Delhi's Matka Peer, circa 1931

Today's post features a picture of a Sufi shrine in Delhi known as ‘Matka Peer’ (literally translated as ‘earthen pot saint’) from 1931. This was taken by the Associated Press, the American news agency. 

 

Matka Peer is the shrine of Hazrat Sheikh Abu Bakr Tusi Haideri Qalandari, a 13th century Sufi saint renowned for his miraculous powers.One of the most famous stories surrounding the saint involves a confrontation between him and the Sultan of Delhi, Balban, who, jealous of the saint’s influence, gave him a metal ball in an earthen pot to test his powers. The saint transformed the ball into jaggery and chickpeas, a miracle that became part of his legacy. Even today devotees flock to his grave with offerings of jaggery, chickpeas and milk in earthen pots. When emptied the pots are planted on the branches of trees by the shrine attendants, continuing a long-standing tradition.

 

The Matka Peer Shrine is a testament to the importance of Sufi shrines in India’s spiritual landscape. In the subcontinent, these shrines served as vital sites for the propagation of Islam. The belief in the barakat (spiritual blessings) of Sufi saints ensured that their influence endured beyond their lifetimes. Generations of people found solace and spiritual connection at these shrines, reinforcing the significance of Sufism in places like Delhi.

 

However, the Associated Press’ 1931 caption misinterpreted the cultural significance of offering matkas. The caption suggests that pots were placed “by poor and pious people in memory of their dead, the natives being too poor to buy flowers.” In fact, offerings of flowers or garlanding are not uncommon at shrines in India. Therefore, this was an Orientalist reading that overlooked the deeper, symbolic meaning of the earthen pot in a specific context. 

 

That’s it from me today.  See you next Friday. 

Munshi Sandhe Khan: Delhi’s ruthless ‘top cop’ in the 1900s

 This post is on Munshi Sandhe Khan, the Kotwal (Chief of police) of Delhi at the turn of the 20^th century. Alas, the picture above doesn’t feature Sandhe Khan - my search for an image of the man was in vain. Instead, this is a postcard of the Punjab police, under whose jurisdiction Delhi fell at the time, giving us a sense of what police forces looked like in the early 1900s. The image below is a sketch I came across online depicting Indian police forces (including in Delhi) during the colonial era (if further source attribution is needed, please let me know).

During my time working in the archives many years ago, I came across a reference to Munshi Sandhe Khan and his exploits in Delhi, particularly during a period of widespread anxiety over “Satta” (opium) gambling. As I have mentioned in a previous post about Egerton Road (Nai Sarak), the early 1900s saw growing fears of disorder and social unrest linked to the opium gambling trade. Colonial officials were becoming aware that the telegraph network was being exploited for betting on the price of opium that was being carried on ships from Bombay. To tackle this form of numbers gambling, Sandhe Khan was assigned as the lead native officer with two constables under his authority. 

 

From what we know, Khan was a hardnosed operator employing strongarm tactics to dismantle gambling rings. His efforts were quite successful, earning him praise in the local press. In 1901, the Curzon Gazetteer, a local newspaper lauded Khan as “best kotwal Delhi had ever had,” highlighting his achievements in breaking up up gangs of “budmashes” (rogues) and making the city safer.

 

However, it seems that Khan’s aggressive methods ultimately led to his downfall. He was suspended as soon after as he had ‘extorted by torture’ a confession from an individual under investigation. This generated some controversy, with the Curzon Gazetteer suggesting that the ‘public’ was excluded from Khan’s hearing and the case was still pending before the local magistrate, Mr Kirk. 

 

Despite this, we learn that Sandhe Khan’s story didn’t end badly. It seems that a few years later, Khan was exonerated and reinstated. By 1907 he was even given the honorific title of ‘Khan Sahib’ (loosely translated as ‘master’) for his services to law enforcement.

And that is the brief tale of ‘Khan Sahib’ Munshi Sandhe Khan. See you next Friday for more on Delhi’s history.

The inauguration of Lady Willingdon Park ('Lodhi Gardens') circa 1936

 

It’s not every day that you come across evidence that ties together different pieces of Delhi’s history. Yet, the image of the Bara Gumbad (literally ‘big dome’) in Lodhi Gardens above does just that. The crowd in the photograph is from a 1936 event marking the inauguration of "Lady Willingdon Park"—the name by which the gardens were known at the time.

Lord Willingdon was the Viceroy of India from 1931 to 1936 and inaugurated ‘New Delhi’ just before the end of his tenure. His wife, the Vicereine, Lady Willingdon, undertook her own construction projects, including the creation of Lady Willingdon Park in 1936. What’s less known is that the land for the park was taken from the residents of Khairpur, a village that was evicted to make way for the new park. I have a few more images from the inauguration below. They show a receptive crowd, either exploring the area in and around the Gumbad or waiting eagerly for the Viceroy and Vicereine's speeches. One presumes that the latter was infused with anecdotes of Delhi’s ancient past and the preservation attempts that culminated in the park’s creation. Interestingly, the power of photography lies in its ability to both illuminate and obscure - nowhere in these pictures is there a hint of the violent eviction of Khairpur's residents.

After India gained independence in 1947, the name "Lady Willingdon Park" was scrubbed out and the gardens were renamed "Lodhi Gardens," after the Lodhi Sultanate, which ruled Delhi in the Medieval era. However, this name is a bit of a misnomer, as the area contains tombs from various periods of Delhi’s history, not just those from the Lodhi era. Despite this, the name stuck, and today, in an era dominated by concrete, the Lodhi Gardens serve as a green haven for Delhiwallas.

Delhi's 'Dhobi Ghat' in the 19th century

This photograph is the only piece of evidence that I have come across from the 19^th/early 20th century documenting Delhi's ‘Dhobi Ghat’ (Outdoor laundry). This picture was taken by an English traveller who decided to wander off the beaten track in Delhi and therefore captured an iconic photograph. It showcases the Dhobis (washermen) working along the Yamuna River, laundering linens and clothing for Delhi’s residents. This service, highly valued by the Mughals, was reflected in the Shahjahanabad’s planning, with provisions for washing, bathing and cremation rituals at these ‘ghats’—riverbanks with steps leading into the water. The ghats were strategically located near city gates, many of which were named after them, such as Nigambodh and Kela Ghat.

By the 19th century, however, the British government had transformed the ghats by creating a timber plantation along the Yamuna's banks. As I have mentioned in a previous post, the plantation, designed to serve both economic and political purposes (such as providing fuel and maintaining a barrier between the mainly European dominated Civil Lines and the ghats), reshaped the landscape, leading to the displacement of the traditional spaces such as the ghats. The Dhobis in the picture would have witnessed or been affected by this.

Over the following decades, additional Dhobi Ghats emerged in Delhi, particularly as migrants arrived to meet the city’s ever-growing needs. However, as numerous reports have highlighted, these areas, along with the people who depend on them, have often faced the harsh consequences of urban development, including forced relocations and ‘slum demolitions’.

That’s it from me today. See you next Friday for more on Delhi.