India Diary - Exploring the Enchanting Ruins of Old Bhopal - Part 2

A pea-shaped face peeked from behind a set of rusted iron doors at the Taj Mahal palace as I firmly rapped the heavy door-knocker against its metal backrest. “I wish to look around”, I said determinedly in response to the quizzical expression that stared back at me. The possessor of the tiny, question-marked face – Abhinav, a young boy of perhaps 15 turned out to be one of the three caretakers who had been bestowed upon the responsibility of guarding the premise. At first, he seemed mighty reluctant to let me in, let alone explore, but a healthy dose of incessant cajoling and emotional blackmail made him buckle and agree to show me around. 

Moments ago, fuelled by the tea at Raju tea stall, I had been high as a kite at the thought of exploring the ruins of Begum Shah Jahan’s castle which, if I were to believe the rumors, was a magnificent structure, spread over a whopping 17 acres in the heart of the otherwise congested Jahangirabad locality. Threatening to burst my happy bubble of adventure though, was a rather sad vision that welcomed me at the venue. A decrepit, narrow frontispiece snuggled in an easy-to-miss recess by the main road. It was hard to envision a grand citadel hidden behind those doors. But, sure enough, as Abhinav cranked them open, a gargantuan forum of ruins unfurled magically like a page in a pop-up book. 

 

Within minutes of wandering with him, I realized that Abhinav’s bag-of-bones constitution was deceptive. Once he started regaling the castle’s history it was as if an electric wave of energy had coursed through his lanky frame. I could tell he loved every nook and corner of the crumbling acropolis as he bounced vivaciously from one section to the next. One of the fully intact features within the premise, he told me, was Saawan Bhado – an airy structure peppered with wrought iron spouts that were used to sprinkle cool underground water on the palace walls to temper down the excruciating summer heat. Standing beneath one of its red stone arches, I could almost smell the aroma exuded by a patch of earth, the cracked lips of which had just been caressed by a refreshing trickle.

Contrary to the hard-as-nails reputation earned by her mother and grandmother, Begum Shah Jahan (who was number 3 in the line of Bhopal’s 4 Begums) was said to be soft and lady like, with a penchant for all things beautiful like poetry, architecture and art. Her love for intricate architecture is evident from the mirror work and carvings found in the Sheesh Mahal, one of the many sub-sections of the palace. Even in its current state of abandon, the walls of Sheesh Mahal give an illusion of being studded with bits of precious stones; leading me to believe that in its hey-day, its glitter must have been quite a sight for sore eyes. From the jharokhas that hang over the adjoining Motia Talaab (Motia Lake), the twin minarets and the colossal dome of the Tajul Masjid can be seen along with their inverted mirror images reflecting in the lake. The mosque, which was also the Begum’s brainchild, is supposed to be one of the largest in Asia and is perhaps just as imposing as Delhi’s Jama Masjid or Lahore’s Badshahi Masjid.

It is said that those predisposed to literature and fine arts tend to be emotional fools by default. Begum Shah Jahan too seems to have conformed perfectly to this rule. From falling hopelessly in love with her ambitious, gold-digging tutor Syed Siddiq Hassan to upholding a 13-year long iciness towards her daughter, the then heir apparent - Kai Khusrau Jahan Begum, upon whom she squarely placed the blame for the untimely death of her first grand-daughter– there are plenty of stories that give an idea of how drama riddled the Begum’s life was. This is not to say that she was an inept ruler who turned a blind eye towards the welfare of her subjects while engaging solely in frivolous activities. A truly secular ruler, Begum Shah Jahan established a Hindu Property Trust for conserving Hindu properties. She also inaugurated the railway system in Bhopal, a project once spearheaded by her grandmother. It was projects like these and many others that made her a much loved sovereign. 

On one hand, the palace’s quiet seclusion and lack of publicity allows one to peacefully soak in its splendor without being distracted by packs of noisy tourists, annoying school children on class picnics, roguish touts trying to palm off cheap trinkets and fake guides concocting spicy stories to pique their clients’ interest. On the other hand, the government’s obliviousness towards its upkeep has forced the structure into accepting a life of neglect and subsequent decay. The flourishing jungles of wild grass that seem to have gobbled up portions of the palace, fungus laden walls that are lined with webs of pitiful fractures and rotting animal carcasses that can be found within the once sumptuous rock pile are sad reminders of the fact that the palace is fast approaching its own demise.

Yet, Abhinav seems hopeful. The local newspapers have reported that the property is soon to be converted into a fancy heritage hotel. He sees himself getting employed in some capacity as part of the enterprise and this pleases him immensely. I, on the flip side, can’t help feeling dismayed at the news even though it probably means a much needed face-lift for the palace. Chances are pretty high that this is the first and the last time that I have the luxury to pry around untroubled like a true adventurer examining prospective trapdoors or simply sit by the lake in a dreamy trance like a poet mulling over frilly ideas. 

As the sky changed into its evening garb of crimson streaked china-blue, with great difficulty I pulled my spellbound self away from the untouched beauty of a quaint castle. A castle that was once the loving abode of a wistful princess who dreamt of things like finding true love, creating a world where all faiths coexisted in harmony, providing for each of her subjects  and growing old gracefully, surrounded by a happy roost of children and grandchildren. Just as I exited, a band of grime-covered, wide-eyed urchins ambushed me, hungrily eyeing my knapsack, clawing at my arms and pointing towards their famished mouths. And just like that, the spell I was under broke, its shattered pieces taking on the form of these wretched souls who dragged me back to the real world.

India Diary - Exploring the Enchanting Ruins of Old Bhopal - Part 1

Picture courtesy - www.tripadvisor.in

The city of Bhopal is like a mysterious old bard. In a tattered gunny bag swung over one of his atrophied shoulders, he hides a treasure trove of rare gems plucked right out of history books. It takes effusive flattery, gentle persuasion and an unrelenting perseverance to get him to allow a peek into his sack of stories. But once he warms up, there is no stopping him. Not only does he whisper mystical tales from his past into eager ears, but also abets greedy eyes in shamelessly feasting upon sights that only few know exist. 

One chilly winter evening in Dec 2014, I found myself in the august company of this Methuselah of sorts, who after years of constant wheedling had finally agreed to chat with me. For the first time I experienced a Bhopal that I had never seen before – one that remains unsullied even though the rest of the city is undergoing rapid remolding in an effort to keep up with changing times. This is a section that represents an era of iron-willed Begums who ruled the city with a flair that is hard to find even today.

My peregrinations were flagged off as I stepped into the rose pink edifice of Gauhar Mahal – a 19th century palace built for the first female ruler of Bhopal – Begum Qudsia. Against its moss-encased arches a handicrafts exhibition was in full swing. In the center of the main courtyard sat a dried up marble fountain wearing yellow stains of age. Around it, the air was thick with the sweet essence of rose, lotus and sandalwood attar originating from the open vials of a hijab clad lady whose ingenious advertising gimmick was proving quite effective in luring customers. Hand-painted silk scarves hung from makeshift displays, fluttering tantalizingly in a cool breeze and life-like figures carved in brass silently beckoned clamoring patrons.

The mise-en-scene was such that it transcended all borders of time, invoking images from when Bhopal was 200 years younger. I could almost spot the sparkling anklet of a lady-in-waiting just as she disappeared behind a carved column or hear the hoof-beats as patrolling soldiers returned from their nightly vigil. Through the torch-illuminated corridors of this very palace the aristocratic Begum, who shunned the purdah amongst other regressive traditions, must have once walked, pearls tinkling and silk and brocade robes swishing around. With a shopping bag overflowing with goodies and a head overflowing with sepia toned ideas, I returned home, excited about the prospect of exploring other jewels of Old Bhopal in the coming days.

As the nebulous rays of winter sunshine escorted in a new day, another 19th century relic patiently waited for me to come calling. Hidden behind a coat of white-wash, in the busy lanes of Royal Enclave, I found Sadar Manzil. The pearl white paint that was deemed suitable for the ancient structure by new age ministers is in-fact totally inefficacious in concealing its true age. Built during the reign of Bhopal’s fourth and final female ruler - Kaikhusrau Jahan Begum, the palatial building was used as a hall of public audience where the Begum convened with her subjects. Despite the seemingly mundane administrative work that went on within its walls, it is apparent that no stone was left unturned in its beautification. The proof of this can be seen in a series of decadent murals that decorate its domed ceilings. Through charcoal wisps of decimated cobwebs and a thick blanket of dust, one can still trace the beautiful patterns of blossoming buds, dewy leaves and curling stems on the walls.

Wall Art at Sadar Manzil

Keeping up with its tradition, Sadar Manzil now houses government offices like those of the Municipal Corporation. As a result it has taken on the appearance of any other modern day government office in India. Every available inch of space bears towering stacks of old official files tied with pieces of frayed red string and brown with years of accumulated grime. Most corners and alcoves are encrusted with maroon spatters where scores of insouciant paan masticators over years have mercilessly regurgitated the contents of their mouths. Picking my way through haphazard rows of sealed Godrej almirahs, scurrying rats and piles of rubble, I made it to the terrace from where the Bhojtal or Upper Lake can be seen placidly stretched out in all its silvery grey glory. I can well imagine court poets of yore making use of this visage as inspiration for producing soul stirring poetry.

Breaking my fable-like journey for a cup of tea at the famous Raju Tea Stall at Sultania Road near Peer Gate was a revelation in itself. Who could have guessed that a seemingly footling tea stall which had innocuously elbowed its way between tightly packed hardware and kirana stores could serve the most succulent mawa jalebi and rabri, crisp pakodas and aromatic chai. Legend has it that despite its rather run-down veneer and common-man clientele, many an important government officials frequent it to get their regular fix of chai and snacks....To be continued