The Roots of the Tree: How the Festival Began

How well Saadi, God's mercy on him, put it:

The people are the roots, the king the tree;
And the tree, my son, stands firm only by its roots. [TN: Persian, from the Bustan of Saadi.]

It was the strength of the roots alone that meant that, although the green and flourishing garden of Delhi had been trampled by the calamities of the age, and great boughs of the glory and power of the Mughal empire were breaking off and falling under the lightning of misfortune and the gusts of hostile winds, still no power, however great, dared to take this king-in-name-only off his throne and annex Delhi to its own dominions.

The Marathas rose to power, the Pathans rose to power, the Jats rose to power, the English rose to power; but the King of Delhi remained the King of Delhi, and until Delhi was utterly destroyed there was always someone to sit on the throne. The Resident at Delhi did his best to diminish the honour and respect paid to the King; the Governor-General tried hard to move the royal family to the Qutb and take possession of the Fort; the Court of Directors strained every nerve to put an end to the kingship of Delhi; but the men of the Board would not agree to it on any account. They knew what the King of Delhi was and how far his influence spread. There were great debates, and the young men showed much zeal and fervour, but nothing availed against the experienced old men of England.

Then Mr Malcolm stood up in the Board and said, "My friends! I have lived fifty years in India. I know the colour of that country well. I know what the Fort of Delhi is. If on one side its foundations reach to Kabul, on the other they reach to Cape Comorin; if on one hand to Assam, on the other to Kathiawar. Lay a hand on the Fort and there will be such an earthquake that the whole of India will shake. Let this nominal kingship go on as it is going." [TN: the printed name is "Malkar"; presumably Sir John Malcolm.]

In the end, in the Board, the old men won and the young men lost. The power of the King of Delhi certainly diminished, but the devotion the people felt for the King did not change one jot, and the love the King felt for his people remained exactly as it was. What joy of the people was there in which the King did not share, and what sorrow of the King in which the people did not join? The fact was that both knew and understood: what we are, they are, and what they are, we are.

Just look at the incident of the murder of Shah Alamgir II. See how the Hindus, not only the men but the women too, loved the King, and how the King himself valued that love. Alamgir II had a great devotion to fakirs. Wherever he heard that some fakir had come, he would send for him. If he did not come, he would go himself, meet him, give him a great deal, and count his kindness to fakirs as provision for the next world. Ghazi-ud-Din Khan was at that time Vizier of Delhi. God knows why he bore the King such deep hatred. He did not dare to lay a hand on him in the Fort, so he spread a net to kill the King by treachery. He had it put about in the Fort that a holy man had come to the Purana Kotla: one of great miracles and very near to God, but who neither went anywhere himself nor let anyone come to him. [TN: Alamgir II was murdered in 1759.]

On one side the King longed to meet him; on the other, people built yet more bridges of tales about the holy man's miracles. The result was that one day the King left the Fort all alone and reached the Kotla. He searched here and there among the ruins. Here the enemies were already lying in wait. Four traitors came out of a tower and martyred the King, and threw the body on the sands of the Jamna. See the ways of God: a Brahmin woman, Ram Kunwar, was coming that way. When she saw a body lying there, she stopped short and made to run away; then, looking more closely, what does she see but that this is the body of His Majesty the King. All night long she sat weeping with the head of that friendless martyr in her lap.

In the morning people came to bathe in the holy Jamna. They too saw the body and recognised it. The whole city was in an uproar. The body of that friendless martyr was buried. Shah Alam II became King. He sent for Ram Kunwar, gave her many rewards and honours, and made this Brahmin woman his adopted sister. In a few days the festival of Saluno came. The sister arrived with a rakhi of pearls for her brother. The King happily had the rakhi tied on, gave his sister a suit of clothes and gave robes of honour to her relatives. There you are: the custom of Raksha Bandhan became one of the customs of the Fort. As long as the Fort was inhabited, there was brotherhood between the family of that Brahmin woman and the people of the Fort. Every year the rakhis came and were tied on the King and princes, and suits of clothes were given. The custom broke only when the Fort was taken from the King. [TN: at Saluno or Raksha Bandhan a sister ties a thread (rakhi) on her brother's wrist, and he promises her his protection.]

The Phool Walon ki Sair, the Flower-Sellers' Festival, was also the fruit of this mutual love. What happened was that Akbar Shah II wanted to make his second son, Mirza Jahangir, heir to the throne. Sirajuddin Zafar was the eldest son, but father and son were not on good terms. The King loved Mirza Jahangir dearly, and why should he not? The Mirza's mother, Nawab Mumtaz Mahal, was powerful in the Fort. Both His Majesty and the Queen tried at the Residency to have Mirza Jahangir made heir somehow. At that time the Resident at Delhi was Mr Seton. Hardly ever can an Englishman so devoted to the King have come to India. He honoured Akbar Shah just as he honoured his own king. He would take off his hat and make his obeisance from the place of salutation. If he was offered a chair, he would never sit in the King's presence. In conversation he observed the royal etiquette. He tried to fulfil the King's every wish. In short he did everything, but he would not agree to Mirza Jahangir becoming heir. Outwardly one reason was that he did not want to upset the order of succession, and the other was that he was not satisfied with Mirza Jahangir's habits and manners. [TN: Archibald Seton, Resident at Delhi 1806–1811.]

Mirza Jahangir was a tremendous drinker and outrageously outspoken. This opposition had already sown enmity in their hearts. One day in open court Mirza Jahangir called Mr Seton "*Lulu hai be!*" The Sahib swallowed it somehow. A little later the prince did something outrageous: he fired a shot at him. How long could it be overlooked? He was imprisoned and sent to Allahabad. Mumtaz Mahal was deeply grieved. She made a vow that when Mirza Jahangir was released and came home, she would lay a sheet and a canopy of flowers on the tomb of Hazrat Khwaja Qutbuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki, God's mercy on him. See the ways of God, and the nobility of Mr Seton: it was on his own recommendation that the prince was released from that imprisonment. He came to Delhi. The Queen made preparations to fulfil her vow. The sheet went with great pomp. All the Hindus and Muslims of the whole city took part. For several days a fair went on at the Qutb. In the canopy the flower-sellers made, they hung a fan of flowers for beauty. Sirajuddin Zafar, heir to the throne, presented a poem on the "Fan": [TN: "Lulu hai be!", a rude Delhi jibe, roughly "You're a fool, man!", playing on the English "Lulu" for Seton. Zafar, the eldest son, was the future Bahadur Shah II.]

All this is a gleam of the light of his kindness and grace,
For outwardly he is a king, and inwardly an angel;
Why should the fame of this show not reach to the heavens?
The sun in the sky is put to shame by its sunshade:
This Fan was made by the favour of that great King Akbar.

All who love this festival are here today with the eyes of the heart;
Truly this festival is worth the seeing.
Why should the eyes of the stars not be drawn to this festival?
She of exalted rank, the Begum, watches this festival,
The Fan whose hall vies with the moon.

The joy of colour reaches from the fish below to the moon above;
From the drunken to the sober, all are steeped in colour.
Today all are coloured, from the subjects to the King;
From the roof-tops to the shrine it is a field of saffron;
In this colour the whole world has come to see the Fan. [TN: a mukhammas, five-line stanzas each ending on "Fan". The Fan's "hall" is its jewelled frame.]

The King liked this fair very much. He asked the people of Delhi, "What if this fair were held every year at the beginning of Bhadon? Let the Muslims offer a fan at the holy shrine, and the Hindus at the temple of Jog Maya. Let Hindus take part in the Muslims' fan and Muslims in the Hindus'. A fair will be a fair, and friendship will grow between the two peoples." Who asks twice about a good deed? The people of Delhi agreed. There you are: the foundation of the Flower-Sellers' Festival was laid. His Majesty himself would go to the Qutb and stay there, and the princes would join in the fair. Growing and growing, the fair became something quite different. At that time this song came into vogue: [TN: Bhadon, the rainy month of August–September.]

Off to the Qutb goes my headstrong Akbar;
No jungle on the road, and not a hill to climb.

In Bahadur Shah's time it grew so grand as is beyond description. If you want to see what the Flower-Sellers' Festival was like in those days, just shut your eyes, and I will show you.