Tag Archives: Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed

The Bahmani remains

Arts, Culture & Entertainment, Karnataka (under research project), Royal Families, PreIndependence -Descendants (wef. Jan 02nd,2022), Travel & Tourism, Uniquely Indian Muslim HISTORICAL RECORDS - Sufi Shrines, Dargahs, Tombs, Mughal Mausoleums (wef. December 07th, 2024), , , ,

KARNATAKA :

A short excursion through the towns of Bijapur, Gulbarga, Bidar and Yadgir in north-eastern Karnataka can turn into a marathon heritage walk with serendipitous sightings of monuments from the medieval era.

The Gulbarga fort and the Jama Masjid inside it.

SARMAST is said to have been the first Sufi to have come to the Deccan. He settled down in what is now the outskirts of Sagar village in Yadgir district of Karnataka. His grave is now venerated as a dargah. Rocky hillocks with generous splashes of greenery run along the road leading to Sagar from Gulbarga, a distance of 90 kilometres, belying the strong notion that all of the Hyderabad-Karnataka region is dry and dusty.

Tajuddin Dervish, the keeper of the holy grave, sat outside the arched entrance smoking a beedi. As we entered the dargah, we struck up a conversation with him about Sarmast. He recalled the legend, which must have got corroded by retellings over generation. In this tale, the necromancer Karmatgaar, who was up to mischief all the time, flew across the skies and disturbed the Sufi’s meditation. Enraged, Sarmast flung him across the Deccan plateau. In this fantastic tale, the goddess Yellamma (who is worshipped in the northern parts of Karnataka) also makes an appearance; her role is one of heroism. A temple supposedly dating back to the time of the incident is dedicated to her at Sagar.

If we link these hagiographical stories to actual events as the historian Richard M. Eaton has done in Sufis of Bijapur, 1300-1700: Social Roles of Sufis in Medieval India , it is certain that Sarmast was part of the raiding parties from the north sent by Alauddin Khalji (r. 1296-1316), who made forays into the Deccan and further south. The Deccan later became a part of the expanding Delhi Sultanate under the rule of the Tughlaqs. A bloody battle is supposed to have taken place at the site of Sarmast’s dargah, and many warriors were buried where they fell. The large circular area around the open grave of the saint is a medieval graveyard.

Unnamed tombs, locally called gumbad s, in various states of decrepitude and portions of walls with vestiges of fine carvings lie scattered around the area. Tomb raiders, probably lured by stories of treasures, have broken the graves inside these sepulchres. In the town of Sagar, there is a single-arched gateway so broad that an elephant can pass through it. A magnificent and well-maintained tomb on an imposing platform lies on the path a little ahead, next to a baoli (stepwell). None of these historical structures come under the purview of national or State-level archaeological conservation authorities.

The Bahmani sultanate

A few decades after the rulers from the north made forays into the Deccan, another Sufi saint, Sheikh Sirajuddin Junaydi (d. 1380), gained prominence. He blessed Alauddin Bahman Shah (r. 1347-1358), who broke away from the Tughlaq empire to establish the first independent Bahmani Sultanate in 1347, thereby inaugurating the rule of Muslim kings in the Deccan. While Junaydi’s tomb, marked by two imposing minarets, has flourished and is venerated to this day in Gulbarga, the tomb of Alauddin Bahman Shah is empty and the small compound in which it is situated is surrounded by illegal constructions.

Basavanappa, employed by the State Archaeological Department, guards the four Bahmani-era monuments. He said: “This is the man whose descendants built so many grand monuments. Guarding these gives us our daily bread and I have the responsibility of safeguarding his tomb.”

Alauddin Bahman Shah’s rule was brief. The moving of the capital from Daulatabad to Gulbarga, after severing links with the Delhi Sultanate, marked his reign. He also set up a dynasty that lasted two centuries (between 1347 and 1527) which, along with its legatee kingdoms, matched the Delhi Sultanate and later the Mughals in the splendour of their courts. At the centre of Gulbarga is the fort from where the Bahmanis ruled their vast empire which at its peak extended from Gujarat to Goa, all the way across modern-day Maharashtra, Karnataka, Telangana and Andhra Pradesh. While the Bahmanis constantly went to war with the Vijayanagara Empire, they also had deep cultural encounters with their neighbours.

The Bahmani kings ruled over a multi-ethnic and linguistically diverse empire whose citizens included indigenous residents, who spoke Marathi, Kannada and Telugu and other local languages, and migrants from north India. There was a regular stream of immigrants coming from Iran and Turkey to the royal cities via the sea route. African slaves, who rose up in the ranks, also played important roles in the matters of the Bahmani court.

The Bahmani Empire shifted its capital to Bidar in the 15th century, but an implosion was imminent because of differences between its ruling nobles. The waning empire gave birth to five independent sultanates that shone brilliantly in their maverick existences. They subsumed their differences and combined forces to defeat the Vijayanagara king at the Battle of Talikota (1565), but the sultanates were annexed by the Mughal Empire during the reign of Aurangzeb (r. 1658-1707), whose campaigns in the Deccan were to keep him occupied for half of his regnal period.

The Bahmani Sultanate and its splinter kingdoms have had a long impact on the culture and society of the Deccan. Magnificent architectural specimens of their reign can be seen in the entire region. Tombs, mosques, idgah s (prayer grounds), palaces and forts stud the entire area. These structures have a distinct style, which the architectural historian Helen Philon calls a “unique Deccan architectural vocabulary” in her book Gulbarga, Bidar, Bijapur . She says that this style is augmented by “building forms and decorative motifs introduced from Arabia and Persia, as well as from Turkey and Central Asia”.

A short excursion through Bijapur, Gulbarga and Bidar can turn into a heritage walk, marked by serendipitous sightings of monuments. While some of these edifices, such as the Gol Gumbaz, are fairly well known, there are others such as the royal necropolis of Ferozabad, around 30 kilometres from Gulbarga, which are known only to heritage enthusiasts.

One the most significant public works of the Bahmani kings was the karez system, in which water was supplied through tunnels from stepwells and other underground sources. Such tunnels supplied water to civilian settlements and the garrison inside the Bidar fort. The karez system is now being revived by Team Yuva, a Bidar-based non-governmental organisation led by Vinay Malge.

The Muslim kings also gave importance to landscape gardening and decorations. Local material such as basalt, granite and laterite have been used for buildings; lush gardens dominate the landscape around larger monuments. Vestiges of decorative motifs, murals and tile work can be seen in the monuments in Bidar.

A grand Jama Masjid is at the centre of the Gulbarga fort. It is a simple but imposing structure made even more stately because of the vacant space around it. There is a watchtower inside the fort on which a 29-foot cannon, said to be the longest in the world, is mounted.

Visitors are told that the Jama Masjid was the original congregational mosque of the Bahmani capital; actually, a large rectangular mosque in the crowded Shah Bazaar area of the city was the original Jama Masjid of Gulbarga. Prayers are held every Friday at this mosque, which is now known as the Shah Bazaar mosque. Visitors are allowed to go to the terrace, which is crowned with cupolas. This architectural style of domes on the terrace, mirroring the arches on the ceiling, can be found in prominent mosques from this era in the Deccan. Another historical site in Gulbarga that is worth seeing is the funerary complex, called the Haft Gumbad, of the Bahmani kings. Five rulers of the Bahmani dynasty until Feroz Shah Bahmani (r. 1397-1422) are buried at this site. The tombs, constructed over a period of a few decades, help one see the evolution of the architectural style. The early tombs have slightly sloping walls and are less distinguished, while the later tombs such as that of Feroz Shah, are larger, have a cleaner finish and are embellished with fine carvings.

Feroz Shah’s tomb reflects the king’s aesthetic sense as he was said to be a man of refined taste, was interested in local culture, and was also a polyglot who married the daughter of a Vijayanagara king. He built the city of Ferozabad. If one is visiting Ferozabad for the first time, one will get the feeling of discovering new things. The necropolis, which was inhabited briefly, can now be accessed only after passing through a village off the main road. The main entrance, which is through an arched gateway, is visible, although blocked. One must enter through an agricultural field. Ferozabad reveals itself little by little. It is a complete city with a fort, a palace, a mosque and royal residences, all of which are in ruins now. The apathy towards the upkeep of the architectural splendour of the region is evident from the poor maintenance of Ferozabad. Stone walls that formed part of the ramparts of the fort stand precariously on the ground. A tur dal field is being ploughed inside the premises of what was once the main mosque. The Bhima river glints some distance away. The city was abandoned towards the end of the 15th century after a deluge caused by the overflowing Bhima.

Shifting the capital to Bidar

A strange aspect of Feroz Shah’s tomb is that it has twin domes and separate chambers although only one of these was used for burial with the other lying vacant. Local legend has it that the second chamber was the designated burial space of Feroz Shah’s brother, Ahmed Shah (r. 1422-1436), who was not buried there. During the reign of Ahmed Shah, in 1432, the Bahmani capital shifted to Bidar, and Khwaja Hazrat Bandenawaz (d. 1422), the most well-known Sufi of the Deccan, is supposed to have been one of the causes for this. The Bahmani kings had close ties with Sufi saints, and Ahmed Shah continued the tradition but he was also considered a saint; the only king to be treated as such by his followers. His tomb in the funerary complex of Ashtur, just outside Bidar, is venerated by Muslims, who consider him to be a wali (friend of God), as well as by Hindus, who consider him to be an avatar of Allama Prabhu, a Vachana poet who lived before Basava. Ahmed Shah’s tomb has well-preserved murals and verses from the Quran. The resident caretaker at the tomb used a mirror to ingeniously cast splotches of reflected sunlight on the interior of the dome, which gave us an idea of the bright hues that are still intact.

The funerary complex of Ashtur is far more majestic than the Haft Gumbad. The tombs are bigger and more imposing and the well-maintained lawns add to the beauty of the location. Since the tombs must have been built at different times over a period spanning a century, each tomb has a different architectural style. One tomb that stands out is that of Humayun Shah (r. 1458-61). Lightning has damaged its dome, leaving only a portion of it intact. Visitors are told an apocryphal story of divine justice. Humayun Shah was such a cruel ruler that the word zaalim (tyrant) was affixed to his name. When this tyrant died, God in his infinite wisdom struck his tomb so that he would be exposed to sun and rain for eternity. As the influence of the dynasty waned and independent sultanates began to emerge, the tombs of its rulers also lost their magnificence. The tombs of the last two rulers remain poor cousins of the larger tombs at Ashtur, both in size and form.

From Ashtur, one can see the ramparts of the fort of Bidar, along the short drive to Bidar. This grand Bahmani era fort is surrounded by three moats and impressive bastions. The monuments of Bidar are in much better shape than those in Gulbarga. In the precincts of the fort, which has a massive gateway, are palaces and a mosque, an austere building with 16 arches crowned with a dome. Pathways run through gardens in the royal enclosure. Some of the best examples of exquisite woodwork (a hallmark of Hindu architecture) and mother-of-pearl inlays can be seen in Rangin Mahal, the palace inside the fort. Mahmud Gawan, a powerful prime minister in the Bahmani court, built a madrasa (theological school) bearing his name in 1472. The madrasa is located some distance away from the fort. There are remnants of turquoise tile work of Central Asian design on the tall minaret.

Adil Shahi dynasty

As the Bahmani Sultanate began to fall, it split into separate sultanates, the strongest of which was the Adil Shahi dynasty of Bijapur under Yusuf Adil Khan (r. 1490-1510).

“The period between accessions of Sultan Ali I (1558) to the death of Sultan Muhammad (1656) can be called the Golden Age of the Adil Shahis, as the kingdom flourished in all walks of life,” writes Abdul Gani Imaratwale, a historian based in Bijapur, in his book Studies in Medieval Bijapur . This is reflected by the grandeur of the monuments during this period.

Mohammed Adil Shah’s tomb, the Gol Gumbaz, is often featured on tourism brochures of the Karnataka Tourism Department. It would not be wrong to say that it is the grandest edifice in the modern State of Karnataka. The Gol Gumbaz is visible from many places in Bijapur and is overwhelming at close quarters because of its sheer size. Inside the large tomb, the cenotaph of Mohammed Adil Shah and his close family members can be seen, but these are replicas, with the original graves lying in an underground crypt. At the four corners of the room, steep and winding stairs that test the climber’s stamina lead up to the gallery. The vastness of this free-standing dome accentuates the acoustics within it. Schoolchildren can be seen clapping and yelling to hear the echo. Each burst of sound echoes several times making it difficult to stay there long enough to appreciate the engineering marvel.

The Ibrahim Rauza complex consisting of the tomb of Ibrahim II and a mosque is a delicately built structure and looks as if it has been laid out in front of visitors as they approach it from the garden. Bijapur has many other gems, such as the main congregational mosque, the Jama Masjid, which is an incomplete structure but is remarkable for its large and decorated mihrab (the prayer niche). The largest cannon in the world, the Malik-e-Maidan (lord of the field), which was truly a weapon of mass destruction in the medieval age, can also be found in Bijapur. A palace associated with the early Adil Shahis, the Chini Mahal, is now converted into a government office, and the throne room is now the treasury officer’s cabin.

The towns situated near Bijapur also have historical monuments. There is a 17th century mosque in Afzalpur built by Afzal Khan, a general who was killed by Chhatrapati Shivaji. This smart structure, ignored by archaeological authorities, is being maintained through the personal initiative of Maqsood Afzal, a descendant of the general.

This overview hardly does justice to the extensive architectural heritage in this part of Karnataka. These spectacular monuments do not figure in the itinerary of most tourists.

A wonderful monument like Ibrahim Rauza has only around 500 visitors in a day. In fact, some of the conservation authorities are not even aware of the necropolis of Ferozabad or the Afzal Khan mosque. Infrastructure essential for the growth of tourism is poor in the Hyderabad-Karnataka region. Information on the architectural sites in the region is limited. Efforts to get this heritage corridor recognised as a United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO) World Heritage Site have failed. Ayazuddin Patel, a Lalit Kala Akademi awardee based in Gulbarga, who has photographed the architecture of the region, laments: “We have been completely ignored and forgotten.” The Hyderabad-Karnataka region has been ignored by successive governments since Independence.

The Bahmani kingdom has receded into history although its rulers governed the Deccan for several centuries. This is partly due to the peripheral status of the Deccan and southern India in history writing in India. The long reign of the Bahmani Sultanate and its descendant sultanates has left behind another kind of legacy: a syncretic culture that is visible in harmonious communal relations, the participation of all communities at the shrines of various Sufi saints, and even during events that mark Muharram. The lingua franca of the region, Dakhni Urdu, is also a legacy of the Bahmanis. Many of these medieval rulers openly embraced non-Muslim practices and patronised local cultures, but a communal reading of history pits these kingdoms against the “Hindu” empire of Vijayanagara in a biased understanding of history.

Historians have often disproved this and have stressed aspects of mutual interpenetration and a fusion of cultures and practices (most recently in Power, Memory, Architecture: Contested Sites on India’s Deccan Plateau, 1300-1600 by Richard M. Eaton and Phillip B. Wagoner), but the religious reading of history continues in popular discourse. In February, a small attempt was made to celebrate the legacy of this regional history, with the district administration of Gulbarga deciding to hold a Bahmani and Rashtrakuta Utsav simultaneously. (The Rashtrakuta dynasty ruled this region between the eighth and 10th centuries.)

The Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) instantly opposed this, with its Member of Parliament from Karnataka, Shobha Karandlaje, even tweeting: “Who is Bahamani Sulthans? Who killed lakhs of hindus, who burnt thousands of villages, who raped hindu women, who destroyed temples…. now congress celebrating thier festival… more dangerous” (sic). Considering that this was just a few months before elections to the Karnataka Assembly were to take place, the ruling Congress government quietly withdrew permission for the event. Needless to say, the inaugural edition of the Rashtrakuta Utsav was held in all its splendour. The BJP’s move of selectively opposing events on communal lines is part of its agenda. The partisan reading of history, where the history of Muslim rulers is ignored, will affect inter-religious relations.

Surreal experience

While Sarmast was the first Sufi of the Deccan, Bandenawaz, who was not averse to taking part occasionally in courtly intrigues, was the most well known. At his 15th century tomb in Gulbarga, the interiors of which have been garishly redecorated without any consideration to its architectural significance, Hindus and Muslims arrive in droves and bow in reverence before his grave.

Behind the tomb are a number of unmarked graves. A supplicant, his eyes closed, was ardently praying, with his head bent towards the direction of Bandenawaz’s tomb. Some things must not have changed at this place since the death of Bandenawaz in 1422. Walking through these lands where Sufis lived and kings ruled, where the detritus of empty tombs and unknown crypts can be found all over, one finds myth and fable combining with fact to create a surreal experience.

(In 2014, the names of Gulbarga and Bijapur were officially changed to Kalaburagi and Vijayapura respectively by the government of Karnataka. Yadgir, which was part of Gulbarga district, attained separate district status in 2009.)

source: http://www.frontline.thehindu.com / Frontline / Home> Arts & Culture> Heritage> Architecture / by Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed / Photographs Mohammed Ayazuddin Patel / October 20th, 2018

Deccan architecture

Arts, Culture & Entertainment, Books (incl.Biographies - w.e.f.01 jan 2018 ), Karnataka (under research project), , , ,

KARNATAKA / MAHARASHTRA :

Architectural exploration in the sultanate of Ahmednagar can provide deep insights into the political history of the Deccan.

B Y the late 15th century, the Bahmani kingdom that had ruled much of the Deccan since its establishment in 1347 was imploding because of internecine differences among its nobility. Westerners, or the “Afaqis”—immigrants from Persia and Central Asia—had differences with the natives, or the “Deccanis”, an eclectic group of nobles that consisted of descendants of the early Delhi sultanate migrants, local converts to Islam, Habshis (Africans) and Marathas. The weakening of the kingdom was accompanied by ambitious provincial governors declaring independence one after the other, leading to the emergence of five separate principalities, or sultanates.

The earliest to break away and proclaim himself sultan was Ahmed Nizam Shah I, who was the governor of the north-west province of the Deccan, later to be known as Ahmednagar, after the name of the city he would build and designate as capital of the sultanate. Of the four other sultanates that would cleave away chunks of the Bahmani kingdom, Bijapur and Golconda were the large and important ones to emerge.

Ahmednagar survived as a robust Shiite polity for more than a century, until 1600, and then in a feebler form until 1636 before the Mughals, with their unceasing imperial ambitions, completely swamped the city. It took 50 more years for the Mughals to subjugate all the kingdoms of the Deccan when Aurangzeb finally defeated the sultanates of Bijapur and Golconda in 1686 and 1687 respectively. Even though it was the first sultanate to fall to the Mughals because of its location, Ahmednagar survived as an independent state for more than 100 years.

During this time, it carved out a distinct identity in statecraft apart from leaving behind a fairly rich architectural legacy, which is the subject of study of the book under review. With this clearly defined ambition, Pushkar Sohoni, who is an architectural historian, has turned the spotlight on the sultanate of Ahmednagar and presented a method by which architectural exploration can provide deep insights into the political history of a geographical region.

The art and architecture of the Deccan sultanates was the focus of many scholars in the past. In pre-independent India, the region’s architecture was studied as an addendum to the Islamic architecture of northern India (for example, the second volume of Percy Brown’s seminal work on Indian architecture, 1942). More recently, the study of the Deccan as an independent area has come into its own, with scholars such as George Michell and Mark Zebrowski ( Architecture and Art of the Deccan Sultanates , 1999) publishing detailed studies.

Among exhaustively edited volumes on the same theme, a few stand out in recent times, including Silent Splendour: Palaces of the Deccan, 14th–19th Centuries edited by Helen Philon (2010) and Sultans of the South: Art of India’s Deccan Courts, 1323-1687 edited by Navina Najat Haidar and Marika Sardar (2011).

Richard Eaton and Phillip B. Wagoner have published a book titled Power, Memory, Architecture: Contested Sites on India’s Deccan Plateau, 1300-1600 (2014) that looks in detail at secondary urban centres of the Bahmani and Deccan Sultanate era such as Kalyana, Raichur and Warangal.

Coming to the scholarship on individual sultanates: Pramod B. Gadre has studied Ahmednagar in some detail ( The Cultural Archaeology of Ahmadnagar during Nizam Shahi Period, 1494-1632 , 1986); Deborah Hutton has looked carefully at the art of Bijapur ( Art at the Court of Bijapur , 2006); Marika Sardar has extensively studied the fortifications of Golconda (“Golconda Through Time: A Mirror of the Evolving Deccan”, unpublished PhD thesis, 2007). The book under review adds to this burgeoning bibliography on the art and architecture of the Deccan sultanates.

In his prefatory chapter, Sohoni makes a forceful case for the independent study of the Deccan, which had a distinct identity from “Hindustan”, or northern India, for most of the past. He writes: “The deep connections of the Deccan with West Asia, completely independent of Northern India, along with the autonomous cultural and historical developments in the south have shaped the Deccan very uniquely. Detailed studies of the polities of the Deccan, therefore, of architecture and statecraft, need to be undertaken in order to explain how, in moments of disengagement with the north, unique formations were created independent of developments in North India.”

This disconnectedness from north India led to the emergence of a distinctive architecture as the Nizam Shahis developed their own style. Sohoni’s argument is that the “…architecture of the Nizam Shahs does not follow a linear development from its Persian origins to the creation of a regional style. The buildings are variously of broadly Persianate and Indic characteristics, at times both, but to call them derivative is unfair, as the kingdom of the Nizam Shahs was trying to create a new architectural language as a regional claim.”

This study of architecture and the politics of Ahmednagar also leads Sohoni to argue ingeniously that the Deccani kingdoms saw themselves as “regionalists” who were resisting the “Hindustani” expansion led by the Mughals. This is an interesting perspective of medieval India.

Thus, the Deccan kingdoms were resisting the cultural expressions of the north by forging links with Persianate lands, which led to autonomous architectural representations. Chaul, Dabhol, Bhatkal and Goa were the principal ports through which connections with the wider Persianate world were forged independently, bypassing north India. In their architecture and in other aspects such as coinage, literature and painting, the Deccan sultans intended to bolster their independent claims as Deccan potentates. At the time, the Deccan was a multi-ethnic society with strong and independent connections to Persia.

There was also a great deal of cultural interaction and churning in the region involving ethnicities as diverse as African, Arab, Central Asian and South Asian. Thus, Sohoni provides ample evidence to back his argument that the Deccan has to be studied independently from “Hindustan”.

Sohoni’s intervention is valuable for the much-needed nuance it provides to the story of medieval India. In the reductive nationalist and colonialist versions of the time, Muslim rulers are seen as invaders “…upsetting indigenous practices until the ‘Hindu revival’ under the Marathas in the seventeenth century which is a simplistic and naive model of regional history”. Through Sohoni’s work, we see that the Nizam Shahi’s forbears were Brahmins who converted to Islam. Sohoni goes on to demonstrate, through his close reading of visual architecture, that the Nizam Shahi state “…formed the basis of the nascent Maratha state that emerged in the mid-seventeenth century under Shivaji Bhonsale”.

Sohoni delineates his method of studying architecture: “In this book, art-historical methods of visual inspection and formal analysis, along with documentation of architecture and construction, expand on earlier attempts to overcome the limited interpretations of previous text-based histories.” His book has a detailed historiographical note on the Nizam Shahis combined with the study of other aspects, such as the role of guilds and the material used in buildings of the time, providing a fulsome interpretation of architecture.

Sohoni also looks briefly at the literature, visual culture and coins of the Nizam Shahs. It is interesting to note that Ahmednagar started minting its own coins only in the second half of the 16th century, and this was done only when it realised the implications of Mughal expansion and had to symbolically demonstrate its independent status.

Commencing his detailed look at the architecture of Ahmednagar, Sohoni dedicates a chapter to urban patterns in six settlements of Ahmednagar: Junnar (the first capital of the Nizam Shahis), Daulatabad (the older capital of the northern Deccan), Ahmednagar (the capital built from scratch by the Nizam Shahis), Chaul (a major seaport), Parenda (a fortified military centre built by the Bahmanis) and Sindkhed Raja (the hereditary fief of the Jadhavs, Maratha nobles at the court of the Nizam Shahs). He also looks at the water technology and the fortifications in these settlements.

In the next chapter, Sohoni looks at the palaces and mansions of Ahmednagar such as Farah Baksh Bagh, a large building originally set on a raised platform in a pool of water. Sohoni spends some time on this monument before moving on to detailed discussions of other monuments such as the Hasht Bihisht Bagh, Manzarsumbah and Kalawantinicha Mahal.

In a subsequent chapter, Sohoni discusses the architecture of 12 mosques spread across various settlements in erstwhile Ahmednagar. Interestingly, Sohoni points out that there was no main congregational mosque in Ahmednagar where proclamations of sovereignty could be made on Friday, which is something unique and can be attributed to the Shiite orientation of its rulers. In the next chapter, Sohoni looks at tombs. One would imagine that like their royal forbears and peers among the Deccan sultanates the Nizam Shahis would also have grand tombs, but barring the first king of the dynasty, none of the other kings are buried here as their bodies were embalmed and sent off to Karbala (Iraq) in homage to their Shiite belief.

Thus, the 14 tombs that have been discussed are of the higher nobles who were buried in the region and memorials that are attributed to Maratha nobles, such as the ancestors of Shivaji in Verul and that of Lakhuji Jadhav in Sindkhed Raja. Another chapter is dedicated to the discussion of miscellaneous buildings, including royal hamam s.

Sohoni does not claim to have catalogued all the extant buildings from the Ahmednagar era, but his list is fairly thorough and includes all the prominent monuments in the region.

Through his work, the author sounds an urgent note of caution as many of these buildings are in a poor state of preservation with a few even slated for demolition. Several noteworthy monuments are not even protected by archaeological authorities. Sohoni has provided accompanying photographs and architectural plans for many of the monuments in his work. His detailed appendix is also useful as it provides an annotated listing of inscriptions on several monuments.

Sohoni concludes by providing an overview of what the Nizam Shahis represented. They were the last medieval state that the early modern Mughal state encountered as it swept across the Deccan.

He writes: “This study locates the Nizam Shahs as a critical component of the architectural and political history of the sixteenth-century Deccan, and hopefully can restore to them some of the status that they once commanded in their own time.” Drawing a direct link from the Nizam Shahis to the incipient Marathi state that emerged, Sohoni contradicts reductive scholarship that sees the Marathas as breaking from an Islamicate past. He writes that “…it is possible to conclude that there was no nationhood or polity based on an ethnic identity, and that their ethnic identity was a marker of social rise through military service. The cultural forms of the greater Islamicate world, as expressed in the Deccan by the Bahmanis, the Vijayanagar kings, and the later sultanates, were also adopted by the Maratha courts. In conception, execution, and ornament, the architecture of the early Marathas was exactly the same as that of their sultanate overlords and peers. The structural forms, decorative details, and planning logic conform to the Islamicate architecture of the Deccan sultanates.”

This book is valuable to architectural historians and historians of medieval India. A logical expectation would be for similar research to be done on the other Deccan sultanates, each of which represented robust regional resistance to the imperial policy of the Mughals.

source: http://www.frontline.thehindu.com / Frontline / Home>Books / by Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed / July 17th, 2019

The medieval Deccan

Arts, Culture & Entertainment, Books (incl.Biographies - w.e.f.01 jan 2018 ), Karnataka (under research project), , , ,

KARNATAKA :

A reading of three books throws light on the culture and politics of the Persianate world of the medieval Deccan.

Through fierce forays into southern India, rulers of the Delhi Sultanate like Alauddin Khilji (reign 1296-1316) extended the boundaries of their empire to its furthest extent at the end of the 13th and the beginning of the 14th centuries by dismantling the existing Yadava, Kakatiya, Hoysala and Pandya kingdoms. Khilji’s forces even reached Madurai in the deep south, where they established a base. Mohammed bin Tughlaq (reign 1325-1351), the eccentric genius of the Tughlaq dynasty that followed the Khiljis, moved the capital of his vast empire from Delhi to Devagiri or Daulatabad, located in what is now the central part of Maharashtra, in order to have his court more centrally located. The Delhi Sultans’ rule in these far-flung domains of their realm was always tenuous, and when Tughlaq’s rule, beset by internal crises and external challenges, withdrew to north India, many provincial governors rebelled, forming independent kingdoms or sultanates.

In the Deccan, an amorphous geographical region extending from the south of the Vindhya Range to the Krishna and Tungabhadra rivers, the Bahmani Sultanate was established by rebel Tughlaq nobles in 1347 with its initial base in Daulatabad. Across the Krishna, the vacuum that had set in after the Tughlaq withdrawal had led to the founding of the Vijayanagara kingdom sometime between 1336 and 1346.

The Bahmanis would shift their capital to Gulbarga (now Kalaburagi) in 1350 and in the early 15th century, to Bidar. At its height during the reign of Muhammad III (reign 1463 to 1482), when Mahmud Gavan was the prime minister, the Bahmani Empire extended from the Arabian Sea to the Bay of Bengal, helmed in by the Khandesh Sultanate in the north and the Vijayanagara empire in the south. While the Bahmani empire was a powerful state, ethnic affiliations overlaid with sectarian differences among the ruling nobility led to its implosion at the end of the 15th century. The provincial governors of Bijapur, Ahmednagar, Golconda, Bidar and Berar established their own Sultanates, snuffing out the Bahmani dynasty. Collectively referred to as the Deccan Sultanates, the 16th century would see these legatee states frequently fight with one another. The mighty Vijayanagara to their south usually sided with one or the other sultan in these conflicts.

Recognising the threat that the powerful Vijayanagarans perennially posed to them, the Deccan Sultanates came together in a temporary alliance in 1565 to defeat Vijayanagara, leaving it to totter to its eventual demise over the next century (See “Beyond the Hindu-Muslim Binary” in Frontline , January 18, 2019). This brief friendship was soon forgotten, and the Deccan Sultanates continued to fight with one another. Berar and Bidar were gobbled up by Ahmednagar and Bijapur respectively, leaving these two states, along with Golconda, as the unchallenged rulers of the Deccan for some time until their wealth attracted the attention of the Mughals. The expansionist policy of the Mughals led to the weakening and eventual subjugation of these regional powers as first Ahmednagar (1636) and then Bijapur (1686) and Golconda (1687) succumbed to Mughal might, ending the glorious epoch of the Deccan Sultans.

In popular understanding, medieval India is usually equated with the Mughal empire, but this is not to say that the Deccan was deprived of serious explorations of its medieval history. H.K. Sherwani and P.M. Joshi were early modern historians who looked at the Bahmanis and their descendants closely ( History of the Medieval Deccan: 1295-1724 , 1973). One of the books being reviewed in this essay, T.S. Devare’s A Short History of Persian Literature: At the Bahmani, the Adilshahi and the Qutbshahi Courts—Deccan (1961) is also from an earlier era. The work of these scholars has been followed by other prominent historians such as Richard Eaton and Phillip. B. Wagoner, who have closely looked at various facets of medieval Deccan. Manu Pillai ( Rebel Sultans , 2018) has attempted to tell the political history of the Deccan (for a review of this book, see “The Deccan Chronicles”, in Frontline , May 10, 2019). The architecture of the Deccan Sultanates has also been closely studied by architectural historians like George Michell and Helen Philon (the two scholars’ new book is being reviewed here). A new generation of scholars like Deborah Hutton, Marika Sardar, Pushkar Sohoni (for a review of Sohoni’s book, see “Deccan Architecture” in Frontline , August 2, 2019) and Emma J. Flatt (whose book is being reviewed in this essay) have begun to use innovative methods to explore other dimensions of the Deccan states, moving beyond political history.

Magnificent architecture

George Michell and Helen Philon are recognised scholars of the architecture of medieval Deccan. Early in his career, Michell co-founded the Vijayanagara Research Project, which continues to have a vast scope and consists of leading researchers on the history of this grand empire. Since the 1990s, Michell has moved on to study the architecture of Vijayanagara’s traditional rivals, the Bahmanis and their legatee sultanates. That makes him the only architectural historian whose expertise spans peninsular India. His many publications attest to his reputation as the foremost authority on medieval Indian architecture south of the Vindhyas. Helen Philon has published on Sultanate architecture in the past and her guidebook on Gulbarga, Bijapur and Bidar has become classic reference material for travellers to these Sultanate-era towns.

These two historical and architectural experts have combined forces with the photographer Antonio Martinelli, leading to the publication of the gorgeous coffee-table book under review. There are 290 photographs in the book capturing various monuments and their details in a fantastic display of exquisite photography. A significant number of architectural drawings adds to the value of this book.

While it excels as a coffee-table book, Islamic Architecture of Deccan India is also a handy academic work that collates existing literature on the theme in its introductory essay. This essay is a thorough summary of the medieval history of the Deccan, displays impressive historical and architectural awareness and serves as a perfect prologue to the book whose pages are otherwise filled with photographs of monuments. There are nine chapters that follow, each focussing on a Sultanate-era town. Towns gained prominence in a linear fashion in medieval Deccan and the chapters follow that development, with the photographs and captions highlighting the evolution of architecture.

Daulatabad and its neighbour, Khuldabad, attained early importance as the peninsular headquarters of the Delhi Sultanate and later as the first capital of the Bahmanis. After this, the capital of the Bahmanis was moved to Gulbarga and briefly Ferozabad (which is a necropolis now) before being shifted permanently to Bidar. The Bahmani empire eventually broke up into five separate sultanates. Ahmednagar, Bijapur and Golconda were the headquarters of these provincial kingdoms and boasted majestic architecture that saw a boost after the 1565 “Battle of Talikota” with Vijayanagara. These extensive chapter-long surveys end with Aurangabad, which was the Mughal bridgehead for conquering the Deccan. Interestingly, Michell and Helen Philon choose to include Burhanpur, the capital of the Khandesh Sultanate which separated the Deccan from “Hindustan”, in their examination of the Deccan. This is unusual, provoking the question as to what truly constitutes the Deccan.

Seeing the photographs in the book, each of which has immortalised a monument, one cannot help but recall Susan Sontag’s thoughts from her must-read book On Photography . She writes: “All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.” Martinelli’s alluring and breathtaking photographs, accompanied by Michell’s and Helen Philon’s notes, not only make the reader aware of the magnificence of these monuments but also the relentless passage of time.

Persian in the Deccan

The second book under review is a reprint of a classic on Persian literature in medieval Deccan by T.N. Devare. A Short History of Persian Literature: At the Bahmani, the Adilshahi and the Qutbshahi Courts—Deccan was first published in 1961 and was the PhD thesis of the author, who died in 1957 when he was only 43 years old. It continues to remain relevant because it is the only book in English that exhaustively studies the vast corpus of Persian literature produced in the courts of the Bahmanis and the Deccan Sultanates. Devare’s contemporaries had made substantial progress in the study of medieval Indian Persian literature but their main focus was on the works produced under the Delhi Sultanate and the Mughals. Thus, Devare’s intention was to correct this academic anomaly and to show that great Persian literature was also produced in the Deccan.

Considering the demand in academic circles for a reprint, the author’s family took the initiative in reprinting this valuable book last year. Methods of historical and language research have changed substantially in the six decades since Devare did his research. Thus, the book’s conceptual approach and style may seem outdated if seen from the perspective of current scholarship, but its value lies in its wide scope and its ambitious attempt at collating texts and then critically discussing them. Merely locating all of these texts in the 1950s, when they were spread across several libraries and personal collections, must have been a tedious task.

By discussing the major works produced in the Deccan, Devare has also put together what could be read as an extended annotated bibliography of the literature produced at these courts, making the book both a useful primary and secondary source for historical research on Persian literature in India and the history of the Deccan Sultanates. Devare also reads all the Persian texts directly and interprets them for his readers. His work is foundational as he does not rely or build on the work of other scholars. It is rare, or almost impossible nowadays, to find a scholar with such advanced competence in medieval Persian. Devare also frequently translates passages of Persian poetry and prose, enriching the book.

Devare’s book is divided into seven chapters, not including an introductory chapter that looks at the historical connections between Persia (now Iran) and India. Reading these chapters, one becomes aware of the easy mobility of a vast number of Persian speakers who migrated to the Deccan. Five of the seven chapters have a clear focus on different kinds of personages and their contributions to Persian literature in the Deccan. In each chapter, Devare chronologically lists the writers, thematically linking them before discussing their work, devoting several pages to noteworthy contributors.

For example, in the chapter on saints of Islam and their contribution to the development of Persian literature, the longest discussion is on the literary contributions of Khwaja Bandenawaz, the Sufi saint buried in Kalaburagi, whose enduring spiritual legacy has established him as the most prominent Sufi of the Deccan. Bandenawaz wrote a number of treatises and pamphlets on religion and Sufism apart from the poetry that has been discussed by Devare.

Discussing the Persian literature produced by the rulers of the Deccan Sultanates, Devare devotes several pages to Ibrahim Adil Shah II (reign 1580-1627) of the Adil Shahi dynasty of Bijapur. Like the Mughal emperor Akbar (reign 1556-1605), his elder contemporary in northern India, Ibrahim Adil Shah II also had an eclectic spiritual curiosity that defined his world view. He was addressed as “jagat guru” because of his love for music and veneration of the goddess Saraswati. Devare’s exhaustive survey goes on to include discussions of the works of the prominent litterateurs, architects, calligraphists and other prominent nobles in the Bahmani, the Adilshahi and the Qutbshahi courts.

In the chapter on poets, the prominent poets discussed by Devare include Isami, the composer of the Futuh-us-Salatin , a masnawi (poem in rhyming couplets) on Muslim rule in India, who was at the Bahmani court, and Zuhuri, the master of ghazal writing who was employed by the Ahmednagar and Bijapur Sultanates.

In a chapter on historians, Devare discusses the craft of history writing as practised by Muslim historians before moving on to discuss the works of individual historians. He makes a rare accusation of plagiarism against Ferishta, the historian whose works provide the maximum primary material for writing the histories of those times. The last chapter of the book looks at the influence of Persian on Marathi and Dakhni languages.

A flaw, or rather, a handicap of the book is that most of the dates are mentioned in the Islamic or Hijri calendar, which makes it tedious for the reader to correlate them with the dates of the common Gregorian calendar.

Emma J. Flatt’s fabulous book adds tremendous new knowledge to the history of the medieval Deccan. Borrowing methodological tools from anthropology and seeped in a robust reading of original Persian texts, Emma Flatt’s book is a rigorously researched work that opens up the courts of the Deccan Sultanates in exquisite detail. Emma Flatt’s main intention is to investigate the “idea of courtliness in the political, social and cultural worlds of the late fifteenth- and sixteenth-century Deccan Sultanates”. The book studies a wide set of practices among the elite of the Deccan courts and will certainly become a landmark of historical research as Emma Flatt has demonstrated how a finite set of primary sources can be interrogated to wring out new kinds of knowledge and add to our understanding of a historical period. This work is also academically exciting as there are hardly any historical works that analyse South Asian “courts” as a category apart from Daud Ali’s pioneering work on courts in early medieval India ( Courtly Culture and Political Life in Early Medieval India , 2011).

Through the book, Emma Flatt reiterates the point made by the historians Richard Eaton and Phillip Wagoner in the past that it is erroneous to view the various Deccan Sultanates and the Vijayanagara Empire as having fixed geographical boundaries and that, as the movement of the courtiers showed, there was a fluidity in these boundaries. Emma Flatt writes: “During this period, individuals of different backgrounds and cultures moved from across the Persian-speaking world to take up service at the courts of the Deccan Sultanates, and between the Deccani courts with a felicity that belies modern assumptions about the fixity of political and geographical boundaries on the one hand, and the incompatibility of Indic and Islamicate religio-cultural systems on the other.”

Emma Flatt relies on three key theoretical terms—the court, ethics and the Persian Cosmopolis—to take her argument forward. By virtue of the easy movement between a variety of courts, the courtiers acquired a certain courtly disposition that was widely shared across the “Persian Cosmopolis”, a phrase that has recently acquired tremendous heft in its expression of the shared set of cosmopolitan training in Persian texts that informed the subsequent world view of the elite across a vast swathe of land from Persia to Bengal. Emma Flatt’s book looks at facets of these courtly societies and examines certain courtly skills that were necessary for courtiers in order to become part of this courtly culture.

The book is broadly divided into two parts containing three chapters each, “Courtly Society” and “Courtly Skills”. Emma Flatt argues that there was a shared cosmopolitanism that the courtiers acquired through a shared foundational education of key Persian texts whose aim was not merely the acquisition of knowledge but the development of a “specific type of disposition within each individual”. This helped them move easily across the Persianate Cosmopolis, allowing them to find employment in various Deccani courts, as evinced in the careers of two individuals discussed in the next chapter.

By examining the careers of two elite noblemen, Muhammad Nimdihi and Hajji Abarquhi, Emma Flatt demonstrates how individuals used familial, scholarly, mercantile, religious and friendly networks in order to move across the Persian Cosmopolis.

The court society of the Sultanates was heavily influenced by “…the practices, the commodities and the vocabulary of long-distance trade”. She looks at the biographies of three powerful individuals, Khalaf Hasan, Mahmud Gavan and Asad Khan Lahri, in some detail to argue this point.

In the second half of her book, Emma Flatt looks at the courtly skills that were required for “worldly success and ethical refinement”. She writes: “By disciplined repetitive practice, the participant honed his ability at a particular skill, and simultaneously refined his soul, rendering the pursuit of skills an ethical endeavour.” Emma Flatt looks at scribal, esoteric and martial skills as part of the training for worldly success and the development of a courtly disposition.

The importance of scribal skills in the development of a refined courtier is examined through the epistolatory skills of Mahmud Gavan (1411-1481), the dynamic merchant-scholar who rose to become a vizier of the Bahmani rulers.

In a fantastic chapter that looks at the esoteric skills that courtiers could acquire to rise in the eyes of the rulers, Emma Flatt does a meticulous reading of the “Nujum al-Ulum”, the esoteric text composed in the Bijapuri court of Ali Adil Shah I (reign 1558-1580). In its divergent sourcing from both Islamicate and Indic cosmologies, she sees “conceptual commensurabilities” for a courtly society made up of a people belonging to a plurality of religious and cultural beliefs.

In the last chapter, Emma Flatt looks at “…how the acquisition of martial skills was associated with an ethical ideal known as javanmardi or young-manliness, an ideal structuring the daily lives of courtly and urban men in the medieval Persianate world”.

This brief review hardly does justice to the wide scope of Emma Flatt’s work which will be valuable for anyone interested in the history of the medieval Deccan. As this review essay shows, there is a substantial amount of ongoing research in the history of the medieval Deccan, but compared with the large body of work on the Mughals, much remains to be done for historical research of the medieval Deccan.

source: http://www.frontline.thehindu.com / Frontline / Home>Books / by Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed / December 04th, 2019

The medieval splendour of Bijapur

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Vijayapura (formerly) Bijapur, KARNATAKA :

The myriad monuments of Bijapur, such as the Gol Gumbaz, the Jami Masjid, the Malik-e-Maidan and the Ibrahim Rauza, continue to evoke the grandeur of its past as the capital city of a sultanate that held sway for two centuries.

The Ibrahim Rauza contains the tomb of Ibrahim Adil Shah II (r. 1580-1627). The tomb and the mosque in the complex were built by Malik Sandal, the celebrated Abyssinian architect in the Adil Shahi Sultanate of Bijapur.

DURING the reigns of Ibrahim Adil Shah II (r. 1580-1627) and Mohammed Adil Shah (r. 1627-1656) over the Deccan Sultanate of Bijapur, there lived an architect of Abyssinian origin called Malik Sandal who, some historians aver, learnt his trade in Turkey before being lured to the lands of the Deccan. Among the many splendorous monuments that this architect designed is the Ibrahim Rauza, the tomb of Ibrahim Adil Shah II, which the architectural historian Helen Philon describes “as the most beautiful and splendid of all Adil Shahi funerary monuments”. Malik Sandal used the services of a guild of builders whom he trained, called the imaratwale (builders).

Almost four centuries after Malik Sandal’s time, a descendant of this guild of builders continues to live in the city of Bijapur (now Vijayapura). While he has abandoned the profession of his ancestors, Abdul Gani Imaratwale often wanders into monuments that his forebears must have built, laying one basaltic block over another. His wanderings are not nostalgic strolls but serious forays of a historian of the medieval Sultanate of Bijapur who teaches at the Anjuman Degree College in Vijayapura. Seeking a deeper understanding of the history of Bijapur, Imaratwale often finds himself staring for hours at something as obscure as the fish motifs that adorn many of the monuments in this grand city. Bijapur in its heyday, rivalled and, at times, surpassed its Mughal contemporaries such as Delhi, Agra and Lahore in magnificence.

Imaratwale, who has published several books on various aspects of medieval Bijapur, has now brought out his latest edited volume, Studies in Bijapur Sultanate . His co-editor in this work is Maqsood Afzal Jagirdar, who is the direct descendant of Afzal Khan (d. 1659), a powerful generalissimo of the Adil Shahis. Thus, the two editors of the volume, apart from being scholars, have primordial familial links with the history of the Adil Shahi Sultanate of Bijapur.

Studies in Bijapur Sultanate consists of 43 academic papers, of which 17 are from an academic seminar that took place in 1983 in Bijapur when Imaratwale was a young historian, while the remainder are the outputs of modern research. In the latter section, the majority of the papers are authored by Imaratwale, followed by Jagirdar. The work of a few more scholars complete the volume.

The inclusion of unpublished papers from the seminar of 1983 is an academic scoop of sorts as they add tremendously to our understanding of the history of this epoch. Scholars from New Delhi, Hyderabad, Pune, Kolhapur, Bangalore (now Bengaluru) and Mysore (now Mysuru) had made the journey to Bijapur to participate in this pathbreaking seminar. On the second day of the seminar, they were taken around Bijapur in horse-drawn tongas to see the Gol Gumbaz, Jama Masjid, the massive cannon called the Malik-e-Maidan and the Ibrahim Rauza. Many of these historians, who had spent most of their academic lives researching the Deccan and south India, have since passed away, making this exercise of publishing their papers even more precious.

The Bijapur Sultanate was founded in 1489 by the Persian migrant Yusuf Adil Khan (known as Shah in later histories) (r. 1489-1510), who was a protege of the Bahmani Prime Minister Mahmud Gawan. At the time, the almost 150-year-old Bahmani Sultanate that stretched across the northern Deccan was in its death throes because of internecine differences among the native and foreign components in its nobility. The execution of Mahmud Gawan in 1481 at the behest of Mohammed Shah III (r. 1463-1482), the last notable king of the Bahmani throne who ruled from Bidar, catalysed the breakneck speed at which this empire unravelled as governors of different provinces gradually assumed independent power.

Over the next two decades, the boundaries of the northern Deccan would have to be redrawn to account for the birth of five new principalities, or Sultanates, of the Deccan that emerged from the implosion of the Bahmani Empire. The Deccan Sultanates that emerged were Bijapur (the Adil Shahi Sultanate), Golconda (the Qutb Shahi Sultanate), Ahmednagar (the Nizam Shahi Sultanate), Bidar (the Barid Shahi Sultanate) and Berar (the Imad Shahi Sultanate). Of these five, the three Sultanates of Bijapur, Golconda and Ahmednagar survived as robust and strong states into the 17th century when the imperial ambitions of the Mughals snuffed them out forever. The last great Mughal, Aurangzeb (r. 1658-1707), personally led campaigns to the Deccan, vanquishing Bijapur and Golconda in 1686 and 1687 respectively, ending the era of the Deccan Sultanates. Thus, historians like S.K. Aruni argue that the Deccan Sultanates formidably “resisted the north Indian imperialism” of the Mughals. Nine Sultans ruled the Adil Shahi Sultanate of Bijapur over the two centuries of its independent existence between 1489 and 1686. They ruled over a linguistically diverse land from their headquarters of Bijapur that lay at the nebulous meeting point of the Kannada- and Marathi-speaking lands. Their reign would later extend into the Tamil-speaking areas of the deep south as well. Like the other Deccan Sultanates of Ahmednagar and Golconda, which were ruled by ardent Shiites (as opposed to the Sunni Mughals), Bijapur, too, had a Shiite orientation that manifested in its close relationship with the Shiite Safavid dynasty of Persia.

Here, it is important to mention that even though Yusuf Adil Shah was the first Muslim king in India to declare himself as Shiite, his descendants often vacillated between Shiism and the Sunni creed. These rulers also never imposed their Shiite creed on their fellow Muslims, which is vindicated by the fact that Shiites continue to remain a negligible minority among modern Muslims even in the city of Vijayapura. Sufi saints such as Sayyed Hashim Husaini Alvi (the full name of Hazrat Hashimpeer) were also patronised by the ruling clique.

Like the Bahmanis before them, the Sultans of Bijapur ruled over a variety of people. Among the nobility itself, the factional schism between the Afaqis (or the foreign component which Imaratwale prefers to call Gharibuddiyar ) and the Dakhnis (or the native component) that had been the bane of the Bahmani court continued to fester in the Bijapur court as well. There were also Habshis or the Abyssinians who were an important faction in the court as well. Among its non-Muslim population, the Bijapur rulers formed a tight patron-client relationship with the Maratha nobility, with at least one prominent historian of the medieval Deccan, P.M. Joshi, comparing this relationship to the one that existed between the Mughals and the Rajputs in Hindustan or north India.

Imaratwale lists some of the prominent Maratha families that served the Adil Shahis militarily. These include the “Nimbalkars of Phaltan, Ghatges of Maun, Manes of Muswar, Ghorpades of Mudhol, Dafles of Jath, Sawants of Wari, etc.”. Marathi-speaking brahmins also served Bijapur in its civil administrative work. This relationship dates back to the founder of the dynasty, Yusuf Adil Shah, who married a Maratha noblewoman, and before him to the Bahmanis who had built a close relationship with the Marathas.

Bijapur was often involved in wars with the empire of Vijayanagara, its powerful neighbour in the south. In direct confrontations such as the battles that took place in 1510 and 1520, Vijayanagara (that was ruled by Krishnadevaraya [r. 1510-1529] at the time) was able to trump Bijapur. In the chequerboard of the medieval Deccan, victories or losses were never permanent, which meant that Bijapur would often ally with Vijayanagara over the next few decades in conflicts with its sibling Sultanates, until a final breach in this fluctuating relationship led to the Battle of Talikota in 1565. Four (of the five) Deccan Sultanates, including Bijapur, set aside their squabbles to briefly ally in this ultimate battle, which sounded the death knell for Vijayanagara. Historians have argued that the confederation of Sultanates, while having the smaller army, gained an immense advantage because of their advances in artillery pioneered by engineers such as Fatehullah Shirazi who lived in Bijapur during the reign of Ali Adil Shah I (r. 1558-1579). Bijapur benefited tremendously from this battle as it paved the path for the southern expansion of its territory across the Tungabhadra river as they were able to defeat a number of vassals of Vijayanagara over the next century.

Moment of glory

The victory at Talikota also led to the commencement of a golden period for Bijapur which saw a flurry of construction as Hindu artisans from the defeated capital of Vijayanagara sought new patrons. Bijapur entered its moment of glory with the ascension of Ibrahim Adil Shah II in 1580, who ruled for almost 50 years and is considered the greatest Adil Shahi Sultan. Part of his reign coincided with the reign of the greatest Mughal king, Akbar (r. 1556-1605), and aspects of Ibrahim Adil Shah II’s personality were similar to those of Akbar as the Bijapur ruler also had an eclectic outlook and, some argue, tried to establish a syncretic religious creed on the lines of Din-i-Ilahi .

In fact, Ibrahim Adil Shah II was addressed as “Jagat Guru”, for, as an aesthete steeped in musical and literary pursuits, he was a devotee of Goddess Saraswati. In some of the farmans (royal edicts) issued during his rule, he is referred to as Az Puja Shri Saraswati . Ibrahim Adil Shah II’s own composition, the Kitab-e-Nauras , contains lavish praise of Saraswati. Ibrahim Adil Shah II was also more comfortable in Marathi, a consequence of the ruling dynasty’s close links with Maratha nobility and the status that the language had as the lingua franca, than with Persian, which he spoke with some difficulty. He also patronised poets in his court, including Mulla Zuhuri, who wrote: “If they make the elixir of mirth and pleasure/They make it from the holy dust of Bijapur”.

A Mughal envoy, Asad Baig, who visited Bijapur during the reign of Ibrahim Adil Shah II, describes it thus: “In one street [of the bazaar in Bijapur] were thousands of people drinking; and dancers, lovers and pleasure seekers assembled. None quarrelled or disputed with one another and this state of things was perpetual. Perhaps no other place in the world could present a more wonderful spectacle to the eye of the traveller.” On his return to the court of Akbar, he took along with him fabulous gifts, including tobacco and Chanchal, the favourite elephant of the Sultan, who was “accustomed to drinking two mans [one man is equal to 37.324 kilograms] of wine daily”.

Mohammed Adil Shah (r. 1627-1656) also displayed some of his father’s penchant for art, music and literature, apart from being a wise ruler. It is his remains that are interred in the Gol Gumbaz, the awe-inspiring mausoleum that has one of the largest free-standing domes in the world.

At its peak in the first half of the 17th century, the boundaries of the Bijapur Sultanate touched both the Arabian Sea and the Bay of Bengal. In the West, Bijapur traded with Persia, Arabia, East Africa and Europe through its entrepots of Chaul, Dabhol, Bhatkal and Goa (which it lost to the Portuguese in 1510). Leaving the eastern Deccan in the hands of its neighbour, the Sultanate of Golconda, Bijapur’s tentacle of power extended south and south-east across Bangalore, Mysore, Tanjore and Madurai. This vast swathe meant that it was the second largest kingdom in India at the time after the Mughal Empire. The territory of the Sultanate encompassed regions in the modern Indian States of Karnataka, Maharashtra, Goa, Telangana, Andhra Pradesh and Tamil Nadu.

Evan as Bijapur reached the apogee of its power, its clashes with the Mughals who had become its northern neighbour after gobbling up the Sultanate of Ahmednagar, and increasingly fractious wrangling with the Marathas who had coalesced under Shivaji’s leadership, restricted its power. The early rise of Shivaji, who became the first Chhatrapati of the Maratha Empire reigning between 1674 and 1680, can be indirectly attributed to the Adil Shahis. His father Shahji was one of the chief generals of the Bijapur army during the reign of Mohammed Adil Shah and Ali Adil Shah II (r. 1656-1672) and was even granted a string of titles and the jagir (landholding) of Bangalore for his services.

The decline of the Bijapur Sultanate set in after the ascension of Ali Adil Shah II, who was unable to complete the building of his own tomb (the incomplete structure is erroneously called Barakaman and was possibly conceived to be larger than the Gol Gumbaz), and continued under Sikandar Adil Shah (r. 1672-1686) who, after a year-long siege of Bijapur, was captured by Mughal forces in 1686 ending the saga of the Adil Shahis.

The Adil Shahis’ liberal religious policies, their broad outlook towards their subjects of various ethnicities, their patronage of art and literature also ensured that their reign engendered a unique Deccani culture in their territories, vestiges of which continue to linger on in modern Karnataka and Maharashtra. Their legacy in language can be seen in Dakhni Urdu, which continues to be spoken by Deccani and south Indian Muslims even to this day. In the implementation of justice, the “Adil Shahi kings preferred Hindu law for Hindu subjects and the Muslims were governed by Shariah .” The farmans of the Adil Shahis were in Persian but often appended by a translation in Marathi or Kannada. The historian and archaeologist Dr A. Sundara has demonstrated that the Deccani architectural style of the Adil Shahis even had an impact on temple architecture.

Imaratwale makes the important point that “Hindus enjoyed socio-religious freedom” during the Adil Shahi period. Many of the Persian histories written during the Adil Shahi period mention how the Hindu population celebrated festivals such as Ugadi, Holi, Deepavali and Dasara, and the rulers financially supported “annual fairs and the maintenance of religious places such as temples and mathas ”. The contemporary Persian histories that Imaratwale relies upon are valuable sources of Bijapur history. Chief among these is Tarikh-e-Farishtah of Muhammad Qasim Hindu Shah Astrabadi, who wrote this history under the patronage of Ibrahim Adil Shah II.

While modern Vijayapura, also the district headquarters, is a nondescript city, its myriad monuments continue to evoke the grandeur of its past. Both religious structures, be they tombs or mosques, and secular structures, such as forts, tanks, palaces, markets and gardens, still vie for the attention of the modern-day tourist. The detritus of majestic structures that survives in its suburbs and neighbouring towns and villages such as Afzalpur, Tikota, Kumatagi, Ainapur, Aliabad and Nauraspur, also beckon discerning visitors.

Abdul Gani Imaratwale can be contacted at dr.imaratwale@gmail.com

source: http://www.frontline.thehindu.com / Frontline / Home> Arts & Culture> Heritage / by Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed / July 09th, 2021

The Cognate Editor Gets the Janasadbhawana Award, For Coverage of Ponzi Schemes in Bengaluru

Arts, Culture & Entertainment, Community Involvement / Social Issues, Karnataka (under research project), , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Bengaluru, KARNATAKA :

Shaik Zakeer Hussain receives the Janasadbhawana Civil Society Awards, 2018 in journalism.

Bengaluru: 

The Cognate’s founder and editor, Shaik Zakeer Hussain, has been awarded the Janasadbhawana Civil Society Awards, 2018 in the category of journalism for his coverage on fraudulent ‘Halal’ investment companies in Bengaluru.

The awards have been instituted by Bengaluru-based NGO Janasadbhawana, which has been working for the reformation and rehabilitation of undertrial prisoners in the city’s Central Jail in Parappana Agrahara. The awards are designed to promote and recognise notable work in the field of journalism, social activism, and administration. The award was presented to Zakeer by Faiz Akram Pasha, the founder trustee of Janasadbhawana on December 3.

“Zakeer has been recognised for his relentless coverage of fraudulent companies in Bengaluru, who have systematically targeted and looted the Muslim community in the name of religion,” said Faiz Akram Pasha, while presenting the award.

The other recipients of the Janasadbhawana Civil Society Awards, 2018 in the field of journalism were, Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed of the Frontline Magazine, Muneer Ahmed Jami of The Siasat Daily, Shahid Qazi of Zee Salaam, Mohammed Asharaf Ali Rashadi of the Daily Salar, Neyamathulla Hameedi of Rashtriya Sahara, and Ansar Azeez Nadwi of Seedhi Baat.

source: http://www.thecognate.com / The Cognate / Home> News / by The Cognate News Desk / December 03rd, 2018

An Indian Muslim’s story

Arts, Culture & Entertainment, Books (incl.Biographies - w.e.f.01 jan 2018 ), Community Involvement / Social Issues, , , , ,

BIHAR / NEW DELHI :

BookMPOs05aug2018

The memoir inaugurates a subgenre as there are hardly any platforms where the Indian Muslim experience has been articulated as clearly as it has been in this book.

ON September 19, 2008, an encounter took place at Batla House, a building in the Muslim-dominated locality of Jamia Nagar in Delhi. In what has come to be known as the “Batla House Encounter”, Delhi Police shot dead two individuals who they alleged belonged to a terrorist outfit. Some civil society activists pointed out that there were flaws in the police’s narrative, leading to allegations that the encounter was staged. This is the event that ties up Neyaz Farooquee’s easy-to-read memoir on growing up Muslim in India. Farooquee was at the time a student of Jamia Millia Islamia and lived close to Batla House. His tryst with his Muslim identity in the wake of the encounter forms the backdrop of the book.

There is no nuanced way to say this, but it is not easy to be Muslim in India. Anti-Muslim prejudice runs deep in Indian society and manifests itself in a variety of ways. In its gentlest form, the Indian Muslim may be casually called “Pakistani” in the most rarefied of spaces, leaving him to cringe silently because of this unfair association with a neighbouring country. In its most savage form, anti-Muslim bigotry leads to horrendous and usually one-sided communal violence with state sanction that leaves Muslims feeling scarred, besieged and vulnerable. In between, there are various degrees of bias and hate that Indian Muslims face on a daily basis all over the country.

In the imagination of early Hindutva ideologues, Muslims are permanent fifth columnists who could never be truly Indian. Going by this credo, the Indian Muslim can be and is held guilty of events across time and space. A Muslim in Bengaluru in 2018 is often held guilty for M.A. Jinnah’s demand for Pakistan, and its eventual formation in 1947, as well as the supposed excesses of Muslim rulers of medieval India.

In the same way, lazy bigotry would also hold him accountable for a violent terrorist attack that takes place halfway across the world. Since the Narendra Modi-led National Democratic Alliance government came to power in 2014, anti-Muslim sentiment has exploded in India and has been institutionalised to a great extent, with prejudicial sentiments being expressed brazenly. A hateful statement (say, by a senior leader of the Bharatiya Janata Party like Anant Kumar Hegde that Islam must be effaced from the earth) that would have earlier caused an uproar only causes a grumpy murmur in Indian society now.

Surprisingly, there is little literature on this theme by Indian Muslims, even though it informs their existence tremendously. Dalits, who are another marginalised segment of Indian society, have a far richer corpus of literature on the experience of leading a discriminated existence. So, what is the responsibility of journalists and writers in such a scenario? As chroniclers of society, they have a certain obligation of writing about the Indian Muslim experience, considering that Muslims are the largest religious minority in India with a population of more than 170 million (according to the 2011 Census).

Farooquee’s memoir is novel in the sense that it inaugurates a subgenre as there are hardly any platforms where the Indian Muslim experience has been articulated as clearly and candidly as it has been in this book. Twin narratives chug the story along. One tells the tale of Farooquee’s early life growing up in a village in Bihar and his journey and life in Delhi, while a second narrative tells the story of his life after the Batla House encounter. Farooquee came to Delhi as a child and enrolled in a school. The book describes how he grew up away from his parents in Jamia Nagar in Delhi and eventually found his feet in the Muslim ghetto. His parents hoped that he would become an Indian Administrative Service officer, but he ended up becoming a journalist. His relationship with his grandfather and his secular world view are described in touching detail. It is heartbreaking to read about Farooquee’s anxiety after the Batla House encounter and of how his life changed, considering the general Indian Muslim distrust of investigating agencies. The murkiness of information about the encounter in the public domain and the contradictory reportage of a media quick to make slapdash conclusions are also dealt with in some detail in the book.

At one point, Farooquee writes: “Jamia Nagar creates a jumble of names, faces and identities, and possibly faulty memories. That memory could be yours, or someone else’s, and if that someone else is, let’s say, a Terror Suspect disguised as a Normal Human Being, you have no idea how is memory is going to behave. It was an alarming thought and it made everyone untrustworthy. Friends, close friends, acquaintances, strangers, everyone.” At another point, he writes about how something as innocuous as travel bags caused him consternation: “The reports also said the Terrorists had many travel bags in their flat, suggesting that they sheltered Terrorist-friends from out of town and were themselves given to travelling to different cities in India to plant bombs. It was as if none of these reporters had lived the life of a middle-class Indian student. My own bag served as a cupboard. Often, there were other bags lying around, from when friends, relatives and acquaintances stayed over—a free dormitory.”

A pall of restrained melancholia hangs over the story, and one feels that the narrative may erupt into something more violent—there is a gory retelling of the brutal killing of an uncle in the Bombay riots of 1992-93—but Farooquee’s story is not about the physical violence of the state but about what it does to the mind. The experience of an Indian Muslim and his constant state of vulnerability is what the memoir is all about. There is some stodginess with which the author articulates this, but that is a matter of style. There is also a lot of trite information which makes one feel that the story could have been told in the form of a long essay rather than a book. Nonetheless, Farooquee writes on an important theme, and hopefully, memoirs with richer stories on what it means to be an Indian Muslim will follow this account.

source: http://www.frontline.in / Frontline / Home> Books / by Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed / Print edition: August 17th, 2018

Award for Frontline journalist

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Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed.
Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed.

Bangalore, KARNATAKA :

Frontline’s reporter in Bengaluru, Vikhar Ahmed Sayeed, has been awarded the Nasheman Award in Journalism for his contribution to journalism.

The award has been instituted in the memory of the late founder of Nasheman, Usman Asad.

The award was given at a special function that marked 55 years of the publication of “The Nasheman Weekly”, an Urdu news weekly published in Bengaluru that has a pan-Indian presence.

The jury for the selection consisted of Rizwan Asad, Editor of “The Nasheman Weekly”, and senior journalists of the newspaper.

The award was given by Karnataka’s Minister for Infrastructure, Development and Hajj, Roshan Baig, and Deputy Chairman of the State Planning Board, C.M. Ibrahim, at a function at the Press Club of Bengaluru on January 27.

source: http://www.frontline.in / Frontline / Home> The Nation> Media / Print editin: March 04th, 2016