Abstract
Delhi has been attracting writers of different typifications ever since it came into existence as Shahjahanabad in 1648. Rain or sunshine, their tribe proliferated, almost non-stop, with each passing phase. Through their writings, they beaconed different aspects of the life of the city and its people from sundry sides according to their interest and inspiration in several languages. Mirza Sangin Beg, the author of the book under review, occupies an important place among them.
It is, however, surprising that the work (Sair-ul-Manazil) that afforded this position to its author remained for long a rare bird seen only by a pretty few careful watchers. Penned in 1821, it escaped the notice of even such a knowledgeable and resourceful scholar as Saiyid Ahmad Khan, the author of Asar-us-Sanadid, an authoritative book on the city (1845–1846). Many other scholars who worked in the field after him also remained, regrettably, unfamiliar with the work. In short, it remained in almost anonymity for over 170 years until its Urdu translations appeared in the public domain. The English-knowing people have, however, come to know it directly only after Dr Chenoy’s this appropriately and effectively edited, translated and annotated authoritative English version has come out recently—2018, to be precise.
The book is, sine dubio, an important work on the historic city. It is in Persian and so far its four manuscripts have been found. Two of them are in India—one in the National Archives of India and the other in the Red Fort Museum—and two others in Europe—one in Germany (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin) and the other in England (British Library). After careful study and critical scrutiny of the manuscripts, the talented editor has come to the conclusion, and rightly of course, than the Berlin version is the original. The other three, later ones, which have sustained reinsertions at some places and deletions at the other over the time, differ on that account from the Berlin one, and with—each other. Dr Chenoy has collated all the versions and has given us a full and authentic version of the work.
Another point: Who was Mirza Sangin Beg, the author of the book? He was, as is known, not a writer; how come then, he undertook the arduous job? Who egged on him to do it? In answer to the first question, Sangin Beg has made a small not-so-explicit statement—‘The building of the official police station associated with—Sarai Basant … has recently through the efforts of a policeman of this station, Roop Chand Pandit, and at the order of the court been constructed under my charge with stones and bricks…’(p. 80). Dr Chenoy has taken from it that ‘he was either a construction contractor or a Policeman or both, employed at the police station of Sarai Basant’ (p. 34). I am, however, tempted to see another possibility of his being an appointee of the court to oversee the work. Another thing about him: The way he has described Delhi, its people and places, I suspect that he was either an original inhabitant of Delhi or had lived here for pretty long time.
The other question as to who impelled Beg to do the work also lies in the realm of confusion. The different versions give credit to different persons. In the Berlin version, for instance, the credit has gone to William Fraser, whereas in the British Library version, we find Charles Theophilus Metcalfe in place of William Fraser. In the Red Fort and National Archives of India versions, credit is given to both, Charles Theophilus Metcalfe and William Fraser. In the Berlin version, Sangin Beg says that he had completed the book, on 9 Shawwal 1236 Hijri/10 July 1821 (p. 4). William Fraser was deputy superintendent in Delhi from 1805 to 1808. C.T. Metcalfe was resident from 1811 to 1819. The book was completed in 1821. In view of this chronology, the presence of both, Fraser and Metcalfe, is explainable: Sangin Beg was commissioned to do this work by William Fraser some time during his three-year tenure and being a much-needed thing for the alien rulers, it can be safely guessed that C.T. Metcalfe continued to help him as usual until 1819. He completed it two years later (1821) and ‘presented to them’.
The book tells us about the city, its people, castes, communities and classes, fairs, festivals and processions, and its mohallas (wards), lanes and by lanes, bazaars, mandis (wholesale market) and specialised shops, crafts, trades and commerce, kothis (mansions), bungalows and havelis (multi-storeyed traditional pucca houses), gardens, parks and ponds, darghas (saints’ tombs), mosques and temples, cantonments, hospitals and post offices, sarais (inns), tombs, graves and inscriptions thereon, marking the life and exploits of the worthies sleeping there and so forth. Its structure ‘facilitates a study of the history, geography, epigraphy, sociology, economy, and popular culture of the people of the city and other regions of Delhi … Sangin Begs chatty style, full of anccdotes, adds to the multifarious dimensions of the work. Since the core strength of Sair-ul-Manazil is that it contains within its myriad types of information, it would be prudent to keep it “category-free” or imbue it with multiple identities’ (p. 66).
Cut to the crux, the Sair-ul-Manazil is a very useful source to study Delhi in Transition, 1821 and Beyond. Thanks to its talented editor, Dr Shama Mitra Chenoy, we have an authentic and authoritative edition of the book in English or in any other language after about two centuries of its effection. Right from the ‘Introduction’ to the text to ‘Notes’ to ‘Bibliography’, its every page carries a stamp of her industry, insight and erudition. A more comprehensive ‘Index’, I feel, might have added to its value further. The production of the book in terms of printing, paper and get-up is excellent.