Wajid Ali Shah – Borderless

This Garden Calls Out to Me: A Flaneur in Lucknow’s Sikandar Bagh

Photographs and Narrative by Prithvijeet Sinha

What if I tell you that History is my neighbour? It would sound like hyperbole to a lay person. But if you are a resident of the historic and expansively beautiful urban area of Hazratganj that is the heart of the city, it will seem a shorthand for reflections in time.

Hazratganj is a state of mind, not only a piece of land stretching across kilometres and hosting the best that humanity has to offer, whether natural or man-made, including the Imambaras, gardens and riverfronts and gateways that define Lucknow as also the mass of commercial institutions, cultural centres and culinary establishments elevating its profile as a diverse area of activity.

In this beautiful centre of a glorious city lives yours truly and one of the most evocative of the historic gardens dotting Hazratganj also happens to be a mere five-minute walk from his home. I’m talking about Sikandar Bagh, a garden complex that is a sight for sore eyes and retains history in its structure, with lime yellow walls of lakhauri[1], a beautiful gateway bearing the city’s fabled fish symbol and a pagoda style arch signifying the melange of influences in its multidimensional whole.

The domes and ramparts retain the haunting afterglow of history but also the dark days that led to its tragic unraveling.

Built around the mid 1840s by Nawab Wajid Ali Shah[2], the great aesthete and ruler of Lucknow, Sikandar Bagh was a private residence, a garden of elegance and a performance art venue made to honour his love for Sikandar Begum, his beloved wife. The intimacy of this saga of love and mutual respect shared between two life-partners is reflected in the way the place comes alive for any visitor. There’s nothing grand here. Yet there’s the gift of verdure, the protection of huge, dome-like trees and remnants of the original structure that reminds us of a place preserved in its handsome inception and prevalence down the ages.

But Sikandar Bagh is a cultural outlier because apart from its blessed beginnings and present serene state, it had also been scarred by the First War of Independence in 1857[3]. This was the site that was used by sepoys of Awadh (a hallowed title for the region comprising Lucknow and its neighbouring districts that continues to this date) to mount their rebellion against British supremacy. This was a private garrison and hiding place in those erstwhile days of November 1857 where the plotting of a historic rebellion took place. History was not kind to the rebels, and nearly all were slain by the colonial establishment. Knowing that the serenity here could hold so much ballast in its open space makes one ponder. To know about this is to understand that we are progeny of these brave and the remains of the walls facing this garden and continuing up till the Shahnajaf Imambara seem to take the toll of all that bloodshed and hurt that lies embedded within these bricks.

Of course, knowing the background is imperative but so is being inured to its beauty. I am an eternal walker, a flaneur, so for me Sikandar Bagh has been a favourite place to revel in the humbling and aesthetic aspects of Lucknow. Sikandar Bagh befits my desire to saunter and take in the bouquet of nature.

It’s been my morning ritual to be comforted by the breeze, swayed and lulled to satisfaction with the lullaby of the trees within its compound and behold a distant beehive in the tallest Goliath among these ancient trees, looking at nestling birds and squirrels in the lower branches of their trunks.

As I write this after a brief stroll in this garden on a pleasant Sunday afternoon, the summer seems to have been evoked to spread its sunny yellow carpet with mellow repose instead of scorching us with humid darts and blows.

The thing with Sikandar Bagh is that history is alive here but also a natural companion. Always the silent, sturdy type, an occasional morning walker or casual passers-by make for rare sights inside its premises in the early hours. It always makes me feel like the chosen one, allowed to roam its length and breadth, making it a regular haunt.

A lot of times while going from one place to another, I see young people seated on its green benches, relieving themselves of their pressures and sometimes enjoying a quiet meal here. I also look at people who, besotted by its unique beauty and structure, walk leisurely and photograph its stretches. Their eyes register the special place it holds for them.

Today, Sikandar Bagh is overseen by the Archeological Survey of India. Around early 2022, it commissioned a refurbishment that restored its walls, ramparts with the lakhauri , a far cry from the concrete jungle that is an urban reality in the modern era.

It always comes down to these columns, frescoes, ramparts, a humble mosque within this secular compound, the pavilion signifying what once was an open theatre and the palatial remains, all blended in the unique textures and colours of centuries; worn out by time but never denuded of glory, a stark yet humbling reminder that Sikandar Bagh is a labour of love. Writing this, I am enchanted by its gateway’s peacock iconography, how they seem to call out to the actual birds who visit from the neighbouring Botanical Gardens premises facing this little slice of verdure and architectural wonder.

I inhale the sights, simultaneously rattled by the annoyance of traffic outside its main gate intruding upon its peculiar, unique position within the heart of the city. Yet I know it’s sealed by a dignified reserve, as if these domes and the gateway spell quietude and ubiquity like the red eyes of the pigeons flying near the roof and peering down its height.

Honeybees on the tallest trees here go from the nectar of one season to the next and the sun shades this compound in moods invoking the spirit of a poet in me. It’s so easy to be wrapped in the peace and calm of this open space and its historical representation, so easy to know that creative inspiration fed by such a pleasant source is far from just a fictional device. It is a living, breathing ally to diurnal times.

Being in the lap of nature within cities can be a novel intervention. But my love affair with Sikandar Bagh – my own paradise — never waits for a distinct memento. It came to be from a place of love. It is my composite love for it that makes it stand out.

[1] lime paint and plaster

[2] Nawab Wajid Ali Shah was the eleventh and last nawab of Awadh. His kingdom was annexed by the East India Company in 1856 and he was exiled to Kolkata.

[3] Revolt of 1857: The sepoys – Hindus and Muslims – rose united in rebellion against the British Raj. As a result, the British adopted the weapon of Divide and Rule successfully, and the subcontinent continues to be scarred by the fanning of the same flame to this day.

Prithvijeet Sinha is an MPhil from the University of Lucknow, having launched his prolific writing career by self-publishing on the worldwide community Wattpad since 2015 and on his WordPress blog An Awadh Boy’s Panorama. Besides that, his works have been published in several journals and anthologies.

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The Warrior Queen of Awadh

Book Review by Somdatta Mandal

Title: Begum Hazrat Mahal: Warrior Queen of Awadh

Author: Malathi Ramachandran

Publisher: Niyogi Books

Over the past few decades there has been a surge in the publication of Indian historical fiction where the authors are fascinated by India’s rich past, and the many human stories of love and loss buried beneath the larger narratives. Simplistically speaking, historical fiction is a literary genre in which the plot takes place in a setting related to the past events, but is fictional. An essential element of historical fiction is that it is set in the past and pays attention to the manners, social conditions, and other details of the depicted period. Authors also frequently choose to explore notable historical figures in these settings, allowing readers to better understand how these individuals might have responded to their environments. After The Legend of Kuldhara (2017) and Mandu (2020), Malathi Ramachandran has now presented us with a fascinating novel, Begum Hazrat Mahal: Warrior Queen of Awadh (2023). She endeavours in her novel not just to re-create history as it happened long ago, but to also explore the lives and relationships of those who lived in those times.

The setting of the novel is Lucknow, 1857 where the First War of Independence against the British is fought. Wajid Ali Shah, the last Nawab of Awadh has been exiled by the British to Calcutta along with his courtiers and his coterie some months ago. Only his second wife, the beautiful queen Begum Hazrat Mahal, who had refused to accompany her husband to Calcutta stays back with her young twelve-year old prince Birjis Ali. Hazrat vows to fight the British and win back her beloved Awadh for her people and the crown for her son. She builds a rebel army and high drama ensues as they besiege the Residency, the walled British cantonment, for five months. A fictional saga based on actual events, this book takes us within the walls of the Residency where love and passion rage alongside the battle, and into the world of Begum Hazrat and her loyal band. From the beginning we encounter Hazrat’s interactions with Major Kenneth Murphy, the Company’s liaison officer who is enamoured by the beauty of the Begum and succumbs to her machinations. She wants his help to crown Birjis Ali the next Nawab and win back their lands and their properties. Then there are many stereotypical British characters – women who came from England to seek husbands and worked in evangelical missions, doctors, sergeants, and officers who took up native women for sexual gratification, and the like.

When Hazrat decides on action against the Angrez¹, she forms baithaks² comprising of the rich and poor, powerful and subordinate, Hindu, Muslim and Christian, all of whom feel that they had had enough of subjugation by these tyrants from another land. They would not take any more of their religious conversions, their oppression on the streets, their suppression in the garrisons. Her friendship with Jailal Singh, based on a shared love for Hindustan, blossomed and he promised her his allegiance in the fight against the British. She had found in Jailal a confederate, an able accomplice.

A large section of the narrative is then devoted to the details of the fight that ensued. There were times when the natives thought that they had managed to restrict the British soldiers from winning; at other times the tide of fortune turned in their disfavour when even after forming women’s brigade and defiant groups among the natives, success didn’t come in their favour. The reader is kept guessing whether the rebel army would storm the British bastion before their relief forces arrived or the tide would turn in a wave of loss and grief, crushing Hazrat Mahal’s dream for Awadh and her son. In November 1858, after more than nine months of fighting in Lucknow, and finally establishing complete control over North India, the Governor General, Lord Canning, presided over the Queen’s Durbar in Allahabad and read out the Proclamation from Queen Victoria. The territories of India, up until now governed by the East India Company, would now come directly under the Crown, and be governed by the Queen’s civil servants and military personnel.

After several turns of incidents Hazrat realises that defeated she and her army may be, but they would never be vanquished in spirit. In her chamber in the Baundi fort, she paces back and forth, the printed proclamation crumpled in her hand. Her close supporters watched in mute frustration. She would never agree to the British offer of clemency with all its benefits. She would rather live in penury than become one of their vassals. Deep inside the stone fortress, she sits huddled in her quilt, and feeling the loneliness and desolation of one who had fought and lost everything. The story ends with Hazrat and her son silently leaving the already orphaned Awadh and heading into the forests to cross over to Nepal on the other side and seek asylum there.

Malathi Ramachandran must be appreciated for the racy narrative style of the novel that does not weigh down under the plethora of historical events. Here one must mention the similarity of incidents narrated about the plight of another Indian queen in another historical fiction titled The Last Queen written by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni. This novel also tells us the story of Jindan Kaur, Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s youngest and last queen, his favourite. She became regent when her son, Dalip, barely six-years-old, unexpectedly inherited the throne. Sharp-eyed, stubborn, passionate, and dedicated to protecting her son’s heritage, Jindan distrusted the British and fought hard to keep them from annexing Punjab. Defying tradition, she stepped out of the zenana, cast aside the veil, and conducted state business in public. Addressing her Khalsa troops herself, she inspired her men in two wars against the ‘firangs³.’ Her power and influence were so formidable that the British, fearing an uprising, robbed the rebel queen of everything she had, including her son. She was imprisoned and exiled. But that did not crush her indomitable will. Like Begum Hazrat Mahal, she also had to live the last years of her life in exile, shorn of all her power and wealth. In both the novels, we learn about the strong and determined will power of Indian women who wanted to retain the pride of their motherland despite all odds and machinations of the British. A perfect blending of fact with fiction, the novel is strongly recommended for all categories of readers, serious and casual alike.

British ↩︎
Concerts ↩︎
Foreigners ↩︎

Somdatta Mandal, author, critic and translator, is former Professor of English at Visva-Bharati University, Santiniketan, India.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International