Myths about Sikri: Weaving many a yarn

This column on alternate histories that has been appearing in fits and starts due primarily to diversions caused in the life of the author, is starting yet again in the hope that this time round it would not be a false start, unlike Fatehpur Sikri that had a grand start but was soon to come to a weak end.

Fatehpur Sikri comes to mind for a number of reasons, principally because of the baseless tales propagated by the ‘certified guides’ that throng the site and specialise in presenting utterly imaginary and absolutely ludicrous tales about the Grand Capital built by Akbar. It is because of these tall tales that we have chosen to re-start this column after the long hiatus.

This column is about alternate histories, but what our guides deal in, at Fatehpur Sikri and in many other places, are alternate facts that spring from an alternate perception of history. This is a history born out of a very limited but a very fertile imagination. Fertile but limited might sound like an oxymoron but it is not, such an imagination is capable of coming up with a large range of anecdotal narratives but all of them inhabit a very narrow belt of possibilities — possibilities born out of the limited world-view of the narrator and of those who handed down these improbable tales to the present generation. Before this becomes too obtuse, let us give you a few examples; we will begin with the most hare-brained tales of them all, the tale about Hide and Seek.

The site that we are talking about is placed behind the unique structure with a huge central pillar on the ground floor and four narrow passages and nine doors on the first floor. We will talk about this structure, that is popularly known as the Deewan-e-Khas at a later date, but let us for the moment concentrate on the building that is known as the Aankh Micholi or Hide and Seek.

Every single guide, worth his salt in Sikri will tell you that these two interconnected rectangular halls were built by Akbar to play hide and Seek with his queens!

Can you imagine, Akbar the builder of the Mughal Empire, the man who aspired to create a new religion that combined the best elements of all religions, the man who spent long hours debating the nuances of philosophical foundations of different religions with Brahmins, Jain monks, Naga ascetics, Jesuit priests, the man who had a deep interest in Dhrupad Sangeet, who set up a translation bureau so that Persian epics and texts could be made available in Indian languages and Indian epics and texts could be made available in Persian and a man who constantly travelled the length and breadth of his empire would go around ducking through doors and scampering through windows shouting Dhappa or something as inane?

Each tale that you hear within the precincts of the palace and all around it, is as preposterous as this one, but the one that takes the cake is the story of Jodha Bai’s Kitchen.

As you come out of the structure that was the seraglio but has been named the palace of Jodha Bai, you come face to face with a structure with a sloping roof with a beautiful band of tassels or elaborate earring kind of designs carved on its exterior. The guide informs all and sundry that this was the kitchen where Jodha Bai cooked her food.

If you ask him why did she cook her food here and why did she not eat the food cooked for Akbar and her sons and you are told that she was a vegetarian, and when you challenge him about the source of his information he insists that despite being a Rajput she was a vegetarian and a Vaishnav, and when you ask him why did such a powerful Emperor, ruling over one of the mightiest empires of the World, not engage a maid to cook food for the mother of heir apparent, he starts grinning like an idiot.

This is what I mean by a fertile but limited imagination. This is the imagination of the overwhelming majority of Indian males. An imagination circumscribed by role models for members of each gender imagined by a feudal mindset, an imagination that has decided for all eternity that a woman’s place is in the kitchen, even if she is the most favoured Queen of the most powerful king in the world, she will spend all her time in the kitchen.

The tale begins to appear even more laughable when you realise that Jodha Bai was not the queen of Akbar. The third queen of Akbar and his favourite was Harkabai. She was also known as Hira Kunwari, the daughter of Bharmal, the ruler of Amer and sister of Bhagwandas and it was Harkabai who was the mother of Saleem, later to be known as Jahangir.

This tale of alternate facts, narrated by the guides, continues to unravel to reveal more stunning facts: For instance, Jodha Bai was given the name Manmati or Jagat Gosain, and a niece of Harkabai was actually the wife of Jahangir.

More about the tall tales spread by guides and consumed by the gullible in later pieces.

The author is a historian, and organises the Delhi Heritage Walk for children and adults