mazloom Shah Guru. He was our father and our guru. Sinners have snatched away his crown and separated us from him and exiled us into the wilderness. Now he longs for us, while we are restless and yearn for a glimpse of his face. That is the truth of our faqeeri.’
“The Hindu began to cry when he heard our story and said to us, ‘Bahadur Shah was our father and guru but what could we do? It was Lord Ram’s will, and an innocent man was destroyed.’”
They lived in Mecca for several years before returning to Delhi.
“When we came back, the British government took pity on us and fixed a sum of ten rupees per month for us. I laughed at this pension. They had taken away my father’s empire and offered us ten rupees as compensation.
“But then I remembered, this land belongs to god and he gives it to whoever he wants and takes it as he pleases. Man can do nothing about that.”
Excerpted with permission from City Of My Heart: Accounts Of Love, Loss And Betrayal In Nineteenth-Century Delhi, Selected and Translated by Rana Safvi, Hachette India.
source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Book Excerpt / by Khwaja Hasan Nizami & Rana Safvi / November 01st, 2018
In the Bara Imambara which was built to employ people struck by a famine in 1784
I grew up in Lucknow amidst magnificent Nawabi architecture, in the syncretic and gentle culture of Awadh. It was a way of life where others were given more importance over the self. “Pehle aap (you first)” was a commonly used phrase while speaking. It is always a pleasure to return to the city that is said have once been ruled by Lakshman; where excavations show a continuous settlement dating from the first millennium BCE through the early Gupta, medieval and modern periods.
In 1732, Mughal emperor Muhammad Shah appointed Saadat Khan Burhan-ul-Mulk as the governor of Awadh. With Faizabad as his capital, Burhan-ul-Mulk was first in the line of rulers, known as the Nawabs of Awadh, whose contribution to Indian culture and history is invaluable. Asaf-ud-Daula, the fourth Nawab of Awadh, shifted the capital from Faizabad to Lucknow, and from 1775 to 1856, Lucknow was built by the Nawabs as a unique architectural city with a syncretic culture.
Features of Nawabi architecture
The geography of Lucknow meant that stone and marble, the main features of Mughal architecture, had to give way to lakhauri brick-and-lime plaster buildings. The main features of Nawabi architecture were bulbous domes, vaulted halls, chhatris and double arches, with the inner one pointed and the outer one foliated, but the main improvisation given the resources and the unavailability of stone was the beautiful stucco ornamentation on buildings along with plaster decoration in the interior. The stucco work gave a deep relief even on flat walls, but unfortunately, much of it has been lost in repairs and whitewashing. The variety of motifs ranging from floral designs, false arches and false domes that produce an exceptional surface articulation of walls, columns and ceilings remain for us to marvel at.
Many stunning religious and secular buildings were constructed, but as the Nawabs were Shia, magnificent imambaras were their special contribution to architecture. An imambara is the place where congregational assemblies are held to commemorate the sacrifices of Imam Hussain, the grandson of Prophet Muhammad who was martyred along with friends and male members of his family in the Battle of Karbala by Yezid, the ruler of Syria.
Of these buildings, nothing is grander than the Bara Imambara, built as a relief measure for a populace stricken by famine in 1784. Construction continued till the famine ended. It was a hard time for all, including the elite. To ensure that they were not embarrassed to be seen working for daily wages, it is said that payment was made at night. This gave rise to the saying, “Jisse na de Maula, use de Asaf-ud-Daula (he who doesn’t receive from Allah is provided for by Asaf-ud-Daula)”.
Nawab Asaf-ud-daula (1775-1797 CE) chose Kifayatullah as the main architect. The place chosen had the hut of an old woman, Laso Saquum, in which she kept a small tazia, a replica of the shrine of Imam Hussain. She was reluctant to give her land but when Asaf-ud-daula promised to keep her tazia in the imambara, she gave the land for free. The tazia is kept there even today. The architect only asked for land for his burial as fees. He is buried, along with Asaf-ud-Daula, in the central hall of the imambara.
Inside the Imambara
One can enter it through one of the two three-arched gateways separated by a grassy forecourt. Once you enter the second gateway, the sheer size and magnificence of the Bara Imambara affects you. On the left is the exquisite seven-level Shahi Baoli (stepwell), initially dug as a well during construction. As it was a perennial source of water, it was built as a guesthouse later. On the right is the Asafi mosque on a raised plinth flanked by minarets with an impressive flight of steps. It faces Mecca.
The main hall with its vaulted roof is one of the largest of its kind in the world. It is unsupported: no column, pillars, wood or iron was used here. Its unique architectural design gave birth to the famous bhool bhulaiyya, which is above the hall and came about unintentionally to support the weight of the building. This is a labyrinth of more than 1,000 passageways and 489 identical doorways. It is among the few existing mazes in the world. Its acoustics are such that a match being struck on the other side of the hall can be heard. I like exploring it but always with a guide. After all, one must live to explore another day!
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Opinion> Columns> Where Stones Speak / by Rana Safvi / October 28th, 2018
In the two volumes of ‘Asar-us-Sanadid’, Sir Sayyid combined anecdotes with rigorous measurements and descriptions.
IntroducingAsar-us-Sanadid
by Rana Safvi
Asar-us-Sanadid by Sir Sayyid Ahmad Khan is an important book for many reasons. It was the first time that a book on this scale describing Delhi’s monuments had been written. The first volume was published in 1847 and a second volume in 1854. Though both had the same name and were about Delhi, they were very differently written. The first was an anecdotal description of the buildings, while the second took a more scientific approach with historical references, and the dimensions of the monuments.
It was also the first time in India, that a book had lithographically produced illustrations. As many as 130 illustrations of Delhi’s monuments were drawn by Faiz Ali Khan and Mirza Shahrukh Beg. The drawings were probably based on rough sketches provided by Sayyid Ahmad Khan himself. He made many sketches – a fact he mentions in the book – and also copied the inscriptions on each of the monuments, often at great risk to life and limb, as in the case of the Qutub Minar, where he hung down from the top of the minaret in a basket held by ropes. It was the first time that inscriptions on the buildings were noted down.
Asar-us-Sanadid is an invaluable work. Both editions – Asar-1 and Asar-2 (published in 1847 and 1854, respectively) – were written before the Uprising of 1857. As is well known, much of Shahjahanabad changed during and in the aftermath of the events of 1857. The British broke down many structures to make governance easier and there was massive restructuring, in particular, of the Red Fort.
Later, when Lutyens’ Delhi was being built, many more changes were brought about, not to mention the changes that are still taking place today. Thus, in his descriptions of the buildings and monuments of Delhi prior to 1857, Sayyid Ahmad Khan gives us a glimpse of lost glory. For students of history and heritage this is where its greatest importance lies.
The partition and transfer of population in 1947 meant that the landscape of medieval Delhi was changed further. Today urban development has resulted in encroachment and destruction or alteration of many more monuments.
Mehrauli is the first documented city of Delhi and it was from here that the Tomaras, Chauhan and early Delhi Sultans ruled. As it was a hilly and wooded area it become a favourite of the Mughals too, with the last two emperors shifting here during the monsoons. The last Mughal building is the Zafar Mahal, situated in Mehrauli, which was the royal residence during those months.
A unique festival called Phool Waalon ki Sair was also celebrated in the monsoons under the last two Mughal emperors.
The excerpt below describes some of the buildings in Mehrauli.
The Bagh e Nazir is now Ashoka Mission. According to some monks I spoke to there, the family of Nazir Roz Afsun fared very badly in the riots which took place during the partition of India in 1947, and the lone survivor, a young boy, migrated to Pakistan.
In 1948 Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru gave the land as a gift to the famous Cambodian monk Dharmvara Mahathera on behalf of the Indian state for the purpose of opening a Buddhist institute. It was he who founded the Ashoka mission there. It is now the Official Buddhist Mission in Delhi, known as Ashoka Mission.
The Hauz e Shamsi is a poor reflection of what it was, and though the pavilions of the Jharna still stand forlorn, they are desolate. The water is a dirty and stagnant pool and gone are the diving competitions or sliding stones. The mango orchard has disappeared and there are only residences in the area. One can only thank Sir Sayyed for a glimpse into that era when emperors and their consort picnicked here.
Bagh-E-Nazir
This is a beautiful, attractive, verdant and luxuriant garden near the waterfall of Qutub Sahib [in the Mehrauli area]. It is still very well maintained, with blooming flowers and green trees. The buildings around it are still intact and thousands of people come here during the Phool Walo’n ki Sair procession, to enjoy its beauty. The spectacle is as entertaining as though one were at a fair. This garden was built by Nazir Roz Afzun during the reign of Muhammad Shah Badshah. I will write down the verses inscribed on the entrance as they give the date of the construction and name of the builder:
By the orders of Muhammad Shah Adil,
Whose head bears the sacred crown.
He founded this garden near [the shrine and tomb of] Qutub Sahib,
And has adorned it with the flowers of paradise.
It should remain green till the Day of Judgment,
By the Grace of the Holy Quran.
The year of its construction,
Was found to be the blessed date,
AH 1116 in the thirty-first regnal year of Muhammad Shah.
Bagh-e-Nazir | Courtesy: National Archives of India, New Delhi
A wall surrounds the garden and there are red sandstone buildings of great attraction built all around, within the wall. There is one building in the middle of the garden that is the biggest and best of all the buildings there. Thus I am attaching its sketch here.
Jharna This is a place for recreation and pleasure; it is exotic and unearthly, elegant and refined, interesting and delightful, happiness-bestowing and heart-pleasing. Qutub Sahib’s waterfall [jharna] is famous for its verdant green trees and reminds one of heaven. Initially, Sultan Firoz Shah had constructed a dam here and the wall of the waterfall is that dam. It is still intact.
He had diverted the excess water of Hauz-e-Shamsi reservoir into Naulakh canal [nala] towards the moats of Tughlaqabad Fort. After some years however, the fort was abandoned and water stopped going to that area. The excess water from the Hauz-e-Shamsi then started flowing into the jungles from this dam and was wasted. Nawab Ghazi-ud-Din Khan Firoz Jung built a tank, water channels, and chutes for the water to flow through. The waterfall is an awesome spectacle and pleases the heart, causing the spectator to involuntarily exclaim in delight. There are various buildings around this waterfall which I will describe here.
Jharna | Courtesy National Archives of India, New Delhi
Pavilion on the western side On the western side, adjoining the wall of the dam stands a pavilion at an elevation of 11 feet and 5 inches. It has three arches, and the waterfall cascades down on it. There is an attractive tank in front of it, into which people jump from the roof of this building. During the Phool Walo’n ki Sair festivities people diving into this tank and swimming in it, make for a huge spectacle. They use various diving styles including somersaulting into the water, they also make a pyramid by climbing onto the shoulders of men standing below until the man at the top of the pyramid reaches tree-branch height. Then those at the bottom dive into the tank and all those on their shoulders plunge into the tank. This is called a “tree dive” [darakht kakudna] or a “wild growth dive” [jhad-jhankar ka kudna].
There are thirteen small water pipes under the roof of this building and water from the waterfall flows down through these, via the pavilion, and into the tank. There is a 3.2-feet wide water chute inside the pavilion which falls from a height of 4.3 feet into the tank. There are niches built under the chute in the pavilion wall, and water flows over lighted lamps that are placed within the niches.
This 25-feet square tank has an opening of 1.7 feet for water to flow into it and is 7.6 feet deep. There is a 22 feet long, 6 feet wide and 3.6 feet deep water-channel, which flows out of this tank in a 5.6 feet cascade and is joined by two smaller cascades from the north and south. There are beautifully carved stone chutes [salami pathar] measuring 3 feet 7 inches, to receive the cascade. The water winds its way down the carvings on the chute creating a mesmerising effect.
The water channel in front of this pavilion is 26 feet long, 6 feet wide and 2 feet deep, while the water channel in front of the smaller cascades is 15.3 feet wide, 2.9 feet wide and 8 feet deep. All the water collects at this point and flows into the jungle. The waterfall passes over all these pavilions and the water channel, and in reality it is a truly spellbinding sight. The sound of the flowing water mingles with the singing of the nightingale, the chirping of doves, peacocks dancing and the sounds of merriment of finely attired men and women. It is a mesmerizing scene, which could put Raja Indra’s assembly in the shade.
Pavilion on the northern side There is a very attractive double pavilion on this side. Muin-ud-Din Muhammad Akbar Shah Badshah built the double pavilion in his reign, around three years ago. These are the most attractive buildings in the place.
Pavilion on the southern side There is a three-arched pavilion in this area, with two smaller pavilions on its sides which gives it the impression of being five arched. In addition to this there are two doors next to it, thus making it seven arched. This pavilion was built around 50 years ago in the reign of Shah Alam by Shahji’s brother, whose name was Sayyid Muhammad.
Pavilion on the eastern side There are only mountains on this side and no buildings, but Muhammad Shah Badshah built a stone slide [phisalna pathar] 18 feet 3 inches long and 7 feet 7 inches wide.
The mango orchard There are many mango trees in this area. People tie swings to the branches and have fun swinging on them. Numerous dancing and singing girls gather here to enjoy themselves. In short, this place is magical and the mind boggles at its attractions. There is also a grave here with the following verse inscribed on it:
Abid who was wise, learned, pious and man of intellect,
Was martyred by a dishonest robber.
The invisible crier told me the chronogram of his death,
The soul of Abid, the martyr entered paradise [in] AH 1209.
Hauz-E-Shamsi This reservoir [hauz] was one of a kind. Sultan Shams-ud-Din Altamash built it during his reign and that is why it is famous as Hauz-e-Shamsi. Once upon a time this reservoir was made of red sandstone but now all the stone has been torn off and it is just a simple reservoir and that’s why people call it Qutub Sahib’s reservoir, while some still call it Hauz-e-Shamsi. The water from here feeds the waterfall and also fed the moats of Tughlaqabad in olden days.
It is difficult to imagine there is a reservoir of this size on the face of earth. It is spread across 276 bighas [a land measurement] and its water reaches eight provinces [subahs]! The pavilion has been built around the mark of a hoof which people call the hoofprint of the Prophet’s celestial steed Buraq, but to me it seems a made-up story. God alone knows the truth.
Auliya Masjid On the eastern side of the Hauz-e-Shamsi is a platform and on it another smaller platform about a gaz or so with a small wall. According to legend, Hazrat Khwaja Qutb-ud-Din Bakhtiyar Kaki and other Sufi saints undertook their spiritual retreat/penance [chillah] on it. They built the mosque with their own hands, bringing baskets [of mud from the reservoir] and that’s why it is called Auliya [The Saint’s] Mosque. Now people have plastered it with mortar and lime.
Excerpted with permission from Asar-us-Sanadid, Sayyid Ahmad Khan, translated and edited by Rana Safvi, Tulika Books.
source: http://www.scroll.in / Scroll.in / Home> Book Excerpt / by Sayyid Ahmed Khan & Rana Safvi / August 31st, 2018
Lessons in conservation at the Sibtainabad Imambara
As a young girl, when I was studying in Lucknow, I would often go to Hazratganj to buy storybooks. Browsing through the collection in the market and buying a book would be the highlight of every week. I only had my eyes on the bookshops and never on the name of the market or the dilapidated gateway, which had once been impressive but now looked the worse for wear.
Even on subsequent trips as an adult, I never bothered to think about it till the day a Lucknow-based heritage activist and lawyer, Syed Mohammad Haider Rizvi, invited me to speak at an inter-faith assembly in Sibtainabad Imambara.
As a devout follower of Imam Hussain, I had visited almost every Imambara in Lucknow for the majlis, or assemblies, to commemorate his sacrifice, but never this one. I wondered why I hadn’t even know it existed. I soon found out.
Origin of the Imambara
Amjad Ali Shah was the fourth Nawab of Awadh and ruled from 1842 to 1847. Since he had a religious bent of mind, as a child he learnt Islamic values of faith and piety. His piety as a ruler earned him the sobriquet of Hazrat. The famous Hazratganj of Lucknow is named after him and that’s the area where he chose to build an Imambara which would also house his mausoleum.
It was started in 1847 and completed after his death by his son Nawab Wajid Ali Shah. It was named Sibtainabad as the two Shia imams Hasan and Hussain (grandsons of the Prophet) are known collectively as Sibtain.
When I entered, I found myself inside a huge open area from where I could see a compound with a beautiful Imambara, a congregation hall for assemblies where Imam Hussain is mourned.
The Imambara architecture comprises a main hall (with additional halls depending on the size) where the mourners gather, a raised shahnasheen (platform) where the taziyas and alams (replicas of the shrine of Imam Hussain and his standard) are kept. A pulpit would be kept on one side for the speakers who would speak of the tragedy of Karbala.
The reason I had never been to this Imambara when I was living in Lucknow soon became clear. Once a beautiful Imambara covered with fine carpets, silk curtains, priceless art treasures and exquisite chandeliers, it was vandalised in 1857 during the First War of Independence. Nawab Amjad Ali Khan lay buried here in a vault under the central hall, forgotten by all.
It was even used as a church by the British officers till 1860, while the Christ Church was being built, and Lord Canning attended a service in the building.
In 1919, it was declared a protected monument by the Archaeological Survey of India (ASI). Despite this, it was sold by one Sultan Bahadur in 1921, who claimed to be a descendant of Nawab Amjad Ali Khan, to the Lucknow Improvement Trust (LIT). The LIT, in turn, allotted the surrounding land for residential purposes. The Imambara fell into disuse and disrepair.
The main Imambara post-1947 was used as a workshop and storehouse for furniture as well as by the government census office. A motor workshop had sprung up outside.
In 2008, Rizvi was appointed the joint mutawalli by the Shia Waqf Board and he started the long fight to free it from encroachment and illegal occupation. He took recourse to judicial avenues and slowly, with the help of Right to Information applications and public interest litigations, he succeeded. Then came the task of restoration, which was undertaken by the ASI.
The splendour inside
The approach to the Imambara is through the gateway and into an open space which gives way to an enclosed court. The Imambara stands on a high platform and its arched façade looks very impressive, with its delicate floral stucco and stained glass doors. The inner walls, which had got blackened with neglect and abuse, have been lovingly restored, and its green and white paintings and stucco work are exquisite. The roof and “its beams, which formed a vault over the grave of the late king, had collapsed in a heap of rubble,” according to a 1945 report. It once again supports beautiful glass chandeliers.
A recurring motif on the archways inside the halls is a painting of the Prophet’s celestial steed, the ‘buraq’, that carried him to heaven on the night of ascension. The master mason, Ansaruddin, traced out the designs and restored the paintings and stucco work very carefully.
Preservation of our heritage is our fundamental duty as it is an important source of history of the era in which these buildings were built. If other ‘lost monuments’ received such dedicated and methodical renovation, they could also be rehabilitated and restored to us.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Opinion> Columns / by Rana Safvi / November 26th, 2017
Zauq and Ghalib took digs at each other through a sehra penned for a prince’s wedding and the Red Fort reverberated with this clash of titans.
The sehra, or prothalamion, (song to celebrate a wedding) is now a vanishing genre. I remember while I was growing up that almost all nikahs would have a sehra read by a relative with poetic aspirations, after the ceremony.
Though sehras are supposed to be in praise of the groom and a prayer for his wedded life, these would be witty and laudatory at the same time, usually a humorous dig at all relatives. A copy of this would then be distributed to the wedding guests.
Sehras fall into the category of nazms and have to be in meter.
The most famous sehra, of course, is the one penned by Mirza Ghalib (1797-1869) for a royal wedding, in which he took a dig at the emperor’s Ustad, Sheikh Ibrahim Zauq (1788/9-1854).
Zauq and Ghalib were contemporaries in Delhi, and their rivalry was legendary. Zauq had been given the title of Khaqani e Hind and drew a nominal salary of Rs 4 per month. The respect and position that he gained as a result was immense. It also gave him free access to the Qila e Moalla (Red Fort).
This was a constant thorn in the side of Mirza Ghalib, who felt he was better and deserved a royal position too. Thus, he never let go of any chance to score poetic points over his rival.
One such chance came at the last grand Mughal wedding, on April 2, 1852 – that of Jawan Bakht, Badshah Bahadur Shah Zafar’s son by his favourite and youngest wife Zeenat Mahal, to Nawab Shah Zamani Begum.
Begum Zeenat Mahal asked Ghalib to write a ‘sehra’ for her son’s wedding. The honour should have gone to Sheikh Ibrahim Zauq, but he was reportedly unwell.
William Dalrymple in his book The Last Mughal writes: “The marriage procession of Prince Jawan Bakht left the Lahore Gate of the Red Fort at 2 am on the hot summer night of 2 April, 1852.”
Dalrymple goes on to write that what was remembered longest and discussed most about the wedding was not so much the festivities or the feasting or the fireworks, but “the marriage odes recited by the Poet Laureate Zauq, and his rival Mirza Nausha, now more widely known by his pen-name Ghalib.”
Ghalib wrote a ‘sehra’ whose maqta (the last couplet in an Urdu ghazal which contains the poet’s pen name) was:
‘hum suKhan_fahm haiN, Ghalib ke tarafdaar nahiN
dekheN keh de koi is sehre se baRh kar sehra’
We are connoisseurs of poetry, not partial to Ghalib
Let’s see if there’s anyone who can write a better ‘sehra’
The emperor, realising that this was a dig at his mentor Zauq, is said to have been displeased with the maqta. A slight to his mentor was seen as a slight to the emperor himself. Zafar asked Zauq to write a ‘sehra’ too. Not one to let go of an opportunity, Zauq included these line.
jin ko daawa ho suKhan ka yeh sunaa do unko
dekh is taraH se kehte haiN suKhanwar sehra
Tell those who claim to be eloquent
This is how poets write a sehra
The fort reverberated with this clash of titans and it is recorded that the Crown Prince Mirza Fakhruddin (also a disciple of Mirza Zauq) exclaimed, “Ustaad ne maidan maar liya“.Dalrymple writes: “The squabble at the wedding was over a single verse in Ghalib’s sehra (or wedding oration) where he appeared – characteristically – to suggest that no one in the gathering could write a couplet as well as he…. Zafar [the king] also encouraged Zauq to reply to Ghalib’s unprovoked sally. The fine sehra that the Poet Laureate came up with ended with a couplet tossing the challenge back to Ghalib:
The person who claims poetic skills,Recite this to him and say,”Look-this is how a poet”
This round went to Zauq as the singers in attendance picked up the verse and spread it all over Shahjahanabad. By next day it was in the newspapers.”
Ghalib then wrote his celebrated qat’a-e-ma’azerat’ (letter of apology), in response to the emperor’s reaction. However, the egoistic poet left no ‘verse’ unturned in adding insult to injury, using poetry as a medium to prove his supremacy and take a dig at Zauq’s humble origins and the Emperor’s negligence of him.
The maqta of this ghazal became even more famous.
manzoor hai guzaarish-e-ahvaal-e-waaqa’aii
apna bayaan-e-Husn-e-tabii’yat nahiN mujhe
I accept the request to state the facts, To praise oneself is not a habit of mine
sau pusht se, hai pesha-e-aaba sipahgarikuchh shayari,
zari’ye-e-izzat nahiN mujhe
My forefathers have been warriors for hundred generations
By writing poetry, fame I seek not
aazaadah rau huN, aur mira maslak hai sul
H-e-kulhargiz kabhi kisi se adaawat nahiN mujhe
I am a free spirit and my conduct is always peaceful,I bear malice against no one
kya kam hai yeh sharaf ke Zafar ka Ghulaam huN
maana ke jaah-o-mansab-o-sarwat nahiN mujhe
Is the privilege not enough that I serve Zafar,
Agreed rank, position and affluence I have not
ustaad-e-shah se ho mujhe par Khaash ka Khayaal
yeh taab, yeh majaal, yeh taaqat nahiN mujhe
The thought of a row with the king’s mentor
This arrogance, this audacity, this strength I have not
jaam-e-jahaaN_numa hai shahenshaah ka zameer
saugand aur gawaah ki Haajat nahiN mujhe
The king’s conscience is all encompassing,
The need for an oath and witness I have not
sehraa likhaa gaya ze_rah-e-imtiSaal-e-amr
dekhaa ke chaarah Ghair ita’at nahiN mujhe
The sehra was written in obedience of orders,
Non compliance with that order I dare not
maqt’e meiN aa paRi hai suKhan gustaraana baat
maqsood is se qat’a-e-moHabbat nahiN mujhe
I wrote something in the maqta’ which became popular,
A reason to ending friendship I want not.
ruu-e-suKhan kisi taraf ho, tau ruu_siyaah
sauda nahiN, junooN nahiN, veHshat nahiN mujhe
If I aimed it at someone in particular then may my face beblackened,
I am neither mad, nor crazed nor so deprived of sense.
qismat buri sahii, pa tabii’yat buri nahi
Nhai shukr ki jagah, ke shikaayat nahiN mujhe
Although my luck is bad, but my habits aren’t bad,
I’m in a place of thankfulness and complain I do not.
saadiq huN apne qaul meiN Ghalib Khuda_gawaah
kehta huN sach ke jhooT ki a’adat nahiN mujhe
Always true to his word is Ghalib, as God is my witness,
I tell you the truth as lie I do not.
This is the original sehra written by Ghalib for Mirza Jawan Bakht:
Khush ho ai baKht ke hai aaj tere sar sehraabaa
Ndh shahazada Javaa.N baKht ke sar par seharaa
[baKht = luck; pun on Groom’s name]
kyaa hii is chaaNd se mukhaDe pe bhalaa lagataa hai
hai tere husn-e-dil_afroz kaa zevar sehraa
[husn-e-dil_afroz = beauty that lights up the heart]
sar pe chaDhnaa tujhe phabataa hai par ai tarf-e-kulaah
mujhko Dar hai ke na chhiine tera lambar sehraa
[phabataa = suits]
nav bhar kar hii piroye gaye honge motii
varnaa kyun laaye hain kishtii mein lagaakar sehraa
saat dariyaa ke faraaham kiye honge motii
tab banaa hogaa is andaaz kaa gaz bhar sehraa
ruKh pe dulhaa ke jo garmii se pasiinaa Tapakaa
hai rag-e-abr-e-guharabaar saraasar sehraa
ye bhii ik be’adabii thii ke qabaa se baDh jaaye
rah gayaa aan ke daaman ke baraabar sehraa
jii me.n itaraaye.N na motii ke hamii.n hai.n ik chiiz
A 100-member team of archivists is digitising over 10 crore documents to prevent further loss. The first phase of the project is expected to be completed in two years.
A letter from General Lake Sahib to Zaibun Nisa Baigum dated 8 October 1802 at Delhi archives.(Vipin Kumar/HT PHOTO)
On March 9, 1858, a British court declared Delhi’s last king, Bahadur Shah Zafar, guilty of rebellion, treason and murder before exiling him to Rangoon in the then British-controlled Burma. The trial was approved and confirmed a month later by N Penny, major general commanding, Meerut division.
One hundred and fifty nine years later, the 42-day trial conducted at Diwan-e-Khaas of the Red Fort by British prosecutor Major F Harriott lies preserved word for word at the Delhi archives in the form of a hardbound book comprising 262-pages.
Apart from the handwritten trial papers, the Delhi archives is a repository of over 10 crore rare documents comprising Mughal firmans (imperial orders), maps, land acquisition award statements, jail records, manuscripts and government orders narrating the historical and political journey of Delhi since 1803.
So far accessible to only researchers, the treasure trove will soon be just a click away for those interested in the history of the national capital. An ambitious ‘digitisation and microfilming of archival records’ project started by Delhi government is underway with the target of converting 4 crore documents in the first phase by 2020.
An official with a copy of the trial of Bahadur Shah Zafar. (Vipin Kumar/HT PHOTO)
“Some of the records are so old that they might get damaged. So, it is required to preserve them in digital and microfilm formats for posterity,” said Sanjay Garg, the chief archivist of the archives. The Delhi Archives is city’s second repository of records from early 19th century after the National Archives of India.
Mughal firmans to land acquisition for Lutyens Delhi
In September 1803 East India Company’s forces under general Gerard Lake fought the Marathas in what is popular as Battle of Delhi, or Battle of Patparganj — named after the area now in east Delhi.The earliest documents at the Delhi Archives relate to this battle. Thought the British emerged victorious, they allowed Shah Alam II — the blind emperor of Delhi — to issue firmans in Persian language, many of which are also preserved at the archives.
“There are different sizes of royal seals in Persian language depending on the hierarchy in the Mughal courts on the firman with gold marks,” said Ashutosh Kumar Jha, assistant archivist pointing at ‘A letter from General Lake Sahib to Zaib-un-Nisa Baigum’ dating October 8, 1802.
The transfer of power to the British crown in 1958 followed setting up of a new administration and eventually the construction of the new capital, Delhi, in 1912. The Archives also have records of land acquisition during this historic shift of the national capital from Kolkata to Delhi.
“From photographs to award statements of land acquired from the owners, we have rare documents that bear testimony to how the present day Delhi came up,” said Sandeep Singh, assistant archivist. In one of the records dating March 1913, an individual named Ram Das was awarded a compensation of Rs 172, two paisa and nine annas for his 285.38 acre of land acquired by the government in Khanpur. The deal was signed by Kamruddin, revenue assistant, Delhi province.
Documents being scanned for digitisation at Delhi archives. (Vipin Kumar/HT PHOTO)
The repository at the archives includes pictures of construction of historical buildings housing Parliament and Rashtrapati House in early 20th century. Originally called House of Parliament, the Sansad Bhawan was designed by the British architect Edwin Lutyens and Herbert Baker in 1912-1913 and was constructed between 1921 and 1927.
A poster of a debate being organised by Delhi Students’ Federation on May 29, 1937 at Arabic College Hall (Ajmeri Gate) is in the section of rare documents showing how teachers would support students’ concerns. The debate on why “the proposed scheme of educational reconstruction of Delhi University will be detrimental to the best interest of the students’ community and the cause of education in the country”, had C Eyre Walker, principal Arabic college, S Dutt, principal Ramjas College, and BB Gupta, principal Ramjas inter college among speakers.
A rare document dated April 7, 1912 is testimony to how ‘Khan Bahadur’ title was awarded to one Chaudhari Nabi Ahmed on the occasion of ‘His Majesty, the King- Emperor’s Birthday’.
The Delhi archives is a repository of over 10 crore rare documents comprising Mughal firmans, maps land acquisition statements, jail records, manuscripts and government orders. (Vipin Kumar/HT PHOTO)
Digitising 10 crore rare documents
The project, billed as the largest in Asia, envisages digitisation of 10 crore records stored in the four specially constructed floors of the Delhi Archives building in Qutub Institutional Area. In the first phase, four crore records are expected to be ready and uploaded on the website of the Delhi archives over a span of 30 months at a cost of Rs 25.4 crore.
The project was fist conceived in 2011 but was taken up by the incumbent government on August 31 this year. Led by Garg, a 100-member team of archivists, scholars and employers are busy with the digitisation task using computers and high-end German-made scanners.
“We have got eight scanners for now. We digitise about 50,000 pages each day,” Garg said
A collection of old newspapers at the archives includes a copy of Hindustan Times, Evening News, published on September 25, 1948. (Vipin Kumar/HT PHOTO)
Once digitised, the records would be transformed into microfilms.
“The thumbnails of the records with some information would be available on the website. For higher resolutions, one has to pay,” Garg said
A welcome move
“It’s a welcome move to preserve and digitise records particularly Bahadur Shah Zafar’s trial. The public will know who sided with British and who was with revolutionaries in the first war if Independence,” said historian Rana Safvi, who has translated Zahir Dehlvi’s Dastan-e-Ghadar which comprises eyewitness account of the 1857 uprising against the British
An old invite of Delhi Student Federation, now DUSU (Delhi University Student Union), at Delhi archives. (Vipin Kumar/HT PHOTO)
Established in 1972, the Delhi archives is a repository of non-current records of Delhi government under the department of art and culture. It is responsible for preservation of the archives and making them available research and references.
“We are committed to make knowledge more accessible to the common people. This is an important step towards preserving our precious heritage. While digitisation will ensure preservation of documents, making them available to a larger audience through a website and outreach events will play a key role in dissemination,” said Manish Sisodia, the minister of Art, Culture and Languages.
source: http://www.hindustantimes.com / Hindustan Times / Home> Cities / by Gulam Jeelani, Hindustan Times / December 14th, 2017
