Animating Delhi's forgotten legacy

Sadiya Dehlvi has been trying to present the alternative, enlightened face of Islam that the Sufi tradition embodies, says Pamela Philipose.

Hundred years have passed since New Delhi came into existence and the anniversary is a reminder that India’s capital has long been a seat of power and domination.

But if the quest for power is symbolised by proud minarets, colossal forts and the other grand architectural behemoths that dot its landscape, there is another narrative written in the largely forgotten stones, courtyards and domes of the ‘dargahs’ — or tombs of Sufi masters — that also lie strewn across the city and which speak of the quest for fraternity, compassion and peace.

“For me, the history of the city and the history of the ‘dargahs’ actually coexists and overlaps,” says Sadia Dehlvi, whose recent book, The Sufi Courtyard — Dargahs of Delhi, attempts to map this terrain through words and images.

The most important site on this map is the ‘dargah’ of Khwaja Qutub Bhaktar Kaki in Mehrauli, in south Delhi, which was the first Sufi spiritual centre to emerge. Says Dehlvi, “Everything in Mehrauli came up around his ‘dargah’, and the Qutub Minar was named after him.

Everybody wanted to be part of that sacred space. Bahadur Shah Zafar, the last Mughal emperor, wanted to be buried there, although he finally died in Burma. The other important Sufi centre is, of course, the ‘dargah’ of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, while the third would be the ‘dargah’ of Hazrat Naseeruddin Roshan in Chiragh Dilli.”

These were the three great Sufi masters, whose localities emerged as welfare and learning centres. They saw themselves as ‘faqirs’ (Sufi ascetic), wanting nothing to do with the state.

As a teenager, Dehlvi remembers going to Nizamuddin Auliya’s ‘dargah’ with her grandfather. She came as a casual visitor not as a devotee. Things changed with a personal ‘migration’ in her life a decade ago.

After her grandfather’s demise, the larger family was forced to vacate its ancestral property in an elite Delhi neighbourhood and shift to the neighbourhood of Nizamuddin East, close to the ‘dargah’ of Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. Visits to the ‘dargah’ complex now became more regular, as Dehlvi searched for some spiritual respite after the traumatic period of dislocation. “What happened to our family was perhaps symbolic of what was happening to many Muslim families,” she comments.

Thus began an inward journey of understanding. Dehlvi’s first book, Sufis in the Heart of Islam, which came out in 2009, led her to read the discourses of the great Sufi masters. She elaborates, “The more I read, the more I understood. I had this feeling that my life was cursed, everything seemed to be going wrong. There were just so many questions in my mind.

It was at that point that I began reading Baba Farid, the mentor of Nizamuddin Auliya. When he blessed people he would say, ‘May God endow you with pain’. That’s when I began to see all the terrible things that were happening to me as sources of blessing; I came to realise that pain is a purifying process.”

This process of realisation impacted her personally. Recalls Dehlvi, “The Sadia of the seventies and eighties was very flamboyant, very fiery. I was part of the rich and famous crowd.

Having been in Delhi all my life, I was, after all, an urban product with a lot of conflicts and desires — one felt one had to do this and that; one had to be seen here and there. But then I found myself becoming another person. Where earlier, I couldn’t sit still for 15 minutes, now I can spend the whole day reading and writing. Today, I would like to call myself a ‘salik’, a wayfarer, a seeker.”

The seeking also led to a greater understanding of the city. “Delhi was always special to me for many reasons. It was the city of my birth and the city where my ancestors had lived for centuries.

Family tradition has it that it was en route to Delhi that the family embraced Islam 500 years ago on the banks of the River Yamuna. I also came to understand Delhi as a sacred space. It had been called the little Makkah, the little Baghdad.  In the 13th and 14th centuries it was the seat of Islamic studies. Many travelled here in search of a spiritual master,” she explains.

A closer study yielded some unpalatable truths as well. Particularly distressing was the sorry state in which most of these ‘dargahs’ find themselves today. “I would be dishonest if I did not admit that after working on this book I saw a pattern of gross neglect, especially when it came to Muslim sacred spaces.

The sanitation and living condition of communities living in the settlements that surround them were pathetic, whether it is the ‘dargahs’ of Naseeruddin Roshan Chiragh and Nizamuddin Auliya, or the innumerable, relatively lesser known ones. Just go and see Khirki masjid and other mosques that had come up under Sufi influence — there are only bats there and the stench of bat excreta,” she says. As for the monuments, apart from those that bring in money — like Humayun’s Tomb or the Qutub Minar — most have been left to crumble to dust. 

Today, over a hundred Wafq properties have been encroached upon by both government and private interests, with the Wafq board itself having illegally sold land over the years, according to Dehlvi. But what makes a bad situation worse, is the complete indifference of Delhiites to their cultural heritage.

“People living in Chiragh Dilli don’t know that their locality is named after Hazrat Naseeruddin; residents of Nizamuddin ask me where the Nizamuddin ‘dargah’ is. I just don’t know how people can live in a particular area and not know of its legacies. You may not be a believer, but how can you be so unaware of your historical, cultural surroundings; the relevance of the area you live in, even if only from a historical or architectural point of view?” remarks Dehlvi.

She would also like people to perceive the Islamic tradition as a syncretic, pluralistic one, which calls for peace and which respects minorities and women. This stance has sometimes brought her the ire of radicals.

An occasional vituperative hate mail can sometimes be devastating, but it has not stopped Dehlvi from her efforts to present the alternative, enlightened face of Islam that the Sufi tradition embodies. Many within the community have supported her in this effort. 

As for the future, the engagement with Delhi will carry on. It is a city full of stories and Dehlvi sees herself as a story-teller. Says she, “I love the history of Delhi, I love its culture, I love its accommodative, pluralistic spirit, which I think is representative of the spirit of Nizamuddin Auliya. Delhi is the threshold of the Sufi tradition. For me, if I can’t go to Makkah and Medina, I can find my peace right here.”