In anecdotes, beliefs and legends, a vivid portrait of 19th-century Delhi’s social and cultural life

Alexander Cunningham (1814-93) and Syed Ahmad Khan (1817-98) were contemporaries, both describing the Delhi of their time – an urban centre with a hinterland dotted with older ‘Delhis’. Syed Ahmad Khan was a judicial officer in the East India Company’s government while Cunningham was an archaeologist and numismatist who became the first head of the Archaeological Survey of India.

Both had also been members of the Delhi Archaeological Society, a body that had been set up in 1847 to study historical remains in and around Delhi. The Society did not survive the Revolt of 1857, but through its excavation projects, studies of historic structures and conservation initiatives, it may be regarded as a predecessor of the Archaeological Survey of India. Though Cunningham and Syed Ahmad had these things in common, their ways of viewing the city diverged considerably.

Much of Cunningham’s nearly hundred-page report of 1863 was concerned with locating the major historic sites of Delhi within a chronological history of rulers and dynasties, drawing on bardic traditions as well as royal chronicles to recreate a line from the mists of mythic times to the more recent Mughal period. For Cunningham, the ‘ruins’ around Delhi were archaeological sites, of interest mainly for the past that they represented. Each site was testament to the dynasty under which it came into being; its distinct architectural features helping to confirm its date and, in some cases, historical layers.

Syed Ahmad, whose four-volume Asar-us-Sanadid (which may be loosely translated as ‘relics of regimes’) was published in 1847, was not unmindful of the history of the city, but it was not his starting point. Syed Ahmad’s way of ordering the city’s historic sites was fundamentally different from Cunningham’s. Syed Ahmad saw the historic sites from the perspective of how they related to the core of the city he and most others in Delhi inhabited.

One aspect of Syed Ahmad’s approach is that his descriptions of sites are full of his own personal experiences and interactions. He tells us in some detail of his encounter with a group of beautiful young women when he was sitting and making his notes at the Iron Pillar within the Qutub Minar complex. They asked his opinion on a point of frivolous popular belief associated with the pillar, ie, those who cannot completely encircle the pillar within their arms while standing with their back to it, are of illegitimate birth.

Then, while writing of the nearby dargah of Qutubuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki, he devotes a paragraph to Miyan Ghulam Nur, the khadim (custodian) of the shrine. Describing him as a knowledgeable person, he acknowledges his help in escorting Syed Ahmad around the buildings and graves, and explaining everything to him.

In other places, too, custodians of temples and shrines facilitate access as well as provide information. An interesting account is that of his visit to Kalkaji temple in Bahapur. He describes the temple structures, including a recent addition of a tall shikhara made by the contribution of Raja Kedar Nath, a rich merchant. He recounts the myths, current beliefs and religious practices associated with the temple and the goddess who is its presiding deity. He tells us that the temple sees worshippers particularly every Tuesday and on the Ashtami of every month. He notes that a mela (fair) is held at the temple every six months. The source of this information are the pandas (priests) who he meets at the temple. Civility demands that he also accept the prasad (ritual food offering) they offer, and Syed Ahmad accepts it, though he admits to readers that it is with some inner trepidation that it may conflict with his religious beliefs.

The recording of religious and social practices at historic sites is an important part of Asar-us-Sanadid, but Syed Ahmad is not simply a dispassionate documenter. He also comments on and evaluates. While writing of Satpula, the fourteenth-century sluice gate built to control the waters of a stream near Khirki Mosque, he tells us of a popular belief associated with it – that the Sufi saint Nasiruddin Chiragh-e-Delhi, who lived nearby, performed his ablutions in the water from a small depression in the ground that he dug with his own hands and also blessed.

Hindus as well as Muslims came to believe that this water was holy and that bathing in it would bring relief from illnesses and the effects of black magic. Syed Ahmad dismisses this supposed miracle of the saint and alleges that the belief was a tale invented by the khadims of the saint’s dargah for commercial motives, and that the huge crowds of bathers that came to this place, particularly in the month of Kartik near Diwali, and specifically on Saturday, Sunday and Tuesday, were a source of income for the khadims, who sold the water from this hole.

To some extent, Syed Ahmad’s deeply subjective interest in the beliefs and practices associated with historic sites is a carrying forward of an older tradition. In the mid-eighteenth century, Dargah Quli Khan, a visitor from the Deccan who had spent about four years in Delhi, wrote a pen portrait of the city. In this text, which has come to be known as Muraqqa e Dehli, Dargah Quli did not intend to write about Delhi’s history or historic sites. Instead, he wanted to describe the city’s social and cultural life.

Interestingly, the outcome is in large part a listing of historic sites. Many of these are tombs of saints, which are the focus of reverence, religious observances, and social and cultural practices. Others are public spaces that serve as locales for cultural events. An evocative example is Dargah Quli’s description of the seven day celebration of Basant – marking the advent of spring with a mixture of sacred and profane practices.

The celebrations start at the Qadam Sharif shrine on the first day, when qawwals, dancers and pilgrims gather, while beautiful women scatter perfume. On the second day, the celebrations move to the dargahs of Qutubuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki and Chiragh-e-Delhi, and on the third day, to the dargah of Nizamuddin Auliya where sama (a session of qawwali singing) is organised. On the fourth day, singers and musicians in particular gather at the dargah of Rasul Numa. On the fifth day, the celebration moves to the dargah of Shah Turkman Biyabani, where, Dargah Quli informs us, Sufis and beautiful women are among those who gather, and singers and musicians perform.

On the sixth day, the celebrants visit the royal palace and the homes of nobles and partake of their hospitality. And finally, on the night of the 7th day of this month, all the dancers get together and go to the grave of Azizi, in Ahadipura, and wash it with wine, and take it in turns to dance. They feel their dancing and singing will provide peace and pleasure to his soul. Gradually the qawwals also gather and the mehfil becomes very gay, and men and beautiful women also join in. People retire in corners and find the privacy to enjoy their desired company.

Dargah Quli gives us a glimpse into the mix of piety and hedonistic pleasure that characterised the rites at popular shrines and, it is, therefore, important as a record of the culture of eighteenth-century Delhi. It also shows us how a network of sites in and around Shahjahanabad, belonging to various eras, were integrated into the social and cultural life of the city through a calendar of religious and social events.

Syed Ahmad wrote more than a century after Dargah Quli, and by then, some changes were in evidence. Some new practices had come into existence, such as the Phoolwalon ki Sair, an annual festival patronised by the Mughal emperor and held during the monsoon in Mehrauli since 1811. The festivities involved the offering of a coverlet of flowers at the shrine of Qutubuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki, and fans at the nearby temple of Jog Maya, in the midst of a celebration that lasted several days. Syed Ahmad paints for us a picture of the ambience in the many gardens in Mehrauli – of water gurgling, birds singing, peacocks dancing, the sound of thunder, music and singing, and beautiful young people strutting about in colourful clothes.

There were also some changes that had occurred due to the general sociopolitical changes over the period. For instance, Dargah Quli Khan had written of the large Arab community that lived in Arab Serai next to Humayun’s Tomb, documenting the annual observances there on the occasion of the birth anniversary of the Prophet Mohammad.

By Syed Ahmad’s time, Arab Serai, though as populated as earlier, was now not a predominantly Arab quarter. There were just about 15-20 homes of Arabs in the locality, significantly less than the original 300 Arabs that had originally settled here in the sixteenth century. Syed Ahmad attributed this to a geographical dispersal due to ‘reasons of livelihood’, probably suggesting that the financial support these people had originally received from the Mughal court had dried up as the Mughal empire declined in the second half of the eighteenth century.

This is a lightly edited excerpt from the essay titled Ways of Viewing the Historic City from the book Sair-e-Dilli Chronicles of Change accompanying the eponymous exhibit on display at Bikaner House, Delhi, till September 15.

Swapna Liddle is a historian with a specialisation in the history of Delhi. For many years she has also worked to raise awareness about the need to preserve historic sites and neighbourhoods. Her books include The Broken Script, Shahjahanabad: Mapping a Mughal City and 14 Historic Walks of Delhi.

Also read: Sayyid Ahmad Khan’s 19th-century books on the pre-1857 monuments of Delhi are now in English