Views | Constructed Beliefs May Help Resolve Conflicting Histories

This week at the Delhi Art Gallery, there was a very lively discussion on the conservation of monuments. It was centered around an exhibition of William Hodges’ beautiful aquatints of north India. One question raised by a girl left many in the audience and panellists perplexed as it concerned a building that the British landscape painter of the eighteenth century had not even painted. However, the question seemed pertinent given the impending events in Ayodhya on January 22.

With historian Swapna Liddle serving as moderator, the panelists—conservation architects Abha Narain Lambah, Vikas Dilawari, and Manish Chakraborti—supported local involvement in maintaining at least some sites as opposed to total state authority. They agreed that in order to prevent the local population from developing an emotional attachment to a monument, the Archaeological Survey of India and its state equivalents segregated the sites by putting them inside boundary walls.

A girl in the audience questioned whether a monument like, say, Sultan Ghari in south Delhi, which is not one of the many Islamic structures in northern India that Hodges painted between 1780 and 1783, should remain in the hands of the locals because some of them think it was built on top of the remains of a temple, even though experts are still divided on whether preservation should entail extensive restoration. She was afraid that if they decided to save it, it would lead to community polarization.

The girl brought up a complex point, which was ignored by Dr. Liddle with his rapid but incorrect statement that there was no evidence of a temple at that location: many Indian structures have disputed origins. A “history” of Sultan Ghari, which is now acknowledged by both groups, could, nonetheless, provide a solution to the issue of contestations in other parts of India, as those in the vicinity seem to have discovered a “belief” that is equally in line with their disparate religions.

People’s beliefs are unassailable, particularly in India where very few can be linked to specific events or causes. Events and their histories are interpreted differently throughout time and in response to societal and political pressures. Identical names and situations tend to heighten the mystery. Depending on how stories and beliefs are controlled and developed, it might be a benefit or a liability. One example is the Sultan Ghari complex, which has a great deal of unexplained elements.

Many people claim—and probably believe—that a Sufi saint named “Pir Baba” is buried in the 13th-century tomb. Today, the three tombs in the octagonal subterranean chamber are visited by Muslims and Hindus from the surrounding villages who provide flowers and other offerings. But not only is it unclear how long this syncretic tradition has existed, locals are also unaware of any specifics about this medieval Pir Baba, not even his true name.

Meanwhile, a number of foreign specialists have pointed out that the pillars in the cloisters and other architectural features in the tomb and mosque within the walled bastion have been “reused” from “earlier” structures, which, considering the themes, could only have been temples. There is proof that existing temples were destroyed at the Mehrauli complex monuments, which date roughly to the time of Sultan Ghari. at fact, an inscription in the complex states as much.

Thus, it is possible that Sultan Ghari’s builders followed suit, especially because a beam that was taken from the building in the 1960s and is now on display at the National Museum in New Delhi has three floral designs that point to a non-Islamic origin. There is clear doubt that it is not Islamic, even if experts cannot agree on whether it is from a Gurjara-Pratihara (c. 9–11th century) architectural temple or a Buddhist structure. Excavation of the rubble-packing employed in the plinth could reveal revelations underneath.

According to the ASI website article on Sultan Ghari, it was constructed in 1231 by Mamluk Sultan Iltutmish in memory of his oldest son, Nasiruddin Mahmud, who passed away unexpectedly in 1229 while serving as governor of Bengal. However, it is confusing to note that from 1246 until 1265, another son (or grandson) of Iltutmish ruled under the same name. Born after the others passed away, another Nasiruddin Mahmud was more well known as Chirag-e-Dilli, the Sufi follower of Nizamuddin Auliya from the 14th century!

The ASI continues, “Carved lintels from another Hindu temple were discovered buried in the thick lime-concrete roof; the ceiling [of Sultan Ghari] rests on columns constructed with two pillars each plundered from an earlier Hindu sanctuary. Other sections were chipped off and repurposed in the prayer room ceiling, as well as bastions and pillars in the verandahs that were once a madrasa. Firuz Shah Tughluq was the one who fixed the tomb.” Nothing about a Pir.

The later prince of the same name, Nasiruddin Mahmud, was also known as Abul Fath Mahmud. The Tabaqat-I-Nasiri, a 23-volume history of dynasties completed in 1260 by Minhaj-i-Siraj Juzjani, describes Nasiruddin Mahmud as a “beneficent, intelligent, sensible and sagacious prince endowed with great energy and gallantry, and was munificent and benevolent.” Not even the faintest trace of Sufi devotion that would have made the prince a Pir.

The renowned archaeologist from Pakistan, SAA Naqvi, claims in an ASI article published just before Independence that Syed Ahmed Khan was the first to mention the term “Sultan Ghari” in 1845. Khan does not provide any supporting evidence for this claim. Additionally, Nasiruddin “fought several wars and by his acts endeared himself to his co-religionists,” according to Naqvi, who also notes that “his Urs is celebrated and the shrine is thronged with pilgrims every year on the seventeenth day of the month of Ziqat.”

He makes no mention of the presence of Hindus during the yearly Urs festivities or the suggestion that Iltutmish’s son and successor have an aura like to that of Pir Baba. Nor does he mention the contemporary “custom” of local Muslims and Hindus visiting Guruvaar (also known as Thursday) and making offerings, much as they do for Sai Baba. Thus, when and how did the Muslim warrior prince of medieval times transform into a syncretic mystic whose grave is now a part of an ecumenical “shrine”?

A clearly fictitious tale about a foresighted slave girl informing Nasiruddin “You are going to rule souls, not the land, at some point.” However, the’shrine’ unquestionably contains remnants of pre-Islamic structures, most likely Jain and Hindu. Why was the tomb of a prince who was meant to be a peacemaker constructed out of the rubble of other religions’ demolished structures? Is the notion of the syncretic “shrine” a coping mechanism?

The transformation of an unidentified Mamluk prince into a revered, cross-denominational figure offers followers of both religions a cause to visit that location rather than just one. In order to cope with the realities of India’s past and its complex architectural heritage, it seems more mature, clever, and less acrimonious for people—rather than courts—to come to a mutually accepted dual-use formula. Studying the evolution of Sultan Ghari’s modus vivendi is necessary. and imitated.

There are two things that are clear. First, it is not useful to refute a disputed history. Secondly, it is not a good idea to leave monuments—disputed or not—to the secular whims of ASI. On that point, the DAG panelists were absolutely right. Similarly with the “courts will decide” approach. Sultan Ghari demonstrates how the locals may and do come up with solutions for mutual acceptance as they will eventually have to live near possibly eristic structures.