TWO FAITHS

The Charminar, a four-arched gateway with four towering minarets, stands in the heart of the old city of Hyderabad in India. It was surrounded by an excessively crowded bazaar the first time that we visited it in August. It was during the last week of Ramadan and everyone was frantically purchasing things in anticipation of the celebration of the end of the season of fasting, Eid. The pressure and crush of the crowds in the baking afternoon sun made us decide not to linger, but to try to return at a quieter time should that exist. In addition, we were hungry, and all the restaurants and cafés were closed because of the fast. However, we did manage to find a milk-bar which was open, and willing to serve us infidels with lassi and rabdhi (sweetened clotted milk).

Just before we managed to get an autorickshaw to take us out of the crowded area, I spotted a street lined by colourfully decorated dental surgeries. I would have liked to have explored these had the crowds been less densely packed. We left the area, pleased that although we did not enter the Charminar we had at least managed to see the magnificent Mecca Masjid near to it. This oasis of peacefulness served both as a place of worship and also as somewhere that people could rest or sleep during the heat of the day.

During the following few days, we explored the rest of Hyderabad, visiting the old British Residency, the Golconda Fortress, and the beautiful Qutub Shahi Tombs nearby.

One of the Qutub Shahi Tombs

On the Friday, which was the last Friday before Eid, we returned to the old city in order to see the Charminar once more. Our driver dropped us as close as he could, which was not so close because all of the roads leading towards the Charminar and its neighbour the Mecca Masjid had been closed to vehicular traffic. The police presence was formidable. Armed policemen and airforce-men in blue camouflage combat gear almost outnumbered civilians. We felt as if we were stepping into a war zone. When we asked an officer whether trouble was expected, he answered that it was not and that his men's presence was merely routine. Uncertain about his response, we asked one or two other men in uniform, and their replies were similar. 

With the absence of traffic and also of most of the bazaar stalls, movement within the cordoned-off zone was easy. As we neared the mosque and the Charminar, we noticed two things. Firstly, much of the street was covered with green cloths, looking rather like a huge lawn. 

These were patrolled by men in skull-caps, whose job it was to prevent anyone stepping on these enormous prayer mats with covered feet. The second thing that we noticed was that a temporary structure had been attached to one corner of the Charminar. 

This  construction, which had not been present earlier in the week, was a temporary Hindu temple. 

A long queue of worshippers was lining up to worship there. It wound along the gaps between the prayer mats, and there was a heavy presence of Muslim men standing close by to make sure that their prayer mats were not trodden on by the Hindu worshippers, many of whom were wearing sandals.

As the queue of Hindu worshippers moved slowly towards the makeshift temple, we entred the brightly decorated Charminar Dental Hospital.  

Notice both Hindu & Moslem names on the sign

Its friendly owner, a dentist who had qualified in Hyderabad, reconfirmed what we had been told by the police; trouble was not expected. This was difficult to believe given the almost continuous line of armed men surrounding the place. He showed us his clinic and got his assistant to pose on the chair for me.

We asked our Moslem host whether he thought that the placing of a temporary Hindu temple on an essentially Islamic monument during one of the most important Islamic festivals was provocative. He told us that he did not think so and they have every right to celebrate their own religion. 

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HYDERABAD'S CRUMBLING MASTERPIECE

At first glance, there is little to suggest that the portico in  the picture shown above is not  part of a Palladian-style country house somewhere in the English countryside. Maybe the two palm trees might lead one to think otherwise, but even in England the occasional palm tree survives the country's often inclement climate. However, it is not in England, but in the heart of Hyderabad in the south of India. It was built to order for James Kirkpatrick (1764-1805), the British Resident at the Court of the Nizam of Hyderabad. Despite the European appearance of this magnificent building, its inspirer, Kirkpatrick, was far from being as conventional as the style of his Residence might suggest at first glance. Having converted to Islam, he married Khair-um-Nissa, the daughter of a senior official in the Nizam's court, and they had  two children. His extraordinary tale is related in great detail in White Mughals written by William Dalrymple.

In August 2012, my wife and I motored to Hyderabad from Bangalore. We spent four days in this fascinating city filled with fine examples of Islamic architecturebuilt over a number of centuries. One afternoon, after having visited the huge and eclectic Salar Jung Museum, my wife asked our driver (who hailed from Bangalore and knew nothing of Hyderabad's geography) to drive us there.

Neither I nor my wife had read Dalrymple's book, but the guidebook which we were using, The Footprint South India Handbook, mentioned that the book had been launched in the Residency (in about 2002), and that the building was worth seeing. We set off to look for it, knowing that it is located in the grounds of the Osmania University College For Women, whose grounds stretch down to the left bank of the River Musi. Our only map was that sketched out in the guidebook, and that proved to be unhelpful to say the least! Our driver spoke Telugu, the local language in Hyderabad, and so we asked him to find our way to the University by asking pedestrians and other road users the way. 

Many of Hyderabad's public institutions include the word 'Osmania' in thier name, and it was on this word that people whom we asked focussed. Thus, we found ourselves circling the Osmania Medical College, an Osmania Hospital, and many other places that were definitely not the Osmania University College for Women. We knew that we must be close, but our quest was elusive. I was ready to give up and return to the comfort of our quarters at the Secunderabad Club, but my wife was more persistent. She was not going to give up so easily  

After driving in ever decreasing circles often along two-way alleys only the width of only one vehicle, we finally homed in on the entrance to the University's compound. 

We drove through the gate and parked just inside the grounds. Moments later, an angry watchman came running up and asked us what we were doing entering the private College grounds. My wife told him in Hindustani that we had to meet with the Principal. The watchman pointed out the Administration Block and my wife disappeared inside. Meanwhile, we were allowed to drive further into the grounds, and I disembarked outside the grandiose portico of the former British Residency, its steps flanked by two carved lions in a poor state of preservation. I stood waiting in the hot sunshine. Groups of students, many of them wearing head scarves or hijab, passed, carrying folders and bundles of books under their arms.

A few minutes later, my wife arrived along with a young man from the office. He informed us that the Residency was in a poor state, and that it was unsafe to enter. Nevertheless, he unlocked it, and we entered.

A door at the rear of the building gave us access to the interior. We followed our guide to the magnificent main staircase, which we climbed.

At the top, we entered a gallery that looked down on to the ballroom.

We returned back down the staircase, trying to avoid touching its fragile, barely attached handrail and visted some of the rooms at the building's rear. Many of these were litterd with books and desks. They had been used as classrooms until recently.

Our guide took us back into the front part of the building and into the grand ballroom.

Now the home of pigeons and no doubt other pests, Kirkpatrick's crumbling Residence is in danger of imminent and sudden collapse. I am not sure how many heavy monsoon downpours this fragile architectural gem will be able to withstand.

Listed as a Protected Building by the Archaeological Survey of India, and also by the UN, this building continues to disintegrate because of lack of funds as well as administrative squabbles such as those that hinder the preservation/restoration of other valuable historical sites in India. 

We feel privileged that we were able to view this building at such close quarters, but hope that we are not amongst the last to do so!

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