Linda: Delhi? Done!, March 25

Delhi? Done!


We arrive to our little room in Delhi at about 1:30 in the morning. Thankfully, the hotels we called were all full and the place we found was in the home of a nice middle class family who now live in America. Somehow, after having been in Kerala for so long, it was nice to be with a family on a quiet little street, even if it was in the heart of New Delhi. We were to spend two nights in Delhi, the first being the night of our arrival. The next day and a half we would visit the sights of Delhi and leave for Jaisalmar later in the afternoon of the second day. It was our intention to see the most interesting sights now, while it was still a little cool, and see other points of interest upon one of our other visits to Delhi. Delhi is centrally located for the next set of travel plans, as it is the jumping off and return point both to Rajasthan and to the Himalaya Mountains to the north.

A big city. A really big city. It was, however, clean and there were many, many gardens and trees. This was a surprise and due to the delight the Moguls had for their gardens and for the relatively later period of expansion that continued to include large green spaces for the people. It was here in Delhi that I completely realized how at ease I had become in India. We went through the day of negotiations with rickshaw drivers, of winding our way through streets, of meandering in alleys and byways, of visiting palaces and gardens with ease and without that little trepidation that adds stress and uncertainty to the day. It was Monday and that center of Delhi, the Red Fort, was closed. We spent the day visiting the Putana Qila, another of the ancient fort/palaces of Delhi. This was the palace where Hayuman (spelling?), grandfather of Akbar, died. The treasury/library and mosque still stand; the former a two story pavilion structure surrounded by gardens with the open mosque nearby. We then visited Hayuman’s tomb, built by his grieving wife, as his was an untimely death. This tomb was the first of a series of tomb’s whose glory would one day be the Taj Mahal. It was the first tomb designed on a grand scale of geometry and proportion in the midst of an expansive garden. One can see the overall design that was to become the Taj, and it was beautiful and serene.

Nearby, was a shrine of the first of the great Chishti Sufi saints. There were four saints altogether. This one lived in the 1300’s, during the reign of Tuqhlug. Akbar visited this shrine every year and it is, to this day, a place of veneration and pilgrimage. And … it was across the street. Eleanor and I cross the street – again one must have the image of Indian streets. Each side is two lanes wide – with about 5 lanes of vehicles weaving their way in and out of traffic. No carts and bullocks, though, so it was actually much, much easier than negotiating the Chennai streets! Safely across and we enter … another world. Literally, one street from a busy road and we enter the Islamic world of Old Delhi. Prayers have just finished in the mosque and hundreds of people, mostly men, pour out in jelaba and cap. They have left their goods upon the streets to go to the mosque to pray, knowing that it will be there when they return. We go, upstream through a tide of men with the occasional bright color of a sari punctuating the light colors. The streets are a din of sound and returning life and the air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of food – meat! I haven’t even seen meat for a month. The spices, the oils, the sizzling sounds, the clink of tools working on crafts, the conversations all spill around and envelope you in this world. Small streets weave their way and … we’re out on the main street! Back again to look for the shrine and … back on the main street? Well, the best answer is to hire a bicycle rickshaw to take us to the shrine, even if we were only a few streets away. So, map in hand and directions given through an English speaking Muslim and we are on our way. An our later … we are still meandering through the same streets! The well intentioned driver was hoping he’d just happen to find what we wanted – and that we’d recognize it! Several conversations later and we finally meet someone who knows the right word to convey to the driver. Instead of shrine, we should have used durgah. Ahh! Recognition and relief lights up the eyes of the driver. We now meander into even smaller streets and are dropped off by a stall that sells flowers – obviously for giving to the shrine. The driver, hopeful we’ll come out and need more driving, refuses to take our money. This, we know, will lead to a confrontation later, so Eleanor puts the money on the rack and we leave. Shoes off, we then go through several other small streets, small meaning about three feet wide. This, this is ancient Delhi, and narrow streets means more shade and cooler homes and walking. Little doors, people’s homes, tailors working in the street, children at play, down steps, and a world opens. “Asalamu alaikum, sisters”, greet us as the stairs open into sunlight. In front is the golden shrine of Chishtri, with its chandeliers and calligraphy. On the porch around the shrine, women sit and pray. Women are not allowed inside the shrine, so they sit as close as they can and occasionally look through the screens to see within. Threads, witness to prayers asked at the shrine, are tied to the screens. Men line up to go within while other men and women sit around the shrine. We sit for awhile. A small mosque to our left as well as other areas that we later found out had their own significance. A drummer arrives and adds a wonderful, rhythmic heartbeat to the prayers murmured all around. Ancient and intense in a quiet sort of way. A moment rooted in time and so, timeless. Here, in the heart of one of the biggest cities of the world, lies this ancient jewel, a place of prayer whose surface has changed over the years, but whose voice echoes with the ancient and the real.

We leave later in the day, just enough time to visit the Qutb Minar, a triumphal tower built around the 1300’s in commemoration of the Moghul taking of Delhi. It is a beautiful 7 storied tower, each story being a little different. Like all Islamic architecture, it is a glory of simplicity, of geometry, of beauty, of proportion. It is a perfection. The remains of a mosque are nearby, a mosque built upon and from the ruins of Hindu temple that had once graced this spot, for this ground has been sacred from the beginning of history. In fact, it is the area of Delhi that was the site of the Indrapustra, that ancient citadel of the Pandavas and Krishna, known through the epic, The Mahabharata. In the confines of this small area, there were several Moghul firsts: there was the first triumphal tower, the first official and large mosque built on the grounds of a temple, the first college built started by a saint who was then buried there, the very first blending of Islamic and Indian art. There is also a very ancient (2000 years – perhaps much more) iron pillar which has an inscription on it. Though it is a pillar of iron, it has not rusted in all these thousands of years, something which intrigues modern scientists who do not know how ancient man could have accomplished this with the technology of their time. This is a story often repeated, and it is a good reason to leave the west and to visit places such as India or Turkey – to see the ancient marvels and the imagination of a great people, to know that there is much, much to learn. The west has a certain ascendancy now due to its interest in and development of technology. But an ascendancy in technology does not necessarily mean a superiority of mind or of heart. East and West are meeting, more and more often now. The world is changing here. Everyone feels it. Everyone talks about it. They know that their children’s world will be different. What will it mean? How will it be? What will be “gained”? What will be lost? Karma. There is no fear here of the future. There is no expectation. There is no planning. None of the things we expect in the west. There isn’t really any curiosity. It will be what it will be.

Our day ends with a stroll in an ancient garden, the Lodi Garden. We only saw a small, small part of this garden – green forest and flowers interspersed with tombs and shrines and ancient buildings. We eat in the (expensive) restaurant that sits inside the garden, away from the noise of the city. Quiet and a good end of a day - in the city and yet away from it.

The next day, we visit the Red Fort and the Jami Masjid, the largest mosque in India. Both were built by Shah Jahan, who also built the Taj Mahal, but it was never used by him as a capital. By the time it was complete, Shah Jahan had been imprisoned by his son, Aurengzeb, in the Agra Fort. It was Aurengzeb who rule from Delhi, him and descendents and Moghul sultans after them, and then, in 1847 the British army lived their until Indian Independence in 1947. The fort is a large enclosure with two walled areas. The first was for the people and the troops of the sultan. This area is separated from the more private area by the Diwan-i-Am, our Chamber for Public Audience. Here, the people could meet their sultan and have their concerns heard and solved. And … one better be sure one wanted the sultan to know, because his word was law. Whatever he determined would, surely, come to pass. The hall is an open area with an beautiful inlaid and elevated area for the throne, set behind a stone balustrade of intricate carving. One approached the building and throne through a large garden, after having passed through the fort gates and what once had been the most opulent markets in the world. On enters the private gardens of the sultan either to the right or left of this Public Audience Chamber. Here, one is greeted by a line of beautiful marble palaces set back from a beautiful garden. They had once lined the Yamuna River, and water from this river would have flowed throughout the garden and the palaces in tinkling streams and fountains. The palaces are elaborate and ornate, yet simple and precise at the same time. They are large, and yet, the individual quarters are small. Overall they are white and simple, yet up close, they are intricate and beautifully carved. Every detail is lovely, from the carved balustrades to the remnants of paintings and mirrors and inlay that had lined the ceilings and walls. One sees where the jewels had once been placed in the inlay of wall and ceiling. Walls twinkling with a thousand lights, magnificent in detail and yet simple in overall impression. And an unmistakable and overall grandeur. One of the buildings is the Hall for Private Audiences, and it was here where the famous Peacock Throne once sat – a jeweled work of perfection. To the left of the Hall is the hammam, or private bath, as well as the Pearl Mosque – small and lovely, and then more gardens and pavilions and water. To the right of the Hall are the Sultan’s private quarters with a large tower from which he would address the people. And next to that is the palace of his favorite wife and other women. A large stream went through these palaces, playing through the carved channels, bringing coolness and a peaceful trickle through these open palaces. For, all is open in this hot climate. Air and light play amongst the columns, where music and perfume danced with the women in the quiet times of a monarch’s life.

We leave these quiet gardens to walk, briefly, along the busy streets of Delhi. I had assumed the Jami Masjid would be in view, which I am sure it had been in the times of the sultans, but now it is behind some other buildings – some also of interest, such as the Jain Temple. To get to the Mosque, we again entered the ancient Islamic quarter – and again, quite quickly and unexpectedly. We left the honking of the four lane road in front of the Red Fort to a smaller street with a warren of side streets, filled with men and women in Islamic dress. Artisans, shopkeepers, kitchens, delicious smells, markets, beggars (not many, though), streets upon little street, and to our right rises the magnificent mosque in red sandstone. We go through the small entrance at street level to ascend, step upon step, to a large, grand gate. We enter, shoes in hand, and sit in the women’s section, for we happened to come during the time of prayer. In a way, coming here during the time of prayer completed the prayer cycle for us. We were graced with seeing puja in great temples and in serene ashrams, of prayers in the little churches and cathedrals around Kochi, in seeing thousands of monks around the Bodhgaya, in seeing ceremonies and prayers in the heart of the jungle and in the shrine at the heart of Delhi. And today, hundreds of Muslims gather to pray in peace outside the Old Fort in this modern city. Here, in this perfection of form here in India, is gathered another of the great religions of this Indian world. For it is not only a world of Hindu, but a world of Buddhists, of Moslems and of Christians – with a touch of Zorastrian, Jain, Sikh, and other religions sprinkled in as well. And this world, this world is a beautiful one.

What a glory of differences. And yet, in their transcendence, all the same.

Though we had spent a lovely day and half in Delhi and there were many more sights to see and gardens to explore, both Eleanor and I had enough of a big city - so we think. Our paths will come close to Delhi three more times before we leave for home, but today may be the last time we actually explore it. For us, the open air and the more wild places.

And so … to the farthest west of India – the ancient trade citadel of Jaisalmar.