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In the shadow of the departed

There is still very little by way of modernity to distinguish the houses in Nabi Karim from medieval structures, says R.V. SMITH

A tomb in every house? - that is Nabi Karim. You leave behind the chaotic traffic of Paharganj and walk through winding gullies to reach the place and find that it is still a shadow of the past. You might as well close your eyes and imagine yourself to be in some 19th century locality where the king's writ still ran, for nothing much has changed since then here though it is listed as New Delhi.

Yes, some houses do have TV antennas on their roofs but there is little else by way of modernity to distinguish them from medieval structures. And the people who live in them too have not kept pace with the times as far as their daily life is concerned, though the younger generation is trying to break out of the mould.

Nabi Karim is an old crime-prone mohalla of Delhi. Less than 100 years ago it marked the end of the city limits, for after it was the hill of Jhandewalan with its temple, which few visited, for fear of being waylaid by vagabonds. It is less hazardous now (despite pick-pockets and chain snatchers) because the Capital has expanded beyond the hill, which was cut down to lay the road to Karol Bagh.

Still Nabi Karim retains its old character. The tombs, around which its inhabitants dwell, are not those of the rich and famous, though there might be a few out of-the-ordinary people buried there. One of them is Lal Shah, a pir, below whose grave now a drain flows.

One wonders why people live in these surroundings? There are cots spread atop tombs and somebody plays a transistor, which dangles from a headstone, unmindful of disturbing the sanctity of the place. Women cook their evening meals on stoves or old `chulas', the smoke filling up the abode of the dead and the living. A child plays near a grave, and cats, dogs, goats and sheep jump over tombstones as though making a mockery of death.

Living near graves

Perhaps things were not always so. After 1947, when the population started increasing by leaps and bounds, the poor people found it difficult to find houses for themselves and decided to live among the graves - like the possessed man exorcised by Christ.

There are too many of them to be scared of the lingering ghosts and kindred spirits of this erstwhile cemetery.

And there are enough lights for the children to frolic at night too. Perhaps the fact they have grown up amidst the tombs has banished fear from their hears, though a curious passer-by may feel a chill down his spine. But then doesn't familiarity breed contempt?

Nabi Karim was the area where that doyen of Urdu poetry, Sheikh Ibrahim Zauq lived. It was from there that he rode, or was carried in a palanquin, to the Red Fort where he whet the poetic compositions of Emperor Bahadur Shah Zafar. Many of Zafar's ghazals bear the impress of his mentor.

Zauq was buried in this locality but his grave was not traceable.

The reason: a public latrine had been built in 1947 on top of the last resting place of Badshah's ustad, the one who bandied couplets with young Ghalib, and came out with that prophetic gem -- "Kaun jaye Zauq Dilli ki gallian chod kar" (who, oh Zauq, would dare to desert the lanes of Delhi). One need not be a poet to understand the relevance of it even in our own prosaic times.

Zauq however, is now assured of a befitting memorial, thanks to the efforts of various urdu promotion bodies and the Supreme Court, which ordered clearance of encroachments. But some more improvements are needed, though the poet's original grave is lost forever.

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