lionbikash

The story of Bhagmati, Bhagyanagar, Hyder Mahal and Hyderabad
Long back I started telling the story of Bhagmati, Bhagyanagar, Hyder Mahal and Hyderabad. But like many of my other promises, I failed to complete the story. This Dusserah season I had spent a complete week at Hyderabad and the charming lady again came back in my dream urging me to tell her story. This time let me complete it.
Where did I end in the last episode? Anyway forget it, let me start anew.
The problem is; from where should I start? Actually the love story of Bhagmati and prince Muhammad Quli Qutub Shah of Golconda has quite a few mythical lines. Over four centuries, the story has become more and more romantic. Let us meander through the scenes one by one:
Scene I
It starts with a fairy tale encounter; our heroine, village belle Bhagmati of village chichlam, on her way to temple and the young prince on his favorite horse.
Imagine the innocent girl, on her way to temple, suddenly hears the sound of approaching horses. She hides herself behind bushes knowing fully well that the horse mounted sultan’s warriors can only mean doom for a beautiful girl like her. She heaves a sigh of relief seeing the riders pass without noticing her. But as soon as she comes out, there comes one single rider and stops in front her. The young rider, though frightens her, also charms her. On enquiry he learns that the village beauty is on her way to the temple to offer her puja. He waits outside while Bhagmati worships her deity with her melodious songs mesmerizing the prince even more. She offers Prasad to the prince on her way back and binds the prince in her love forever. The fifteen year old prince does not have any chance. It is love at first sight for him. What about Bhagmati? Well, it does not take her long to fall for the charming prince.
The love blossoms at its own speed. The young prince is a frequent traveler to the small village Chichlam to meet his ladylove.
Scene II
The scene of a year of great storm and rain. Golconda and its surroundings are flooded by river Musi. The young prince is worried about his love and sets out to find her. He can not proceed much. The river Musi is fully swollen and the horse is unwilling to move an inch. But who can stop the young prince mad in love? He plunges in the swollen river along forcing his reluctant horse into the river. Both escape miraculously and reaching Chichlam rescues Bhagmati, brings her back to Golconda much to the anguish of the reigning sultan, his father Sultan Ibrahim. Sultan Ibrahim is not amused by the dangerous adventure of his offspring. But as he realizes how madly the prince is in love, he does the only sensible thing he can do; he constructs a bridge over Musi so that the prince can visit his ladylove without risking his life.
Scene III
Like any other love story here also all is not well always. Once the prince charm stops coming to her lover. Rumors start floating around. Bhagmati comes to know that her prince charm has become the Sultan of Golconda on the demise of his father. There are also rumors that the newly crowned sultan has married the daughter of his prime minister. Bhagmati spends sleepless nights but her prince never comes back. After two months, when Bhagmati started believing that she lost her lover prince in the Sultan of Golconda, the Sultan arrives. But for what? Like any other affronted lady Bhagmati spurns the advances of the Sultan. What for did he come? Is he not satisfied with his newly wed bride? Does he realize how humiliating is this to be left out by her lover without even a single message? Could not he even send her a message at least?
The Sultan shows his patience for his lady love. Explains the intricacies of a noble life. Explains that he had to agree to this marriage of convenience to keep his sultanate. It is a question of the life of her beloved sultan.
Like any other lady, Bhagmati falls for the charm of her love. She agrees to accompany the Sultan, but only on her conditions. The young Sultan is ready to do anything for his ladylove. A great marriage is arranged. It is said the level of celebrations were unparalleled in the history of Qutb Shahi era.
Young Sultan also is a poet or maybe the beauty of Bhagmati brought out the poet in him. He composes number of poems praising her beauty, which off course delights the lady to no end. The lovers knit their own lives, the sultan composing poems for her and the lady singing and dancing for him.
Scene IV
The Sultan wants to give something worthy to his ladylove. And what he does? He builds a new city. He names it Bhagyanagar. In the year 1591 he laid the foundation stone of the new city. Under direct supervision of his prime minister Mir Momin, the new city is built with the grandeur of heaven.
Scene V
The entrance of Bhagmati in the new city named after her is worth noting. She comes in a palanquin carried by eight men. The entourage consist one thousand ‘ghor shaowars’ – horse riders. As her entourage approaches the palace, the Sultan comes running to welcome her. He shows her the inscription on the new palace ‘Hyder Mahal’. As the eyebrows of Bhagmati raises in question, Sultan clarifies that from that very day Bhagmati is renamed as ‘Hyder Mahal’ and to be known as the queen and that will be her palace. It’s anybody’s guess how Bhagmati reacted, how she responded to the love of her Sultan and how she rewarded the Sultan in return.
Scene VI
After twelve years of their marriage Bhagmati conceives. A girl is born in due course of time. Sultan celebrates her birth fit for a royal prince. All the palaces of the new city including charminar are illuminated for seven days. There are feasts all over the city for days together. The nobles of the Sultanate vie with each other in arranging feast for all and sundry to celebrate the birth of Sultan’s favorite child. On the fortieth day the child is named Hayath Bakshi and is taken away from Bhagmati to be groomed as a successor of the Sultan.
Scene VII
Numerous malicious stories are floating around about the Sultan and his Hindu queen. Conspiracies continue to be hatched in and around the palace. Even Sultan’s own brother joins the conspiracy. One Faizi, regent of Mughal emperor Akbar the great at Ahmednagar, sends a disparaging report on Sultan to the emperor, in which he describes Bhagmati as an ‘old hag’, on whom the Sultan is mad. The secret message is widely circulated. The repeated attacks take its’ toll. Bhagmati falls ill and even before her fortieth birthday she breaths her last. The sultan is inconsolable but somehow recovers after a couple of months. Around that time Hayath Bakshi reaches the age of thirteen. A new era of Qutb Shahi rule is about to start.
Curtain falls.
Let me clarify now. The love story of Bhagmati and Sultan Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah, the 5th ruler of Qutb Shahi dynasty, is woven around fact and fiction. Though everyone agrees that the name of the city is derived from Bhagmati, there is no concrete historical evidence of the existence of Bhagmati. Here I have described her as a village belle, but some other stories depict her as a danseuse.
If you want to go back to earlier narrations go to http://lionbikash.sulekha.com/blog/post/2007/01/a-virtual-tour-to-hyderabad.htm

Well, I was thinking about Menaka and forgot about the surroundings. Was I at Agra on the bank of Yamuna looking at the blue saree clad Menaka trying to disturb my dhyan? Was it a full moon night? She was looking even more irresistible under the soft moonlight. The atmosphere being a fairy one, the Tajmahal as the background screen, the soft sounds of waves on yamuna rendering the background music, all under a blanket of celestial white soft moonlight.

‘Hey. You have come for lunch or want to eat me?’ Geeta’s question brought me back to the present.
I don’t know what is happening to me. I was looking at her forgetting everything. I am making myself a fool in front of her.
‘You are looking very pretty on this saree.’ Sheepishly I blurted out.
There ensued a pin drop silence. Both the ladies were stunned to silence, their eyes on me. It seemed like ages.
Oh God, what did I do? I simply did not know what to do next. But I did not need to do anything. Lots of things happened simultaneously.
Exchange of glances between the ladies, one or two glances towards me, my increasing nervousness, as if the world is moving in a very slow motion.
‘Well, nice to know you appreciate the nice things in life. How pity, you never noticed me during last one month.’ My sister-in-law tried to break the silence.

Things improved, smiles appeared on their faces.
‘Well actually I am flattered that you liked my saree.’ Geeta remarked keeping her eyes steady on me, a mischievous smile playing on her face, hands on her saree, adjusting here and there, as if to present the saree in a better way.
At the same time waiter arrived with the dishes thus saving me.

With lots of gusto we attacked the dishes. The lunch moved on satisfactorily with little conversation in between.
‘You must be a regular here?’
‘Used to be.’
‘Why don’t you narrate some interesting incident of your time’?
‘It is always interesting here.’
‘I know, but every generation has something different ‘
‘Well don’t force me out of your generation. I must be only a couple of years elder to you.’
‘Do you think so? When did you last look at a mirror?’
‘Do I look old?’
‘Old is not the word. You look different. How do I put it, SPENT. As if the vitality of your life has gone away. Why are you so sad?’
‘Do I look sad?’
‘Not only sad. Your face has some remoteness in it. The eyes are tired.’
‘Eyes are tired because it has seen too much.’
Again a big pause. Geeta stopped eating looking at me. So am I.
‘Do you really think that you are the only person who has problems?’
‘No, I know everyone has problem. But my problem is that everyone else is not bothered about the problem. My problem is that in this kind of society, where there is so much injustice, how one can keep quite? How one can wish away the reality.’
‘Nobody is wishing away the reality. But life goes on.’
‘Do you call this life?’
‘Then what?’
‘You live in a society where you cannot even attend college daily due to n nos. of Bandh. You don’t know after studying when are you going to get a job, if you get one at all. The mill workers are oppressed everyday. More than 80% industries are either closed because of lock out or strike. Everyday there is gunfight on the streets. Half of the peasant population is waging a war for equal right. More than 90% of the youths are unemployed. There is no social order. Do you really call this a life?’

The conversation went away in an unexpected direction.

‘You know Dipu, Geeta is very good singer. She is expert in Nazrul Geeti (songs composed by poet Nazrul Islam), Sister-in-law tried to divert the conversation.
‘Well, nice.’
‘Does that really matters to him. Nazrul geets are for romantic people, not revolutionaries like him.’
I looked at her and slowly recited
‘Maha Bidrohi rano klanto
Ami shei din habo shanto
jabe utpiriter krandanarol
akashe batashe dhawnibe na
attacharir kharga kripan
bhim ranabhume ranibe na,
Maha Bidrohi rano klanto
Ami shei din habo shanto

‘I, the great revolutionary
will stop only on the day,
when the sky will stop reverberating
with the wails of the suppressed,
when the sword of the tyrant
will no more be drawn out in the battlefield,
I, the great revolutionary,
tired of battles,
will stop only on that day’

Geeta stopped eating and sang,

‘Ami jar nupurer chhando
Benukar Sur,
Ke, shei sundara ke.
Ami jar bilasa jamuna
Biraha bidhur
Ke shei sundara ke

‘For whom
I am the music of Payal,
Tune of the flute
Who is that handsome
For whom
I am the accompaniment of enjoyment
Sufferer of desertion
Who is that handsome?’

Both of us looked at each other.

I felt this is the difference between us. Poet Kazi Nazrul has written inflammatory poems, inspiring youths during the freedom struggle and continues to inspire the youths of this generation. But there is also writer in him who wrote beautiful romantic songs. For an outsider it will be very difficult to believe it is the same revolutionary poet who has written such romantic songs.
‘I believe this is the difference between us. I see Nazrul as a revolutionary, you look him as a romantic poet.’ I said.
‘No, the difference is not between us, it is there in your character. You behave as a big revolutionary, bereft of any emotional feeling. But like Nazrul that is your outer mask. Scratch it and you will find a lovely romantic soul crying for affection, love. And the worst part is that you are such a fat head that you even deny to acknowledge it’ Asserted Geeta with great conviction in a simple, slow but strong voice.
We both kept looking at each other.

Labels: coffee house, Nazrul, revolution, romance