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Priceless Basant, the timeless way
PERPETUATING THE rites of Spring transcends barriers of caste, creed, colour race, age and sex. Basant, the God of Spring, is so shy that he hides in the foliage and makes his presence felt only through the seasonal colours after the dull and drab winter setting. This is as much true of Delhi as other places. The basanti sari, the basanti turban and the basanti shawl and handkerchief, along with the yellow marigold flowers, are all there for the eye to feast on.
In the Mehrauli area flags are flown atop the Yogmaya temple to gauge the wind direction and predict the weather. The saying goes that as the weather at Basant, so will it be until Holi. If it's windy, cold or temperate, you can be sure that the days would be such till Holi. Sunny days, warm afternoons and cool nights if experienced on Basant day will last until the festival of colours, when summer begins to set in and woollens taken out at Diwali are mothballed again.
Basant fairs were very popular in the 19th Century and the Delhi Gazetteer for 1883-84 compiled by F. Cunningham, Bar-at-Law, mentions them, along with a paragraph on the ritual of weather prognostication by a British civil servant named Maconachie. We still have some Basant utsavs but not the ones to beat those held over a hundred years ago. Though tradition says that Basant has been observed since time immemorial.
However one ritual that has continued for the past 700 years is the Basant celebration at the Dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin. It is said that Amir Khusro, the saint's beloved disciple, dressed himself in Basanti clothes to bring the smile back on Nizamuddin Aulia's face, which had been gloomy ever since the death of his kinsman. The qawwali singers at the shrine also don yellow clothes and caps. A similar sight is witnessed at the mela held to honour poet Nazir Akbarabadi on Basant Panchmi. Since the time of Nizamuddin Aulia the Sufis have adopted Basant (Jashan-e-Baharon) as a part of their outward ritual, as it represents Divinity in a myriad hues. They go in a colourful procession to the saint's dargah, passing through the congested streets of Nizamuddin with a yellow nishan (flag) and the message of Basant or the rejuvenation of nature and all living beings after the rigours of the cold season, when the time has come to "fling the garment of winter repentance''. Jashan-e-Baharon is also celebrated in Lahore though it is frowned upon by the Pak authorities.
After attending one such Basant assembly in Nizamuddin many years ago, this scribe was fortunate to buy a collection of the songs of Bilitis by Pierre Louys, depicting the celebration of spring in other climes - ancient Egypt, and its surrounding areas.
When Bilitis (a variation of Bilqis) arrived, the legendary "Sappho was still beautiful" and Bilitis became acquainted with the admirable woman who "taught her to sing in rhythmic phrases'' of love.
``She was pious and skilful. She remained faithful to the temple so long as Aphrodite consented to prolong her youth''. Some of her songs are worth quoting. They were addressed to a girl called Mansidika (pronounced Nazdika), 10 years her lesbian beloved.
"Stripped of my clothes, I climbed into a tree; my bare thighs embraced the smooth, moist bark; my sandals trod upon the branches...When the wind passed through the branches I felt the fair life of the tree; then I pressed my legs, yet closer and laid my open lips upon the hairy nape of a bough. Nymphs of the woods and fountains, sweetest of friends, I am here. Hide not, but come to my aid for I am burdened with many flowers. I would choose, from all the forest, a poor hamadryad with raised arms and in her hair, the colour of the leaves, I will place my heaviest rose...
``Bergeronnet, bird of Kypris, sing with first desires! The fresh bodies of young girls bloom with flowers like the earth. The night of our dreams approaches and we talk of it among ourselves.''
One of these spring girls, Chyrisis, died young - condemned to drink hemlock for committing the sacrilegious theft of the priceless pearl necklace of Aphrodite at the behest of her sculptor-lover, Demetrios. Bilitis lived longer, but not to any ugly old age.
``Her tomb was found by M.C. Heim at Paleo-Limisso, at the side of an antique road, not far from the ruins of Amathus. These ruins have almost disappeared within the last 60 years and the stones of the house where perhaps Bilitis lived, today pave the quays of Port Said.
There reposed the friend of Mnasidika in a great coffin of terracotta under a cover...When the tomb was opened, she appeared in the state in which a pious hand had placed her, 24 centuries before. Vials of perfume hung from pegs of clay, and one of these, after so long a time, was till fragrant. A little naked Astarte, relic forever precious, watched always over the skeleton.''
However, Bilitis' songs were actually those to Pierre Louys which made the greatest of scholars think that a 6th B.C. poetess had been discovered.
Just imagine the connection between Basti Nizamuddin and the Egypt of Mansidika Bilitis and Chyrisis. As a matter of fact, one of the songs talks of the upper reaches of the Ganges and another of the black hair of Indian women and the painted bodies of the hermits of this country. It was this spirit of international harmony that began to be celebrated at the saint's court 700 years ago, thanks to Hazrat Amir Khusro, whose Jashan is now being popularised by Muzzaffar Ali at Siri auditorium.
Sixth Century BC was the time when Delhi was still a ruin of the Mahabharata war. But interaction with countries like Egypt was not unknown, for even Cleopatra couldn't do her makeup without her talented, 300 years after Absconder's invasion, Indian maids of honour. So perhaps Bilitis too was not ignorant of the magic of our spring flowers and the amours of Basant. Incidentally, there are quite a few girls named Bilitis and Nazdika in the Capital for us Bilitis' ditties are not such a far cry after all. In undivided India, one entered Iran through Baluchistan and the (ancestral home of the Sufis) and from there Egypt was easily accessible. Its mystique could be felt right up to Delhi, when caravans came singing the songs of Bilitis.
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