Zinda Peer - Alamgir

Now that I’ve stopped myself from writing about Delhi, inadvertently I’ve also stopped looking at the city from a lover’s perspective. For some days, I thought and pondered about it, exactly like one does after a break-of but sooner than later I got over with it. Now, Delhi for me is a city for which I have little emotions left. To say, I am over with it would be a lie but yes, I don’t bother myself to look beyond what is visible. I think of her, wishing every night that may be for once she may think about me but then these thoughts go off once I close my eyes. For the truth dawns upon me like a lightning.

This reminds me of Aurangzeb, who ruled for around half-a-century over India or then as it was called ‘Hindustan.’ For a brief history you can read about him on Wikipedia or simply google it out but I’m writing from his perspective. It was said that the Alamgir (as he was called) was staunch Islamist, unlike his predecessors and he ruled with an iron-hand. He removed all the musicians from the court for he believed that music was prohibited in Islam. It was also said that he was against Hindus and so on. I don’t want to debate it all. Somehow or the other since my childhood, I have taken a fancy for his style and this is what I think must have gone in ‘Zinda Peer’ mind when he was in Delhi, back from a battle in South...

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It’s raining again. Delhi is not a great city to live in. After showers there is some kind of strange smell that emanates from the soil. I don’t take a fancy for it unlike some of the great poets. And their verses are too difficult to comprehend. I don’t know why they keep looking beyond what one can see and then their supporters debate the different meanings out of it. Though, I’ve strictly enforced that these kinds of meetings shouldn’t be held but I’ve been told that even some of my close royals indulge in it. Anyhow, since that doesn’t falls under my realm so I better not talk about it.

I know that the war weariness is slowly creeping inside our bones but on the surface I remain as hard as I can. Coming to Delhi is no relief. It’s a subtle war out here. Conspirators, flatterers, bootlickers, kitschy and a string of such people reside here, who make your brief stay more arduous. At least in war you know who your enemy is, in Delhi all such irritants roam in disguise of friends and that’s why we hate this city even more.

The air here is filled with some kind of uneasiness. I don’t know how our father thought of building a red tomb here, where we now abode. He always took fancy for nuisances. Taj is another of such examples. The only relief that I get is while knitting caps, it’s such a novel act. When your tongue recites the name of ‘Allah’ and your hands works for his cause. I believe it’s an act of purification, which takes away all my sins. I know life is too short and we’re not here for being a part in the annals of history. I’m here to fulfil a cause for which I’ve been sent by the most merciful.

Yesterday, on my way from the Moti Masjid (the best contribution from any Mughal to this city of profligacy and lavishness. It is the most humble yet outstanding tribute paid to the almighty) we met a soothsayer. He was talking something incoherent. He was confused in his head, he told our days are numbered and ridiculed our ‘Fatawa-e-Alamgiri.’ He also accused us of conspiring against our dead father and killing all our brothers. What kind of decision you expect from us? When a person has already lost his head, what crime I did when I ordered that he should be beheaded? The same stands, when I ordered that a woman shouldn’t be burnt alive, they said we were against the age-old tradition of Hindus, but in all cases I took a neutral ground and sought help from the bountiful above.

I think the fault lies in this city, its humid temperature and it’s vulgar, outrageous, loud inhabitants. Look around, there are ruins everywhere. Go to Mehrauli, you’ll find the once strong fort of Mamluks lying in waste, a few kilometers from here lays the graves of the Surs, who our own great-great grandfather Humayun destroyed. This shows that Delhi is a city of disasters. Nobody can stay happy here. I’ll not die here among the ruins. I’ll pray to him to embrace me when I’m on the Warfield.

Delhi is a witch. And it makes people lose their senses. I’m not going to commit that folly. I’ll rise above it all. Well, guess I’ve blabbered for long. Its time for pray. For those who’ll die in this city, for those who’ll fall in her trap and for she herself. Delhi, you may be the most beautiful city on earth but all I could see is the ruins on which you pride. The past glory you live in is a farce and perhaps you’ll never care for a simple guy like me. Guess, I am not made for you. May Allah have mercy on me……