Religion, Landscape and Material Culture in Pre-modern South Asia (Archaeology and Religion in South Asia) [1 ed.] 0367536501, 9780367536503

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Religion, Landscape and Material Culture in Pre-modern South Asia

This book highlights emerging trends and new themes in South Asian history. It covers issues broadly related to religion, materiality, and nature from differing perspectives and methods to offer a kaleidoscopic view of Indian history until the late eighteenth century. The essays in the volume focus on understanding questions of pre-modern religion, material culture processes, and their spatial and environmental contexts through a study of networks of commodities and cultural and religious landscapes. From the early history of coastal regions such as Gujarat and Bengal to material networks of political culture, from temples and their connection with maritime trade to the importance of landscape in influencing temple-building, from regions considered peripheral to mainstream historiography to the development of religious sects, this collection of articles maps the diverse networks and connections across regions and time. The volume will be of great interest to scholars and researchers of history, archaeology, museum and heritage studies, religion, especially Hinduism, Sufism, and Buddhism, and South Asian studies. Tilottama Mukherjee teaches in the Department of History, Jadavpur University, Kolkata. She holds a PhD. in History from the University of Cambridge. She is the author of Political Culture and Economy in eighteenthcentury Bengal: Networks of Exchange, Consumption and Communication and is the co-editor of An Earthly Paradise: Trade, Politics and Culture in Early Modern Bengal. Nupur Dasgupta is a Professor of History and has been teaching in the Department of History, Jadavpur University, India, since 1991. Her area of interest is Ancient Indian History and Archaeology and History of Science, Technology and Medicine (Ancient–Modern). She was the recipient of the Charles Wallace Fellowship at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London.

Archaeology and Religion in South Asia

Series Editor: Himanshu Prabha Ray, Ludwig Maximillian University Munich, Germany; former Chairperson of the National Monuments Authority, Ministry of Culture, Government of India and former Professor, Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi, India Editorial Board: Gavin Flood, Academic Director, Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies; Jessica Frazier, Academic Administrator, Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies; Julia Shaw, Institute of Archaeology, University College, London; Shailendra Bhandare, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford; Devangana Desai, Asiatic Society, Mumbai; and Vidula Jaiswal, Jnana Pravaha, Varanasi, former Professor, Banaras Hindu University This series, in association with the Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies, reflects on the complex relationship between religion and society through new perspectives and advances in archaeology. It looks at this critical interface to provide alternative understandings of communities, beliefs, cultural systems, sacred sites, ritual practices, food habits, dietary modifications, power, and agents of political legitimisation. The books in the Series underline the importance of archaeological evidence in the production of knowledge of the past. They also emphasise that a systematic study of religion requires engagement with a diverse range of sources such as inscriptions, iconography, numismatics and architectural remains. Power, Presence and Space South Asian Rituals in Archaeological Context Edited by Henry Albery, Jens-Uwe Hartmann and Himanshu Prabha Ray Religion, Landscape and Material Culture in Pre-modern South Asia Edited by Tilottama Mukherjee and Nupur Dasgupta Women and Monastic Buddhism in Early South Asia Rediscovering the Invisible Believers Second Edition Garima Kaushik The Archaeology of the Natha Sampradaya in Western India, 12th to 15th CE Vijay Sarde For a full list of titles in this series, please visit https://www​.routledge​.com​/ Archaeology​-and​-Religion​-in​-South​-Asia​/book​-series​/AR

Religion, Landscape and Material Culture in Pre-modern South Asia Edited by Tilottama Mukherjee and Nupur Dasgupta

First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 selection and editorial matter, Tilottama Mukherjee and Nupur Dasgupta; individual chapters, the contributors. The right of Tilottama Mukherjee and Nupur Dasgupta to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-0-367-53650-3 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-44777-3 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-09565-1 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651 Typeset in Sabon by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

Contents

List of figures List of maps List of tables Contributors Preface Introduction

vii ix x xi xv 1

NUPUR DASGUPTA AND TILOTTAMA MUKHERJEE

PART I

Sacred Spaces and Cultural Landscapes

15

1 The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces: Re-examining Early Coastal Temples in Gujarat

17

HIMANSHU PRABHA RAY

2 Mathura: Exploring a Complex Associative Cultural Landscape (From 2nd Century BCE to 2nd Century CE)

36

INDIRA BANERJEE

3 Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India: A ‘Religious-Cultural’ Artefact and the Formation of a Scent-Landscape

53

AMRITA CHATTOPADHYAY

4 Patronage as Political Proxy: 18th-Century State-Building and Religious Patronage in Ajmer and Pushkar ELIZABETH M. THELEN

78

vi Contents PART II

Religious Traditions and Texts

99

5 Anthologies of Difference: Situating the Anthologies of Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada in the Sacred Space of Tantric Buddhism 101 RITWIK BAGCHI

6 The Transformative Presence of Sufis in the Medieval Indian Environment: Anecdotes of Miraculous Conversion and Islamicisation in Chishti Literature from the Delhi Sultanate

124

RAZIUDDIN AQUIL

7 Conversion and Translation: Life and Work of Dom Antonio do Rosario

148

DEEPASHREE DUTTA

PART III

The Material and the Sacred in Bengal

171

8 Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad, 1650–1800 CE

173

GARGI CHATTOPADHYAY

9 Physical Environment, Customary Practices, and the English East India Company Regime: A Narrative of Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Lower Deltaic Bengal

200

ARIJITA MANNA

10 Rise of Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Evolution of Bengali Platter in 16th to 18th Centuries

223

PRITAM GOSWAMI

11 Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal with Special Reference to the Site of Kankandighi

242

DURGA BASU

Index

271

Figures

1.1 Temple at Gop in Jamnagar district. The temple of Gop is perhaps the earliest remaining stone temple of Saurashtra, Gujarat, located on the bank of the Vartu river and southwest of the Gop hill. It has a square plan, bigger than what can be seen at present. The walls are grey, plain, vertical, undecorated, and over that there is a pyramidal shikhara (spire) formed of tiers 1.2 Temple at Dwarka unearthed during archaeological excavations. The Dwarakadheesh temple in Dwarka is dedicated to Krishna. The original early medieval temple was enlarged in the 15th–16th century. The image shows the forecourt with intricate carvings on the exterior, depictions of elephants, and different Vishnu avataras 8.1 Rivalry between the Dutch and English over Raw Silk Exports: 1700—1745 CE 8.2 Comparison of Raw Silk Exports by the English Company, Dutch Company and the Asian Merchants (in Eng. Lb.) 8.3 Steady deterioration of the Kasimbazar river between the 1740s and 1790s: A Timeline 11.1a Pilkhana mound, Kankandighi 11.1b Trench 11.2a Index trench: Description of layers 11.2b Index trench: Description of layers 11.3 Plan of structure 11.4 Brick Brick-built square platform 11.5a Ceramics 11.5b Ceramics 11.5c Ceramics 11.5d Ceramics 11.5e Ceramics

19

22 186 187 190 248 248 249 250 251 252 252 253 253 254 254

viii Figures 11.6  A huge storage jar 11.7   Iron implements 11.8   Gaṇa image 11.9  Buddhist deity Jambhala 11.10a  Decorated bricks 11.10b  Decorated bricks 11.10c  Decorated bricks 11.11  Mahishasuramardini 11.12  Seated Buddha 11.13  Elephant image 11.14 Image of Marici

255 256 257 257 258 258 259 260 260 261 262

Maps

1.1 Map of Gujarat showing the location of coastal temples. A black and white outline map of Gujarat showing the location of temples and Buddhist sites, many along the western seaboard of Saurashtra from Dwarka in the north to Somnath in the south 8.1 Residential-Business enclaves in and around Murshidabad 9.1 Location map of Salt districts. Based on the map of the Deputy Surveyor General in charge of the Surveyor General’s office, published in 1856 9.2 Locational advantage of the Mandalghat pargana. Archival records suggest its proximity to the Damodar, Rupnarayan, and Hugli rivers. Hence a map of the meeting place of the three rivers has been illustrated to show the locational advantage of the pargana. This map is based on the map of Deputy Surveyor General in charge of Surveyor General’s office published in 1856 11.1 Physiographical map of Malda district

18 191

201

207 243

Tables

8.1 Kasimbazar and Murshidabad in Contemporary Accounts 9.1 Salt seized at different Golas in 1204 BS (1798 CE) 9.2 An account of total death and casualties in the years of 1788 /1789 CE 9.3 Allowance of Tookra salt

177 205 213 216

Contributors

Raziuddin Aquil is a Professor at the Department of History, University of Delhi. He has published widely on religious traditions, literary practices, and political culture in medieval and early modern India. His books include Sufism, Culture, and Politics: Afghans and Islam in Medieval North India; The Muslim Question: Understanding Islam and Indian History; Lovers of God: Sufism and the Politics of Islam in Medieval India; and Days in the Life of a Sufi: 101 Enchanting Stories of Wisdom. He has also edited Sufism and Society in Medieval India; with Partha Chatterjee, History in the Vernacular; with David Curley, Literary and Religious Practices in Medieval and Early Modern India; and with Tilottama Mukherjee, An Earthly Paradise: Trade, Politics and Culture in Early Modern Bengal. Ritwik Bagchi is a PhD candidate in the Department of History, Jadavpur University. He has done his post-graduation and MPhil from the same university. The title of his MPhil dissertation is ‘Exploring Tantric Buddhism in the Pāla-Sena Context (Bihar and Bengal) through the Study of Two Sanskrit Buddhist Texts (c. 8th–c. 12th CE)’. He has presented papers on the nature and origin of Tantric Buddhism in Bengal in several international seminars and conferences. Indira Banerjee is a PhD candidate in the Department of History, Jadavpur University. She has done her post-graduation and MPhil from the same department. The title of her MPhil dissertation is ‘Bharhut and Mathura: Exploring the Cultural Features of Two Early-Historic Sites (From Late Centuries BCE to Early Centuries CE)’. She has presented papers on the religion and cultural dynamic of Bharhut and Mathura in the EarlyHistoric period in many international seminars and conferences. Durga Basu is a former Professor and Head of the Department of Archaeology, Calcutta University. Currently, she is a Senior Fellow of the Indian Council for Social Science Research (ICSSR); Director, Institute of Business Management and Research, Kolkata; President, Society for Heritage, Archaeology and Management; and Vice-President of Kolkata

xii Contributors Society for Asian Studies. She is also a Visiting Professor at Ramakrishna Mission Institute of Culture, Indology Department, Kolkata. She specialises in Buddhist studies, Historical archaeology, Indian art and architecture. She has presented papers at several international conferences held in Ireland, Jordan, Cambodia, Philippines, Iran, Vietnam, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, France, the UK, and Switzerland. Her authored and edited books include The N.B.P. Culture of Eastern India; Folk Architecture of Asian Countries: A Comparative Study; Bharatatattva Vol.3; Sister Nivedita’s Interpretation of Swami Vivekananda and Cross-cultural multidisciplinary philosophy; and Research Methodology, Tools and Techniques in Social Science. Amrita Chattopadhyay is a PhD candidate at the Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. Her research interests focus on Mughal history, material culture, sensory objects, trade and maritime studies of medieval India and the early modern world. She wrote an MPhil dissertation titled, ‘Perfumery Culture in Mughal India: Technology, Consumption and Commodification’, and her ongoing doctoral research is on Mughal material culture. Her research was funded by DAAD-BMBF’s Namaste+ fellowship in the year 2020. She has also presented papers at a few national and international conferences. Her articles include, ‘A Study of Aromatic Woods in Seventeenth-Century India: Circulation of Aloewood and Sandalwood through Facilitating Port Cities and Trade Networks,’ published in Crossroads, 2022. Gargi Chattopadhyay holds a PhD in history from Jadavpur University, Kolkata. Her interest areas include micro history and the role of ecology and its implications in the late medieval and early modern Bengal. Her other academic concerns include oral traditions and folklores of Bengal and their socio-political and economic ramifications. She works as an independent researcher, has published many articles in journals and edited volumes, and is currently working on her book manuscript. Nupur Dasgupta is a Professor of History and has been teaching in the Department of History, Jadavpur University, since 1991. Her area of interest is Ancient Indian History and Archaeology and History of Science, Technology and Medicine (Ancient–Modern). She was the recipient of the Charles Wallace Fellowship at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. She was invited as a Visiting Fellow at the Department of AIHC and the Department of History, University of Calcutta and the Ludwig Maximilian University, Munich. She has authored books titled, The Dawn of Technology in Indian Protohistory, Calcutta, 1997 and Suvarnatantra: A Treatise on Alchemy, Delhi, 2009. She has edited several volumes on environmental history, history of science, technology, medicine, and material culture. She has

Contributors  xiii authored several articles published in national and international journals and edited volumes. Deepashree Dutta is pursuing her PhD from the Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University. Her PhD focusses on the political and literary culture of the kingdom of Mallabhum in Bengal from the late sixteenth to the early nineteenth centuries. For her MPhil from CHS, JNU, she worked on the activities and literary works of the Portuguese missionaries in early modern Bengal. Her research is supported by the ICSSR Doctoral Fellowship, 2021–2022. Pritam Goswami is a PhD candidate at the Department of History, Jadavpur University, Kolkata, working on the formation of the various gastronomic spaces in the subah of Bengal between the sixteenth and late eighteenth centuries. He has done his MPhil from Visva-Bharati University, Shantiniketan, on the evolution of the dietary habits and culinary culture among the colonial middle class in early twentieth century Bengal. His research is supported by the UGC Senior Research Fellowship. His interest areas include socio-cultural studies, culinary history, and religious movements in pre-modern and colonial Bengal. Arijita Manna is a PhD candidate in the Department of History, Jadavpur University, Kolkata. Her PhD thesis is on the salt industry in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century Bengal. Her MPhil dissertation was on salt smuggling in late eighteenth century Bengal. She has presented papers in seminars and published articles. Tilottama Mukherjee teaches in the Department of History, Jadavpur University, Kolkata. She holds a PhD in History from the University of Cambridge. She is the author of Political Culture and Economy in eighteenth-century Bengal: Networks of Exchange, Consumption and Communication and is the co-editor of An Earthly Paradise: Trade, Politics and Culture in Early Modern Bengal. She is at present working on early modern travel accounts. Himanshu Prabha Ray is Research Fellow at the Oxford Centre for Hindu Studies, Oxford. She was the first Chairperson of the National Monuments Authority, Ministry of Culture in New Delhi, India, from 2012 to 2015, and former Professor, Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University. She is the editor of the Routledge Archaeology and Religion in South Asia series. Her recent books include Coastal Shrines and Transnational Maritime Networks across India and Southeast Asia (2021), Archaeology and Buddhism in South Asia (2018), Buddhism and Gandhara: An Archaeology of Museum Collections (ed. 2018), The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces: The Temple in Western India, 2nd Century BCE–8th Century CE (with Susan Verma Mishra, 2017), The

xiv Contributors Return of the Buddha: Ancient Symbols for a New Nation (2014), and The Archaeology of Seafaring in Ancient South Asia (2003). Elizabeth M. Thelen is a historian of law, society, and religion in early modern Rajasthan and an honorary research fellow at the University of Exeter. She holds a PhD in History from the University of California, Berkeley, and is the author of Urban Histories of Rajasthan: Religion, Politics and Society (1550–1800) (2022). She is also an editor of the digital resource ‘Lawforms: Digitised Legal Documents from the IndoPersian World’ (lawforms​.exeter​.ac​​.uk).

Preface

The inspiration for this collected volume emerged from our mutual interest in the interconnected history of the landscape, material life, and religion. A seminar on ‘Environment, Religion & Culture: Research Methods and Perspectives on Precolonial South Asia’, organised by the UGC DSA–1 SAP, Department of History, Jadavpur University, in collaboration with Anneliese Maier Research Award of Humboldt Foundation, Bonn, and Ludwig Maximilian University, Munich, provided further impetus. From this germinated the idea of the present volume. We particularly wanted to provide a platform for younger scholars – many affiliated with Jadavpur University at present or in the past – to reflect the latest research happening in this area. Established experts also graciously joined in providing the benefit of their in-depth knowledge. The intersecting history of generally separate domains in the existing historiography of the pre-modern world spurred us to bring together this collection of articles divided into three parts – ‘Sacred Spaces and Cultural Landscapes’, ‘Religious Traditions and Texts’, and ‘The Material and the Sacred in Bengal’. The eclectic articles are on less worked-upon themes that fall under the rubric of religion, landscape, and material culture. These themes are narrowly conceived in many writings on South Asia, and this volume attempts to present a much larger imagining of the same. The word ‘landscape’ probably entered the English language in the sixteenth century; the idea that land shapes and are shaped by human activity is, of course, ancient. Rather than a backdrop to the narrative, the landscape plays an important part in creating that narrative. As historians have pointed out, a focus on landscape in its myriad forms permits us to question the binaries of human agency and environment, and as this set of articles reveals, the role of religious traditions, materiality, and the imagination in shaping the contours of history. Contributors to the volume not merely envisage the landscape as the layers of the terrain and the natural features, but also see how the latter could be moulded and shaped into cultural and sacred spaces, the multiple seams of the texts and physical objects – a kind of stratified landscape of a manuscript, an inscription, a monument, an object to present a glimpse of a particular region in a specific era. Temples,

xvi Preface shrines, patterns of settlements, and ephemeral objects are used by different authors to present diverse examples of the ways in which societies configured themselves, negotiated, adapted, and changed. What emerges is sometimes a fragmented, sometimes an intertwined history of South Asia. We believe the articles, in their varied shapes and forms, present dynamic and stimulating conversations. And we hope it is all to the good for thinking about the intersections between these three themes, the overlaps, the disjunctures, and the disparities. We are grateful to all the contributors to the volume for their wideranging rich essays. We extend our thanks to our departmental colleagues and Jadavpur University authorities. We also take this opportunity to thank our colleagues from the departments of Ancient Indian History and Culture and Islamic History and Culture, University of Calcutta. Special thanks are due to the faculty and scholars from the University of Munich, especially Professors Robert Yelle, Stefan Baums, and Henry Albery. The Series Editor and the publisher Routledge have taken a keen interest in this collection, for which we express our gratitude. We also express our thanks to the Routledge editorial team.

Introduction Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee

Every event in history is pinned down by two coordinates, time and space, with a few players thrown in within given time-space frames. Our current engagement takes us to explore the unfolding of various histories in premodern South Asia, focusing on the spatial dimension. The notion of space in history is physically manifest in specific forms that relate to the material culture and is sometimes imbued with a sense of the sacred. The articles in the volume engage with three interrelated frames of space observed as landscape, religion, and its manifestation in material culture from the perspectives of landscape history, cultural history, and archaeology. The authors take us through the early historic (6th century BCE–6th century CE), the early medieval (post 6th century CE–13th century CE), deeper into the medieval (13th–15th centuries) and the early modern (16th–18th centuries) phases which had seen the genesis, processual/diachronic developments, and crystallisation of varied aspects of the cultural life of South Asia. These historical eras need to be studied in themselves and not in relation to what followed. The early periods saw the origins and growth of political ideas, strengthening of state systems of different kinds, and intensification of agricultural and commercial activities. They also witnessed growing urbanity, a Sanskrit and Persian cosmopolis concomitantly existing with regional languages, formation and consolidation of cultural and regional identities, and varieties of representations in a multiplicity of mediums. The longstanding historical developments also included greater connectivity and exchange of all kinds within South Asia and between it and the outside world. Processes of negotiations, adaptations, and transformations constitute the long history of the premodern. In short, it is a fascinating history of what makes South Asia what it is with all its cacophonous complexities and dazzling plurality, against which we test the modern sensitivities about our place in global history at present. Most articles dwell on aspects of the history of religion which is understood within a spatial context or related to space as sacred or a space invested with special cultural significance. Some articles focus on significant frames of landscape and material culture, where the latter is perceived beyond their materiality. The material here converges with the social and DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-1

2  Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee the spatial within given contexts or communities. Space as the landscape is also sought to be understood through a critical historical lens which looks at the emergence of a sense of place. Although there seem to be three different frames, these form the comprehensive contexts within which histories unfold. Some scholars have discussed landscapes and reading of landscapes from the perspective of history. Nicola Whyte, for instance, points to how ‘everyday landscapes’ may be read as contexts of ‘heritage created by ordinary people going about their day-to-day activities’. In Whyte’s perspective, landscapes may be seen as a part of the ‘lived experience’, nurtured into specificities through human activities, practices, and perceptions through time.1 When landscapes become a part of the cultural history of a given society, it assumes a historical significance that encompasses social action and the social mind more deeply. A cultural landscape represents the religious, cultural, and physical engagements with space at the level of community life, and it creates a memory of the people where the land assumes a metaphysical significance.2 As Ian Whyte writes, the term ‘landscape’ encompasses multiple meanings.3 It is a valuable concept, as it is ‘free from fixed positions, elusive in meaning yet all-embracing in scope’. Landscapes are the creation of the associations between the natural environment and human society.4 The same physical environment affords many possible landscapes. No significant distinction can be drawn between a ‘natural’ landscape and a ‘cultural’ landscape of representations and symbols.5 Reading a landscape through the idea of the cultural and sacred underlines its enduring nature. Understanding the spatial frames of histories related to social phenomena requires a deep sense of the material and the imagined contexts and a clear graph of the footprints of social activities and engagements. It will be observed that the making of a sacred landscape is a complex and diachronic process, often without a clear thread of causality in a historical sense. The play of heterogeneous factors contributes to the process. Landscapes get created through human intervention and their epistemic connotation. Since the mid-20th century, landscape history has been transformed through the study of rural landscape and settlement history to engage in the significant factors that shape spaces, including the human intervention of cultural kind. Thus, representations of spaces in various modes would also feature in these histories as a part of the experience through which space is understood and designed by given societies with multiple degrees of participation. Thus, landscape history became integrated with accounts of the differentiated power structure, hierarchy, and ideology. The concept of ‘spiritual landscapes’ focuses on the links ‘between spirit beings or potent energies and particular sites in the landscape, including trees, mountains and rivers’.6 Catherine Allerton further notes that for religious conversion, ‘the agency of the landscape often becomes a central concern, as reformers and missionaries seek to “purify” the environment of

Introduction  3 such spiritual power’. In addition, ‘conversion may involve new forms of conversation with the landscape, including re-enchantments, religious syntheses, or reassertions of the landscape’s potency’. Religions discipline and shape bodies and construct sacred spaces. They offer images to worship, regulate food habits, structure temporal existence, and pervade and are infused by the cultural landscapes. Any understanding of religion also must comprehend ‘material religion and religious materiality’.7 Sacred spaces are embedded in networks of different kinds, playing different roles.8 South Asia, in particular, witnessed the confluence of new geographies of different religious traditions – Buddhism, Vaishnavism, Islam, particularly Sufism, and Christianity in an age of commerce and enterprising polities – utilising these intersecting networks for its continued relevance. In premodern South Asian history, religion was integrally connected with landscape history as a phenomenon that perhaps centrally impacted the shaping of spaces. South Asian experience with the religious and the spiritual provides dimensions of the imagined in terms of spiritual spaces or the frames created for space in a spiritual sense. Such human interventions transformed spaces and left a profound impact on community life. Spectacular temples, small shrines, and associated religious architecture were also the spaces for popular congregations. Movement through spaces created links between habitations and sacred spaces. The divining of sacred spaces did not remain in the physical realm alone. The sense of the sacred and surreal overlapped with the physical in many ways through the premodern history of the subcontinent. Sacred space is conjured in the minds of a community in the abstract perception of spaces, but then it takes a physical shape with architectural elements. Religious monuments nurture a space into a reality that transcends the mundane in its visualised meaning for the associated community.9 Gujarat and Bengal’s networks connected the societies and economies of the mainland with the maritime world of the Indian Ocean. Its waterfront architecture and socio-cultural life in many ways structured and were influenced by the exchange of people, ideas, and goods over vast distances. Further inland, Northern India, was linked to the outside world through overland routes as well as the riverine network of the Ganges. As historians have noted of port cities,10 societies that put so much importance on ‘the mercurial nature of coastal life and embraces bricolage and appropriation also attributes extraordinary power to seemingly immobile and unchanging stone monuments’. Built forms and their associated material culture have immense power to affect human experiences. And it is not just the coastal regions but different parts of premodern South Asia that were teeming with myriad traditions derived from multiple locations and societies. As Saugata Ray observes, the ‘Little Ice Age’ also impacted South Asia, which experienced it in the form of extreme drought and famine. He writes that ‘artistic and architectural practices were shaped through human

4  Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee interaction with geographical, geological, botanical, zoological, mineralogical, astronomical, and climatic formations’.11 It does more. It also affects religious traditions, as it does materiality. This physical element is nurtured through the built shrines, and more magnificent temples embody the sacred sense of the entire sacred geography, sitting amid the envisaged space. At a later stage of South Asian history, tirtha takes prominence in history. As Phyllis Granoff reads this phenomenon, complex use of the notion of the sacred emerges, one which, with the textual interventions, takes the front seat in defining the sacred space, distinct from the temple and the image installed in the temple. The sacred geography with special physical features takes a prime place in imagining the divine.12 In that sense, a landscape is invested with sacral significance through religious ideas and practices. Such architectural elements have been widely studied in South Asian history for long. However, we rarely find ideas of the space and reading of the landscape in a physical and religious sense being factored into such studies. On the other hand, these very same ways of interventions into the space and material world for resource access led to the creation of routes of action, movement, and connections of various kinds. Commerce and culture moved along these networks linking spaces. Often repeated movements through such routes imbue the interlinked spaces with a sense of the known, and a route map is painted in the mind of the travellers, conjuring a memory of interconnected spaces. A broader landscape of movement is created, material in a sense but invested with abstract cultural imaginations. Histories of many such known and unknown spaces need to be traversed to garner a complex history of social connectedness. Thus, although the history of the landscape is essentially a part of the episteme of archaeology, it transcends these boundaries between disciplines and spills into the horizons of related disciplines like history, social anthropology, and even art history. So also, the cultural hybridity of many things. Some of these objects are ephemeral and perishable. Why do they become important, what do they mean, and how is it made? On the one hand, we have the instability of objects, and when it does survive, their meaning might change in different contexts, as Carla Nappi observes.13 The essays of this volume have been divided into these three overlapping sections: ‘Sacred Spaces and Cultural Landscapes’, ‘Religious Traditions and Texts’, and ‘The Material and the Sacred in Bengal’ reflecting these ideas and the way in which our contributors have envisaged their respective themes. The articles traverse new themes in the history of South Asia closely linked with landscape studies of a historical kind, as discussed above. What we have included in this volume is an intertwined world of peoples, places, and faiths. The first article initiates the journey into the sacred landscape of coastal Saurashtra, where religious affiliations and socio-economic underpinnings of the emergence of a sacred space have been brought under the lens by

Introduction  5 Himanshu Prabha Ray. Ray has already co-authored a book on western Indian temples with Susan Verma Mishra. She has carried out research on temples and sacred spaces as a part of studies in the historical archaeology of Western India and Karnataka for long. She looks at temples as an embodiment of philosophical speculations and mythical ideas at several levels of perception. She has also looked at the emergence of sacred spaces as construed by communities, shrines, and rituals. Temples also encase social aspirations and draw upon material accumulations of society. Thus, the shrine straddles the material and the sacred. In her article, Ray investigates these complex human, spatial, and material elements behind the emergence of coastal shrines in early historic Gujarat. Some of these temples, built between the 6th and the 8th centuries CE, have been connected to the Maitraka dynasty of Valabhi. Ray highlights the features of the temples, the epigraphic evidence regarding dynastic links or otherwise, to throw light on the material and sacral in a landscape frequented by everyday activities, as Nicola Whyte had attempted to showcase. However, for Whyte, it was the landscape which was in focus; Ray seeks to illuminate the close nexus between gods and the coastal communities in Gujarat, where the landscape was the critical site of these activities. Ray highlights the flourishing maritime economy and points to the possibilities of the mercantile community acting as patrons of the coastal shrines. The phenomenon of the sacred was thus brought to the level of everyday aspirations and anxieties of the community. Ray’s survey of the evidence from the sites of the temples and the epigraphic records of the Maitrakas, on the one hand, and the general situation of maritime trade in the western Indian Ocean through these periods, on the other, leads to a few remarkable insights. First, she covers the maritime landscape in coastal Gujarat, a vibrant site of a commercial network that perhaps evolved into a highly plural cultural scene. She also draws attention to the possibilities of religious patronage at the popular level instead of linking the coastal shrines to the royal initiative. According to Ray, these shrines tell a story of the material phenomenon of a distinct kind. She connects this history with the broader network of transactions across the western Indian Ocean. Her conclusion concerning the site of Bhadreswar on the Kachchh coast reveals how sites of commerce and pilgrimage converged in early historic times. A very different landscape complex is revealed at Mathura, centrally located amidst the heartland of the early historic period and furnished with a wealth of material and cultural remains. Mathura denotes both the ancient city of the Surasena Janapada and the orbit of the Janapada itself, which witnessed the rise of habitational settlements through early phases, as archaeological evidence testifies. The sites like Katra in the heart of the modern city of Mathura, Sonkh, Mat, and others that constituted this circle are represented by artefacts and mounds and reveal the rise and spread of settlements and concentration of social activities throughout the early historical phase from the PGW14 onward. A rich reading on the complex of Mathura

6  Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee is available in the edited volume by Doris M. Srinivasan.15 Significant perspectives on the settlement complex, processes of its formation, and the socio-economic and cultural scene have engaged the scholars through time. Why is Mathura so important and such an enigma to us? Is it because of its rich material culture? Was it then not the discovery of cultural materials as archaeological evidence that provides an understanding of the landscape? Is it interesting because the complex at Mathura supplies evidence for multiple characteristics – doubling or tripling as a political, commercial, and religious centre? The process occurred over a long period and through obvious discursive paths. Mathura thus supplies a complex and diachronic longue durée history of social life in early historic India, making the site interesting and representative. Indira Banerjee surveys the archaeological evidence, especially epigraphic and sculptural, and attempts to draw our attention to the multicultural essence of the complex and the curiously hybrid sacred landscape that Mathura represents. She connects this phenomenon with the demographic and material dynamism that unfolded through the early historic times. Was this concurrent with the state formation process in the Trans Yamuna Valley? Were there enough indigenous factors to create this material and social base? These are some of the broader questions. The emergence of the phenomenal donative inscriptions indicates movements and convergences of people for religion and is indeed supported by material factors. The multiple historical forces behind this process leave no doubt that the sacred was integrated with the more mundane existence. Clifford Geertz considered a religion’s material practices, places, and things – such as shrines, pilgrimages, and amulets – as symbols having deeper religious meanings.16 Scholars have viewed the connections between religion and material culture in myriad ways. Sonia Hazard summarises these perspectives: some have seen material objects and traditions as symbols construed for their religious meanings; some have focussed on the role of ‘material disciplines’ in the establishment of religions and the part played by things in human experiences and reasoning. Hazard sees these as being anthropocentric. ‘New materialism’ focuses on the materiality of things themselves.17 She further observes that scholars remain unintentionally stuck with the preconceptions of a version of religion modelled on renunciation of materiality.18 We see in this collection an intense connection between the two, whether it comes to scents, food items, or patronage to shrines for political reasons (besides the obvious religious merit earned). Material culture is not merely about ‘things’ but also about their meanings for people.19 The connection between materiality and a cultural landscape could occur through even ephemeral substances such as perfumes. Relatively unexplored in the historiography of early modern India,20 it was used by the elite extensively in various polities of South Asia. Amrita Chattopadhyay’s chapter in this volume focuses on the Mughals. Distilled from natural products, its transformative power and properties were used in rejuvenating the self and

Introduction  7 the environment. Fragrances can be synaesthetic in the right setting, heightening the experience by stimulating other sensory faculties. Scents, emotions, and memories are intertwined; smells trigger memories – known as ‘the Proust effect’. Used in courts, certain affluent sections of society widely consumed it during courtly ceremonies, religious rituals, festivities, marriages, entertaining guests, and death rites. Perfumed gardens were specially laid out with aromatic flowers, while karkhanas created unique blends. A ‘religious-cultural artefact’ which finds frequent mentions in various texts as a luxurious accessory for pleasure, gift-giving, and utilitarian purposes, its cultural materiality is shaped by the South Asian religious belief systems. Chattopadhyay’s article charts the journey of these transient perfumes from the wilderness to orderly courtly spaces and, in doing so, reveals new dimensions in the history of artefacts, political culture, religious beliefs, and cultures of consumption. Three high-value aromatics in use during this time – musk, itr-i-Jahangiri, and aloewood – are taken as case studies, their use becoming a signature of wealth and connoisseurship. Fragrances became significant religious-cultural artefacts in an evolving Mughal polity, as her work so eloquently demonstrates. Sacred complexes and patronage networks that sustained them would be another defining factor that shaped the history of a region. The religious landscape of the Indian subcontinent got closely imbricated in a charged medieval and early modern political environment with competing imperial and regional formations vying to provide patronage to important shrines and temples, as various scholars have shown.21 In this context, Elizabeth Thelen studies the Mughal, Rajput, Maratha, and the successor states who visited/supported/gave grants/protected religious places of worship, sometimes from afar. This is perhaps best exemplified by the patronage extended to the shrine of Mu‘in al-Din Chishti in Ajmer. Besides its importance in Sufi circuits, the site had imperial and local political significance. The tradition of patronage continued under the Mughals, the Rajput rulers, and later the Marathas, with support to both the Ajmer shrine and Pushkar. These different powers all had conflicting interests. As Thelen argues in her fine essay, the competitive patronage of the Ajmer shrine and Pushkar’s brahmins mirrored the conflicts between Marwar and Jaipur and, later, between the Rajputs and the Marathas, and rivalries etching divisions within the communities of religious specialists in these two centres. Patronage built lasting ties between urban religious institutions and regional and imperial political formations, but it could often become a ‘political proxy’ for conflicts. The importance of the shrines did not emerge in the Mughal period. As Raziuddin Aquil shows in his essay, these were already major centres of religiosity and politics dating from the Delhi Sultanate. The deep and abiding significance of religion in human society and psyche had led Mircea Eliade to project it as sui generis. This phenomenon cannot be reduced and is distinct from all other realities of life. Religious symbols and actions were considered to correspond to an absolute referent, religion

8  Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee itself. However, religion cannot be distanced from historically significant social processes. It remains important to perceive the local or situational meanings of ritual symbols and focus on religious functions within the spectrum of human behaviour and imaginings embedded in more profound and broader spheres of life.22 The essays in this volume attempt to relate to these broader matrices of religious beliefs and practices. They variously survey the complex phenomena of tantric Buddhism, Sufism, and Catholic Christianity in premodern India through textual and philosophical tracts. The processes were viewed within given spatial and social contexts, a perspective without which the essence of these experiences could not be felt in a historical sense. Utterances of religious epiphany in texts take a huge internal, hidden, and cryptic turn with the rise of Tantra in South Asia. This is especially observed within Buddhism quite early. Ritwik Bagchi explores the curious forms of tantrayana, particularly in early medieval eastern India. This has been illuminated through the readings of two very different Buddhist anthologies, comprising esoteric metaphysical and ritual ideas furnished in lyrical verses. More succinctly known as songs of realisation, the caryas represent a stream of Buddhist thought and practices that belonged possibly to a rare sectarian world and a hidden spiritual landscape. On the other hand, as Bagchi points out, the sadhanas represented the ritual and liturgical aspects of tantrayana. However, they reiterate their claims to legitimacy through references to known philosophers, indicating the build-up of intellectual legacy. Bagchi seeks to examine the proliferation of multiple strands of Buddhist Tantra in this context to tease out the subtle tones of difference and similarities and understand the complex intellectual world that the tantra texts represent. He also focuses on the contextual parameters of the lyrical verses, the physical and surreal realms in which they could have been nurtured and internalised in the compositions. Bagchi talks about the distinct sacred philosophies and spaces imagined in the two anthologies, which perhaps, taken together, represent the vast canvas of intellectual history associated with Buddhist Tantra. Meanwhile, we see the sense of a sacred landscape, physical and metaphysical, breeding the close links between religion, spatial imaginations, and creations of the holy. Questions of proselytisation and conversion are highly contentious issues in medieval and early modern Indian historiography. Whether conversion to Islam or Christianity, there were some familiar tropes that the proselytisers would utilise to show the superiority of their faith over the ‘other’. Therefore, in one context, we have examples of Sufi miracle stories, and on the other, a catechism demonstrating the moral superiority of Roman Catholicism. Raziuddin Aquil, in his rich essay, looks at the critical social roles of Sufis in medieval India, taking into account the anecdotes of miraculous conversion and Islamicisation in the Chishti literature, such as the malfuzat and tazkiras of the Delhi Sultanate, which refers to numerous tales of miraculous encounters between the Sufi shaikhs and non-Muslim miracle-workers

Introduction  9 or mystic powerholders. Often these would lead to the conversion of nonMuslim antagonists to Islam. The conversion at the hands of the shaikh brought him immense prestige and authority in his wilayat (spiritual territory). Aquil considers cases of the individual, group, and forced conversions by discussing the wondrous anecdotes of miracles, including levitation contests, moving walls, riding tigers, and so much more. Designed to inspire awe and fear, the effect on the listeners would be profound. Chishti shaikhs, the essay argues, were perceived as propagators of Islam in the texts of the middle of the 14th century, and some certainly prayed for the success of the campaigns against non-Muslim rulers, their mere presence in the army bringing much strength to the fighting forces. The belief in their blessings and reports of miracles continue to attract people to these shrines in Delhi, Ajmer, and other centres – creating a numinous environment, sacred geography, or a spiritual landscape. Some of these nodes will continue to attract the attention of early modern political powers, as shown in Thelen’s essay. Sufis also used itr in deference to the Sunna or practice of Prophet Muhammad, whose path they purportedly followed in their love for God, another dimension of the aromatics that links to Amrita Chattopadhay’s essay. Musk was the scent of Prophet Muhammad, and it was considered sacred.23 Catholic Christianity’s activities in early modern Bengal are the focus of Deepashree Dutta’s fine study of a 17th-century Christian convert, Dom Antonio do Rosario, and the catechism he authored, titled Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad. The correspondence of the Jesuit and Augustinian missionaries of Bengal revealed a less explored phase of Bengal’s history when Catholic Christianity tried to root itself in the region through negotiations and contestations. The Jesuits and the Augustinians often acted as the link between the Portuguese privateers, adventurers, and the official Portuguese Estado da India. Dom Antonio do Rosario, in this context, emerged as a figure of much interest and contestation. A convert himself, he was involved in conversions of mainly poor, low caste people, there was even performance of miracles (in some ways reminiscent of the Sufis described by Aquil in his essay), got grants of uncultivated land (as Richard Eaton observed too in the case of spread of Islam in Bengal) in the kingdom of Bhusna,24 but due to his failure to settle the marshy lands, racked up debts and got caught in the crosshairs of the competing Jesuits and the Augustinians. According to Deepashree Dutta, the principle of accommodatio is elucidated in Dom Antonio’s vernacular Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, where in the dialogue between a Bengali Brahman and a Bengali Roman Catholic, the former predictably falters before the logical claims of the latter. Like many texts of its genres, there are comparisons, translations, and searching for equivalences.25 Christ appears as an avatara, though simultaneously, there is a denunciation of the concept of avatara. While predominately dealing with religion, Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad also provides a glimpse of contemporary reality, for instance, noting that the power of the Padshah

10  Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee is paramount on earth.26 The landscape and terrain become an important agent as well, with the missionaries and Dom Antonio struggling in an inhospitable land, failing to be successful agrarian pioneers and in the process jeopardising the entire venture. A similar role, in some cases positive, in some ways negative, is played by the fluvial systems in the case of Kasimbazar-Murshidabad and lower deltaic Bengal, as discussed in Gargi Chattopadhyay’s and Arijita Manna’s essays. As we saw earlier, a region’s settlements were impacted by various factors, including religion, but also through its geographical location and ecology, which has attracted less attention. The settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad are a case in point. Over the years, scholars have studied the political and economic forces determining the fate of these cities, ignoring the river. The river and its beneficial and destructive effects are the focus of Gargi Chattopadhyay’s chapter. The historical setting, its connections to the larger world, easy navigability, fertility, town’s layout, the active silk trade in the area, and the reasons for its gradual waning would all show these facets of the river. Chattopadhyay studies the layout of the settlements, the different residential clusters of Murshidabad and Kasimbazar housing different layers of society, the built environment, business quarters, the European enclaves, seeming disregard for strict religious demarcations, and the vicissitudes in its fortunes. The decline of the Murshidabad-Kasimbazar settlements could be, she argues, because of the eastward turn of the Bhagirathi between the 16th and 18th centuries. The article, thus, explores the linkage between ecology, economy, and settlements. The environment and landscape shaped the production and trade practices of various commodities, as Arijita Manna demonstrates in her detailed chapter, in the context of contraband manufacture and trade in salt. Salt smuggling was a continuity of pre-existing mode of manufacturing and trading practices and, above all, an assertion of the local way of living. Focusing particularly on the frontier of the English East India Company state in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, she argues for unique riverine tracts interspersed with forests that facilitated production and easy transport and prevented the tight control of the Company state. Besides sudden storms or inundation, excessive or unseasonal rain, unpredictable river waters, and predatory animals were added hazards. Domestic production, newly created char lands, and ideas of what constitutes contraband remained deeply contested issues. Local practices kept the environmental concerns at their heart and worked within the constraints of the climate, topography, flora, and fauna. The Company state’s attempts to regulate often came to nought with the local systems persisting with their resilience, and networks of ‘smugglers’ operated with impunity. Local people understood the laws of nature and ritual propitiation to avoid the dangers, ideas scoffed by the Company state and its high-handedness, resulting in labour shortages, hardships yet partial control. This rich article studies the problem of salt smuggling in the salt agencies of Bhulua, Chittagong, Raimangal, and 24 Parganas.

Introduction  11 Religion shaped the history of a region in myriad ways. It could influence daily habits, including dietary practices. Pritam Goswami sees this occurring in the context of the development of Gaudiya Vaishnavism in early modern Bengal, where the local food habits were considerably changed with the emphasis on the consumption of sweets and vegetarianism. As Arjun Appadurai elucidates, food can ‘signal rank and rivalry, solidarity and community, identity or exclusion, and intimacy or distance’. It is a daily perishable necessity, and in the South Asian context, ideas about sharing, redistribution, and power are expressed through food.27 Using the Gaudiya Vaishnava sources consisting of the Vaishnava lyrics and the hagiographies of Sri Chaitanya (1486–1533 CE) and his distinguished followers, Goswami’s interesting essay traces the contribution of Gaudiya Vaishnavism in enriching and expanding the early modern Bengali platter, aiming to move away from consumption of meats (probably an influence of Tantrism and Shakta cults), and advocating vegetarianism for attaining satwa (spiritual) state. The preparation of sweet products, not the typical dairy-based ones that we now associate with Bengali sweets, seemed to become elaborate, replacing the non-vegetarian fare so typical of the region. The Bengali food palate was also connected to the North Indian and Odia food cultures as the Vaishnavas travelled to Vrindavan and the south through Odisha. Food was not only necessary for sustenance or for indulging the tastebuds, but the consumption of the leftovers of the sanctified food or prasada was for attaining Krishnaprema in the Gaudiya worldview and achieving different Vaishnava moods (rasas). Bhakti towards the prasada was an extension of the bhakti towards Krishna, the bodily union with Krishna occurring through the intake of the prasada. Thus, food gained a newer dimension, connected the material, and turned into a way to reach the metaphysical. Here food, not perfumes as in Amrita Chattopadhyay’s article, but equally ephemeral, becomes the object with unique integrative properties and transformative roles. Often the prasada itself was aromatic, supposed to denote the presence of Krishna himself. Cuisines for millennia have used herbs, spices, flowers, roots, scents, edible camphor, and other complex compounds of aromatic ingredients to heighten culinary aesthetics and pleasures of eating. The distribution of the prasada also fed the destitute patitos, elements of communal, congregational dining complicated by still existent caste barriers. Premodern religious practices stimulated the senses. Tales were recounted, music was played, dances were performed, prayers were offered, fragrant flowers and leaves were used for decoration, incense was burnt, prasada or food from langars (Sufi community kitchens, seen later among the Sikhs as well) and akharas were eaten, in specific contexts and periods animal sacrifices were made at the altar, azan and temple bells were heard – all of these things combined to create a very specific sensory experience. The auditory perception was vital as well. Besides the visual,

12  Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee other senses of smell, heat, humidity, sound, and taste (many of these transient) may provide alternative readings of space and landscape, as some of these essays suggest. Ian Whyte writes that landscapes are multilayered, they are ‘palimpsests that hark back to earlier engagements with the environment by different societies, emphasising change’.28 The land itself is a porous surface on which people inscribe their values and concerns without succeeding entirely in erasing the vestiges of prior preoccupations.29 At the same time, there are differing views about landscapes, making their nature contested. Among various other factors, religious beliefs and practices were vital in making the physical environments. Location of a shrine, a temple, the confluence of a river, a hilltop, sacred groves, spaces hallowed by miracles, etc., were signposts of the entwined religious histories of the premodern world. The final chapter by Durga Basu begins by highlighting the archaeology of early medieval Bengal from a broad perspective. It then takes us to the specific vantage of the site of Kankandighi, located east of Raidighi near Lakshmikantapur. The study reveals a rich array of artefacts, materials, and structural remains indicating the nature of coastal lower Bengal’s natural and human environment during the early medieval period. The meticulous presentation of the findings from the site also opens the possibilities of a wider hinterland and networks of connections further afield for resource utilisation. Possible clues to the processes of human interventions in the coastal Bengal landscape highlight the importance of the ecological area as a significant early medieval habitation zone and a budding cultural context. These new findings, placed with the earlier observations witnessed, for example, at Tilpi and Dhosa, the early historic twin sites rarely discussed in present scholarly works,30 offering the scope of a significant longue durée micro-history of the locality. This window to understanding the efflorescence of multiculturality in an ecologically dynamic landscape offers an illuminating example of how multiscalar methodologies of investigation could yield a rich result. The scope of historical research is forever widening while rooting itself in the philosophy of perceiving the past within an evidential frame. Researchers take cognisance of multiple disciplines such as geography, ethnography, ethnohistory, and cultural studies with an eye for a comprehensive understanding of human experiences played out in varied spatial, cultural, and affective domains. Landscape thus evolves here as the spatial, functional, and cultural site where history emerges in various manifestations, in material and spiritual frames of human life. The diverse array of contributions in this volume presents examples of current research into a range of issues relating to the intersection of landscape, its sacrality, and its material culture in premodern Indian history. It is hoped that collectively this bouquet of fresh insights will raise more questions, unsettle many classifications, patterns, and certitudes that have informed academic writings, and thereby contribute to broadening the scope of studies on these crucial aspects of history.

Introduction  13

Notes 1 Nicola Whyte, ‘Senses of Place, Senses of Time: Landscape History from a British Perspective’, Landscape Research, 2015, Vol. 40, No. 8: 925–38. 2 See for an architect’s point of view see Nalini Thakur, ‘Indian Cultural Landscapes: Religious Pluralism, Tolerance and Ground Reality’, Journal of SPA: New Dimensions in Research of Environments for Living ‘The Sacred’, 2011, No. 3. URL https://architexturez​.net​/doc​/az​-cf​-21175 accessed on 13.2.2021. 3 Ian D. Whyte, Landscape and History since 1500, London: Reaktion Books, 2002, pp. 13, 21. 4 Ibid., p. 7. 5 Also see Elizabeth A. Cecil, Mapping the Pasupata Landscape. Narrative, Place and the Saiva Imaginary in Early Medieval North India, Leiden: Brill, 2019, p. 7. 6 Catherine Allerton, ‘Introduction: Spiritual Landscapes of Southeast Asia’, Anthropological Forum, 2009, Vol. 19, No. 3: 235–51. 7 Richard M. Carp, ‘Teaching Religion and Material Culture’, Teaching Theology and Religion, 2007, Vol. 10, No. 1: 2–12. 8 Cecil, Mapping the Pasupata Landscape. 9 See the Introduction, in H.P. Ray and Susan Verma, The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces: The Temple in Western India, 2nd Century BCE–8th Century CE, Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge, 2017, pp. 3–6; For the ritual space see J. Robb, ‘The ‘Ritual Landscape’ Concept in Archaeology: A Heritage Construction’, Landscape Research, 1998, Vol. 23, No. 2: 159–74. 10 Prita Meier, Swahili Port Cities. The Architecture of Elsewhere, Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2016. 11 Sugata Ray, Climate Change and the Art of Devotion. Geoaesthetics in the Land of Krishna, 1550–1850, Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2019, p. 22. 12 Phyllis Granoff, ‘Defining Sacred Place: Contest, Compromise, and Priestly Control in Some Māhātmya Texts’, Annals of the Bhandarkar Oriental Research Institute, 1998, Vol. 79, No. 1/4: 1–27. 13 Carla Nappi, ‘Surface Tension. Objectifying Ginseng in Chinese Early Modernity’, in Paula Findlen (ed.), Early Modern Things. Objects and Their Histories, 1500–1800, Abingdon and New York: Routledge, 2021, p. 29. 14 PGW or ‘Painted Grey Ware’ is a ceramic type specifically representing the Iron Age in northern India. The temporal phase for the occurrence of this ceramic is currently estimated between the last centuries of the second millennium and the mid-centuries of the first millennium BCE. The spatial spread is noted mostly in eastern Punjab (Indian), western Uttar Pradesh, and parts of Rajasthan. The finely executed grey wares are painted with black geometric motifs. This ceramic culture with its associated ceramic types and cultures was followed by the emergence of another notable ceramic type, representing the transition into the early historic phase in India. This is the Northern Black Polished Ware (NBPW), ranging in time approximately from the mid to the late first millennium BCE. The ceramic is found widely distributed throughout the subcontinent. See T.N. Roy, ‘Concept, Provenance and Chronology of Painted Grey Ware’, East and West, 1984, Vol. 34, No. 1/3: 127–37. For a recent overview see Akinori Uesegi, ‘A Study on the Painted Grey Ware’, Heritage: Journal of Multidisciplinary Studies in Archaeology, 2018, Vol. 6: 1–29. 15 Doris Meth Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura: The Cultural Heritage, New Delhi: American Institute of Indian Studies, 1989. 16 Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, New York: Basic Books, 1973, p. 91.

14  Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee 17 Sonia Hazard, ‘The Material Turn in the Study of Religion’, Religion and Society, 2013, Vol. 4, No. 1: 58–78. 18 Ibid.: 69. 19 Anne Gerritsen and Giorgio Riello (eds), Writing Material Culture History, London: Bloomsbury, 2021, p. 15. 20 Emma Flatt, ‘Spices, Smells and Spells: The Use of Olfactory Substances in the Conjuring of Spirits’, South Asian Studies, 2016, Vol. 32, No. 1: 3–21. Emma Flatt, ‘Social Stimulants: Perfuming Practices in Sultanate India’, in Kavita Singh (ed.), Scent upon a Southern Breeze: Synaesthesia and the Arts of the Deccan, Mumbai: Marg Foundation, 2018, pp. 24–41. 21 Richard Eaton, ‘Temple Desecration and Indo-Muslim States’, in Richard M. Eaton (ed.), Essays on Islam and Indian History, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000, pp. 94–132. Norbert Peabody, Hindu Kingship and Polity in Precolonial India, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003; Muzaffar Alam, The Languages of Political Islam: India, 1200–1800, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004, p. 78. 22 Russell McCutcheon, Manufacturing Religion: The Discourse on Sui Generis Religion and Politics of Nostalgia, New York: Oxford University Press, 1997. 23 Anya H. King, Scent from the Garden of Paradise: Musk and the Medieval Islamic World, Leiden: Brill, 2017, pp. 1–3. 24 Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier: 1204–1760, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993. 25 Anwesha Sengupta, ‘Trans-textuality, Translation and Equivalence Exploring the Processes of Textual Transposition in the Prologue of Alaol’s Padmabati’, in Raziuddin Aquil and Tilottama Mukherjee (eds), An Earthly Paradise: Trade, Politics and Culture in Early Modern Bengal, London and New York: Routledge, 2020, pp. 397–434. Ayesha Irani, The Muhammad Avatara: Salvation History, Translation, and the Making of Bengali Islam, New York: Oxford University Press, 2021. 26 See for instance in medieval South Indian texts, how the political realities of the period are neatly absorbed in religious terms. Cynthia Talbot, ‘Inscribing the Other, Inscribing the Self: Hindu-Muslim Identities in Pre-Colonial India’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 1995, Vol. 37, No. 4: 692–722. 27 Arjun Appadurai, ‘Gastro-Politics in Hindu South Asia’, American Ethnologist, 1981, Vol. 8, No. 3, Symbolism and Cognition: 494–511. 28 Ian D. Whyte, Landscape and History since 1500, pp. 7–8. 29 See the connection between religion and landscape, in for instance Alexandra Walsham, The Reformation of the Landscape. Religion, Identity, and Memory in Early Modern Britain and Ireland, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. 30 Bishnupriya Basak, ‘Interpreting Historical Archaeology of Coastal Bengal; Possibilities and Limitations’, in D.N. Jha (ed.), The Complex Heritage of Early India: Essays in Memory of R.S. Sharma, New Delhi: Manohar Publishers and Distributors, 2014, pp. 155–79; ‘Excavation at Tilpi, District South 24 Parganas’, Indian Archaeology a Review, 2006–2007, Rakesh Tiwari (Chief Editor), D.N. Dimri and Jeeban Kumar Patnaik, eds, Archaeological Survey of India, 2016: 135–40; Pampa Biswas and Shubha Majumder, ‘Some Aspects of Buddhist Remains of Twenty Four Parganas’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 2010–2011, Vol. 71: 1072–78.

PART I

Sacred Spaces and Cultural Landscapes



1

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces Re-examining Early Coastal Temples in Gujarat Himanshu Prabha Ray

A series of structural stone temples dot the western seaboard of Saurashtra from Dwarka in the north to Somnath in the south (Map 1.1). These modest temples, especially those at Gop, Ghumli, Pachtar, and Praci, were discovered by James Burgess in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. However, major work was done by the Archaeological Research Society, Porbandar, which was set up in 1953, and by the State Department of Archaeology in the 1950s and 1960s. With a few exceptions, most of these temples are now preserved by the State Department of Archaeology as ‘monuments’, although some others, such as the temples at Dwarka and Somnath, have been renovated and restored over time and continue to be in worship. What is striking about these temples is their location on the sea looking across the waters, and yet this aspect has seldom been discussed, with much of the earlier work focussing on the art and architecture of the shrines.1 Gujarat has a coastline of 1600 km, most of which lies in Saurashtra, bounded by the Gulf of Kachchh in the north and the Gulf of Khambhat in the southeast. The region was settled at least from the third millennium BCE onwards. A survey of published sources on the archaeology of Gujarat shows at least 683 Harappan sites, both early and late. These are primarily located around the Gulf of Kachchh and in Jamnagar district, while Junagadh district is a blank, except for the coastal site of Prabhas Patan, 4 km south of Veraval at the mouth of the Hiran River. The site comprises a group of mounds, which were first excavated in 1956 by the Gujarat State Department of Archaeology and MS University, Vadodara, and subsequently by others. The earliest habitation at the site dates from 2000 to 1200 BCE, after which the site was abandoned. It was reoccupied around 400 BCE and continued into the historical period. The excavators refer to the mention of Prabhasa in the Mahabharata as a pleasure resort on the Hiran River.2 Gujarat is one region that is known for early coastal temples, which were dedicated to a variety of deities, ranging from the non-Sanskritic fertility goddess Lajja-Gauri, whose shrine dated to the 1st century BCE was excavated from the site of Padri in the Talaja tahsil of Bhavnagar district of Gujarat hardly 2 km from the Gulf of Khambhat, to temples of Surya or Sun DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-3

18  Himanshu Prabha Ray

Map 1.1 Map of Gujarat showing the location of coastal temples. A black and white outline map of Gujarat showing the location of temples and Buddhist sites, many along the western seaboard of Saurashtra from Dwarka in the north to Somnath in the south.

and other gods along the Saurashtra coast from the 6th century onwards. The data from Padri is followed by a series of coastal shrines in Saurashtra, the earliest of which is the 7th-century temple to Surya at Gop in Jamnagar district, located around 65 km inland from the coast (Figure 1.1). The largest temple of the period is at Bilesvara, 30 km south of Gop. During the 6th to 8th century, several temples were constructed in Saurashtra, mainly along the coastline. These are referred to as the ‘Maitraka temples’ as this period corresponds roughly to Maitraka rule. This article re-examines the archaeological context of coastal temples and their maritime orientation. It draws on earlier published work and also builds on it.3 These temples are often attributed to the generosity and patronage of the Maitraka dynasty (493–776 CE), with their political centre at Vallabhi at the head of the Gulf of Khambhat. Consider, for example, the following statement: ‘The Maitrakas of Vallabhi (the first local dynasty of Saurashtra) through land grants to Brahmanas, Buddhist viharas and occasionally to

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces  19

Figure 1.1 Temple at Gop in Jamnagar district. The temple of Gop is perhaps the earliest remaining stone temple of Saurashtra, Gujarat, located on the bank of the Vartu river and south-west of the Gop hill. It has a square plan, bigger than what can be seen at present. The walls are grey, plain, vertical, undecorated, and over that there is a pyramidal shikhara (spire) formed of tiers.

temples sought to legitimise their authority and extend into the countryside for resource mobilisation.’4 No doubt, more than 120 copper-plate grants of the Maitrakas written in Sanskrit provide a rich corpus that has been frequently used to write the history of the Maitrakas, especially within the socio-economic framework with an emphasis on the emergence of the state. The emergence of temples … could not have been possible without corresponding developments in the spheres of religion and culture. The growing importance of Bhakti and the influence of Puranic religion together with the spread of state-society. and, flowing from it, the political compulsions of the new ruling lineages contributed to the new phenomenon.5 As discussed in an earlier paper,6 it is no doubt true that the site of Vallabhi first occurs in inscriptions from the 6th century onwards, but archaeological excavations at the site date the earliest settlement located on a small

20  Himanshu Prabha Ray island between the two arms of the Ghelo river to the 1st–2nd centuries CE. The settlement gradually expanded in a linear pattern along the river.7 Archaeological exploration in the region has provided evidence for 22 early historic sites located in a linear pattern along the river and a multitier settlement hierarchy.8 The site of Hathab was the largest site, located close to the sea with an area of over 40 hectares, while the most significant number of sites, i.e. 11, falls in the category of 3–12 hectares. It is significant that while 13 sites were located in the black cotton soil zone, six were situated close to the coast. The site of Padri, situated 3–4 km inland, was known for the extraction of salt. Amreli is another important archaeological site located upstream of the survey area on the Thebi, a tributary of the Shetrunji, and excavations conducted here yielded continuous occupation of the site from the 1st century BCE to the 8th century CE.9 This complex settlement pattern is further supported by information from inscriptions. While the 2nd century CE inscription of Rudradaman from Junagadh refers to the threefold division of a town, market, and rural space (nagara-nigama-janapada), Maitraka epigraphs (493–776 CE) mention a diverse variety of territorial sub-units (palli, padraka, grama, dranga, bhukti, bhumi, patta, petha, visaya, and so on). The office of the Drangika was peculiar to the Maitrakas and included a number of villages in its jurisdiction, for example, three grants refer to villages belonging to the Mandali-dranga. The term petha has been found in one grant, which refers to Vatagrama in Dipanaka petta in Bilvakhata sthali. The conclusion is that a petha was larger than grama or village but smaller than a sthali. The occurrence of the term petha in two copper-plate grants from central India and dated to 529 and 533 CE indicates the central Indian connections of Gujarat at this time.10 We start the paper by highlighting the diverse range of temples on the coast and their characteristic features. This is followed by a second section based on information provided by copper-plate grants regarding the religious culture of Gujarat from the 5th to the 8th century, while in the final section, I discuss the maritime networks of Gujarat. It is hoped that this paper will help place the coastal temples within the broader transoceanic context.

The Temples As mentioned above, the earliest temple in coastal Gujarat was excavated at Padri and dates to the 1st century BCE–1st century CE. The only structure uncovered partially in the central part of the site at Padri comprised stone construction, roughly rectangular in plan with rounded corners and a hardened floor of alternate layers of clay and gravel. On the southern side of this stone enclosure were two compact floors with post-holes along the periphery, suggesting some superstructure. Two terracotta plaques of the fertility goddess Lajja-Gauri were found on the floor of the structure, while a square slate plaque with the image of Lajja-Gauri was found on the

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces  21 surface. Other images included sandstone figures of Ganesha and Vishnu.11 Especially significant is a settlement on the island of Beyt Dwarka in the 1st and 2nd centuries CE. However, the religious affiliation of the settlement is not evident. In the early centuries of the Common Era, the religious landscape of Gujarat was diverse, and Padri is not the only site that has yielded remains of religious architecture. Miniature Shiva lingas were found at Vallabhi and are dated from the 1st century BCE to the 4th century CE.12 There is evidence of early worship of Vishnu at the sites of Hathab and Kamrej, on the river Tapti in south Gujarat, while Buddhist caves are known from Talaja in Bhavnagar district, Koteshwar, and Devnimori. The imagery on the rock-cut caves at Dhank in Rajkot district shows the presence of Jainism in the region, in addition to finds of 4th-century images of Lajja-Gauri and the Buddha. The Junagadh inscription of Skandagupta dated 455 CE refers to the king setting up a temple to the god Vishnu with a great expenditure of wealth (verses 43–45). It is within this cultural milieu that there was an increase in the number of temples in the 5th century CE. Archaeological remnants of early temples have been found at several sites, such as at the site of Goraj in Vadodara district, where a plinth of a brickbuilt structure was unearthed.13 The temple, even though dated from the 3rd to the 5th century, was used and rebuilt in the Maitraka period, as different stages of repair of the plinth are evident, as indicated by finds of a coin of Kumaragupta and Maitraka sculpture at the site.14 The site of Chachlana is located in the Kalyanpura taluka of Jamnagar district, and exploration led to the recovery of a sculpture of Kubera dated to the 4th century CE, along with the other architectural fragments suggesting the remains of a temple dating to the 4th century CE.15 Structural temples have been described as plain with a cubical sanctum, including the sandhara and nirandhara varieties, i.e. with and without the circumambulatory path. There are no carved ceilings, and on the whole, the structure has limited decoration. The stone temple at Gop on the banks of the Vartu River faced east and was built on a high platform with a pyramidal roof capped by an amalaka and is decorated by three large arch-like blind windows. The passageway around the sanctuary and the mandapa that was probably at the front is no longer extant. It contains an image of Surya on the west, a relief of Skanda, linga and mutilated figures of Vishnu, and also a figure of Uma. It has been identified as a temple affiliated to Shiva. A slab in the sanctum of the temple bears a few undeciphered letters in ornamental Brahmi of around CE 600.16 This temple is located on a hilly outcrop looking down upon the surrounding area. The temple stands out and is visible from a distance while on the road. This hilly outcrop is today surrounded by agricultural land. The temple site had to its advantage the availability of agricultural land as well as mineral resources. This could probably explain the choice of this site for the construction of a temple.

22  Himanshu Prabha Ray Dwarka, famed as the city of Krishna and the temple at Somnath, are mentioned as sacred tīrthas in the Mahābhārata. ‘There is also Dvārāvatī which produces great merit and in which lives the slayer of Madhu’ (III, 88). One should go to Dwarka, as mentioned in the Mahābhārata, with a regulated diet and vows and one who bathes in the Pindaraka obtains the merit of giving away much gold and that Mahādeva is always present at this tīrtha (III, 82). Excavations carried out at Dwarka by the Archaeological Survey of India in 1979 revealed the existence of a temple (Temple I) dated to 1st century BCE–2nd century CE in DWK–1. The excavations were carried out in the forecourt of the Dwarkadheesh temple, and Temple II (3rd–7th century CE) and Temple III (8th–12th century CE) reveal the continued importance of this sacred site over the centuries and to date. Temple III is rectangular in plan and faces east, consisting of a sanctum and mandapas. The upper courses of the plinth and wall are elegantly covered with animal friezes and panels of devotees and gods, the lower courses being plain. The figures of Vishnu, Varaha, Lakshmi, etc., carved in bold relief, suggest that the temple was dedicated to Vishnu. There is no yoni-patta, but part of a pedestal of the cult image is in situ in the garbha-griha (Figure 1.2).17 Excavations done at two sites on

Figure 1.2 Temple at Dwarka unearthed during archaeological excavations. The Dwarakadheesh temple in Dwarka is dedicated to Krishna. The original early medieval temple was enlarged in the 15th–16th century. The image shows the forecourt with intricate carvings on the exterior, depictions of elephants, and different Vishnu avataras.

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces  23 the seaward side of Dwarka brought to light submerged settlements, a large stone-built jetty, and triangular stone anchors with three holes. More than 120 stone anchors of different varieties have been noticed in Dwarka waters. They are made of limestone, basalt, sandstone, and laterite. The settlements are in the form of exterior and interior walls and fort bastions.18 About 45 km northeast of Dwarka is the site of Pindara in Kalyanpura taluk near what is locally known as Durvasa rishi ashram. The cluster of five temples and a long pillared mandapa with an enclosure were discovered in the 1960s. In 2007, the remnants of the submerged temple complex were found north of the existing temple complex during underwater surveys. Only the jagati (plinth) of the temple has survived, which suggests that the temple was east facing with remains of a Shiva linga in the centre. Pindara has also been a centre of pearl fishing, and large quantities of oyster shells were collected during a survey of the intertidal zone.19 Another cluster of temples is located around the city of Porbandar on the Gujarat coast. The Khimeshvar group of seven temples is well known for the Mahadeva temple, which continues in worship. Another site that shows the continuity of worship is Miyani. This site is located on a creek, and temples are to be found on either side. The creek was used as a shelter in the harbour for local small crafts, particularly fishing vessels. Besides temples belonging to the early period, two exquisitely decorated temples were built in the 9th–10th centuries. A study of the seabed topography of the Saurashtra coast reveals that many temple sites were located close to creeks, as seen in the case of Miyani, Visavada, Kindarkheda, Somnath, Kodinar (Mul Dwarka), Hathab, and Vallabhipur. The discovery of ancient jetties along the Porbandar creek signifies the importance of Porbandar as an active centre of maritime activities in the past.20 The Somnath temple at Veraval was reconstructed several times, and the present temple is a modern reconstruction of the 1950s. The ancient Shiva temple at the site is often dated to the 10th century, though more recent archaeological investigations have traced the earliest settlement in the vicinity to the 3rd millennium BCE. A small-scale excavation has shown the occupation of the coast at Somnath during the early part of the Common Era by a settlement engaged in cattle/sheep goat pastoralism, hunting, fishing, shell working, and probably trade with other neighbouring early historic sites.21 Further south of the temple at Somnath are the coastal villages of Kadvar, Sutrapada, and Pasnavada, where early temples still survive, including a Varaha temple at Kadvar. This brief overview of the coastal temples of Saurashtra has underscored the utilisation of seaside spaces for religious architecture from the beginning of the Common Era onwards, as also the fact that settlements along the coast date to a much earlier period of the third and second millennium BCE. There was an increase in the number of modest coastal stone temples from the 6th and 7th centuries onwards. These temples were located away from the political centre of the contemporary ruling dynasty of the Maitrakas

24  Himanshu Prabha Ray at Vallabhi, and challenge the often-held view of being labelled ‘Maitraka temples’. This is an issue that I examine with reference to the copper-plate charters of the Maitrakas.

The Inscriptions As mentioned above, more than 120 copper-plate grants of the Maitrakas written in Sanskrit are known, with the most extensive collection housed in the Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya in Mumbai. A majority of these inscriptions were issued from Vallabhi and commenced with eulogies of the kings and then provided details of the land to be donated to religious donees. There is a singular absence of temples discussed in the earlier section in the charters, though there are references to the religious affiliations of the kings. One of the epithets adopted by Maitraka kings was that of paramamāheśvara, ‘entirely devoted to Śiva’. Sanderson has shown that the epithet was first used in the 4th century by the Salankayanas of Andhra and was adopted extensively by kings of various dynasties in the early medieval period, including 16 out of 19 Maitraka kings.22 No doubt, early Maitraka kings also used other affiliations, such as king Dhruvasena I described himself as paramabhāgavata or devotee of Vishnu, while his brother Dharapatta used the appellation paramādityabhakta or worshipper of Surya. Nevertheless, a majority of the 120 endowments of the Maitrakas were made in favour of brahmanas, whose Vedic affiliations are specified, and Buddhist monks and nuns, rather than temples. Only five grants record donations to temples. More than half of the brahmana donees were Yajurvedins, almost 30 per cent Samavedins, some 20 per cent Ṛgvedins, and only six of the recipients were Atharvavedins. Though several kings issued copper-plate charters between the 4th and 10th centuries in favour of brahmanas, only a minority of them seem to have supported Atharvavedic brahmanas, with the Maitrakas being the exceptions to the rule.23 Most of the donations to brahmanas were of land rather than villages and were concentrated in the region of Vallabhi and Hathab. The purpose of the donations is explicitly mentioned as the performance of the ‘five great sacrifices’ (pañcamahāyajña): ‘for the purpose of executing the ceremonies related to the five great sacrifices, [i.e.] oblations [for all beings], offerings of boiled rice, donations for all gods, oblations into the fire, and the feeding of guests’.24 As mentioned earlier, only five of the 120 charters issued by the Maitrakas were made in favour of deities and shrines. The temple was referred to as devakula. Significantly, the term devakula for a public religious structure comes into use in the Arthaśāstra, the earlier terms being devagṛha/ devatāgṛha and devāyatana/devatāyatana. Patrick Olivelle concludes that: The evidence of the Dharma literature contrasts sharply with that of the Arthaśāstra, even though they come from roughly the same period. While in the Dharmaśāstras the temple is conspicuous by its absence,

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces  25 in the Arthaśāstra, at least some temples are introduced as strong and well-endowed social institutions. This shows once again the pitfalls of depending on a single slice of literary data to uncover the social history on the ground. Most frequently, only a tiny window is opened into the social reality by these texts, a window that is controlled by the interests and biases of those responsible for their production.25 Of the five Maitraka records, two of the grants were to shrines of local goddesses namely Pāṇḍ[u]rājyā and Koṭṭammahikādevī, while another two were for sanctuaries of Ādityabhaṭṭāraka-deva, the Sun god, and only one for a temple of Mahadeva, i.e. Shiva. The Bhamodra Mohota plate of Droṇasiṃha, [Vallabhi] year 183, found in the village of Bhamodra Mohota, Bhavnagar district in 1895, records the grant of the village of Trisaṃgamaka in favour of the goddess Pāṇḍ[u]rājyā for her cult and repairs of her temple (devakula).26 The grant was to be used for bali, caru, vaiśvadeva, and other ceremonies and to provide fragrance, incense, lights, oil, and garlands and to repair the collapsed dilapidated parts of the temple, as well as for charitable feeding (satra). The Kukad Plates of Dhruvasena I, [Vallabhi] year 206, were found in the village of Kukad in Bhavnagar district and are a record of a grant of land to the temple of the Sun god at Kukkūṭagrama. The temple is said to have been established by the Pratīhara Mammaka, and the donation, as in most cases, was for acquiring religious merit.27 Unlike the two grants discussed so far, the Dhank plates of Shiladitya I, [Vallabhi] year 290, were issued from a military camp outside Vallabhi and record donations of land to the Mahadeva shrine erected by Harinatha. In addition to the provisions made in the other two grants, the Dhank plates also include a provision for instrumental and vocal music and dance.28 The Bhadreṇiyaka Plates of Shiladitya I, [Vallabhi] year 292, were also issued from a victory camp and record donation of land in favour of Adityadeva and is the second of the Maitraka grants to the Sun god.29 The temple of the deity was located in the Bhadreṇiyaka village, and the grant also includes provisions for instrumental and vocal music, dance, etc. The two Bhamodra Mohota Plates of Dhruvasena II, [Vallabhi] year 320, were found along with the plate of Dronasimha mentioned earlier. It records a new regular donation of a permanent deposit of money out of which one ‘rupaka’ was to be given in favour of the shrine of goddess Koṭṭammahikā.30 In the 26 inscriptions recording grants to Buddhist monasteries and nunneries issued between CE 530 and 680, 20 monasteries are identifiable. While comparing the phrases of Buddhist inscriptions, stating the purpose of the donation with those of Hindu donations to temples, Oskar von Hinueber has highlighted striking similarities, such as the use of terms such as suga​ndha/ p​ushpa​-dhup​a-dip​a-tai​l-adi​-kriyotsarppanartham​ to perform sacrificial ceremonies with fragrances, incense, flowers, lamps, oil, etc. which combine terminology from Hindu and Buddhist texts. Another example relates to the use of the phrase dhanam-ca bhagvatam puja-​snapa​na-ga​ndha-​dhupa​-pusp​a-mal​ya-

26  Himanshu Prabha Ray di​pa-ta​il-ad​y-upa​yogay​a ‘to be used for fragrances, incense, flowers, garlands, lamps, oil etc., for bathing and worshipping the venerable Buddhas’. Besides, one of the inscriptions refers to a devakula or temple to the Buddhist deity Tara.31 The first half of this period is characterised by Hindu expressions used in Buddhist contexts, while in the second period, these traces of Brahmanical language slowly begin to disappear from the texts of grants to the community of Buddhist monks, and are, in the end, dropped completely by CE 606.32 However, as Schmiedchen has argued, the expectations of the donees were not the same, as is evident from the specific terminology adopted by the Buddhists and the Hindus, though the objective of the grants was to gain religious merit.33 An analysis of the five inscriptions referring to temples shows the disconnect between data from copper-plate charters and the extant temples and archaeological sites. It is also evident that shrines were modest structures, and grants were to be used for worship of the deity, maintenance and repairs of the temple, and supply of either temple priests or servants or both. There seem to be changes in the provisions recorded over time, and we have already pointed out the inclusion of dance and music in shrines, as also donations in the form of permanent endowments of money. It is also important to point out the emphasis in the inscriptions on repairs of temples and provisions made for them. A notable absence in the Maitraka period is stone inscriptions on temple walls that could provide insights into the nature of the interaction between the community and the shrine. At this stage, three other copper-plate grants issued by the Huna ruler Toramana (CE 496) and found at Sanjeli in the Panchmahals district of north Gujarat need to be discussed. The grants mention donations made by the trading community at Vadrapalli to the temple of the queen mother Vīrādhyikā, mother of Matridasa, and dedicated to the deity Jayaswami or Narayana in different regnal years of the king.34 The site of Vadrapalli has been identified as located 8 km to the west of Sanjeli, and signatories to the grant included trading groups from Ujjain, Kannauj, Mathura, and perhaps Mandasor from central India. In a significant departure from the other records discussed earlier, the copper plates state that medicines (bhaisaja) were to be provided to mendicants and devotees visiting the temple. A tank is said to have been built near the temple by a goldsmith, and a rest-house is mentioned in the plates of the 6th regnal year. Clearly, in addition to the worship of the deity, the temple had acquired several social functions. Another interesting facet of the relationship between the temple and the merchant community appears in the copper-plate charter of Visnusena in Sanskrit, issued from Lohata in the Kathiawar region. D. C. Sircar, the

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces  27 editor of the inscription, has identified Lohata with the town of Rohar on the Gulf of Kachchh.35 The findspot of the copper plates are unknown, but on palaeographic grounds, the records are dated to 6th–7th century CE. The charter states that king Visnusena was approached by the community of merchants from Lohata to endorse customary laws prevalent in the community that had been continuing for several generations. The king assures protection to the community of merchants established in the region and endorses their continued functioning. The inscription then provides a detailed list of 72 trade regulations or customary laws to be followed by the merchant community. The variety of taxable items mentioned in the inscription is an indication of the diverse nature of riverine and maritime trade in the region. These included oil mills, sugarcane fields, wine, cumin seed, black mustard, and coriander. The inscription also refers to a tax on dyers of cloth, weavers, shoemakers, and retailers hawking goods on foot. Others such as blacksmiths, carpenters, barbers, potters, etc. could be recruited for forced labour under the supervision of officers. More importantly, the record makes a distinction between commodities meant for religious purposes and the temple, as opposed to those to be sold in the market and underscores a differential in taxation. For example, for ‘a boat full of vessels probably of metal, the crossing fare was 12 silver coins; but, if the vessels were meant for any religious purpose, the tax was only 1¼ silver coins’ (verse 53).36 A distinction needs to be made between copper-plate grants and stone inscriptions. Copper-plate charters were records of donations inscribed on copper and issued by ruling kings from the third century CE onwards and increasingly by private individuals over time. The earliest example of the copper-plate grant is the Patagaṇḍiguḍem grant comprising five copper plates of the Ikṣhvaku King Ehavala Cāntamūla dated to the late third century CE. Found in the village of Patagaṇḍiguḍem in 1998, it is now in the Telangana State Museum. It was issued from the victorious royal headquarters, from Dhaṇṇakaḍā (Dhānyakaṭaka) and records ‘a permanent endowment, … in order to expand the king’s own merit and to increase his lifespan and power, to the Great Monastery in Pithuṇḍa 32 nivartanas of plowable land’.37 Copper-plate charters were thus very specific documents known as raja-śāsanas or royal orders, which recorded allocations of land revenue and tax exemptions. Unlike stone inscriptions, they were not publicly displayed but were treasured by the grant beneficiaries as title deeds and were often found buried for safety’s sake.38 As discussed earlier in this paper, many of the copper-plate grants of the Maitraka period were found buried in villages in and around Vallabhi, the capital city of the ruling kings. The Viṣṇusmṛti lays down (3.82): To whomever, he [the king] donates land, he should also give a deed written on a piece of cloth [paṭa] or a copper plate [tāmra-paṭṭa] and marked with his seal intended to inform future kings, a deed that

28  Himanshu Prabha Ray contains the names of his predecessors, the extent of the land, and an imprecation against anyone who would annul the gift. For Hermann Kulke, copper plates are an ‘effective medium of instruction (and political propaganda)’ in three aspects: they ‘establish and confirm royal claims of legitimacy and the conformity of their own and their forefather’s rule with rājadharma [i.e. royal duty]’, they ‘corroborate or … change the administrative hierarchy’ and strengthen ‘the king’s position on top of this hierarchy’, and they ‘set up new or confirm old measures of standardised tax collection and administration through a network of privileged Brahmin villages’.39 However, data from copper plates have been indiscriminately used by historians to write about the temple and the role of religious groups in society, as emphasised at the beginning of this paper. Francis makes a distinction between private documents such as the copper-plate charters and stone inscriptions that were publicly displayed.40 This difference between the two becomes more marked as stone inscriptions on temple walls gain currency, as evident from 6th century CE old Kannada inscription of Chalukya king Mangalesha, the son of Pulakeshin I in cave III at Badami in north Karnataka: He having erected a temple, an abode of the great Visnu (mahāviṣṇugṛham), surpassing everything that is celestial or human, fashioned with most curious workmanship, most worthy to look at and having given rich gifts to brahmanas on the holy full moon day of the month of Karttika granted on the occasion of the installation of the image of the holy Visnu the village of Lanjisvara, having made a daily observance, the bestowal of food and alms upon sixteen brahmanas for the purpose of offering oblation (bali) to Narayana and having set apart the remainder for the sustenance of wandering religious mendicants. The reward of this religious merit was made over to his elder brother Kirtivarma in the presence of the Sun (āditya) fire (agni) merchants (mahājana).41 This 6th century CE epigraph is symptomatic of the complex process involved in constructing and consecrating temples. On the one hand, royalty made donations for temple construction and recorded these in stone on temple walls for all to see. Secondly, both the brahmanas and wandering religious mendicants involved in the consecration of the shrines were also recipients of the king’s generosity. Thirdly, after construction was completed, the image was installed in the shrine on an auspicious day amidst festivities, and finally, the transference of religious merit was earned through this act to relatives, in this case, an elder brother. The temple had thus assimilated multiple meanings, which impacted society in a variety of ways. An issue that still requires an explanation is the location of temples on the coast far removed from the political centres of the ruling dynasties. Was the Gujarat coast an aberration, or has the coastal shrine and its maritime

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces  29 cultural landscape continued to be under-researched, as historians have focussed instead on the role of the temple in political legitimisation?

The West Coast and the Maritime Cultural Landscape As mentioned earlier, Gujarat has a coastline of 1600 km, most of which lies in Saurashtra. Saurashtra is bounded by the Gujarat plains in the east and northeast, by the Gulf of Kachchh and Little Rann on the north, and on the southeast by the Gulf of Khambhat. The Arabian Sea borders the entire southern seaboard. As recently as 1970, sailing vessels carried 30 per cent of the total trade. It had one large international port at Kandla in Kachchh and 46 smaller ports, which handled 40 per cent of the total traffic. Thus, sailing vessels were an integral part of the maritime cultural landscape of Gujarat. In the 1950s, the Swedish maritime ethnologist Olof Hasslof introduced the term sjobruk or maritime cultural landscape signifying demarcation and utilisation of maritime space by communities for settlement, fishing, shipping, pilotage, etc.42 A significant feature of this maritime landscape was the religious shrine, and it is the role of the shrine that forms the focus of this paper. A crucial maritime route that linked Gujarat with other parts of the western Indian Ocean extended from the west coast to the Persian Gulf and the Red Sea region. An examination of amphorae from about 15 coastal and inland sites in western India, ranging from Gujarat to Kerala, has led to the identification of the ongoing importance of the Gulf region from the 4th to 6th centuries CE.43 A nodal point at the mouth of the Red Sea was the island of Socotra, which forms a part of a small archipelago of four islands about 250 km east of the Horn of Africa off the coasts of Yemen and Somalia in the western Indian Ocean. The largest island in the group is also called Socotra. In 2001, explorations along the northeast coast of Socotra led to the discovery of the 2000 m deep Hoq cave and 200 graffiti, drawings, and small offerings within the cave dated to the late 2nd to 4th century CE. Of these, 192 are in the Brahmi script, one in Kharosthi, one in Bactrian, three in Greek, one in Palmyrene Aramaic, and 20-odd in Axumite or ancient Ethiopian. The graffiti and inscriptions are not randomly engraved in the cave; instead, they occur in clusters at specific sites, most likely representing a deliberate choice of location. In the graffiti written in the Brahmi script at site 14, for example, individuals adopt several terms to identify themselves, such as sea-captains, Yavana (a term indicating ‘Greek’ or ‘foreign’ that is frequently also used in the epigraphs of the western Deccan caves), or by their place of residence such as Bharukaccha or Bharuch and Hastakavapra or Hathab on the Gujarat coast of India The presence of incense burners among the findings suggest that Hoq cave had been used as a sanctuary or as a centre of pilgrimage from 2nd to 4th century CE.44 The connection between the west coast of India and Socotra continues well into the present.

30  Himanshu Prabha Ray Kachchhi sailors on their way to East Africa often stop at Socotra to pay homage to Goddess Sikotar Mata, offering her ship models and seeking Her blessings. The temple of Sikotar Mata (padia) situated on the Sikotar Hill coast is maintained by a Hindu priest known as the pujari.45 It is no coincidence that in Gujarat, several coastal shrines are dedicated to Sikotar Mata, also known as Harsiddhi Mata, such as the temple located on a creek at Miyani, 30 km from Porbandar on the way to Dwarka. Nor was Hoq cave on the island of Socotra the only religious shrine in the western Indian Ocean. Archaeological excavations conducted by the University of Delaware – Leiden University/UCLA consortium at the site of Berenike on the Red Sea coast between 1994 and 2001 and briefly in 2009–2010 have been valuable in providing an archaeological perspective on seafaring activity in the region. The town of Berenike was founded in the first half of the third century BCE and was abandoned before about 550 CE – thus enjoying an extraordinary lifespan of 800 years. Berenike was a multicultural site, and the inhabitants came from throughout the ancient world, including Egypt, the Mediterranean, Axum, sub-Saharan Africa, South Arabia, Nabataea, Palmyra, and India. Pepper had been imported to the Mediterranean at least from the second millennium BCE. It was a critical ingredient in medicines, had culinary applications, and was also used in funerary and religious rituals.46 The temple at Berenike on the Red Sea coast was an important sanctuary from the first to early third century with inscriptions dated to the reign of Septimus Severus (145–211) and Caracalla (188–217). During this period, statues, shrines, stelae, and other monuments lined the walls of the courtyard in front of the temple building. Often referred to as a Serapis temple since the early 19th century, the finds now suggest that the temple was perhaps also dedicated to Isis. A substantial amount of pepper was stored in large jars, dug into the first century CE floor of a courtyard that lay directly north of the temple. At least during the 5th century, the damaged temple again served as some sort of sanctuary, as indicated by the cowry shells found in the entrance.47 The most remarkable find was that of two large terracotta jars made in India and recovered from the courtyard floor of the first century CE temple. While one of them was empty, the other contained 7.55 kg of black peppercorns. The nature of religious ceremonies where pepper may have been used is not clear, nor are there any explanations in written accounts, though it was also found in the shrine of the Palmyrenes dated from the late second/early 3rd to late 4th/early 5th century CE. The find of large quantities of pepper in temples substantiates the use of imports for ritual purposes. As recorded in the inscription of Visnusena discussed in the previous section, in the context of early Gujarat, these attracted a lower tax. Other imports that travelled along sea routes and were used for rituals included items such as frankincense, which was considered a sacred product

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces  31 in ancient South Arabia. Incense burners found at coastal shrines in Oman and the Dhofar region underscore the importance accorded to frankincense in ritual.48 There is a growing body of literature on the remains of coastal shrines found at archaeological sites in the Persian Gulf and South Arabia in the pre-Islamic period.49 Another dominant religion evident from archaeological work was Christianity. Cosmas Indicopleustes, the 6th century native of Alexandria who travelled to India and Sri Lanka, refers to a series of coastal centres on the west coast of India in his Christian Topography (Book XI, pp. 367–68): The most notable places of trade in India are these: Sindu, Orrhotha (Saurashtra), Calliana (Kalyan), Sibor (Simylla of Ptolemy identified with Chaul), and then the five marts of Male which export pepper: Parti, Mangarouth (Mangalore), Salopatana, Nalopatana, Poudopatana. The travels of the Christian monk Cosmas are significant, as his writings reflect a combination of theology and geography. Culturally, the adoption of Christianity as the official religion of the Roman Empire throughout the 4th and 5th centuries generated major changes in society and material culture.50 It is significant that since the 1980s, several church buildings have been discovered during archaeological investigations in the Persian Gulf region, such as on the island of Failaka in Kuwait, at Akkaz (Kuwait), Tarut, Jebel Berri, Thaj, and on the islands of Marawah and Sir Bani Yas off the coast of Abu Dhabi.51 The monastery at Sir Bani Yas was active from around the end of CE 600 to 750. Failaka Island is situated 17 km east of Kuwait mainland, at the entrance to Kuwait Bay, and is the second largest and the only inhabited offshore island of Kuwait. The island of Failaka at the head of the Gulf was known as Ikaros to the Greeks. It was strategically situated for seafaring activity in the region, and ceramics indicate connections with Babylon, Bahrain, eastern Arabia, and the southern Gulf coast. Textual records indicate the presence of monks, churches, and Christian communities in the Gulf from the 4th–5th century CE or earlier, which has not been confirmed by the archaeological records yet. The archaeological evidence shows that a period of active church building followed the disappearance of Bet Qatraye and its bishops from the texts in 676 CE, that churches were established even after that, and that ‘Christianity in the region persisted until at least the late 9th century’.52 The 8th and 9th century is sometimes even referred to as the Golden Age of the Church of the East.53 The maritime networks connecting centres in the Persian Gulf and Gujarat have been discussed elsewhere and will not be repeated here.54 The final issue that needs to be resolved is the often-repeated statement in secondary writings about the role of Islam in reviving maritime trade with India in the 9th and 10th centuries after the decline of trade with the Roman Empire in the 3rd century CE.55

32  Himanshu Prabha Ray

Conclusion Ándré Wink is another votary of the dominance of Islamic maritime networks in the western Indian Ocean, though he argues against the decline of Roman trade since Greek-Byzantine traders again became active in the Indian trade from the 4th to 6th centuries.56 In the 5th–6th centuries, Persian commerce synchronised with the ascendancy of the Sasanian Empire, and with the coming of Islam, there was an increase in trading networks in the Indian Ocean. Wink suggests that control of trade was a motivating factor in the Arab conquest of Makran, Sindh, Kathiawar, and Kachchh and refers to the emergence of an integrated Muslim trading empire in the 10th century. Furthermore, according to him, Buddhism largely disappeared from India in the early medieval period, though it continued to flourish in Gujarat until the 9th century. Finally, due to restrictions stipulated in the Law Books or the Dharmaśāstras on maritime travel, the Hindu population turned to ‘agrarian pursuits and production, away from trade and maritime transport’.57 In recent writings, the focus on trade between states such as the Abbasid Caliphate (750–870) in the western Indian Ocean has continued, and the emphasis has been on ports and trade. The rise of the Siraf at the head of the Persian Gulf has been seen as ‘particularly advantageous for the ports in Konkan and Gujarat’.58 This is despite the fact that a rigorous analysis of the spread of early Islam shows that ‘the principal agents in this extension of the medieval Muslim world were not sultans, soldiers, or scholars but ordinary, humdrum traders whose main objective was not to spread their faith but to turn a profit’.59 As it spread across the Indian Ocean from the 12th to the 16th century, the nature of Islam was shaped by interactions between ordinary Muslims and local communities who belonged to diverse faiths and religious beliefs. A study of architecture shows that despite regional differences, architectural expression formed a part of the broader Islamic culture of maritime Asia. It is also evident that the architecture that appeared in coastal regions of the subcontinent was, for the most part, unrelated to the Sultanate and Mughal architecture of north India.60 For example, at the site of Banbhore on the Makran coast, archaeological excavations have uncovered the foundations of the main mosque of the town with a foundation inscription dated 109/727–728 CE, which makes it the ‘earliest known mosque in the world’.61 Another early site was Bhadresvara on the coast of Kachchh in Gujarat, which was also the site of a 12th-century Jain temple 32 km from Mundra, which was well known for salt and spice trading in the past and now more for tie-dye and block-print textiles. An inscription refers to it as a velākula or harbour, but it is virtually unusable today, and only a small local fishing craft navigates its silted waterways up the river. Bhadresvara is at present a small village and a site of pilgrimage, but in ancient times it was a fortified coastal centre. Thus, it is evident that there is a need to focus on interactions between communities rather than on states and empires. It is the changed attention to coastal communities and their shrines that would help provide

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces  33 a holistic understanding of the religious landscape and material culture of Gujarat and its relationship with the sea.

Notes 1 J. M. Nanavati and M. A. Dhaky, The Maitraka and the Saindhava Temples of Gujarat, Ascona: Artibus Asiae, Supplement 26, 1969. 2 Vasant Shinde, Shweta Sinha Deshpande, and Sanjay Deshpande, The Heritage Sites of Gujarat: A Gazetteer, New Delhi: Aryan Books International, 2011. 3 Susan Verma Mishra and Himanshu Prabha Ray, The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces: The Temple in Western India (2nd Century BCE–8th Century CE), London and New York: Routledge, 2017. 4 Nandini Sinha, ‘Early Maitrakas, Landgrant Charters, and Regional State Formation in Early Medieval Gujarat’, Studies in History, 17(2), 2001: 151–63. 5 B. D. Chattopadhyaya, Studying Early India: Archaeology, Texts, and Historical Issues, Delhi: Permanent Black, 2003. 6 Himanshu Prabha Ray, ‘The Beginnings: The Artisan and the Merchant in Early Gujarat, Sixth–Eleventh Centuries’, Ars Orientalis, 34, 2004: 39–61. 7 R. N. Mehta, ‘Valabhi of the Maitrakas’, Journal of the Oriental Institute, Baroda, XIII, 1963–64: 240–51. 8 Ashit Boran Paul, ‘The Early Historic Settlement and Subsistence Pattern in the Shetrunji River Basin’, Bhavnagar District, Gujarat, Puratattva, 30, 1999–2000: 99–105. 9 S. R. Rao, Excavations at Amreli, Baroda: Museum & Picture Gallery, 1966. 10 K. J. Virji, Ancient History of Saurashtra, Bombay: Konkan Institute of Arts and Sciences, 1952, 234–35. 11 V. S. Shinde, ‘The Earliest Temple of Lajjagauri? The Recent Evidence from Padri’, Gujarat, East and West, IsMEO 44(2–4), 1994: 481–85. 12 Excavation at Valabhi, District Jamnagar, Debala Mitra (ed.), Indian Archaeology 1979 – 80 – A Review, New Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India, 1983, p. 24. 13 Excavation at Goraj, District Vadodara, M. S. Nagaraja Rao (ed.), Indian Archaeology 1982–83: A Review, New Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India, 1985, p. 31. 14 B. M. Pande and Narayan Vyas, ‘An Early Temple in Gujarat-Excavations at Goraj’, Puratattva, 20, 1989–90: 108. 15 Kuldeep K. Bhan, ‘Archaeology of Jamnagar District upto 1300 AD’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, MSU Vadodara, 1983, p. 386. 16 Michael W. Meister and M. A. Dhaky, Encyclopaedia of Indian Temple Architecture, Vol. II, Part I, North India, New Delhi: American Institute of Indian Studies, 1998, pp. 177–79. 17 Excavation at Dwarka, District Jamnagar, Debala Mitra (ed.), Indian Archaeology 1979–80 – A Review, New Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India, 1983, pp. 25–29. 18 A. S. Gaur, Sundaresh, and Sila Tripati, ‘Ancient Dwarka: Study based on recent Underwater Archaeological Investigations’, Migration & Diffusion, 6(21), 2005: 56–77. 19 A. S. Gaur, Sundaresh, and Sila Tripathi, ‘A Submerged Temple Complex off Pindara, on the Northwestern Coast of Saurashtra’, Man and Environment, XXXII(2), 2007: 37–40. 20 A. S. Gaur, Sundaresh, and A. D. Odedra, ‘New Light on the Maritime Archaeology of Porbandar, Saurashtra Coast, Gujarat’, Man and Environment, 29(1), 2004: 103–7. 21 Arati Deshpande-Mukherjee, Gurudas Shete, Soumi Sengupta, Sushama Deo, Reshma Sawant, Neha V., and Sachin Joshi, ‘Somnath Revisited: Results of the

34  Himanshu Prabha Ray Recent Archaeological Excavation of an Early Historic Coastal Settlement at Somnath, District Gir Somnath, Gujarat’, Journal of Multidisciplinary Studies in Archaeology, 5, 2017: 22–46. 22 Alexis Sanderson, ‘The Saiva Age-The Rise and Dominance of Saivism during the Early Medieval Period’, in Shingo Einoo (ed.), Genesis and Development of Tantrism, Tokyo: University of Tokyo, 2009, p. 44 [pp. 41–350]. 23 Annette Schmiedchen, ‘Epigraphical Evidence for the History of Atharvavedic Brahmins’, in Arlo Griffiths and Annette Schmiedchen (eds), The Atharvaveda and its Paippalaadasakha. Historical and Philological Papers on a Vedic Tradition, Indologica Halensis 11, Aachen: Shaker, 2007, pp. 355–84. 24 Michael Willis, ‘The Formation of Temple Ritual in the Gupta Period: puja and pancamahayajna’, in G. J. R. Mevissen and A. Banerji (eds), Prajnadhara. Essays on Asian Art History, Epigraphy and Culture in Honour of Gouriswar Bhattacharya, New Delhi: Kaveri Books, 2009, 67 ff. 25 Patrick Olivelle, ‘The Temple in Sanskrit Legal Literature’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray (ed.), Archaeology and Text: The Temple in South Asia, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2010, pp. 179–92. 26 CSMVS Accession no. 5. https://siddham.network/inscription/bhamodra– mohota–plate–of–dro%e1%b9%87asi%e1%b9%83ha/ (accessed on 24 February 2020). 27 P. C. Parikh and Bharati Shelat, ‘Kukad Maitraka Grant of Dhruvasena I Valabhi Samvat 206’, in K. D. Bajpai (ed.), Gleanings of Indian Archaeology, History and Culture 1, Jaipur: Publ. Scheme, 2000, pp. 217–20. 28 Hariprasad G. Shastri, Gujarat under the Maitrakas of Valabhi, Vadodara: Gujarat Oriental Institute, 2000: List 50. 29 R. D. Banerji, ‘The Bhadreniyaka Grant of Siladitya I; G.E. 292’, Epigraphia Indica, 21, 1931/32: 116–19. 30 H. G. Shastri, Gujarat under the Maitrakas of Valabhi, List 63. 31 Oskar von Hinueber, ‘Behind the Scene: The Struggle of Political Groups for Influence as Reflected in Inscriptions’, Indo-Iranian Journal, 56, 2013: 223–37. 32 Ibid.: 234. 33 Annette Schmiedchen, ‘Medieval Endowment Cultures in Western India: Buddhist and Muslim Encounters, Some Preliminary Observations’, in Blain Auer and Ingo Strauch (eds), Encountering Buddhism and Islam in Premodern Central and South Asia, Berlin and Boston: Walter De Gruyter GmbH, 2019, pp. 201–18. 34 R. N. Mehta and A. M. Thakkar, The M. S. University Copper Plate Grants of Toramana, Baroda: M.S. University, 1978. K. V. Ramesh, ‘Three Early Charters from Sanjeli’, Epigraphia Indica, XL, 1986: 175–86. 35 D. C. Sircar, ‘The Charter of Vishnushena, AD 592’, in N. Lakshminarayan Rao and D. C. Sircar (eds), Epigraphia Indica 30, New Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India, 1987 (reprint): 163–81. 36 Ibid.: 176. 37 http://hisoma​.huma–num​.f​​r​/exi​​st​/ap​​ps​/EI​​AD​/wo​​rks​/E​​IAD00​​55​.xm​​l?​&odd​​ =teipublisher​.odd (accessed on 25 February 2020). 38 Emmanuel Francis, ‘Indian Copper–Plate Grants: Inscriptions or Documents?’, in Alessandro Bausi, Christian Brockmann, Michael Friedrich, and Sabine Kienitz (eds), Manuscripts and Archives: Comparative Views on Record-Keeping, Berlin and Boston: Walter De Gruyter GmbH, 2018, pp. 387–418. 39 Hermann Kulke, ‘Some Observations on the Political Functions of CopperPlate Grants in Early Medieval India’, in Bernhard Kölver and Elisabeth MüllerLuckner (eds), Recht, Staat und Verwaltung im klassischen Indien, Munich: R. Oldenbourg Verlag, 1997, pp. 238–43. 40 Francis, ‘Indian Copper-Plate Grants’, p. 410.

The Archaeology of Sacred Spaces  35 41 Shrinivas V. Padigar (ed.), Inscriptions of the Calukyas of Badami, Bangalore: Indian Council of Historical Research (ICHR), 2010, pp. 10–11. 42 C. Westerdahl, ‘The Maritime Cultural Landscape’, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology, 21(1), 1992: 5–14. 43 Roberta Tomber, ‘Beyond Western India: The Evidence from Imported Finds’, in Roberta Tomber, Lucy Blue, and Shinu Abraham (eds), Migration, Trade and Peoples Part I: Issues in Indian Ocean Trade and Commerce, London: The British Academy, 2010, pp. 42–57. 44 Ingo Strauch (ed.), Foreign Sailors on Socotra: The Inscriptions and Drawings from the Cave Hoq, Bremen: Hempen Verlag, 2012. Himanshu Prabha Ray, ‘From Salsette to Socotra: Islands across the Seas and Implications for Heritage’, in B. Schnepel and E. A. Alpers (eds), ‘Connectivity in Motion’: Island Hubs in the Indian Ocean World, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2018, pp. 347–67. 45 https://warwick​.ac​.uk​/fac​/arts​/history​/ghcc​/eac​/oralhistoryproject​/resources​/nishantandshivji/ (accessed on 26 February 2020). 46 Steven E. Sidebotham, Berenike and the Ancient Maritime Spice Route, Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press, 2011. 47 Martin Hense, ‘The Great Temple in Berenike: New Findings of the Berenike Temple Project’, Journal of Polish Archaeology in the Mediterranean, 26(2), 2017: 133–45. 48 Salila Kulshrestha, ‘Practices of Faith in the Shrines of Ancient South Arabia’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray (ed.), The Archaeology of Knowledge Traditions of the Indian Ocean World, London - New York: Routledge, 2021, pp. 175–90. 49 E. Haerinck, ‘The Temple at ed-Dur (Emirate of Umm al-Qaiwain) and PreIslamic Cult in South-Eastern Arabia’, in D. T. Potts and P. Hellyer (eds), Fifty Years of Emirates Archaeology, Proceedings of the Second International Conference, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, and London: Motivate Publishing, 2012, pp. 164–71. 50 J. Maxwell, ‘Paganism and Christianization’, in S. F. Johnson (ed.) The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012, pp. 849–75. 51 Andrew David Thompson, Christianity in Oman: Ibadism, Religious Freedom and the Church, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019, pp. 28–29. 52 R. Carter, ‘Christianity in the Gulf during the First Centuries of Islam’, Arabian Archaeology and Epigraphy, 19, 2008: 71–108. 53 C. Baumer, The Church of the East. An Illustrated History of Assyrian Christianity, London and New York: I.B. Tauris, 2006. 54 Himanshu Prabha Ray, The Archaeology of Seafaring in Ancient South Asia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003, 182–86. 55 V. K. Jain, Trade and Traders in Western India (1000–1300), Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1990. 56 A. Wink, Al-Hind: The Making of an Indo–Islamic World, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1990, pp. 45–64. 57 Wink, Al-Hind, p. 72. 58 Ranabir Chakravarti, ‘Indic Mercantile Networks and the Indian Ocean World: A Millennial Overview (c. 500–1500 CE)’, in Angela Schottenhammer (ed.), Early Global Interconnectivity across the Indian Ocean World, Vol. I: Commercial Structures and Exchanges, Cham: Palgrave Macmillan, 2019, p. 200. 59 Sebastian R. Prange, Monsoon Islam: Trade and Faith on the Medieval Malabar Coast, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018, p. 3. 60 Mehrdad Shokoohy, Muslim Architecture of South India, London and New York: Routledge Curzon, 2003. 61 Ibid., p. 9.

2

Mathura Exploring a Complex Associative Cultural Landscape (From 2nd Century BCE to 2nd Century CE) Indira Banerjee

A plethora of archaeological reports spanning years of extensive expedition and research have foregrounded Mathura, a district in the present-day state of Uttar Pradesh in India, as an important and distinctive cultural site of the early historic period. It has occupied a significant place in the history of the Indian sub-continent since ancient times, as the name of the place frequently gets mentioned in post-Mauryan sources. Mathura was the capital of the Surasena Kingdom in the 6th century BCE. Thereafter it formed a part of the Mauryan realm in the 3rd century BCE. However, with the post-Mauryan times and the rise of successive local rulers, the Mitras and Dattas, and later the Ksatrapas, the complex of sites that Mathura comprised became culturally vibrant, which reached a peak under the rule of the Kushans. The archaeological remains, comprising the Buddhist, Jain, and Brahmanical inscriptions, sculptures, and architectural pieces found in Mathura and the contiguous areas, provide valuable information about the district’s religious and socio-cultural dynamics in antiquity. The diversity of archaeological evidence articulates the complexity and multi-dimensional characteristics of the zone. In this paper, an attempt is made to project Mathura as an associative multi-cultural complex bearing imprints of a congregation of people with diverse religious, spatial, and cultural affiliations and to retrace a long process of interaction and assimilation to create an inclusive cultural space. Furthermore, it also attempts to understand the perceived awareness of this early historic cultural landscape’s sacred characteristics. Research undertaken in the past few decades reflect various perspectives about this particular site. The research fraternity is increasingly intrigued by the cultural dynamics of Mathura-centric sites that existed during ancient times. Moreover, Mathura and its adjoining sites re-kindle interest among researchers who attempt to understand the socio-economic systems existing at that time in the northern part of the Indian sub-continent. Doris Srinivasan edited a collection of articles by various scholars, focusing on the major aspects of life within the city of Mathura from the earliest times to the 3rd century CE.1 In this volume, on the one hand, Romila Thapar2 and B.D. Chattopadhyaya3 covered the political history of Mathura up to the Sunga-Kushan period, and on the other hand, R.S. Sharma4 and DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-4

Mathura  37 B.N. Mukherjee5 discussed various economic and social aspects of this particular site. Furthermore, Richard Salomon6 has also discussed the daily life in ancient Mathura in this edited book. Along with this, the strategic and religious importance of the Mathura region has been discussed by S.G. Bajpai,7 John C. Huntington,8 and P.S. Jaini.9 Th. Damsteegt,10 A.K. Narain,11 and D.C. Sircar12 discussed the epigraphic and numismatic evidence for understanding the richness of the material culture of this archaeological landscape. Vijay Laxmi Singh’s work also focuses on Mathura, where this region’s settlement pattern and cultural profile are highlighted.13 Upinder Singh has carried out a study of the various religious establishments at Mathura. Using archaeological and epigraphic data,14 she traces the early history of what she terms ‘popular Hinduism’. Another interesting work, by Sonya Rhie Quintanilla,15 provides a comprehensive chronology and analysis of the earliest sculptures from the Mathura region, dating back to pre-Kushan times. In contrast, Vinay Kumar Gupta presented an account of the art and archaeology of the Braj region, which covers a vast area in and around the Mathura district.16 Shivani Agarwal’s work is primarily dedicated to identifying and demarcating the ancient settlement of Mathura city17 that existed from 300 BCE to 300 CE. These studies indicate that the complex of sites at Mathura and its adjoining sub-sites served as an estuary where divergent cultural currents converged due to the advent of the people representing various religious and cultural strands. Our proposal is that this process resulted in an inclusive cultural assimilation. This present work attempts to offer a summary of the material evidence in a thematic order and analyse these to tease out this mosaic-like cultural ensemble in the Mathura-centric sites during the early historic period.

Physical Setting and the Strategic Location of Mathura Geographically Mathura is located between Lat 27° 14' and 27° 58' N and Long 77° 17' and 78° 12' E and covers approximately 3,800 square kilometres.18 The district lies in the basin of river Yamuna, which cuts across the central part of the district from north to south, dividing it into two parts, the eastern or the trans-Yamuna tract and the western or the Cis-Yamuna tract. The Yamuna had frequently changed course in this area, and the old course can be traced east and west of the river. Therefore, the location and identification of the sites depend on a study of the change of the course of the river at particular junctures. Historically, the sites were strewn over differing ecosystems, the integration of whose resources were essential to building up a viable economy.19 From the geo-morphological point of view, the region can be divided into three categories: the plains, the hilly area, and the khaddar area. The plain area is much larger and stretches across river Yamuna to the east and the west. There were many forests and sacred groves in ancient times, which are now more or less non-existent. Geographically, the land

38  Indira Banerjee to the east of Yamuna is more fertile than the western part, the west and northwest being slightly hilly. These low hills (less than 100 feet), comprising Govardhan, Barsana, Nandgaon, Kaman, Sikri, and Charan Pahari, are offshoots of the Aravalli and have been considered to be sacred since olden times. The soil brought down by the flooding river lay in thin undulating sandy strips near the river channel, creating a khaddar area on its banks.20 The location of Mathura district has historical significance as it is situated at the junction of many important land routes. Several roads originating from Mathura ultimately joined the two main highways of early India, viz., Dakṣiṇāpatha and Uttarāpatha. The Dakṣiṇāpatha linked Mathura to the commercially rich Central India, specifically the Malwa and Deccan plateaus, and continued to the western seacoast. Near Vidisha and Sanchi, this route joined other important highways that led to central, south-eastern, and southern Indian states. It was through these routes that Mathura had contacts with several notable capital cities such as Ujjayinī, Māhismatī, Pratiṣṭhāna, etc. The Uttarāpatha was another important route connecting Mathura with India’s northern and north-western regions. It linked the north-western regions with Bactria and Balhika. The Uttarāpatha had several significant branches, and at least three roads proceeded from Mathura to connect the northern, north-western, and western regions. One ran almost parallel to the Yamuna leading to Rohi (Rohakata), Udambara (Pathankot), and Sakala (Sialkot).21 Thus, Mathura’s unique geographical location was due to its connection with all important towns of ancient India through main highways or subsidiary land routes, which finally joined the main Dakṣiṇāpatha and Uttarāpatha. This advantageous geographical position, along with the network of roads and tracks, also contributed to the cultural prominence of Mathura. The confluence of several cultural currents occurred via traders, political aspirants, religious leaders, and devotees. These factors influenced settlement patterns in this area and elevated Mathura to a position of significance both politically and economically.

Mathura: An Early Historic Settlement Complex The region of Mathura has revealed characteristics of a settlement complex since the early period of history. Available records suggest that this region has seen continuous human activities since the early historic times. The earliest cultural references can be traced to the proto-historic period, though there is evidence of the presence of Palaeolithic culture in the Govardhan hills. Potsherds belonging to Ochre Coloured Pottery (OCP) cultural tradition have been observed at Aring and Gantholi in the CisYamuna tract and Gosna and Nohjhil in the trans-Yamuna tract. On the other hand, Mathura is one of the largest Painted Grey Ware (PGW) settlements. PGW is also found at Ambarikha, Sanketban,22 Sakhitara,23 Sonkh,24 Aring,25 Chhata,26 Ambarish Tila, Katra, Bhuteswar, Kankali Tila,27 and

Mathura  39 some other sites.28 All these are located in the Cis-Yamuna tract. Migration to this area was probably from the northwest and west. Most sites were located closer to the river course within this zone. Sanketban and Aring were near the hilly areas in proximity to some of the best pasture grounds.29 PGW and associated pottery, including a small quantity of Black-Slipped Ware (BSW), indicate the array of prehistoric cultures in this area. The early settlers of Mathura lived in huts and, in some cases, built them on mud platforms. The sites of Katra, Kankali Tila,30Aring, Sanketban,31Sonkh,32 and some within the present city33 continue from the PGW period to the next phase marked by the NBPW (Northern Black Polished Ware). The sites of Chhata and Sakhitara were abandoned, possibly because of shifts to new areas. An increase in the size of settlements has also been indicated in some instances. Locally available resources were used to construct houses with mud walls, mud plaster, baked bricks, and ring wells at the sites of Katra and Sonkh. Here it should be mentioned that the NBPW sites are primarily located in the Cis-Yamuna tract. Many of the sites mentioned above continued to the Suṇga-Kushan period. Excavations show that the Dhulkot fortification, within which lay the Katra and other mounds, occupied three square kilometres of an area adjacent to the Yamuna. This was the principal city of Mathura. Close to this area, there are more than 90 sites where sculptures and inscriptions have been found. Some are from mounds lying just outside the old fortifications; others are from localities within the old and new city areas. These were extensions of the city of Mathura beyond its walls. Lime plaster was used as indicated by a floor and several pots containing this material in this period. This is the last phase of ring wells. Local resources continued to be utilised. As in the preceding period, mud and clay were primarily used to construct houses, and tiles were used for roofing purposes. Sites are more numerous to the west of the city in Mathura tahsil, extending up to the south of tahsil Chhata. The Sunga period sites are located mainly within a 5 km radius of the city of Mathura. However, the Kushan sites (at least 40 in number) are generally clustered in Mathura and the south of Chhata. Sites in other areas are comparatively few. Several of these are located on the bank of the Yamuna or within a few kilometres of it. It is difficult to explain the location of sites by topography. The advanced technology of the Sunga-Kushan period probably permitted several sites to be located away from natural water sources. Trade has been assumed by historians to have been an essential factor behind the rise of so many sites at Mathura.34 This is indicated by material evidence found at the sites. From the various findings and reports pertaining to the settlement features of this region, it can be stated that Mathura was the locus of significant human activities where people came and settled for various purposes. Consequently, Mathura, a teeming and variegated settlement complex, started to show traces of a cosmopolitan culture from the early historic period.

40  Indira Banerjee

The Panorama of Religion The sculptural and epigraphic evidence found from various sub-sites in and around Mathura highlights the multi-dimensional characteristics of this settlement zone. The inscriptions come primarily in the form of small dedications and records of donations engraved on statues of Buddha, Bodhisattva, Jaina Tirthaṅkara, Yakṣa, and Nāga and on pillars, arches, terracotta objects, votive tanks, etc. Here we will discuss these epigraphic records found in the district, highlighting certain aspects to understand the nature of this particular cultural landscape. Association of Buddhism As far as the association of Mathura with Buddhism is concerned, the rich cultural material revealed through explorations and excavations proves that Mathura was a stronghold of Buddhism. The Ksatrapa-Kushan period witnessed the emergence of several sects of Buddhism that left their imprint on Mathura and its adjoining areas. Thus, there are many places which are associated with Sarvāstivādin, Mahāsāṅghikas, Dharmaguptakas (a branch of the followers of the old Sthaviravāda doctrines), and Sammitīyas, a sub-sect of the Theravādin School. Various sub-sites of Mathura will be discussed here, which yielded archaeological materials associated with these sects. There is an abundance of Buddhist remains unearthed from the Jamalpur Mound, which was also the site of a vihara (monastery) established during Kushan ruler Huviṣka’s reign in 125 CE. Inscriptions in Katra are mostly engraved on the pedestals of Buddha and Bodhisattva statues, the majority of which are from the Kushan period. Some pillars were probably from a Buddhist railing. Parts of a gateway and a standing Buddha figure further betray a strong Buddhist presence. From these inscriptions, it becomes evident that there were at least two Buddhist establishments at the site.35 The site of Govindnagar continues from the mound of Katra and has yielded hundreds of Buddhist sculptures. It is located on the western outskirts of Mathura city. Bhutesvara36 is also a famous Buddhist site. The Kushan period housed a large Buddhist complex of which a few charming rail posts are preserved in the Mathura Museum. The inscriptions from the site of Caubara are also Buddhist. Most interesting are an image inscription and a donative record on a railing. The first, inscribed on the pedestal of a seated Bodhisattva image and read successively by Lüders and Vogel, is dated and mentions the setting up of the image during the rule of the Kushan king Huviṣka.37 The other records a donation of a railing pillar by a person named Kathika, who identifies himself as a servant in the royal harem.38 Jamalpur39 had once been a bustling Buddhist centre with an abundance of material remains. The inscriptions from Jamalpur are primarily dated to the Kushan period, although there is one inscription dated to the Ksatrapa Sodasa. On the other

Mathura  41 hand, there are only two inscribed images from Vrindavan. One is a male figure clad in an Indo-Scythian dress, and the other is a Bodhisattva statue of the Kushan period.40 The inscriptions from Gaṇeshra occur on architectural pieces like the fragment of a railing pillar41 of a stupa and approximately 26 brickbats.42 There is only one recorded inscription from Naugava, which occurs on the pedestal of a Buddha statue, of which only the lower portion remains. Since the inscription is very brief and undated, neither the name of the vihara nor its possible time range can be determined.43 All the inscriptions from the site of Palikhera occur on the pedestals of Bodhisattva statues,44 one on a fragmented architectural piece,45one engraved on a stone bowl,46 and yet another on a sculpted male head.47 All the inscriptions seem to date back to the Kushan period. The donors included a Buddhist nun as well as a lay follower.48 There are two inscribed statues of the Buddha from the site of Anyor, dated to the pre-Kushan and Kushan periods. One inscription mentions the donation of a Bodhisattva image to the sect of the Mahāsaṅghikas,49 while the other records the gift made to the convent of Uttara-Harusa.50 The site of Saptaṛṣi51 was a stronghold of the Sarvāstivādin sect. An important discovery is the gift of a monastery called Guhavihāra by Udaya, a pupil of Buddhadeva, to Buddhila of Nagaraka in the time of Ksatrapa Sodasa, the son of Mahakṣatrapa Rajula. Besides these above-discussed mounds, other small sub-sites in Mathura city have yielded epigraphic records and sculptures. These include an inscribed Buddha statue from Dhunsarpara quarters,52 a sculpted and inscribed railing pillar from Gopalpur quarters,53 an inscribed lintel from Dasavatari gali (the term ‘gali’ denotes a street in colloquial terms),54 an inscribed stone fragment from Mata gali,55 an inscribed stone slab from Gaughaṭ well,56 an inscribed standing Buddha image, and a pedestal inscription of the Kushan year 14 from Dalpat Ki Khiṛ ki mohalla (‘mohalla’ denotes a locality).57 An inscribed pillar and a terracotta dabber from Bharatpur State mound,58 an inscribed sculpture of a corpulent male and female figure from Gayatri tila,59 an inscribed sculpture of a Dharma chakra with lions from Dig gate,60 an inscribed Buddha statue from Sitalaghaṭi61 an inscribed Buddhist pillar from Arjunpura mohalla,62 an inscribed stone bowl from Jumnabagh63 a Jina image, an inscription on a round stone, and a sacrificial post have also been discovered from the site of Isapur.64 Evidence for the Presence of Jainism in the District of Mathura Mathura also emerged as one of the most important Jaina centres between the 2nd century BCE and the 2nd century CE. Kankali Tila is considered the main centre of Jaina activities in Mathura, among others, and this site yielded a major number of Jaina antiquities. The excavations have unearthed several life-size statues, all more or less broken. Numerous inscriptions65 recorded donations by laypersons who adhered to Jaina ascetic preceptors. We come across references to several Jaina sub-orders (gana, kula, and

42  Indira Banerjee sākhā). This indicates the prolific presence of the Jaina order as early as the 2nd–1st century BCE. The site yielded a large number of Jaina antiquities, including Āyāgapaṭṭas,66 railing pillars, toraṇa, arches, coping stones, and crossbars. The majority of them represent a seated Jaina figure as a central motif, and there are ornamental motifs carved around them. There are also innumerable architectural remnants like toraṇa or architraves and railing pillars from Kankali Tila belonging to the Kushan period. The excellent motifs of the animals, like fishtailed makaras, etc., had been carved on the toraṇa architraves. Fascinating depictions of female figures engaged in various activities or dancing poses could be found on the railings. The rest of the Jaina material comprises Tirthaṅkara images bearing inscriptions that record the act and the identity of the donor, many being lay followers. Most of them belonged to the Kushan period, as is evident from the dates that the inscriptions bore. The Tirthṅkara images, either seated cross-legged in dhyānamūdra or standing, with the Śrīvatsa mark on the chest, might safely be identified as Pārśvanātha, Ṛṣabhanātha, and Vardhamāna from their obvious iconographic features. Pārśvanātha is identified with the sevenheaded snake canopy over his head, while Ṛṣabhanātha and Vardhamāna can be identified by the representations of the bull and the lion, respectively, on the pedestal. An inscription found on the pedestal of a broken Jina image from the site of Isapur67 records the gift of a housewife. Another fragmentary inscription on the pedestal of a standing female statue is found in Gukharauli. This is potentially remarkable. The stone is now in the Mathura Museum. According to Lüders, the fragment seems to be the remnant of a dedicatory inscription mentioning a Jaina monk named Sena.68 A large number of Jaina records are scattered all over the district, including Katra, Palikhera, Bhuteshwar, Gosana Khera, and various mounds in Mathura city, the main site being that of Kankali Tila. The plethora of Jaina images collected from various sites suggest that Mathura was an important centre of Jainism. However, the findings from these sites are primarily confined to the Tirthaṅkara images and show no trace of āyāgapaṭṭa or votive stupas. A large number of architectural remains have been unearthed from these various sites in the district. However, there is no concrete evidence to tie them to the Jaina order. Unlike the Buddhist architectural remains bearing the Jataka stories and the varied motifs of Buddhism, the Jaina remains are less specific. The varied architectural remains may also bear evidence of a rich cultural life beyond known religious activities. The Yakṣa and Nāga Cults The Yakṣa and Nāga cults appear to have been major religio-cultural features of life in early historic Mathura. The huge grey sandstone standing Yakṣa figure discovered in the late 19th century at Parkham village, south of Mathura city, is the most prominent one. The image has evoked great interest

Mathura  43 among scholars since then. The inscription on the top of its pedestal refers to its being sculpted by one Gomitaka, whose preceptor in the art is named Kunika. The inscription was posted by members of the Māṇibhadra pūga (confederacy or group). The identity of the Yakṣa figure was first suggested by Ramaprasad Chanda.69 Upinder Singh, in her 2004 article, proposes that the image might represent the Yakṣa Maṇibhadra, ‘who, according to various textual and epigraphic references, was a tutelary deity of wandering merchants and was especially worshipped in important trading centres’.70 Comparatively, two images of Kubera, the god of wealth and the king of the Yakṣas, have also been recovered from the district, one in the same village of Parkham. A male head with moustaches and a curly head of hair recovered from excavated Period III layers at the Govindnagar Housing Area site (MTR 13 of ASI excavations, 1976–77) has also been presumed to represent Kubera.71 Yakṣa images were known for being worshipped in open spaces. The evidence could be put together to hypothesise on the popular cults followed by the mercantile community. Simultaneously, rich evidence of female images in the district may represent fertility cults and deities related to childbirth. A remarkably large red sandstone image of a Yakṣī is depicted as seated on a stool which has been generally assigned to the 2nd/1st century BCE. Its head was lost at the time of its discovery. The effaced inscription at its base refers to the identity of the image as Yakṣī Lāvāya and mentions its sculptor as one Nāka. It was found at the village named Jhinga-ka-nagla or Nagariya located north of the city of Mathura.72 The cult had been in vogue over a wide horizon, as indicated by another large but fragmented Yakṣī image from the same period discovered at Vrindavan. Artistic representations of the Yakṣīs and Śālabhanjikā are found extensively in the Mathura area in the form of miniature images in stone and terracotta. The Yakṣī figures were projected to represent cults related to the safety of children and diseases.73 Along with Yakṣa, there is a preponderance of male and female serpent images (Nāga and Nāgī), assumed to have been associated with water and fertility cults. These are then indicative of another major local religious tradition. The finding spots of such images are distributed in the different localities within the district, such as Chhargaon, Khamni, Itauli, and Baldev. It should also be mentioned that at the mound of Jamalpur, we observe numerous nāga–nāgī images alongside the Buddhist remains, possibly hinting at the co-existence of the belief systems. The images might be stylistically assigned to the early centuries of the Common Era. Available information on the location of the images and associated inscriptions throw interesting light on the creation of sacred notions of rarefied spaces. The most prominent is a seven-hooded nāga image (dated in year 40 of the Kaniṣka era, i.e., CE 118, in King Huviṣka’s reign) found at the locality of Chhargaon. The image bore an inscription which records its installation near a tank by two persons named Senahastin and Bhondaka.74 Another instance of such specific associations of the cult with spaces comes from a dated stone slab

44  Indira Banerjee inscription (C. 104 CE) discovered in the Jamalpur Mound area. It records the installation of the stone slab in a place considered sacred to Dadhikarṇṇa, mentioned as the lord of the nāgas. The inscription mentions a list of installers like Chandaka brothers,75 their chief Nandibala, and the sons of the courtesans of Mathura. The name ‘Dadhikarṇa’ occurs on a second pedestal of a headless nāga image discovered from the Yamuna. Many other images and inscriptions bear ample evidence of patronage to the nāga cult in the Mathura region in the early centuries of the Common Era. Inscribed nāga images were recovered from the Bhuteshwar and Ral Bhadar mounds, the latter with an inscription mentioning a tank and a garden having been laid out for a holy nāga named Bhumo/Bhumi.76 Upinder Singh has reported a stone slab, originally from Mathura and now in the British Museum, sculpted with the figures of a nāga and nāgī with an inscription referring to the installation of a small temple (harmya) in a village.77 One could also point to Apsidal Temple No. 2 at the site of Sonkh along with this information.78 The convergence of evidence leaves us no doubt that this area was an important Nāga cult site and that the idea of creating a sacred landscape had been in vogue. Detailed expositions on the subject by Härtel, Singh, and Ray project these new dimensions of early historic religious trends. Brahmanical Images in the Mathura Area It should be mentioned here that Brahmanical cultic worship was also gaining ground in this district, especially during the later historical phases under discussion, as a profusion of Brahmanical images were retrieved from the sites. The anthropomorphic liṅga (phallic) forms and mukha-liṅgas, as well as vigrahaliṅgas, have been recovered. Evidence indicates the prevalence of the Vāsudeva-Kṛṣṇa cult, which appears to have been prolific, especially in the Kushan times, with a notable rise in the number and varieties of images. Images of Lakṣmī, several mothers with child images, Mātṛkās, as well as the more impressive image of Mahisasuramardini79 indicate emergent religious traditions of goddess cults, fertility, and other cults at the complex of sites in the district of Mathura.80 Miscellaneous Evidence The larger scene at the sites of Mathura exhibits a cultural complexity that went beyond sectarian traditions. This is especially borne out by the inscriptions, which often do not indicate clear religious affiliations. An inscription from the site of Caurasi may be discussed.81 The record is dated on the first day of the month of Gurppiya in the year 28. Gurppiya is the Macedonian month Gorpiaios, and this is the only known example of the use of a Macedonian month in a Brahmi inscription. We have, on the whole, no other example of the use of the Macedonian calendar in Mathura, and it suggests

Mathura  45 that the person at whose request the inscription was drawn up was a foreigner hailing presumably from the north-western parts. The purpose of the inscription was to record a permanent endowment for a puṇyaśāla, a hall for acquiring merit through the distribution of alms. Two śreṇīs or guilds were entrusted with the management of 550 purāṇa each. The first śreṇī is written in the part of the stone broken off, and the second was the Samitakāra-śreṇī, i.e., probably the makers of samita, wheat flour. The Mat82 devakula again exhibits the other end of the panorama of belief systems prevalent, at least during the Kushan period. The colossal images of Kushan kings, including images of Kaniṣka, Huviṣka, and one with an incomplete name of Vema, probably Vima Kadphises, raise speculations about a Kushan royal shrine of ancestor worship and bring to the plate the wide socio-religious canvas of the complex of life experienced in the district of Mathura in the postMauryan times.

People, Patronage, Pilgrimage: The Associative Sacred Landscape The canvas projects people’s religious activities, whose footfalls are noted through messages of dedication posted in their votive inscriptions dedicated to diverse religions like Buddhism, Jainism, Brahmanical cults, and the worship of Yakṣa and Nāga deities. Archaeological findings point to the existence of several Buddhist sanctuaries in and around Mathura, indicating the prominence of Buddhism. Most of the inscriptions engraved on Buddha and Bodhisattva statues or architectural pieces are donative and mention the viharas. These inscriptions also depict additional information about the sub-sects within Buddhism like the Mahāsaṅghika, Sarvāstivādin, Sammitīya, and Dharmaguptaka that attracted patronage from the people and rulers of the realm. Another religion that had been predominant among the people of Mathura was Jainism. This is attested by the small dedicatory inscriptions incised on the numerous Tirthaṅkara images, votive tablets, and other architectural pieces. Most of these epigraphs were found at the site of Kankali Tila, where the existence of some sort of an establishment during the Ksatrapa-Kushan period is also confirmed by a series of excavations. In addition, the presence of a number of images of Nāga and Yakṣa discovered across various sub-sites in Mathura represent perhaps the most interesting aspects of local autochthonous religious traditions with long roots. There is, however, a dearth in the number of architectural samples that can be associated with the Yakṣa cult. The Yakṣa figures, like the colossal Parkham statue, were often found in open spaces, under trees, or in other spots, perhaps as guardian deities. This might relate to a very different conception of sacred space associated with the cult. On the other hand, certain architectural pieces have been unearthed from which interesting insights into the practices and establishments of the Brahmanical faith in the region during this time can be gained.

46  Indira Banerjee Observations at some sites indicate these as centres of singular cults, while others bear evidence of the prevalence of multiple religious practices. For instance, while Katra and Govindnagar areas seemed to have sited important Buddhist centres during the early historic period, the site of Kankali Tila seems to have been the centre of Jainism in Mathura during the phase. Likewise, the site of Sonkh seems to have been a centre of the Nāga cult, as the sculptural and architectural remains of the second apsidal temple reported by Härtel indicate. Various archaeological evidences suggest that the site of Parkham could have been exclusively dedicated to the Yakṣa cult. On the other hand, the sites of Bhuteshwar and Jamalpur witnessed multiple religious practices. However, it is to be noted that not all the evidence was continuous and simultaneous. The emergence and development of Buddhism, Jainism, and Brahmanism were not coterminous throughout the Mauryan–post-Mauryan times. For instance, Buddhism and Jainism gained significant impetus during the Mauryan period. The popularity of Buddhism seems to have continued unabated until the Saka-Kushan phase. Parallelly, we find the existence of the local Yakṣa and Nāga cults. The Brahmanical cults are hardly traceable during the earlier times but seem to have gained ground in the latter part of the Kushan rule. On the other hand, the plodding and lacklustre presence of Buddhism and Jainism during the later times indicate that religious patronage to the orders was on the verge of decline. The various sub-sites in and around the region of Mathura exhibit noticeably distinct characteristics. Some evidence has been found which indicates religious practices or congregations and a habitation growing out of these practices and revolving around the centres, as at Kankali Tila or Sonkh. On the other hand, most sub-sites were primarily habitation sites, like Katra, Sanketban, or Jamalpur, still bearing evidence of household practices or adjacent religious precincts. Yet, others like Bhuteshwar and Pallikhera indicate a combination of these two functions. Thus, the phenomenon of multi-functionality of some of these sub-sites stands out as one sifts through the evidence. Altogether, we come to observe remarkable diversity and heterogeneity of religious establishments in Mathura, and yet a common geo-cultural zone was emerging. Archaeological findings exhibit strong indications of sharing this emergent common geo-cultural space, where diverse cults and practices thrived with simultaneous and generous patronage from their followers. As a prominent settlement, Mathura nurtured a gradual development of a cosmopolitan culture where people from multiple religious backgrounds came and organically created a polycentric conurbation consisting of diverse cultural and religious propensities. It has been generally observed that aesthetic features of architectural pieces and shrines, often invested with connected symbols, myths, and legends, bear strong appeal for humans, evoking a sense of the sacred. The sanctity and serene environment of such places invariably draw people to seek spiritual relief. Such associations create sacred landscapes and often lead to major congregations. The numerous architectural pieces with varied religious

Mathura  47 affiliations and sacred shrines uncovered in Mathura must have been significant in connecting people within the sub-region of Mathura as well as from outside. The complex of sites also indicates an interesting history of multi-culturality as we find varied locations that were especially devoted to particular religious cults and those where different religions may have coexisted simultaneously or emerged diachronically. The entire ensemble consisting of stupas, chaityas, religious architectures, and relics like the Jaina āyāgapaṭṭa, along with the iconic images at various sub-sites bearing varied symbols of worship, depicting visual treats in the form of religious scenes (like the Jātaka and Avadāna stories or the life-stories of the Buddha) significantly helped to popularise the religions in practice. For example, in most cases, we find the Yakṣas having been located in open spaces, under trees, or elsewhere. However, these figures bore associations with the landscape and invested them with significance. The few inscriptions related to the Yakṣa and Nāga images and the rare architectural evidence associated with the local cults indicate these places as part of the ‘sacred’ domain. The visual monuments and reliquary also served as eminent mediums through which religious bodies gradually gained increasing support from the ordinary people who assembled to worship and donate at these sites. Overall, the shrines, symbols, and icons collectively display the ancient presence of various religious bodies along with their activities, representing a common religio-philosophical space in an ideational as well as spatial sense. This is where people assembled to pay homage to their respective religious faiths and caused devotional epigraphs to be engraved. The deeper motivation for creating an identity for the individual within the collective religious practices was enmeshed in the cultural utterances (epigraphic and aesthetic) made in the public forum. The various religious sub-sites around Mathura discussed above thrived on the support of worshippers of different categories, both from within the order and laity. The latter came from different professional fields, ranging from important royal officials to ordinary individuals, as indicated by various inscriptions. Substantial resources were transferred to these religious establishments through appropriate channels. Officials holding posts of authority and significance like the treasurer (gaṁjavara),83 the general (mahādanḍanāyaka),84 the trooper (asvavārika),85 village headman (grāmika), and the ‘servant in the royal harem’(abhyanta ropasthāyaka)86 make an appearance in the inscriptions. We come across diverse religious appellations for the recipient of the donations, often a preacher (vācaka)87. The donors were denoted as various categories of followers and patrons, male and female pupils (śiṣya/śiśinī/aṁtevāsinī),88 ‘lay-hearer’ or lay worshippers (sāvaka),89 ‘elder of the congregation’ (saṅghasthavira).90 On the other hand, the presence of ordinary people in different occupations as worshippers makes a robust appearance. We encounter perfumers (gandhika), cloak-makers (prāvarika),91 and cotton dealers. Buddhist and Jaina inscriptions both record dedications made by bankers or merchants (sresthin or sarthavaha), goldsmiths (suvarnakara),

48  Indira Banerjee and metalsmiths (lohikakarika). Entertainers of various types of actors (sailalaka), dancers (nataka), and courtesans (ganikā) were also followers of the two faiths. The merchants are frequently mentioned as donors in these epigraphic records, mainly from the Kushan period. Tirthaṅkara images were gifted by the merchants’ wives, householders, jewellers, bankers, and village headmen and quite substantially by the Jaina nuns/devotees. Viharas, named after several trading communities (like the pravarikavihara, Suvarnakara-vihara, etc.), suggest that monasteries were funded or supported by the guilds or traders. We also observe in these epigraphic records people coming from distant places like the northwest and the local inhabitants. Religious traditions bore down on the affluent section of the society as patrons. A complex web of activities get reflected in the material evidence as well as in epigraphic records, which reflect upon the generation of sufficient wealth and substantial involvement of the people in enabling the various religious establishments to assume an aura of authority while consolidating a set of complex ritualistic and scholastic practices.92 To go a little deeper into the spiritual or ideological world of this conurbation located in the present district of Mathura, we may look more minutely at the records which throw light on the purpose of donations. The Buddhist donative inscriptions frequently expressed the idea that the aim of the gift was the ‘welfare and happiness for all sentient beings’.93 A similar sentiment was expressed in some early Jaina epigraphs from Mathura too. This reflects that merit could be transferred from one person to another. Thus, we do get a socially constructed world of religiosity with familial and religious ties bound in the processes of earning merit. Interestingly, all donative inscriptions have a similar type of structure where, along with the names of the donors, we find some details regarding the names, places they came from, the identity of the family or gotra or the relationship they bore to some other person, professions, and status (ecclesiastical titles in case of monks). It is clear that these acts of posting personal information on nonperishable mediums had become a standardised format. Such displays of ‘pious’ intentions with tags of personal information in writing might have borne social significance. Religious activities, especially the act of donation, had emerged as an important factor that perhaps motivated the mobilising of different social and occupational groups. On the whole, we may state that a community of spiritually motivated ‘believers’ continued to associate with varied religious trends and congregate at several places within the complex of sites located within the now modern city of Mathura and in adjacent parts between the 2nd century BCE and 2nd century CE. There is a sense of ambiguity regarding whether these people themselves had a sense of belonging to a community of believers or not. Since the inscriptions do not provide any sufficient clue, it is difficult to dispel this ambiguity, although the quest for the ‘sacred’ is a phenomenon quite clearly underlined in the records.

Mathura  49 The epigraphic and sculptural records indicate that Mathura had emerged as a multi-cultural and multi-religious zone besides being a prominent settlement complex. It is quite well known that Mathura held significant political importance since the 6th century BCE as the capital of Surasena Mahājanapada. Geographically, Mathura enjoyed strategic significance as a nodal centre between the northern and southern routes of movement since very early times, thereby making way for various economic activities. For instance, Mathura was quite popular for its textile industry during the early historic period and emerged as an important trading hub. In the post-Mauryan period, especially during the Kushan, a distinct cosmopolitan environment was ushered in, energising a continuous inflow of people from diverse regions with varied cultural and religious backgrounds. Multiple cultural strands coexisted and flourished, including older popular cults iconised in the Yakṣa or the Nāga phenomenon. A very early infiltration of Jainism and Buddhism in the area created a cultural mosaic, visibly vibrant. The religions travelled from their core orbit and converged in this zone, which arose as an important religious centre. Such a multipurposeful anthropogenic phenomenon invariably triggered commercial activities and journeys with religious intent, which regulated the rise and development of human settlements in and around Mathura. The spatial scene is marked by differentiated space use, and functionality of spaces varied widely, enmeshed with urban complexes (core area of Mathura), sub-urban enclaves (outskirts of Mathura), primary spaces for religious activities (Sonkh, Kankali Tila), and habitation sites (Katra, Jamalput, Sanketban). These spaces served as assembly points for wide currents of people moving in tune with commercial and religious purposes, leaving visible and interesting social-cultural imprints. There are indications of emanation and development of sacred geography or a notion of proto tirtha/pilgrimage Mathura and its neighbouring areas with multi-cultural and multi-religious focus. The journey to the ‘sacred’ place is a religious phenomenon undertaken by individuals or groups due to a thirst for spirituality, a belief, and a sense of cultural belonging. It is also noteworthy that the early-medieval period witnessed a tremendous surge in the popularity of concepts like tirtha and tirthayatra that suggest the commencement of a spiritually motivated journey to a ‘sacred’ destination by an individual. An incipient notion of this can be gleaned in the early historic donative records in Mathura. The above discussion foregrounds the importance of Mathura, which bears evidence of a deeply enigmatic history. This stems from the rich material culture transforming the region from the realm of materialistic everyday living into a domain of rarefied sanctity, a phenomenon that cuts across time and different politico-administrative orders and supplies a longue duree history of the complex social phenomenon of living in early historic India.

50  Indira Banerjee

Notes 1 Doris Meth Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura: The Cultural Heritage, New Delhi: American Institute of Indian Studies, 1989. 2 Romila Thapar, ‘The Early History of Mathura: Up to and Including the Mauryan Period’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 12–18. 3 B.D. Chattopadhyaya, ‘Mathura from Sunga to the Kushana Period: An Historical Outline’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 19–28. 4 R.S. Sharma, ‘Trends in the Economic History of Mathura’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 31–38. 5 B.N. Mukherjee, ‘Growth of Mathura and Its Society (Up to the End of the Kushana Age)’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 59–71. 6 Richard Salomon, ‘Daily Life in Ancient Mathura’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 39–45. 7 Shiva G. Bajpai, ‘Mathura: Trade Routes, Commerce, and Communication Patterns, Post-Mauryan Period to End of the Kushana period’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 46–58. 8 John C. Huntington, ‘Mathura Evidence for the Early Teachings of Mahayana’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 85–92. 9 P.S. Jaini, ‘Political and Cultural Data in References to Mathura in the Buddhist Literature’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 214–22. 10 Th. Damsteegt, ‘The Pre-Kushana and Kushana Inscriptions and the Suppression of Prakrit by Sanskrit in North India in General and at Mathura in Particular’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 298–307. 11 A.K. Narain, ‘Ancient Mathura and the Numismatic Material’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 115–18. 12 D.C. Sircar, ‘Observations on the Study of Some Epigraphic Records from Mathura’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 257–60. 13 Vijay Laxmi Singh, Mathura: The Settlement Pattern and Cultural Profile of an Early Historical City, New Delhi: Sundeep Prakashan, 2005. 14 Upinder Singh, ‘Cults and Shrines in Early Historic Mathura (C 200 BC–200 AD)’, World Archaeology, 36(3), 2004: 378–98. 15 Sonya Rhie Quintanilla, History of Early Stone Sculpture at Mathura CA 150 BCE–100 CE, Leiden: Brill, 2007. 16 Vinay Kumar Gupta, Mathura: An Art and Archaeological Study, New Delhi: Kaveri Books, 2013. 17 Shivani Agarwal, ‘The Archaeology of Mathura: Regional Complexities and Diversities (300 BC – AD 300)’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Jawaharlal Nehru University, 2015. 18 E.B. Joshi, U.P. District Gazetteers, Mathura, Vol. 12, Lucknow: Government Press, 1968, p. 1. 19 Roshan Dalal, ‘The Historical Geography of the Mathura Region’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, p. 4. 20 Vinay Kumar Gupta, Early Settlement of Mathura: An Archaeological Perspective, New Delhi: Nehru Memorial Museum and Library, 2014, p. 2. 21 S.G. Bajpai, ‘Trade Routes, Commerce and Communication Patterns from the Post-Mauryan Period to the Kushana Period’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 47–49. 22 Indian Archaeology–A Review (IAR), 1955–56: 71. 23 Ibid. 24 IAR, 1966–67: 42. 25 IAR, 1955–56: 71. 26 Ibid.

Mathura  51 27 Although Kankali Tila is well known as the most important archaeological site within the settlement complex of Mathura, the term ‘tila’ has a common connotation and denotes a mound in colloquial sense. 28 IAR, 1975–76: 53–55, IAR, 1976–77: 54–55. 29 F.S. Growse, Mathura: A District Memoir, Allahabad: North-Western Provinces and Oudh Government Press, 1880, p. 72. 30 IAR, 1976–77: 54–55. 31 IAR, 1955–56: 71. 32 IAR, 1966–67: 42. 33 IAR, 1975–76: 53–55. 34 Dalal, ‘The Historical Geography’, pp. 6–7. 35 H. Lüders, Mathura Inscriptions, Klaus Janert (ed.), Gottingen: Vanden Hoeck & Roprecht, 1961, pp. 29–36. 36 Ibid., pp. 36–39. 37 Ibid., pp. 54–55. 38 Ibid., pp. 55–57. 39 Ibid., pp. 57–105. 40 Ibid., p. 152. 41 Ibid., p. 157. 42 Ibid., pp. 158–60. Brickbat denotes a fragment of a brick used in architecture. 43 Ibid., pp. 160–61. 44 Ibid., p. 165. 45 Ibid., p. 168. 46 Ibid., p. 165. 47 Ibid., p. 166. 48 Ibid., p. 167. 49 Ibid., pp. 170–71. 50 Ibid., pp. 171–72. 51 F.W. Thomas, ‘The Inscription on the Mathura Lion-Capital’, Epigraphia Indica, IX, 1981: 135–47. 52 Lüders, Mathura Inscriptions, p. 111. 53 Ibid., p. 112. 54 Ibid., p. 113. 55 Ibid., pp. 114–15. 56 Ibid., pp. 115–16. 57 Ibid., pp. 116–19. 58 Ibid., p. 119. 59 Ibid., p. 120. 60 Ibid., pp. 120–21. 61 Ibid., p. 121. 62 Ibid., p. 122. 63 Ibid., pp. 122–24. 64 Ibid., pp. 124–26. 65 G. Bühler, ‘New Jaina Inscriptions from Mathurā’, Epigraphia Indica, I, 1983 (rpt): 371–98; G. Bühler, ‘Further Jaina Inscriptions from Mathurā (with Facsimiles)’, Epigraphia Indica, II, 1892: 195–212. 66 Āyāgapaṭa or Āyāgapaṭṭa are donative tablets related to the Jaina establishments bearing engravings of diverse motifs. 67 Lüders, Mathura Inscriptions, pp. 124–25. 68 Ibid., p. 180. 69 Ibid., pp. 175–79. 70 Singh, ‘Cults and Shrines’, p. 384. 71 IAR, 1976–77: 55.

52  Indira Banerjee 72 Vasudev S. Agrawala, Studies in Indian Art, Varanasi: Vishwavidyalata Prakashan, 1965, p. 118. 73 Singh, ‘Cults and Shrines’, p. 385. 74 Lüders, Mathura Inscriptions, pp. 173–74. 75 Ibid., pp. 61–63. 76 Ibid., p. 37; pp. 148–49. 77 Singh, ‘Cults and Shrines’, p. 387. 78 Herbert Härtel, Excavations at Sonkh, Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 1993, pp. 414–27; H.P. Ray, ‘The Apsidal Shrine in Early Hinduism: Origins, Cultic Affiliation, Patronage’, World Archaeology, 36(3), 2004: 349. 79 V.S. Agrawala, ‘A Catalogue of the Images of Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva in Mathura Art’, Journal of the U.P. Historical Society, 22, 1949: 158. 80 J.P. Vogel, Catalogue of the Archaeological Museum at Mathura, Allahabad: Government Press, United Province, 1910. 81 Sten Konow, ‘Mathura Brahmi Inscription of the Year 28’, Epigraphia Indica, XXI, 1984 (rpt): 55–61. 82 Lüders, Mathura Inscriptions, pp. 131–41. 83 Ibid., pp. 99–100. 84 Ibid., pp. 66–67. 85 Ibid., pp. 56–57. 86 Ibid., pp. 55–56. 87 Ibid., p. 39. 88 Ibid., pp. 45–46, 50–51, 55, 88–89, 125, 166, 180. 89 Ibid., p. 50. 90 Ibid., p. 91. 91 Ibid., pp. 169–70. 92 For these references vide Lüders, ‘Appendix’, Epigraphia Indica, X, 1959 (rpt): 3–25; Salomon, ‘Daily Life’, in Srinivasan (ed.), Mathura, pp. 39–45. 93 For example, see the translation of inscription no. 125a in Lüders, Mathura Inscriptions, p. 31.

3

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India A ‘Religious-Cultural’ Artefact and the Formation of a Scent-Landscape Amrita Chattopadhyay

The ‘material’ and the ‘spiritual’ are often mirrored in the distinction between the ‘profane’ and the ‘sacred’ and the notion of ‘functional’ versus ‘non-functional’. The material culture that makes up the archaeological record is a result of ‘action’ and ‘practice’ and is thus visible, while religion is supposed to be the provenance of ‘thought’ or ‘belief’ and is hidden or symbolic.1 However, contrary to this binary, at a popular level, the religions of the world are often characterised by their unique material identities. Material identities like art, iconography, monuments, temples, shrines and even entire landscapes are primary expressions of a religious tradition. Often, for those experiencing a religion from the outside, these are the most obvious, immediate, enchanting, colourful and exciting features, representing difference and points of access into the unknown.2 Material culture thus occupies a central place in some of the better-known world religions for the historical understanding of the process of its integration with the landscape embedded in belief systems and practices. This article primarily attempts to study the process of this integration in India during the 16th–18th century when material culture, landscape and religion were inscribed together within a Persianate world of shared ideas and practices, politics and languages, literature and artefacts, and tradition and culture. The article situates a sensory object, ‘perfumes’, as a religiouscultural artefact in this shared landscape. It investigates its role as a fragrant object of aesthetic-utilitarian properties in time and space that was plural, ‘Indo-Islamicate’,3 interactive and continually evolving through various encounters of polities, religions, cultures and economies.

Material Culture and Perfumes as ‘Objects’ of Study In the real sense of the term, ‘Material Culture’ refers to the various ways in which humans and objects interact with each other, carry meanings and significance for each other through an array of creative processes at a certain historical moment and period.4 In this symbiotic human–object relationship, the study of which constitutes ‘material turn’ in historical studies,5 every object has a social life or a cultural biography of its own,6 and it is DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-5

54  Amrita Chattopadhyay important to assign an agency to the object to understand its unique cultural meanings and its historical significance.7 Long associated with the accusation of material fetishism, the study of material culture in South Asia in its right analytical framework has received considerable attention only in recent years after the development of key theories of material culture in the 1980s.8 The study of material culture in South Asia, in particular, is slowly gaining momentum but has, however, remained dominated by visual studies mostly through aesthetic engagement and detailed analysis of paintings and architectures. What remains overlooked are the other facets of material culture, which encompasses a broader spectrum of objects and material-artefacts from the early modern period. In this relative historiographical neglect on the material culture between 16th and 18th century India, this essay situates itself with a particular focus on ‘perfumes’, a distinct material-cultural artefact embodying smell. Perfumes were an object of unique materiality and aesthetic-utilitarian significance representing historical relevance, olfactory experiences and religious praxis of the time, a study of which remains the main thrust of this paper. Here the article attempts to overcome the long-held and hindering association of perfumes as ephemeral and intangible; hence difficult to be recorded and thereby held inadequate as an object to represent time or cultural space in properly documented forms of history. Despite the scientific flourish in the branch of olfactory study,9 perfumes as a material manifestation of olfaction have been relatively lesser studied in a spatial setting or a particular socio-religious or cultural context. As material objects, they have always endured a lower status in the sensory hierarchy of things.10 However, these notions and categories have significantly been revisited and reassessed in recent scholarships, as inaugurated by Alain Corbin, who put smell on the historical map for the first time.11 It has been studied and subsequently agreed upon that perfumes in a particular historical landscape and cultural context, like any other material, have their own material life, vocabulary, and unique mode of representation and archiving in historical records, even in Indian history.

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India and Its Textual Representation Scents as an important ‘material’ and ‘cultural’ artefact of study and investigation in the socio-politico-economic and religious context or urban landscapes have been recognised and are gaining momentum, albeit very slowly, particularly in the early modern Indian context. This paper intercedes in this new tide of the growing scholarship, which provides a fresh new window and methodology to revisit the knowledge inventories and perceive the 16th–18th century through a fresh new lens of olfactants and olfactory experiences. Taking a cue from David Shulman’s article12 and subsequently James McHugh’s work,13 where he extensively studies perfumes in ancient

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  55 India and its association with South Asian religions from a rich corpus of literature and scriptures, this article attempts at following a similar methodological task for the period between 16th and 18th century. As is discernible from the texts produced roughly between the 12th and 15th century from various regions of the Indian subcontinent like Gandhasara,14 Nagarasarvasva,15 Ni’matnama,16 perfumes of various forms, smell and ingredients were integral to South Asian religions, and all these texts explain the art and science of perfume making as a means of veneration of gods, attainment of religious merits, sensual enjoyments and pleasures of human life,17 whereby ascribing the craft and the material a social and religious relevance in its time.18 Amidst this identifiable olfactory tradition in South Asia, which was continually evolving and adapting itself, this study attempts to locate aromatics in the physical landscape of the Indian subcontinent. It sets out to understand the role of olfactants in particularly shaping the religious beliefs and praxis between the 16th and 18th centuries from a corpus of textual and literary sources. The sources mainly include Mughal court chronicles, biographical accounts, European travel accounts and memoirs.

Mughal Gardens: Perfumes, Landscape and Acculturation The landscapes of India, either in its physical environs or in its historical memory, are layered with tangible material reminders of numerous religious worlds,19 of which an ephemeral and sensory material artefact like perfumes also lay its various historical imprints as part of its material life. This olfactory tradition in India is identifiable from its long-standing association with South Asian religions, as evident from the various textual evidence and the critical tangible roles they played in the religious institutions or spaces.20 As James McHugh points out, the Indian subcontinent has been ‘characterised in the medieval European discourses as the land of spices, perfumed by paradise’, and ‘aromatic ingredients made its way to the subcontinent from everywhere’.21 However, the rich olfactory culture shaped by the Sanskritic courtly traditions that incepted in the ancient times saw a more mature and diverse flourish between the 16th and 18th centuries in India with the growth of the Persianate culture and the Islamicate traditions22 through a process of acculturation which had various material manifestations. The first material manifestation of such hybrid perfumery culture occurred through the ways and forms fragrance was integrated with the physical landscape of the Indian subcontinent, which later transitioned into olfactory experiences and practices. This interplay between nature and scent found the most tangible expression in the idea of a fragrant garden that became the site of human experiments with different aromatic flora. This practice laid the pattern of the consumption of pleasant smell within a select space of political and religious significance, especially during the Mughal period.

56  Amrita Chattopadhyay Nature is and was imbued with fragrances in the form of, for instance, scented flowers, the smell of the wet earth or dust. Capturing the smell of nature from its wilderness and grafting it into an enclosed orderly setting for private consumption occurred through the endeavour to design fragrant gardens in India. Connoisseurship of scent found profound expression in these fragrant landscapes of human preferences. The relationship between nature and smell and olfactory perceptions was particularly intense during the reign of the Mughal Emperor, Jahangir (1605–1627 CE). Nostalgia, sense of beauty, longing for visually appealing, orderly and perfumed nature were grafted in the heart of the Indian subcontinent by the Mughal rulers as part of their acculturation to endure the alienation between themselves and the land they governed,23 and this took various forms. The borrowing and fragrant ornamentation took place primarily at the level of architectural styles in India in the form of chaharbagh (fourfold Mughal garden)24 with significant material expenditure and laborious care, articulating both collective and individual desires.25 Situating within symbolic context of religion, James Dickie described, ‘a Mughal garden populated with nard-anointed houris and the air balmy from the perfume of too many flowers was a divine archetype of Islam’s concept of Paradise as Garden’.26 In the process of negotiation between Mughal identity and the Indian landscape,27 these spaces were constructed as rectilinear enclosed spaces with paradisiacal symbolism.28 Symmetrically divided into four equal parts by water channels and flower beds,29 they acted as a significant artistic space for such experiments with odours whose roots lay in their love for nature. Although gardens have attracted a rich scholarship, evidenced in the works of Ebba Koch,30 Emma Flatt31 and Daud Ali,32 which help us understand these as significant historical spaces, Ali Akbar Husain’s research first perceived gardens in the Deccan region as a fragrant landscape.33 Drawing upon Ali Akbar Hussain’s work, Mughal gardens can be read as spaces where natural fragrance got integrated with imperial ideology into an orderly aesthetic and perfumed landscape. The Mughal emperors were keen observers of the natural world. It began with Mughal Emperor Babur’s (r. 1526-1530 CE) vivid description of natural phenomena, flora and fauna of Hindustan in the Baburnama. Babur was struck by a ‘great variety of flowers’ in Hindustan. He noticed and agreeably liked flowers such as ‘jāsūn (Hibiscus rosa sinensis), kanīr (Nerium odorum, the oleander) and kīūrā (Pandanus odoratissimus, the screw pine), which have a very agreeable perfume, and yāsman (jasmine)’.34 Since Babur’s arrival in India, a more methodological arrangement of gardens was obtained through the introduction of chaharbagh.35 This trend continued during Akbar’s reign (1556-1605 CE) and peaked in Jahangir’s time. Abul Fazl (1551-1602 CE), the chief Mughal chronicler during Akbar’ reign has also provided names and short descriptions of 21 ‘fine smelling flowers like the Sewtí, Bhólsarí, Chambélí, Ráibél, Móngrá, Champah, Kétkí, Kúzáh,

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  57 Pádal, Júhí, Niwárí, Nargis, Kéwarah, Chaltah, Gulál, Tasbíh i Gulál, Singárhár, Violet, Karnah, Kapúr bél, Gul i Za’frán’.36 Jahangir, through his observations, investigations and experiments, emerged in his Jahangirnama as an acknowledged naturalist if ever one sat on a throne.37 His love for unique flowers, exotic fragrances and their use in gardens is discernible. Gardens emerged as flower-filled spaces or gulistan (a rose garden or a flower garden) or bagicha (a little garden or an orchard or a flower bed), spaces of delight, refreshment and enjoyment and served as appropriate locations to appreciate the importance of fragrances. The search for delightful and unique fragrances to beautify gardens as the ideal space for pleasure is implicit in Jahangir’s memoir: From the excellencies of its sweet-scented flowers, one may prefer the fragrances of India to those of the flowers of the whole world. It has many such that nothing in the whole world can be compared to them. The first is the champa (Michelia champaca), which is a flower of exceedingly sweet fragrance; it has the shape of the saffron-flower but is yellow inclining to white. The tree is very symmetrical and large, full of branches and leaves, and is shady. When in flower, one tree will perfume a garden. Surpassing, this is the keorā flower (Pandanus odoratissimus). Its shape and appearance are singular, and its scent is so strong and penetrating that it does not yield to the odour of musk. Another is the rāe bel, which in scent resembles white jessamine. Its flowers are double and treble. Another is the mūlsarī (Mimusops Elengi). This tree, too, is very graceful and symmetrical and is shady. The scent of its flowers is very pleasant. Another is the ketakī (Pandanus), which is of the nature of the keorā, but the latter is thorny, whereas the ketakī has no thorns. Moreover, the ketakī is yellowish, whereas the keorā is white. From these two flowers and also from the chambelī (Jasminum grandiflorum), which is the white jessamine of wilāyat (Persia or Afghanistan), they extract sweet-scented oils. There are other flowers too numerous to mention. Of trees, there are the cypress (sarw), the pine (sanūbar), the chanār (Platanus orientalis), the white poplar (safīdar, Populus alba), and the bīd mūllā (willow), which they had formerly never thought of in Hindustan, but are now plentiful. The sandal-tree, which once was peculiar to the islands (i.e., Java, Sumatra, etc.), also nourishes in the gardens.38 These flowers with their distinct colours, shapes and sizes were used as visual motifs of beauty in the Mughal gardens. They also kept the space fragrant and enchanted. Simultaneously, flowers such as roses acted as raw materials or natural resources to meet the demand of perfumes like distilled rose water in the royal households, especially in the imperial cities of Delhi, Agra and Lahore.39 Jahangir’s reign came to be culturally highlighted by the discovery and innovation of rose-water perfume by the Mughal empress

58  Amrita Chattopadhyay Nur Jahan’s (1577-1645 CE) mother Salima Sultan Begum (1539-1613 CE), who named this perfumed oil as itr-i-Jahangiri,40 in the seventh regnal year of Jahangir. Regarded for its unparalleled fragrance and strength, it received emperor’s personal validation and found royal significance in the Mughal polity.41 Later, the circumstances of discovering the rose essences, an excellent and exquisite perfume42 in a garden where all the reservoirs were ordered to be filled with rose water,43 and its fineness were attested by Italian traveller Nicollao Manucci (1638-1717 CE) in his account on India. His anecdote celebrates the sweet smell and the excellence of the perfume and the delight it caused to Nur Jahan so much as that ‘she quickly rubbed some on her clothes and went off to embrace the King’.44 This period saw a proliferation of flower gardens across the Mughal landscape, partly to meet the royal demand for this home-grown perfume obtained through the process of distillation of fresh roses.45 Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi, in his work, notes that in the city of Fatehpur Sikri, there was one gulistan or flower garden which took care of the needs of the khushbukhana (the Royal Perfumery) located to the south-west of the Diwan-i-Am, traces of which can still be found in the locality.46 Sadaf Fatma in her thesis describes the presence and popularity of special rose gardens in the cities of Lahore, Ahmedabad and regions like Kashmir maintained under the imperial and sub-imperial supervision of the Mughal empire. Named as ‘Gulab/Gulabi Bagh’ or garden of rosewater, these gardens catered to the rise in rose flower production, growing preference and its increasing demand as a resourcematerial for rose-based perfumes across various regions of Mughal India.47 The rose water extracted from the flowers of the Rose Garden and Mulberry Grove located close to Rustam Bagh and near the river Sabarmati in Gujarat served the ceremonial and personal demands of the Emperor ‘from the time of the Sultans of Gujarat up to the beginning of the viceroyalty of Prince Muhammad Azam Shah’.48 During the 4th year of Aurangzeb’s (r. 16581707 CE) reign, the Mughal noble Fidai Khan Koka designed a delightful garden at Pinjaur. The red roses of this garden were well-known for their abundance (farawani), fineness or delicacy (latafat) and were also used for veneration. One went to the garden in the month of spring and at that time roses weighing forty Alamgiri maund were daily sent to the Gulab Khana (Rose-water House or Factory).49 Several accounts and anecdotes attest that gulab or rose became popular as an aesthete, fragrant object during this period and blended seamlessly with the existing material practices of the polity.50 The significance of floral fragrance in medieval Indo-Islamic gardens is derived from the role of ‘exhilarating’ scent in maintaining the balance and harmony of body humours or fluids (namely blood, phlegm, black and yellow bile) which lead to the refinement of mizaj or temperament.51 The pattern of the four elements is thought to be susceptible to the environment and the atmosphere, and hence the association of exhilarating fragrances in the flower-filled gardens is while on the one hand a pleasure-giving and

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  59 pleasure-awakening sensation, on the other hand, it denotes the emperor’s proximity to and love for nature. The fragrant garden, like an exhilarant, expands the heart and changes the mood of the visitor, bestowing joy or faraḥ. Since emotions were thought to be caused by adjustments in bodily humours, the garden, and by implication, its fragrance worked on the physical body of the visitor.52 Arising from this aesthetic-sensory role of perfumes in Islamicate traditions, fragrant landscapes acquired an aesthetic-utilitarian significance in the Mughal empire.

From Gardens to Factories, Courts and Households: A Change in the Fragrant Landscape With the increase in royal demand for perfumes and simultaneous proliferation of fragrant flower gardens catering to that demand, perfumes made their way from gardens to newer spaces in the Mughal empire – workshops of production, courts and household spaces of ceremonial and private consumption. The Mughal Emperor Akbar created a separate department called khushbukhana (department of perfumery), and Shah Mansur was put in charge of it. Akbar and his successors were fond of perfumes both for personal use, religious as well as for burning in the household and the court-hall, which were continually scented with ambar (ambergris), agar (aloewood) and other incenses. Araqs, itrs and oils were extracted from flowers and used for skin and hair.53 Akbar himself was fond of perfumes, and he especially ‘encouraged this department for religious motives’.54 This choice of perfume as a religious artefact and encouragement to the department stems from Akbar’s gradual ideological movement towards multiculturalism and liberal religious policy of accommodation and incorporation of various religious groups into an integrated ruling class55 within a cosmopolitan, pluralistic polity. His imperial ideology and religious policy of legitimising his rule based on Divine Light56 were in alignment with the inherent material properties of perfumes. Perfumes are often used in rituals for their beauty. Their all-pervasive and permeating properties in the air are believed to have the power both to please and to attract those to whom the scent is directed – the deities, the guests at a festival, a lover and so on. Integrative power is also usually attributed to smell, making scent an excellent means of uniting the participants in a ritual, who all breathe in and are enveloped by the same aroma.57 Here Akbar’s material choice of perfumes as a religious motif can be argued to have been a very calculated decision guided by its olfactory aesthetics as well as his political goals of legitimising his rule across the Indian subcontinent. Perfumes and essences were also an integral part of the daily religious lives of the emperor and the nobility, both in the court and household spaces. The choice of perfumes was not just a matter of ‘conspicuous consumption’ as Thorstein Veblen would argue or a display of their wealth

60  Amrita Chattopadhyay signifying their class.58 It was also a choice rooted in the practices of the religion. Drawing upon the case of an important religious-minded Mughal noble Said Khan Chaghata, this section throws light on the same. According to his biographer, He was such a great lover of His Holiness, the chief of the world (i.e. the Prophet), may Allah’s salutation and peace be upon him and his progeny, that for the first twelve days of the month of Rabiul-Awwal, he hosted a urs’ (death anniversary) dinner of a type as was not witnessed elsewhere. Firstly, he would bedeck his house for the urs’ very lavishly and have carpets, household items and wares laid out in such profusion that it reminded of paradise. Several sweet-voiced hafiz would gather together for the whole day and night; perfumes and incenses, more than can be estimated were used. He would lavishly feed 1,000 people every day. … and he held such a banquet for twelve days as long as he was alive.59 Said Khan was a religious-minded, high ranking, wealthy noble. He amassed a vast amount of wealth. His lavish spending on urs ceremonies and the maintenance of khwajasaras60 included massive consumption of perfumes and similar necessary articles such as food and clothing, and this pattern was, however, unique and exclusive to his high social position and wealth. Mughal perfumes saw the introduction of new ingredients such as rose and the proliferation of new kinds of scents that began to be valued so much so that many complex temple perfumes and incenses might have seemed archaic or traditional.61 Rose was perhaps unknown to perfume preparation in the Sanskrit literature before the mid-15th century in spite of India’s constant contact with rose-growing countries such as Persia, Babylon, Greece, Egypt and Rome, and its usage proliferated especially with the establishment of the Islamicate polity and the coming of Islam to India.62 The distillation of the essence of roses appears to have been first introduced from Persia via Basra and from Arabia into India, first in the town of Kannauj, on the Ganges, and then to Gazipur, where the industry still exists. Irfan Habib agrees with Parashuram Krishna Gode in crediting the Arabs (or rather Persians) with the discovery of the process of extracting rose water through distillation. A new distillation still was also introduced in India: Italian-Arab still that rapidly travelled to India from Italy through the Islamic world, and it reached India by the 13th century, presumably with the foundation of the Sultanate and the accompanying immigration,63 and by the Mughal period, the technique was well established. This steam distillation was extended to perfumes that improved the process and quantity of collection. Furthermore, in Mughal India, the discovery of itr-i Jahangiri was added to the technological innovations, and it came to acquire a royal character, religious value and a political role.64

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  61

The Materiality of Perfumes: Politics and Religion As has been elaborated in the Gifts of the Sultan: The Art of Giving at the Islamic Courts65 in courts across the Islamic world, gift-giving often served as a nexus between art and diplomacy, religion and interpersonal relations. The objects exchanged as gifts had a cross-cultural valence characterised by a high-monetary cost, rarity, expensive material and aesthetic value. The gifts exchanged in the Mughal court included robes of honour, pan, jewelled daggers, turbans, perfumes, and these objects acted as symbols of sovereignty and had high transactional values. They performed the roles in court culture what gifts were likely to carry out. Perfumes of high value and aesthetic qualities like itr-i Jahangiri, agarwood, musk, saffron were frequently used for the diplomatic gift-giving in the Mughal court.

Musk Musk had been the most important aromatic in the medieval Middle East.66 It was the scent of the Prophet, and the latter recommended its use. Prophet Muhammad’s life became the model for pious Muslims to emulate, assuring musk a permanent place in the Islamic world,67 and it maintains pride of place even to this day. An animal-based perfume, it was an essential component in a large percentage of perfume compounds; a critical ingredient in medicines and recipes; used in burial rituals; had regal, aesthetic and erotic connotations; used in coronation and other courtly ceremonies; worn by men and women at court. Moreover, a sizeable body of lore grew around it since it was so valued.68 As one of the most important, cherished and highprized aromatics in the Islamicate cultures and polities, it was also used in the diplomatic gift exchanging that happened between the Mughal empire and other contemporary Islamicate polities. High-value musk came as a diplomatic gift from the King of Balkh to the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb as a means to settle political ties. When the news reached Balkh how Aurangzeb, having eliminated his brothers, had crowned himself King of Hindustan, the King of Balkh felt threatened by the newly crowned King’s might and wealth. He, therefore, sent ambassadors to offer him presents and establish lasting friendship and peace. On 19 April 1661, Ibrahim Beg, envoy of Subhan Quli Khan, ruler of Balkh, arrived at court with a special letter and presents from Turanland.69 Aurangzeb was well aware of the reasons for sending this embassy. Although he still harboured the design to conquer that land, he feared that the King might ally himself with enemies and foment trouble. He was aware of the difficulty of sending ‘an army to conquer a kingdom amid such lofty mountains, in a climate so cold that the soldiers of Hindūstān could not endure it. He, therefore, received the ambassadors with affection and goodwill’.70 He ordered each visitor to be invested with sarapa (robes of honour), and the companions were given Rs 20,00071 and directed that

62  Amrita Chattopadhyay their offerings be produced. The first of these consisted of ‘nine boxes of lapis-lazuli, all full of musk, and of a kind of tuber of violet colour, which Arabs and Persians call zeduar’.72 It was a rare and most aromatic medicinal.73 The other gifts were of similar rarity and value. Aurangzeb showed pleasure at the presents, and the envoys were speedily sent off on their return journey with the invitation to visit the court whenever they wished.74 When the envoys of Balkh returned to their own country, Aurangzeb at their leave-taking, presented them each with two sets of robes of rich material and 8000 rupees. For the King of Balkh, he sent as a remembrance five flasks of the essence of roses along with other royal and exotic items from Hindustan.75

Itr-i Jahangiri Perfumes such as itr-i Jahangiri and agarwood were also used to negotiate the power politics between the imperial centre and the outer riverine and humid frontier regions comprising Assam, Koch Bihar and Kamrup. As C.A. Bayly demonstrates, politics, value and demands are linked in the social history of things. The production, exchange and consumption of material constitute the ‘political discourse’ that ties the royal demand, local production structures and social solidarities and the fabric of political legitimacy.76 Rare, costly perfumes of royal significance, I argue, constituted a ‘political discourse’ taking shape between the imperial Mughals and the regions of Assam, Koch Bihar and Bengal,77 an ecological frontier in the Mughal geopolitical map78 that the Mughals were negotiating through politics and cultures of consumption.79 Perfumes were continually participating in the political discourse of the period through its symbolic and aesthetic role in the process of gift exchange and hospitality customs, the participants being important persons involved in the Mughal campaigns in these frontier regions. In a 17th century text Baharistan-i-Ghayabi by Mirza Nathan,80 a sprinkling of otto of roses or itr-i Jahangiri was considered to be an excellent hospitality tradition. While organising his allies against the King of Assam, Mirza Nathan welcomed his important allies like Raja Raghunath81 and Mirza Baqi Beg82 through various traditional offerings of hospitality. It was an integral part of the great custom, whereby ‘Otto of roses was profusely sprinkled’.83 Perfumes, especially otto of roses,84 were used for distribution to mark special occasions in the Baharistan-i-Ghayabi. Mirza Nathan organised lavish parties to celebrate the victory over his long-time notorious rival Shaikh Ibrahim, with music, food and lavish distribution of perfumes. As our source states,

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  63 after the dinner and the distribution of the otto of roses when the whole day was passed in the enjoyment of the music of the melodious singers and in listening to the Hafizes of sweet voice, the Mirza presented one horse to each of the men.85 Evening banquets full of various kinds of ecstatic music and adorned with ambrosial scents and sprinkled perfumes were also arranged by Mirza Nathan to welcome Qulij Khan86 at Hajo. Qulij Khan, a lover of pomp, was sent by the imperial court to manage a jagirdar of Koch. He was a potential ally of Mirza Nathan, and by the end of this scented lavish evening party, Qulij Khan left satisfied, indicating good signs. After a while in an auspicious moment, the Khan was taken to the house which was arranged for him by the Mirza. The Khan entered the house … It happened as arranged. … The varieties of sweet scents produced ebullition in the brains. The enjoyment was transferred from the private assembly to the public. After the repast of dainty food and various kinds of sweet fruits, otto of roses was sprinkled. The Khan also came and expressed his satisfaction. After this, they went to their resting places.87

Aloewood The Kamrup region with its environs around the Meghna-Brahmaputra river system, ‘the vilayat or province of Asham or Assam, through the middle of which the river Brahmaputra flows from east to west, that is from Gowahati to Sadiah’88 was and is still recognised as the land of agarwood. With rains throughout the year, the moist climate and the soil of the region favoured the growth and sourcing of a very fine-quality and heavily-scented agarwood in the subcontinent.89 Agar (lignum aloes or aloewood) was obtained from the trunk of agallochon tree, which contains ‘a fragrant resinous substance of dark colour’90, according to Valentine Ball, the 19th century translator of the account of the 17th century French traveller in India, Jean Baptiste Tavernier (1605-1689 CE). It was ‘a tropical tree with a smooth pale trunk, thin leathery leaves and yellow-green flowers.’91 India has been described by the Arab writers ‘as a country that is rich in Indian agarwood trees’. The agallochon tree was also ascribed by the earliest Greek philosophers as indigenous to India and was aromatic.92 It’s use as a liquid perfume popularised with the diffusion of Islam across the Arab world and the Indian subcontinent.93 Although it was imported from other regions, lignum aloes of the Assam-Koch-Kamrup region was of great value and in high demand. It had immense royal significance and usage – they were substances against which the Emperor was weighed in ceremonies.94 It was also the source of another liquid perfume of high quality – Peter Mundy, the 17th century English traveller in India refers to it and the extravagantly expensive perfume distilled from the wood of lignum aloes by a process similar

64  Amrita Chattopadhyay to that described in the Ain-i-Akbari where it was referred to as Chua.95 Chua was an expensive, high-quality perfume worth 18 and 20 rupees an ounce. Fragrant substances of rarity like aloewood and ambergris constituted an integral part of the high-value gifts that were regularly sent out to the Emperor and added to the Imperial Treasury. Since at that period, besides rare silk stuffs of this country, and elephants and aloes-wood and ambergris and other presents and gifts, no specie used to be presented to the Emperor, at this time, contrary to the former practice, it was settled that every year five lacs of rupees as present to the Emperor and five lacs of rupees as present to Nur Jahan Begam – in all ten lacs of rupees should be remitted to the Imperial Exchequer.96 Aloewood of this region, like itr-i-Jahangiri was used as a politically charged material of high value and symbolic underpinnings mediating the interpersonnel relationships that to a great extent buttressed the centre-regional political status quo that is the Mughal Imperial centre and the regions of the North East. For example, after Mirza Nathan’s victory over the Assamese naval forces, he advanced towards Jahangirnagar. During the journey, Khan Fath-Jang, the Subahdar tried to question his intentions and ambitions while Mukhlis Khan, the Imperial Diwan or the treasurer extended moral support to Mirza Nathan. The compassionate and respectful interaction between Mukhlis Khan and Mirza Nathan that followed the Assam campaign was observed by an exchange of high-quality gifts and perfumes, particularly, ‘one-maund of high class agar (aloe-wood) of the Koch region’ and ‘trayfuls of sweet scents and pans (betel leaves)’. These were a significant part of the peshkash or gifts. Of all the gifts, Mukhlis Khan, in order to please Mirza Nathan, accepted the agar and one coloured Tangan horse and the rest of the things and horses were returned to him, and then he went back to his home. He then continued his visits to the Khan Fath-Jang in the usual way.97 Acceptance of agar and the return of the other items attest to the valuableness and the rarity of the material and its higher position in the hierarchy of objects. Interestingly, the act of bestowing an item as delicate and rare as aloewood (agar) of Koch as a gift to Mukhlis Khan was interpreted as a reason of insult by Khan Fath-Jang. Furthermore, he was displeased with Mirza Nathan and became indifferent about the despatch of the auxiliaries and wrote unpleasant letters to him, creating problems for his advancements. However, Mirza Nathan did not heed such ploys and made advances by the River Brahmaputra.98 Thus the act of diplomatic gift-giving of high-quality perfumes, pan99 (betel leaves) or kh’ilat100 (robes of honour) contained deep religious values,

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  65 as well as political and symbolic transactional significances. A part of the fragrant landscape of the region, high-quality perfumes acquired a functional role as a religious-cultural artefact within the Mughal empire with its various political manoeuvrings and cultural practices.

Perfumes: A Religious-Cultural Artefact and Their Ceremonial Consumption Found in the different climatic conditions of the regions and endowed with several aesthetic properties, perfumes had their deep roots in the religious milieu of the period and found tangible material expression in the ritualistic practices, court ceremonies, and other celebrations observed by the Mughal empire. Materially, perfumes are unique artefacts, their patterns of consumption,101 like any other objects, being subjected to and directed by certain social conditions and belief systems. The Mughal empire, which was circumscribed within the Indo-Islamicate traditions and Persianate court culture, utilised the delicacy and aesthetics of perfumes in the celebration of festivals such as Nauroz, Eid-i-Gulabi and the observation of hina-bandi ceremony during the marriage festivals of Mughal prince Dara Shukoh (1615-1659 CE) and emperor Aurangzeb. The death anniversaries and funeral rites were incomplete without the distribution of perfumes among all the nobility and the officers of state in attendance. The integrative nature of perfumes and the boundary-crossing nature of smell, in turn, is often made use of to help the participants in a rite of passage, for example, a religious ritual, or a wedding or a funeral: the perfume symbolically wafted along with the olfactory flow102 and entangled everyone in a participatory collectiveness. As a religious-cultural artefact, it came to express a particular vocabulary of the belief system and to represent and to celebrate the collective emotions of the believers and the participants. This distributive and shared consumption pattern implied that perfumes with their olfactory effects were being used to invite and incorporate a large mass of people into an event, whereby practising collective or shared ceremonial participatory rituals to assimilate a more extensive and diverse mass of people into its polity and social fabric. During the celebration of Nauroz (New Year), one of the principal court festivals during the Mughal rule in India that gained popularity since 1582 CE under the rulership of Akbar, perfumes played a key role in its observance. Besides the introduction of the new Illahi year and the personification of kingship alongside his association with the Divine Light,103 another reason behind the revival of the celebration of Nauroz as a cross-cultural festival was mainly rooted in Akbar’s religious policy. Rajoshree Ghosh draws upon Abul Fazl’s official chronicle to argue that ‘Akbar’s liberal outlook, dislike for the orthodox sections of the ‘ulamā and emphasis on the power of reasoning and rationality to have led him to introduce the festival on a magnificent scale’.104 Festivals were also seen as an opportunity to thank God for

66  Amrita Chattopadhyay prosperity, the fulfilment of the wishes of mankind, indulge in merriment and distribute charity, for which Nauroz was observed by many great rulers in the past.105 Thus Akbar was reviving a great occasion for the benefit of his empire and humanity.106 The festival was celebrated in mirth and happiness and was observed through the distribution of lavish gifts where perfumes played a significant material role in its successful observance as a cultural festival accommodating multiple religious belief systems within the empire. Perfumes such as sandalwood, some pods of musk and aloewood were bestowed upon Yadgar Ali, ambassador of Iran on Jahangir’s 7th regnal year and on the day of Nauroz celebration (19 March 1612).107 During Shah Jahan’s reign (1628–1658 CE), pan and argaja, which were composed of various fragrant essences of the Indian subcontinent, were always distributed during this festival among all the nobility and officers of state in attendance on the occasion of Nauroz.108 Celebration of feasting and banqueting during Muslim marriages or birth ceremonies was prolonged with music and the gathering of a large number of people for felicitations. They sent out their presents called kishti in a tray. Again, rose water and perfumes formed an essential item in the presents.109 Baharistan-i-Ghayabi mentions the celebration of the birth of the son of Mirza Nathan later titled as Shitab Khan. It was observed by a dainty meal in the jungles, followed by a scattering of perfumes:110 ‘Saffron was scattered on all, and the otto of roses was sprinkled.’111 In a landscape of wilderness, choosing dissemination of fragrant materials over everything else as an item to mark the celebration suggests its position and significance. It can be safely argued that smell during this period had the sole transformative power and the properties to captivate minds and induce happiness and pleasure. The hina-bandi ceremonies during the celebration of the nuptials of His Royal Highness Prince Dara Shukoh to the daughter of Prince Parviz (15891626 CE) on the 1st of Sha’ban this year, 1042 (11 February 1633), in the royal chambers of the Private Audience Hall (Ghusal-Khana)112 and the festive celebration of His Highness Prince Muhammad Aurangzeb Bahadur’s marriage with Dilras Banu Begum (1622-1657 CE), the daughter of the Mughal viceroy Shahnawaz Khan on the night of the 22nd of the Zi’l Hija 1046 (18 May 1637)113 were marked by the distribution of various perfumes like trays full of argaja114 essences and other scents to mark the occasion.115 The use of essences, particularly of rose fragrance, found its most eloquent expression in the celebration of Eid-i-Gulabi/Jashn-i-Gulabi (Rosewater festival), one of the daintiest court festivals. It was celebrated with taste and elegance on the 13th of the Persian month, Tir (3 June 1657), at the court of Shah Jahan, which marked the commemoration of the rainy season in India. Various honours were bestowed on this occasion.116 Similar festivals where fragrance was celebrated were held in the heart of the land. Manucci refers to the Hindu merry-making festival or a carnival of Holi where Muslims also participated. He mentions one of the customs of the festival was observed ‘by throwing on each other’s clothes scented oils and

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  67 odoriferous dust if they are personages of position, or dirty water and other stinking things if they are low people’.117 During the 18th century, the consumption of perfume in and around religious places of the city of Delhi like that of Qadam Sharif of the Holy Prophet in the month of Basant (spring) was propelled by the enticing properties and the alluring power of the substance. In the 18th century text Muraqqa i Dehli, author Dargah Quli Khan observes the gathering of a large crowd at ‘the holy place of felicity’118, who pray for the pious soul of the Prophet. The pilgrims came in large numbers thronging in this pious place which was full of singers and dancers. Engrossed in their worship and paying homage through their performative and devotional art forms during the auspicious occasion of the onset of spring (basant), they were joined by other inhabitants of the city. Amidst this eclectic atmosphere, the pilgrim’s and devotee’s close association with perfumes remains noteworthy and devotional. The pilgrims present colourful bouquets and pray for the pious soul of the Prophet. With perfect humility, the singers lead with slow, deliberate steps. Alongside the groups of pilgrims with odoriferous perfumes in their hands, move, sprinkling it on the people. On seeing beautiful women carrying in their hands porcelain bottles of perfumes, the crowd become uncontrollable. The smells of ambergris and other fragrances emerge from the dust of the roads and the vicinity of this luminous place. The ecstatic people move around as though being swept into a whirlpool and chant continuously. Adept singers and novices line up the intersection to pay tribute and offer obeisance with their vocal and instrumental renderings in the customary style. On the other side of the pious place, the old qawwals pay homage by rubbing their foreheads on the threshold with dedication. Singers and dancers exhibit their art which for them is their kind of worship. Devout pilgrims send their greetings to the Prophet.119 Devotional singers carried colourful glass bottles with perfumes of the rose, orange flowers (araq-i bahar) and the Egyptian willow (araq-i bid-i mashq). They sprinkled them on the pilgrims as they headed to the relic.120 As gaily bedecked singers sang in separate rows near the relic, the sights and smells of the occasion caused an uncontrollable passion (junun-i bi-ikhtiyari) to descend on the viewer.121 The description of the festivity and bustle around Qadam Sharif is religious devotion and delight derived from the performance of it. Consumption of perfumes for their effect on the mind and body in this setting can be understood as a stimulant to increase the state of religious ecstasy of the participants.

Death and Consumption of Perfumes Consumption of perfumes was not restricted to joyous celebrations and ceremonies in this period. It was extended to occasions of mourning and observation of death ceremonies traditionally marked by the usage of particular

68  Amrita Chattopadhyay objects including perfumes, even of the late emperors and the queens. Like, ‘On the death anniversary the late King Akbar in the year 1607, like every year, according to the custom, food and all kinds of perfumes, according to one’s circumstances and abilities were distributed among the assembled men’.122 Similarly, during the first anniversary of the death of her late Majesty, the Queen Mumtaz Mahal (1593-1631 CE), ‘it was directed that the traditional ceremonies (‘Urs) on the occasion of the first death anniversary should be strictly observed’123 and ‘the comptrollers of the royal household, accordingly erected gorgeous pavilions in the gardens around her sacred grave, spread magnificent carpets and laid out a lavish array of foods, beverages, condiments, confectionery and fragrant essences – more than can be imagined’.124 The second death anniversary of her late Majesty the Queen also had the continued presence of the perfumes and were an integral part of the observation of the mourning ceremony when ‘in the month of Zi’l-Qa’da 1042 (26th May 1633), the second anniversary (‘Urs) of the late Queen’s death was commemorated’,125 ‘trays of all kinds of viands, confectionery and choice scents, as on the former occasion, were laid out by the banquet attendants; one and all were invited to partake’.126 However, when Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb breathed his last on 21 February 1707 on a Friday after a period of great suffering from a burning fever, the late Majesty’s cremation in accordance with the deceased King’s will, ended with the addition of ‘odoriferous herbs to a cavity hollowed out in the shape of an amulet in his tomb located at the place of sepulture known by the name of Khuldabad, few kilometres away from present-day Aurangabad, to diffuse their fragrance around’.127 This addition indicates the probable relation of fragrance with death, keeping in mind the properties and function that scents are believed to possess and perform. James Dickie, in the context of Mughal gardens as funerary gardens, highlighted the association between death and fragrance in Islam and wrote, ‘The funerary garden is Islam’s answer to the grim realities of death’.128 To ensure a pleasant experience of the deceased emanating from the surrounding sound, colours and perfumes, ‘odoriferous plants such as jasmine figure prominently in the overall planting scheme, as the sense of smell is notoriously evocative, the merest suggestion of a particular scent being sufficient to set in motion an entire train of associations’.129 Use of perfumes repeatedly featured in deaths and funerals. Manucci often refers to this. He mentions that when a Muslim dies, there are special persons who come to wash the corpse. It is then carried to the grave placed in a coffin, and covered with a rich piece of cloth accompanied by all the deceased’s insignia of rank, flags, elephants, cavalry, a large following, and many perfumes. On the way, they commend the departed in loud voices to Prophet Muhammad. Until the burying is completed, passers-by who see the body halt and pray for his soul.130

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  69 Moreover, European travellers in India such as Manucci and the 17th century French traveller and physician Francois Bernier (1620-1688 CE), for instance, noticed the use of perfumes during the Hindu practices of cremation and in the observation of the Sati or widow-burning ritual along with the bodies of their dead husbands. Manucci wrote that when any Hindu ruler or prince expired, there was an elaborate ritual followed before he was taken away to be cremated, they shave his head, his beard, and his whole body, anointing it with the essence of roses, binding it up in fine cloth all smeared with different jasmine oils mixed with saffron. The body is laid upon lathes of sandal and aloes wood, bound together in the shape of an open bier.131 The deceased body is accompanied by a woman or women to be sacrificed in the ritual, and she/they were also ‘richly clad, oiled and perfumed’132 and would be ‘embracing the corpse and uttering innumerable praises’ while ‘the burners set fire to the wood all around, and dexterously empty on it pots of oil and butter to increase the rapidity of the cremation’.133 Bernier also noted similar practices of perfume anointment with regards to the cremation of a dead man along with his widow whose garments, ‘were impregnated with scented oil, mixed with sandalwood powder and saffron’,134 on his way from Ahmedabad to Agra. This practice of widow burning was an alien experience to these foreign travellers as they beheld this strange view with spectacular burnished coloured rings of fire piling upwards, the sound of gongs and drums along with loud shrieks and chants and the smell of smog, perfumed oil and dead bodies creating a bewildering sensual experience, unfamiliar to their European sensibilities. The anointing of scented oil and perfumes on the deceased’s and the widow’s bodies during the cremation was to hasten the process of burning and at the same time produce fragrance in the air to cover the pungent stench of burning flesh. It can be argued from these instances that consumption of aromatics had, to a considerable extent, been guided by factors associated with the death. One was to mask the odour of death, which was considered not only unpleasant but harmful to the living. Another was to render the gods favourable to the deceased and his surviving family. A third was to provide the deceased with sweet scents, for the dead were believed to enjoy perfumes as much as or more than the living.135 Thus, irrespective of religion, death had an association with perfumes. The connection possibly emerged out of a juxtaposition of two contrasting aspects of life – the extreme dark aspect of grief and loss and the beautiful aspect of fragrance to bring in the sense of relief in this painful reality of death. Suspension of use of scents was also symbolic as stoppage of perfume consumption often marked a sign of royal mourning. For example, with the death of Mumtaz Mahal, Shah Jahan was filled with extreme grief and

70  Amrita Chattopadhyay shunned every kind of delicacy. He abandoned coloured raiment, hearing of music, use of perfumes and put a stop to all feasts for a long time.136 However, there were cases of suspension of perfume consumption as an imperial policy on checking royal expenditures, instances where economic pursuits surpassed other merits for the well-being of the empire. For example, during the 21st year of Aurangzeb’s reign: 1088 A.H. (18 October 1677–6 October 1678), on Sunday, the 18 November/2nd Shawwal, the day following Id-ul-Fitr, The Emperor sat on the throne and abolished the celebration of distribution of scents and betel leaves present at the Court, ordered for stoppage of the plantation of rosebuds in any imperial gardens except in that of Aghrabad and Nurbari and for removal of gold and silver censers for burning aloe-wood which are brought into the royal residence.137 Restricted usage of perfumes in the royal domain and extravagance during ceremonies as a measure to curtail the imperial expenditure undoubtedly was not a ‘universal ban’138 on perfumes as we can find in other instances discussed before that perfumes continued to play significant symbolic roles during Aurangzeb’s reign. Katherine Butler Brown has argued about Aurangzeb’s policy towards music that his piety and ‘hyper-centralised’139 Islamisation of the state was not synonymous with his cultural policy;140 this perhaps can be extended and applied in the case of the use of aromatics as well. However, it can be argued that consumption or distribution of scents carried dual significance; while its usage was integral to the observation of courtly ceremonies and religious traditions, its non-usage marked a sign of mourning and a restrain on the imperial spending. Perfumes integral to social frameworks, religious beliefs, cultural practices turned into ‘symbolically charged devices’ to convey meanings beyond the purely utilitarian usage.141 This is suggestive of a particular philosophical conception about the work of olfactory substances that can be best understood if we consider the Perso-Arabic medical thought based on the humoral system, where any imbalance in the body humours could only be rectified by the consumption of something with the opposite properties. Emotions too, were understood to be caused by appropriate adjustments in bodily humours and could thus be manipulated by the application of particular substances with the right humoral characteristics. Perfumes were particularly well placed to do this.142 Besides the ḥadith of the Prophet Muhammad (632 CE) propounding perfume as something dear to him, and ‘authentic’ prophetic traditions encouraging the application of perfume and perfume related substances by Muslims,143 Ibn Sina, the Persian thinker and physician (980–1037 CE), attests to the scientific and biological purpose of perfume consumption.

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  71 According to Ibn Sina, certain fragrances, which he referred to as exhilarants (mufarriḥ), would act physiologically upon the heart (dil), causing it to expand, with direct ameliorating consequences for both the emotional state of a person and their physical health. Smells, particularly good aromas, had, therefore, a transformative effect on humans.144

Conclusion Perfumes, which in the popular notion have long been associated with intangibility and pleasure, have always remained a chief actor and bearer of material culture. Like any other tangible objects like textiles, jewellery, etc. which have received considerable attention in the historical narratives, perfumes, too, had a long history, something that this essay attempted to study in relation to the beliefs and practices prevalent in the land and attempted to chart the making of a fragrant landscape through various acts of consumption and symbolic usages. As a nature-dependent object, perfumes and their aromatic ingredients originated in different parts of the Indian subcontinent and beyond, shaped and influenced the physical landscape of this period in the form of imperially imagined and ornamented fragrant paradisical Mughal gardens with curated floral plants and aromas. Naturally or artificially embedded in this setting, imperial imagination and the process of acculturation endowed perfumes with their own unique material culture and determined their life journey from the gardens to the state karkhanas, royal courts and the households. Aromatics’ physical properties and the process of creation of unique scents attuned with the prevalent religious beliefs and cultural praxis in India during the 16th–18th century fashioned their diverse ceremonial consumption patterns. This process simultaneously contributed to their identity-creation as a religious-cultural artefact of integrative power and transformative roles capable of spawning an identifiable smellscape during this period of a chequered Indo-Islamicate polity in the Indian subcontinent.

Acknowledgements This article is developed from my MPhil dissertation submitted under the supervision of Professor Syed Najaf Haider in the Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. I shall be always thankful to him for his continuous guidance and unwavering support in the course of the work. Grateful thanks also go to Professors Chander Shekhar, Rajat Datta, Eva Orthmann and Syed Akhtar Hussain for their constant encouragement and comments over the years. I am greatly indebted to the editors, Professors Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee for allowing me this opportunity. I must thank Professor Mukherjee for her valuable suggestions and never-failing support in developing the article.

72  Amrita Chattopadhyay

Notes 1 Julian Droogan, Religion, Material Culture and Archaeology, London: Bloomsbury, 2013, p. 5. 2 Ibid., pp. 1–2. 3 See David Gilmartin and Bruce B. Lawrence (eds), Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia, Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2000, p. 2. 4 Patrick Laviolette, ‘Introduction: Storing and Storying the Serendipity of Objects’, in Anu Kannike and Patrick Laviolette (eds), Things in Culture, Culture in Things: Approaches to Culture Theory 3, Tartu: University of Tartu Press, 2003, p. 13. 5 Anne Gerritsen and Giorgio Riello, ‘Introduction’, in Anne Gerritsen and Giorgio Riello (eds), Writing Material Culture History, London and New York: Bloomsbury, 2015, p. 3. 6 Igor Kopytoff, ‘The Cultural Biography of Things’, in Arjun Appadurai (ed.) The Social Life of Things: Commodities in Cultural Perspective, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988, p. 73. 7 Bruno Latour, “When Things Strike Back: A Possible Contribution of ‘Science Studies’ to the Social Sciences”, British Journal of Sociology, Vol. 51, No. 1, 2000: 107–23; Bruno Latour, ‘The Berlin Key or How to Do Things with Words’, in P. Graves-Brown (ed.), Matter, Materiality and Modern Culture, London: Routledge, 2000, pp. 10–21. 8 Daniel Miller, ‘Introduction: Why Some Things Matter’, in Daniel Miller (ed.), Material Cultures: Why Some Things Matter, London: UCL Press, 1998, p. 3. 9 Press Release: 2004 Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine, Nobel Assembly of the Karolinska Institute in Stockholm, 4 October 2004. http://nobelprize​.org​/ medicine​/laureates​/2004​/press​.html (accessed 5 January 2021). 10 Alain Corbin, The Foul and the Fragrant: French Social Imagination, London: Breg Publishers, 1986, p. 6; James McHugh, Sandalwood and Carrion: Smell in Indian Religion and Culture, New York: Oxford University Press, 2012, p. 51. 11 Corbin, The Foul and the Fragrant. 12 David Shulman, ‘The Scent of Memory in Hindu South India’, RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics, No. 13: Spring, 1987: 122–33. 13 McHugh, Sandalwood and Carrion. 14 Parashuram Krishna Gode, Studies in Indian Cultural History, Vol. 1, Hoshiarpur: Vishveshvaranand Vedic Research Institute, 1961, p. 4. 15 Padmasri, Nagarasarvasva, (ed.) Pandit Bhagirathaswami, Calcutta: Srivenkateswar Pustak Agency, 1929; Siegfried Lienhard, ‘Observations Concerning a Buddhist Text on Erotics: Nagarasarvasav of Padmasri’, Central Asiatic Journal, Vol. 23, No. 1/2, 1979: 96–123. 16 Anonymous, The Ni’matnama Manuscript of the Sultans of Mandu: The Sultans Book of Delight, (trans.) Norah M. Titley, London and New York: Routledge, 2005. 17 Gode, Studies in Indian Cultural History, Vol. 1, p. 4. 18 Padmasri, Nagarasarvasva, pp. 23–24. 19 McHugh, Sandalwood and Carrion, p. 2. 20 Ibid., pp. 7–8. 21 Ibid., p. 8. 22 Ibid., p. 117. 23 James L. Wescoat Jr., ‘Landscapes of Conquest and Transformation: Lessons from the Earliest Mughal Gardens in India, 1526–1530’, Landscape Journal, Vol. 10, No. 2, 1991: 112.

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  73 24 Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi, ‘Exploring the Mughal Gardens at Fatehpur Sikri’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, Vol. 58, 1997: 894. 25 Daud Ali, ‘Gardens in Early Indian Court Life’, Studies in History, Vol. 19, No. 2, 2003: 223–25. 26 James Dickie (Yaqub Zaki), ‘The Mughal Garden: Gateway to Paradise’, Muqarnas, Vol. 3, 1985: 131–32. 27 Wescoat, ‘Landscapes of Conquest and Transformation’: 112. 28 James L. Wescoat Jr., ‘The Changing Cultural Space of Mughal Gardens’, in Rebecca M. Brown and Deborah S. Hutton (eds), A Companion to Asian Art and Architecture,Chichester: Wiley Blackwell, p. 202; Dickie, ‘The Mughal Garden’: 131–32. 29 Dickie, ‘The Mughal Garden’: 128. 30 Ebba Koch, ‘Jahangir as Francis Bacon’s Ideal of the King as an Observer and Investigator of Nature’, Journal of Royal Asiatic Society, series 3, Vol. 19, No. 3, 2009: 293–338. 31 Daud Ali and Emma Flatt (eds), Garden and Landscape Practices in Precolonial India: Histories from the Deccan, London: Routledge, 2011. 32 Ali, ‘Gardens in Early Indian Court Life’: 223–25. 33 Ali Akbar Husain, Scent in the Islamic Garden: A Study of Deccani Urdu Literary Sources, Karachi: Oxford University Press, 2012. 34 Zahiru’d-din Muhammad Babur, The Baburnama (The Memoirs of Babur), 2 Vols, (trans.) Annette Susannah Beveridge, Vol. II, London: Great Russell Street, 1922, pp. 513–15. 35 Abul Fazl, Ain-i-Akbari, 2 Vols, (trans.) H. Blochmann, Vol. 1, Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press, 1873, p. 87. 36 Ibid., p. 76. 37 Koch, ‘Jahangir as Francis Bacon’s Ideal of the King’: 293–338. 38 Jahangir, The Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri; 2 Vols, (ed.) Syed Ahmed, Aligarh, 1863–64; (trans.) Alexander Rogers and Henry Beveridge, London, 1909–14, Vol. 1, reprint, Delhi, 1989, pp. 5–7. 39 Niccolao Manucci, Storio do Mogor, 4 Vols, (trans.) William Irwine, Vol. II, London: Royal Asiatic Society, 1907, p. 463. 40 Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri, p. 271. 41 Ibid. 42 ‘The secret of essence of roses was discovered in Hindustan’; and in the initial days a hundred rupees were paid for one rupee’s weight of the said essence. By the 17th century, it was to be got for 15 rupees, owing to the great quantity of roses grown in the empire, Manucci, Storio do Mogor, Vol. 1, p. 164. 43 Ibid., p. 163. 44 Ibid., p. 164. 45 See Manucci, Storio do Mogor, Vol. 1, pp. 163–64. 46 Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi, ‘Exploring the Mughal Gardens at Fatehpur Sikri’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, Vol. 58, 1997: 899. 47 Sadaf Fatma, ‘Gardens in Mughal India’, Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Centre of Advanced Study in History, Aligarh Muslim University, 2016, pp. 128–29. 48 Mirat-i-Ahmadi, Supplement, translated by Syed Nawab Ali and Charles Norman Seddon, Baroda: Oriental Institute, 1928, p. 20. 49 Sujan Rai Bhandari, Khulasatu-t-Tawarikh, (ed.) Zafar Hasan, Delhi: J. & Sons Press, 1918, p.35. 50 Fatma, ‘Gardens in Mughal India’, pp. 128–29. 51 Husain, Scent in the Islamic Garden, p. 71. 52 Emma J. Flatt, ‘Spices, Smell and Spells: The Use of Olfactory Substances in the Conjuring of Spirits’, South Asian Studies, Vol. 32, No. 1, 2016: 3–21. 53 Ain-i-Akbari, p. 74.

74  Amrita Chattopadhyay 54 Ibid., p. 74. 55 M. Athar Ali, ‘Sulhi Kul and the Religious Ideas of Akbar’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, Vol. 41, 1980: 336–37; Iqtidar Alam Khan, ‘The Nobility under Akbar and the Development of His Religious Policy, 1560–80’, The Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, No. 1/2, 1968: 29–36. 56 Abul Fazl, The Akbar Nama Vol. 1, 3 Vols, (trans.) H. Beveridge, Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 1907, pp. 36–40. 57 Constance Classen, David Howes, and Anthony Synnott, Aroma: The Cultural History of Smell, London and New York: Routledge, 2003, p. 123. 58 Thorstein Veblen, The Theory of Leisure Class, London: Transaction Publishers, 1929, pp. 41–75; Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, (trans.) Richard Nice, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984, pp. 1–7. 59 Inayat Khan, The Shahjahannama: An Abridged History of the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan, (trans.) A.R. Fuller, (ed. and completed) W.E. Begley and Z.A. Desai, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1990, pp. 139–40. 60 ‘Nawab Said Khan possessed 1200 beautiful Khawjasaras’. He funded all their articles of consumption which included a huge amount of garments and perfumes, Shaikh Farid Bhakkari, The Dhakhirat Ul–Khawanin of Shaikh Farid Bhakkari: A Biographical Dictionary of Mughal Noblemen Part One, (trans.) Ziyaud-Din A. Desai; Delhi: Idarah–I Adabiyat–I Delli, 2009, pp. 139–40. 61 McHugh, Sandalwood and Carrion, p. 243. 62 Gode, Studies in Indian Cultural History, p. 31. 63 Irfan Habib, ‘The Technology and Economy of Mughal India’, The Indian Economic and Social History Review, Vol. XVII, No. 1, 1980: 25. 64 Irfan Habib, ‘Joseph Needham and the History of Indian Technology’, Indian Journal of History of Science, Vol. 35, No. 3, 2000: 266. 65 Linda Komaroff (ed.), Gifts of the Sultan: The Arts of Giving at the Islamic Courts, Los Angeles: Los Angeles County Museum of Art, 2011. 66 Anya H. King, Scent from the Garden of Paradise: Musk and the Medieval Islamic World, Leiden: Brill, 2017, p. 2. 67 Ibid., pp. 3–4. 68 Ibid., p. 3. 69 Saqi Must’ad Khan, Maasir-i-Alamgiri, (trans. and annotated) Sir Jadunath Sarkar, Kolkata: Asiatic Society, 2008, p. 20. 70 Manucci, Storio do Mogor, Vol. II, pp. 36–37. 71 Maasir-i-Alamgiri, p. 20. 72 Manucci, Storio do Mogor, Vol. II, p. 37. 73 Ibid., p. 37. Zeduar (Yule, second edition, 979, under Zedoary), an aromatic medicinal root; in Arabic jadwar, in Persian zadwar. In Persia it is looked on as a panacea and is sold for four times its weight of pure gold (J.L. Schlimmer, Terminologie Pharmaceutique Francaise-Persane, Tehran, 1874, p. 335). 74 Manucci, Storio do Mogor, Vol. II, p. 38. 75 Ibid., pp. 41–42. 76 C.A. Bayly, Rulers, Townsmen and Bazaars: North Indian Society in the Age of British Expansion, 1770–1870, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. 77 In this Mughal geo-political map, the north-east region comprising the fertile alluvial tracts of agriculturally rich areas of Assam, Kamrup and Koch Bihar belonged to the outer, closed ecological zone. Mughal expansion towards the northeast, towards Koch Bihar, Kamrup and Assam, is another example of this short-term aim to catch elephants and to bring into renewed circulation the sterile riches of these places. These campaigns neatly followed the lateral limits of the Karatoya and the Brahmaputra rivers. Jos Gommans, ‘The Silent

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  75 Frontier of South Asia, C. A.D. 1100–1800’, Journal of World History, Vol. 9, No. 1, 1998: 1–23. 78 Jos Gommans, Mughal Warfare: Indian Frontiers and High Roads to Empire, 1500–1700, London and New York: Routledge, 2002, pp. 15–35. 79 Arjun Appadurai, ‘Commodities and the Politics of Value’, in Arjun Appadurai (ed.), The Social Life of Things, p. 30. 80 Mirza Nathan was the Mughal officer in Bengal, Assam, Koch Bihar, Bihar and Orissa, the author of the text, also known as ‘Mirza Nathula’ in the Assamese chronicles, occupies a position in Assamese history next in importance only to Nawab Mir Jumla. His conflicts with the Ahoms made a deep impression upon the Assamese people which continued until the termination of Assam–Mughal hostilities towards the end of the 17th century; Mirza Nathan, Baharistan-i-Ghayabi, 2 Vols, (trans.) M.I. Borah, Government of Assam in the Department of Historical and Antiquarian Studies, Guwahati: Narayani Handiqui Historical Institute, 1936. 81 In the notes section of Baharistan-i-Ghayabi, it has been mentioned that Raghunath was the zamindar of Susang, situated on the north-east border of Mymensingh district. It is assumed that Raghunath readily submitted to the Mughals and applied for help to the Bengal viceroy to defeat Parikshit and release his family from imprisonment. He was particularly enthusiastic about the subjugation of the Koch territory. Baharistan-i-Ghayabi, Vol.II, p. 807. 82 Bakhshi of Ibrahim Khan Fath-Jang. 83 Baharistan-i-Ghayabi, Vol.II, p. 650. 84 Ibid., p. 270. 85 Ibid., p. 476. 86 He was in charge of the administration of the territory of Kuch or Koch Bihar during this period; Ibid., p.844. 87 Ibid., pp. 483–84. 88 Ghulam Husain Salim, The Riyazu-s-Salatin: A History of Bengal, (trans.) Maulavi Abdus Salam, Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, 1902, p.11. 89 Ibid., pp.11-13. 90 Jean Baptiste Tavernier, Travels in India, 2 Vols, (trans.) V. Ball, Vol. II, London: Macmillan & Co, 1889, p. 21. 91 Amar Zohar and Efraim Lev, ‘Trends in the Use of Perfumes and Incense in the Near East after the Muslim Conquests’, Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Vol. 23, No. 01, 2013: 21–22. 92 Ibid., p.22. 93 Ibid., p.21-22. 94 Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri, p. 332. 95 Peter Mundy, The Travels of Peter Mundy in Europe and Asia 1608–1667, Vol. 5, (ed.) R.C. Temple, Vol. II, London: Hakluyt Society, 1914, pp. 161–62. 96 Salim, The Riyazu-s-Salatin, p. 208. 97 Mirza Nathan, Baharistan-i-Ghayabi, Vol. II, pp. 501–2. 98 Ibid., pp. 503–4. 99 David L. Curley, ‘‘Voluntary’ Relationships and Royal Gifts of Pān in Mughal Bengal’ in Stewart Gordon (ed.), Robes of Honor: Khil’at in Pre-colonial and Colonial India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2003, pp. 50–79. 100 Stewart Gordon, ‘Ibn Battuta and a Region of Robing’, in Stewart Gordon (ed.), Robes of Honor, pp. 1–30. 101 John Brewer and Roy Porter (eds), Consumption and the World of Goods, London: Routledge, 1993. 102 Classen, Howes and Synnott, Aroma: The Cultural History of Smell, p. 123. 103 Rajoshree Ghosh, ‘The Dynamics of a Mughal Court Festival: A Case Study of Nauroz’, Indian Historical Review, Vol. 44, No. 2, 2011: 207.

76  Amrita Chattopadhyay 104 Ibid., p.206; The Akbar Nama, Vol. 3, pp. 557–58 105 The Akbar Nama, Vol. 2, pp. 22–24; Also in Ghosh, ‘The Dynamics of a Mughal Court Festival’: 206. 106 Ghosh, ‘The Dynamics of a Mughal Court Festival’: 206. 107 Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri, p. 206. 108 The Shahjahannama, pp. 62–63. 109 Manucci, Storio do Mogor, Vol. III, p. 150. 110 ‘Saffron, together with musk, ambergris, aloes wood, and camphor is considered as one of the five principal “simple aromatic substances” (uṣul ḫamsa) at least since the work of Yuḥanna b. Masawayh on perfumes’; Atanas Shinikov, ‘Olfactory Visuals: A Case of Saffron Prohibition in Ḥadiṯ Commentary’, Bulletin d’études orientales, Vol. LXIV, 2016: 280. 111 Baharistan-i-Ghayabi Vol. II., p. 683. 112 The Shahjahannama, pp. 90–91. 113 Ibid., p. 207. 114 A perfume of a yellowish colour compounded of several scented ingredients – one receipt specifies sandal, rose-water, camphor, musk, ambergris and butter as the ingredients; John T. Platts, A Dictionary of Urdu, Classical Hindi and English, Digital Dictionaries of South Asia, p. 41. https://dsal​.uchicago​.edu​/ dictionaries​/platts/ (accessed September 2020). 115 Ibid., p. 207. 116 The Shahjahannama, p. 542. 117 Manucci, Storio do Mogor, Vol. II, p. 154. 118 Dargah Quli Khan, Muraqqa e Dehli: The Mughal Capital in Muhammad Shah’s Time, (trans.) Chander Shekhar and Shama Mitra Chenoy, New Delhi: Deputy Publication, 1989, pp. 42–43. 119 Ibid. 120 Abhishek Kaicker, ‘Unquiet City: Making and Unmaking Politics in Mughal Delhi, 1707–39’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Graduate School of Arts and Sciences: Columbia University, 2014, p. 92. 121 Ibid., p. 92. 122 Tuzuk-i-Jahangiri, pp. 246–47. 123 The Shahjahannama, p. 83. 124 Ibid., pp. 83–84. 125 Ibid., p. 95. 126 Ibid. 127 Saqi Must’ad Khan, Maasir-i-Alamgiri, (trans. and annotated) Sir Jadunath Sarkar, Kolkata: Asiatic Society, 2008 in The History of India, as Told by Its Own Historians, 8 Vols, (eds) H.M. Elliot and J. Dowson, Vol. VII, London: Trubner and Co., 1877, pp. 194–95. 128 Dickie, ‘The Mughal Garden’: 132. 129 Ibid. 130 Manucci, Storio da Mogor, Vol. III, p. 153. 131 Ibid., p. 155. 132 Ibid., p. 156. 133 Ibid. 134 Francois Bernier, Travels in the Mogul Empire 1656–1668, (trans.) Irving Broke, annotated Archibald Constable, Second Edition Revised. Vincent A. Smith, London: Oxford University Press, 1916, p. 309. 135 Classen, Howes and Synnott, Aroma: The Cultural History of Smell, p. 44. 136 ‘It was said that there was an exceeding love between the two noble spouses, so that Shah Jahan, after her (Mumtaz Mahal’s) death, for a long time, abandoned coloured raiment and the hearing of music and the use of perfumes and put a stop to feasts. For two years, he shunned every kind of delicacy’.

Perfumes in 16th–18th Century India  77

137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144

Nawwab Samsam-ud-Daula Shah Nawaz Khan and Abdul Hayy, Maathir-ulUmara, 2 Vols, (trans.) H. Beveridge, revised and annotated and completed, Baini Prashad, Vol. I, Patna: Janaki Prakashan, 1979, pp. 287–95. Maasir-i-Alamgiri, p. 100. Katherine Butler Brown, ‘Did Aurangzeb Ban Music? Questions for the Historiography of His Reign’, Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 41, No. 1, 2007: 114. Stephen Blake, Shahjahanabad: The Sovereign City in Mughal India, 1639– 1739, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992, pp. xii–xiii. Brown, ‘Did Aurangzeb Ban Music?’: 114. Shinikov, ‘Olfactory Visuals’: 280. Flatt, ‘Spices, Smell and Spells’: 3–21. Shinikov, ‘Olfactory Visuals’: 279. Husain, Scent in the Islamic Garden, pp. 73–75.

4

Patronage as Political Proxy 18th-Century State-Building and Religious Patronage in Ajmer and Pushkar Elizabeth M. Thelen

Introduction The gleaming marble structures, soaring doorway, and large cauldrons at the shrine of the Sufi saint Muʿin al-Din Chishti in Ajmer are the product of a long relationship between the shrine and its patrons; similarly, the ornate temples and numerous ghats lining Pushkar lake stem from the largesse of successive generations of donors. Here and elsewhere, the economy of pilgrimage centres, and therefore the physical constitution and material aspects of prayer, ritual, and devotion in these sites, owes much to the generosity of devotees. Historically in Ajmer and Pushkar, this largesse came not just from the ‘ordinary’ pilgrim but from the powerful: emperors, kings, princes, and nobles. Through this fact, religious patronage and ritual became infused with high-level politics and notions of sovereignty. Likewise, patronage tied the politics of the ritual specialists who managed religious institutions and facilitated pilgrimage to the politics and rivalries of their communities of elite patrons. To demonstrate this premise, I investigate the materiality of the Ajmer dargah of Muʿin al-Din Chishti as a site of politics and compare it to that of the Pushkar temples and ghats. While both sites predate the Mughal period, my analysis starts from the earliest surviving records of their patronage from the 16th and 17th centuries. Each site has a unique theological and ritual relationship to the space it occupies, but there are significant similarities in how patrons approached them and, in some cases, the same people patronised them. Both sites likely increased their reach and profile through their incorporation in the Mughal Empire because of improvements in communication and travel safety. Furthermore, both experienced significant changes in the 18th century, including their community of patrons and their built environment. Treating the sites comparatively offers a corrective to two conventional approaches to the study of religion in medieval and early modern South Asia: the primacy of the question of Hindu experience under Muslim rule to the exclusion of other topics of inquiry and the tendency to look at a single site in isolation from its context in a broader religious landscape. DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-6

Patronage as Political Proxy  79 A key topic in scholarship on religion and state in premodern India is the experience of Hindus and Hindu temples and religious organisations under the Muslim rule of the Delhi Sultanate, Deccan Sultanates, and Mughals. Debates, often tinged by current Hindu–Muslim politics in the subcontinent, are waged over the religious proclivities of the different sultans and emperors and the policies of state incorporation, accommodation, and discrimination regarding religion. Since the 1960s, scholars have pointed repeatedly to the nuances of these dynamics by considering the differences of rhetoric and practice, as well as investigating the role of politics and economics in shaping Hindu–Muslim interactions.1 For instance, charting politics and religion together demonstrates that rebellions against Mughal rule were a major motivation for temple destruction by the Mughals.2 Studies of documents show that the Mughal state extended patronage to Hindu religious institutions and persons through madad-i maʿash grants despite rhetorical claims that madad-i maʿash was only for Muslims.3 Furthermore, analysis of the culture of religious toleration and civility in the Mughal Empire demonstrates that this culture permeated the empire far beyond the practices of Akbar and Dara Shukoh.4 While this work has significantly shifted debates on the nature of premodern religion in India, what has drawn considerably less attention is the question of how Hindu states and political leaders in the premodern period dealt with Muslims and Muslim religious institutions.5 This becomes a particularly crucial question in the context of the 18thcentury emergence of Mughal successor states, many of which were led by Hindus. Studies of religious institutions tend to focus on individual religious institutions, or, at most, a cluster of institutions related to the same sect or faith.6 This approach fails to see the frequent overlap of pilgrims and patrons across religious sites. Taking a comparative perspective – such as seeing Ajmer and Pushkar as two sides of one coin – allows one to assess the engagement of patrons and pilgrims in multiple sites beyond simple statements that Hindus patronised Muslim institutions or vice versa. While the fact of patronage is significant in its own right, we must also see it in the context of broader actions. Thus, as will be explored further below, Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II of Amber’s patronage of the Ajmer dargah becomes legible both in the context of Mughal patronage of the shrine and through comparison to his simultaneous patronage in Pushkar and his donations to support the favoured deities of the Kingdom of Amber, such as Govinddevji.7 Taking these actions together complicates our understanding of one of the most important political personages of 18th-century Rajasthan and raises important questions about the meaning and effect of such broad patronage. Scholarship on the history of pilgrimage and patronage in South Asia and beyond has established that such acts are rarely solely, nor necessarily primarily, about religious devotion. Pilgrimage was a mode of travel and tourism as well as a way to experience the divine, offer gratitude for successes, or seek intervention in any number of complaints.8 Patronage was a way

80  Elizabeth M. Thelen to display both piety and wealth, shore up social or political standing, and express any of the objectives of the pilgrim at a grander scale.9 The majority of the recorded patrons at Ajmer and Pushkar before the 19th century were elite political leaders. In this context, it is instructive to read their patronage in conjunction with political developments. Major donations tended to coincide with political victories or military and political interventions in the Rajasthan region. Most patronage also coincided with the donor’s pilgrimage to the site; the donor embodied an ideal pilgrim and became connected personally to the site. Through such acts, the Mughals promoted religious patronage, including in Ajmer, as a central component of their political culture that tied sovereignty to charity. The presence and persistence of this culture was a key factor in the rise of Rajput and Maratha patronage in Ajmer in the 18th century as they sought to expand their political control of the area through the activation of symbolic resources alongside military campaigns. The politics and rivalries of 18th-century state-building were expressed in the competitive dynamics of patronage in Ajmer and Pushkar in this period.

A Mughal Political Culture of Piety and Patronage in Ajmer The dargah of Khwaja Muʿin al-Din Chishti in Ajmer contains the tombshrine of this Sufi saint, who lived in Ajmer in the late 12th and early 13th century. He is credited with establishing the Chishti Sufi lineage in South Asia, and his spiritual descendants include many of the subcontinent’s most celebrated medieval Sufi saints. Muʿin al-Din Chishti’s dargah rose in prominence in the 16th and 17th centuries through the patronage of the Mughal emperors, starting with Akbar. At the same time, Ajmer was made the capital city of a Mughal province. This colocation promoted the integration of patronage of the Ajmer shrine into the Mughal political culture. Patronage of religious institutions and pious people was a cornerstone of Mughal imperial policy.10 In Ajmer, Mughal patronage and devotion to Muʿin alDin’s shrine saw the symbolic and physical manifestations of the body of the emperor, his wealth and largesse, and his political power joined to the spiritual authority of the saint in the production of a sacred space that could be experienced by an ordinary person. During the 148 years from Akbar’s first pilgrimage in 1562 CE to Bahadur Shah’s second in 1710 CE, each Mughal emperor made multiple pilgrimages to the Ajmer dargah. These pilgrimages were laced with political significance, as well as religious devotion. The emperors travelled to Ajmer at times of war or rebellion in the province and met with local Rajput chiefs as they travelled, shoring up pledges of loyalty and supervising military campaigns. They also made pilgrimages to celebrate key victories and, in at least one case, the birth of an heir.11 The performance of this pilgrimage included displays of both humility and largesse, which were often encoded in the emperor’s body and representations thereof. The emperors approached the dargah

Patronage as Political Proxy  81 on foot, forgoing their usual mounts of horses or elephants.12 The emphasis in court chronicles on their manner of approach aimed to underscore the emperor’s piety. Once inside the shrine, the emperor circumambulated the tomb, prayed or read from the Quran, and made sumptuous donations to the shrine and its attendants.13 Many of the emperors had paintings made of their visits to the shrine to illustrate imperial albums; some even had portraits made of themselves meeting Muʿin al-Din Chishti. In one such painting, the saint is shown handing the globe to Jahangir, thereby symbolically granting him power over the world.14 Jahangir also physically expressed his connection to the saint when he commemorated his recovery from a serious illness by piercing his ears with pearl earrings and declaring himself the ‘earpierced devotee’ of Muʿin al-Din Chishti.15 This act of corporeal piety set off a fashion for pearl earrings in the imperial court.16 Alongside their pilgrimages to the shrine, the Mughal emperors undertook extensive schemes of patronage. To commemorate victories, the emperors built new structures in the shrine and donated supplies for shrine rituals. These include Akbar’s donation of drums and construction of a mosque, Jahangir’s grant of a deg (cauldron), and Shah Jahan’s construction of a marble mosque inside the shrine complex.17 Before the 18th century, construction inside the main shrine complex was an imperial prerogative, though Mughal nobility patronised structures in other, more minor shrines in Ajmer.18 In an interweaving of politics and piety, Akbar’s devotion to Muʿin al-Din’s shrine coincided with Ajmer’s establishment as the leading city of the subah of Ajmer. The emperor ordered the construction of imperial palaces and grand houses in the city, meaning the city took on a more imperial appearance at the same time that the shrine was developed as an increasingly popular centre of pilgrimage.19 The connection of these buildings, inside the shrine and throughout the city, to imperial power was expressed through inscriptions, architectural styles, and imperial policies around buildings. This language of power through architecture was widely used. On multiple occasions, the Mughals expressed their power in Rajasthan by breaking buildings associated with rebellious Rajputs and forbidding their reconstruction. Mostly, these buildings were forts and fortifications but also included structures symbolically associated with the power of particularly ruling clans.20 In response, Rajputs showed insubordination through defying bans on constructing fortifications, and at times, they destroyed mosques as symbols of Mughal power.21 Thus, the Mughal architectural discourse in the shrine and the city was part of a well-known expression of imperial power and would have been legible to the city’s residents and pilgrims. The extensive court patronage not only built symbolic ties between the shrine and the court, it also substantially enriched the shrine and its attendants. Starting with Akbar, imperial grants provided salaries for shrine attendants and funds for daily rituals. The tax revenues of villages near Ajmer were granted as madad-i maʿash to shrine attendants, rewarding them for

82  Elizabeth M. Thelen faithfully performing their duties in the shrine and praying for the longevity of the empire. Madad-i maʿash was a key grant type in the empire, overseen by one of the highest ministers in the imperial court.22 Though before 1690 CE, madad-i maʿash was not hereditary, in practice, the emperors tended to reconfirm such grants to successive generations of shrine attendants, which entrenched a relationship between the shrine attendant families and the imperial family. Separate imperial grants also provided funds and materials for the shrine’s daily rituals, including oil for lighting lamps and money to pay for flowers, floor coverings, and the charitable distribution of food (langar), and to support the annual ʿurs celebrations on the saint’s death anniversary.23 The rituals of the shrine shared a great deal of similarity to those of the court in both name and substance.24 The emperor often took an interventionist role in the day-to-day affairs of the shrine. This is seen first and foremost in the emperor’s appointment of a mutawalli (custodian of charitable endowment) to manage the administrative affairs of the dargah.25 However, the emperors also personally heard and resolved disputes between the shrine attendants over their duties and privileges, such as when Shah Jahan reorganised duties and instituted a rotating schedule of access and privilege.26 The high level of intervention in the shrine shows contrasts with the well-established Chishti narrative of distancing oneself from worldly concerns and state power in particular.27 Mughal patronage of the shrine formed a key link between the court and the populace because the shrine was a popular centre of pilgrimage. The importance of the shrine in connecting imperial piety and popular pilgrimage is suggested by the account Abul Fazl wove of Akbar’s first visit. He claimed that Akbar learned of the shrine by overhearing labourers singing devotional songs praising the saint.28 Whether or not Akbar heard such songs, the narrative links his devotion to the shrine to practices of popular devotion. Akbar also took steps to increase pilgrimage, including building rest houses for pilgrims and improving the road between Agra and Ajmer with mileposts (kos minar) and wells.29 The impact of Mughal patronage on the fame and popularity of the shrine is reflected in the observation of Peter Mundy in 1633 CE of the large crowds of people streaming in and out of the shrine.30 In the space of the shrine, the pilgrim came close to the power of the saint and received his blessing. Simultaneously, he or she observed the largesse and piety of the emperors in their buildings in the shrine. Pilgrims, shrine attendants, and the local poor also partook of the largesse of the emperor through the distribution of langar, funded through imperial grants, and the distribution of food cooked in the two large degs (pots), sometimes distributed by the emperor’s hand.31 Furthermore, the culture of imperial patronage at the shrine of Muʿin alDin Chishti increased the interest of imperial nobles in visiting and patronising the shrine because they sought to mirror the actions of the emperors. This included Hindu Rajput nobles, who visited the dargah in Ajmer and established relationships with the khadims (attendants) there. Some may

Patronage as Political Proxy  83 have visited the shrine as a way to delay following imperial orders to join far-away military campaigns without raising imperial ire.32 Others made charitable grants to particular shrine attendants, such as the chief of Bundi, Maharao Anirudh Singh, who granted a village in his territory in madad-i maʿash around 1690 CE.33 Through these actions, the Rajputs emulated Mughal practices of patronage of the Ajmer dargah, albeit at a smaller scale. This practice of giving charitable grants across sectarian lines also occurred at other shrines. For instance, from the 17th century, local Rajput jagirdars in Nagaur also made and reconfirmed grants of village revenues to the Chishti dargah of Sultan al-Tarikin Hamid al-Din Nagauri.34 Such grants were but one way that the Rajputs partook in the practices and culture of Mughal imperial service. In doing so, they expressed their claims to power within that system.

Attacking Ajmer as a Mughal Centre The extent of Ajmer’s affiliation with Mughal power, generated in part through imperial patronage of the shrine, was rendered even more visible by the decline of Mughal power in the 18th century. Because of the short reigns of Aurangzeb’s immediate successors and the fearsome imperial succession disputes, the Mughal hold over Rajasthan slipped in the decade after 1707 CE, and several Rajput rulers sought to take advantage of the situation by expanding their territory and power. Foremost in this was Maharaja Ajit Singh of Marwar and Maharaja Jai Singh II of Amber. Though neither maharaja broke entirely with the Mughals, both became increasingly rebellious and independent. They also negotiated favourable deals and privileges from the imperial court that took advantage of the weakness of the Mughals. In both their rebellions and negotiations, they used control of Ajmer as a pressure point, pivoting on its symbolic potency. These manoeuvres relied in part on the place of Ajmer and the shrine as a symbol of Mughal power, though the targeting of Ajmer was also related to its value as a fortified city, the seat of the Mughal governor of the province, and its proximity to the Sambhar salt lakes, which were an important source of revenue. In the early 18th century, the Rajputs saw their power increase vis-à-vis the Mughals. They sought to turn the instability in the Mughal house during succession struggles into their gain and openly defied Mughal orders. In 1708 CE, the new emperor Bahadur Shah made a pilgrimage to Ajmer as part of a wider campaign to secure loyalty in Rajasthan, including from Ajit Singh and Jai Singh II.35 As he left Ajmer and marched toward the Deccan in order to suppress his brother Kam Baksh’s challenge to the Mughal throne, Bahadur Shah ordered the Rajput Maharajas to join his army with their forces. However, Ajit Singh, Jai Singh II, and the ruler of Mewar turned back without permission after several days. Resentments against the emperor for failing to reconfirm their watan jagirs and internal challenges to their power disincentivised them from following Mughal marching orders that would

84  Elizabeth M. Thelen have taken them to far corners of the empire. Their first move was to secure their control of the traditional capitals of their states and deal with challengers to their throne, such as Bijai Singh’s claim to Amber. Once these objectives were achieved, Ajit Singh and Jai Singh II launched military campaigns to expand their territories.36 As part of this campaign, the Rajputs began to directly threaten and attack Ajmer, a step that had been unthinkable in earlier moments of rebellion. In 1709 CE, Jai Singh II used threats to Ajmer as a negotiation tactic for a more favourable jagir and mansab assignment. However, his agent, Devi Das, who was negotiating on his behalf, urged him not to quarrel with the dargah officials and warned that ‘there can be hindrances in the grant of a mansab in case the affair of the dargah will not be decided peacefully’.37 This letter highlighted the risks of attacking Ajmer: if the interests of the dargah were harmed, Jai Singh II would incur the emperor’s displeasure. In the end, Jai Singh II backed out of his alliance with Ajit Singh just two days before Ajit Singh launched his campaign against Ajmer. Ajit Singh’s attack motivated Bahadur Shah to send military reinforcements to Ajmer and eventually return there himself. Upon his arrival in Ajmer in CE 1710, Bahadur Shah met with both the Rajput Maharajas and accepted their submission. After these ceremonies, the emperor performed pilgrimage at the shrine, which was the last time a Mughal emperor visited the shrine.38 Both the strategy of and rapid response to threatening Ajmer demonstrates the identification of Ajmer with Mughal interests at the time. Ajit Singh continued to harass and attack Ajmer during the following decade as he sought to expand his kingdom and gain rights and honours from the Mughals that would consolidate his regional power. His military campaigns likely were designed to provoke a Mughal response.39 In part, this was because his attacks affected the Ajmer dargah. He threatened to attack Ajmer in 1711 CE, though he withdrew. In 1712 and 1713 CE, Ajit Singh seized territories near Ajmer, including the village of Bhinai and other regions that were part of the revenue grants held by the shrine of Muʿin al-Din. In 1713 CE, he collected revenue in the parganas of Baswa and Didwana that included lands granted for the maintenance of the dargah. These acts may have resulted in the closure of langarkhanas (community kitchens) and official complaints.40 Ajit Singh was subdued through the Mughal campaign led by Hussain Ali Khan in 1714 CE and ceased his attacks on Ajmer for several years because he received favourable imperial appointments. However, when Muhammad Shah ordered that he should be removed from the subahdari of Gujarat and Ajmer in 1721 CE, Ajit Singh marched on Ajmer and occupied the Mughal palace on Anasagar.41 Ajit Singh’s removal from the subahdari is attributed to complaints from Muslims about his bans on cow slaughter, whereas upon seizing Ajmer, he is described as taking a number of conciliatory measures, including removing any such bans and providing funds for the construction of mosques.42 Such descriptions suggest that both the emperor and Ajit Singh operated

Patronage as Political Proxy  85 within a shared religio-political discourse. However, Ajit Singh’s attacks also made it clear that the Mughals could no longer guarantee the safety and security of the city, nor could they guarantee the fortunes of the dargah, even though the emperors continued to make grants.

Ajmer’s New Patrons Ajit Singh’s tactics of targeting Ajmer ended with his death in 1724 CE. His death also precipitated a decline in Marwar’s influence in the area, which was met by an increase of Amber’s sway. However, Amber’s power in Ajmer was accomplished primarily through patronage and negotiation, not sieges. If Ajit Singh’s attacks and reconciliations played on Mughal religio-political discourse, taking on the patronage of the shrine was an appropriation of Mughal political culture through the assumption of imperial roles. Even as real Mughal territorial and financial power waned, the political culture established by the Mughals and its symbolic language of sovereignty continued to hold sway across India.43 Thus, in the first half of the 18th century, the Rajputs emerged as a crucial class of patrons at the Ajmer shrine; when the Marathas gained direct control of Ajmer, in the second half of the 18th century, they took up this mantle. Jai Singh II was known for his diplomatic prowess and used patronage as one way to establish his power in Ajmer.44 Looking to expand his influence in the region at the expense of Marwar, Jai Singh II made his first donation to the Ajmer dargah in 1719 CE. He gave money to the shrine and the khadims and money for the upkeep of the tomb of ʿAbd Allah Khan and his wife, the parents of the Sayyid brothers, who were influential courtiers.45 In 1723 CE, he made another donation to Khwaja Sahib, the saint’s daughter, Bibi Hafez Jamal, and the khadims and other servants of the shrine. This donation totalled two gold mohars and 1132 silver rupees, which was smaller than many Mughal donations but still significant.46 Jai Singh II’s patronage occurred when he was in or near Ajmer. He likely visited the shrine in person and presented these gifts as pilgrimage offerings as the Mughal emperors had done. Like earlier Mughal patronage, some of his donations related to specific shrine functions: he offered oil for the lighting ceremony and once gave 600 rupees to cook food in the cauldrons.47 Jai Singh II donated money to the shrine in 1727, 1729, 1730, and 1734 CE and then every year from 1740 to 1743 CE, during which period he held the subahdari of Ajmer and controlled Ajmer pargana as part of his mansab.48 Although 1740–1743 CE represents the height of Jai Singh II’s power in Ajmer, he faced challenges from Marwar ruler Abhai Singh, against whom he fought several battles near Ajmer in this period.49 His increased patronage of the shrine during that period may have been a strategy to shore up his authority in the city. He also may have donated a silver railing inside the shrine itself to replace a Mughal gold railing that was destroyed by the Marwar rulers.50 This suggests his dominant position in Ajmer vis-à-vis the Mughals in the

86  Elizabeth M. Thelen 18th century because, in the 17th century, it was unthinkable that anyone other than the emperor would have added physical features to the main shrine complex. Jai Singh II’s patronage in Ajmer happened alongside his more extensive patronage of Hindu deities, temples, and rituals. He gave money to Vaishnava temples across North India and was a key patron of the Vaishnava deity Govinddevji, who was shifted to Jaipur from Mathura during his reign, and who he supported with annual grants of 2000 rupees. In 1740 CE, the same year when he began making yearly donations to the Ajmer shrine, Jai Singh II ordered that a cess from each revenue grant he issued should be given to Govinddevji and the Goswamis who attended his temple.51 This grant enriched the temple and tied it closer to the functioning of the state and the land of the kingdom. In 1734 CE and again in 1741 CE, Jai Singh II performed the Vedic ashvamedha sacrifice, a ritual tied to notions of ideal Hindu kingship as embodied in Ram. This, along with his Vaishnava devotion, has been interpreted as Jai Singh forging a Hindu state in opposition to the Mughals. However, Jai Singh II’s regular patronage to the Ajmer dargah – along with several other Muslim institutions and holy men in Ajmer – cautions against reading him as a reactionary to the Mughal state or interpreting his religious proclivities as a rejection of the Mughals. Jai Singh II also participated in a feature of dargah patronage that rose in popularity in the 18th century known as wakalat. This involved establishing a khadim as a representative (wakil) who would pray on behalf of the patron and send blessed objects (tabarruk) to the patron. The patron would respond by sending small sums of money to the wakil in thanks. In the 18th century, wakalat expanded the shrine’s patronage network across the subcontinent and helped retain the favour of patrons who were no longer able to visit the shrine, such as the Mughal emperors. The system became hereditary on both sides – the descendants of a given patron typically appointed wakils from the same family of shrine attendants who had served their forefathers. This tied family lineages together and connected families of shrine attendants to people from particular geographical regions. In this way, it linked the fortunes of khadim families to the fortunes of different states.52 From 1727 CE, khadims sent tabarruk from the Ajmer shrine to Jai Singh II at regular intervals, and he rewarded them with gifts of about 20 rupees. His successors maintained this relationship for at least the next quarter of a century.53 Jai Singh II thus established enduring patronage relationships with the shrine of Muʿin al-Din Chishti as part of his campaign to expand the power, territory, and legitimacy of the kingdom of Amber. After Jai Singh II died in 1743 CE, his sons Madho Singh and Ishwar Singh fought each other for the Amber throne until 1750 CE. Both brothers sought Maratha assistance in this conflict: Madho Singh allied with the Holkars and Ishwar Singh with the Shindes. The conflict ended in 1750 CE when Ishwar Singh committed suicide because he was unable to keep up with tribute payments to his Maratha allies.54 This conflict brought Amber

Patronage as Political Proxy  87 into a tributary relationship with the Marathas and expanded Maratha sway in the region. A succession dispute in Marwar from 1749 CE also saw one claimant to the throne, Ram Singh, allying with the Shindes. In 1756 CE, Ram Singh’s opponent, Vijai Singh, ceded Ajmer to the Marathas in the treaty of Nagaur. Except for the three years from 1787 to 1791 CE, the Shindes ruled Ajmer and its environs directly from 1758 CE until they ceded it to the British in 1818 CE.55 In Ajmer, the Shindes became administrators and took on patronage of local religious institutions, including the Ajmer dargah. Although few Maratha records of Ajmer appear to survive, inscriptions, records from surrounding states, and the notes of outside observers attest to their role as administrators and charitable benefactors. Their patronage, like that of the Rajputs, followed in a Mughal mode that emphasised the role of the dargah in political power in the region. The lack of Maratha documents from Ajmer means there are no records of their financial donations or revenue grants to the shrine. However, inscriptions show that the Marathas engaged in extensive architectural patronage in Ajmer. Even their construction outside of the shrine precincts referenced the shrine. For instance, Santuji, the Maratha subahdar in Ajmer from 1770 to 1774 CE, built a garden called Chishti Chaman in the city that was dedicated to the shrine, along with a nearby market.56 Mirza Chaman Beg, who was a Maratha subahdar in the neighbouring province of Malwa, sent 100,000 rupees to build an ʿIdgah in Ajmer. The building’s inscription from 1773 to 1774 CE referred to Muʿin al-Din Chishti and praised Mirza Chaman Beg as an upholder of the faith. Both Mirza Chaman Beg and his father Mirza ʿAdil, who had served the Shindes in Ajmer, were buried in marble tombs in the shrine complex.57 Shinde military forces and administrative ranks included Muslims, and shrine patronage by Shinde leaders may have been in part a mode for retaining their allegiance. Maratha power in Ajmer did not go unchallenged. Mughal emperor Shah Alam II was keen to regain the territory from the 1770s. Shah Alam II began a pilgrimage to the shrine in 1778–1779 CE but only made it as far as Jaipur, and his attempts to appoint Mughal prince Mirza Akbar as the subahdar of Ajmer were rebuffed by the Marathas. The Rajputs, at times in alliance with Shah Alam II, initiated a campaign against the Marathas in Rajasthan in the 1780s. In August 1787 CE, the forces of the maharaja of Marwar, Vijai Singh, captured Ajmer. For just over three years, Vijai Singh’s officials administered Ajmer. Rulings on petitions brought by Ajmer residents to secure rights from the new authority provide a glimpse of patronage practices of the Mughals, Marathas, and Rajputs and the politics thereof in moments of state transition. Many of the petitions made to the Marwar administrators in Ajmer concerned the right to patronage, charitable grants, and other state-granted privileges. The Marwar officials tended to reconfirm pre-existing grants made to both Hindu and Muslim religious institutions. For example, they reconfirmed grants to a Hanuman temple and the conferral of honours

88  Elizabeth M. Thelen and payments for reading the ‘Id sermon.58 They upheld the claims of the shrine’s diwan, Asghar Ali, to revenue from the villages of Ganahera, Dilwara, Hokaran, and Kishanpura, rights which originated in Mughal grants.59 The Marwar officials also heard petitions to restore rights that had been infringed upon by the Marathas. In these cases, they tended to reverse the actions of the Marathas and uphold prior, typically Mughal, grants. In one such case, the dargah khadims petitioned that they held rights to the revenue of five and a half villages per a Mughal grant, but the Marathas had collected 750 rupees in taxes annually from those villages in contravention of the grant. In response, Marwar’s officials ordered that the Marathas should not collect taxes from these villages.60 However, the Marwar officials did not always reinforce the khadims’ rights. In another case, they upheld Maratha subahdar Govind Rai’s redirection of revenue from a village granted to the shrine to support a man, Badula Shah, affiliated with a Sri Khobara Bhairunji temple.61 The political affiliations of the recipients may have influenced the petition process. For instance, while the dargah’s khadims and sajjada-nishin (hereditary administrators/successors) sought favourable rulings from Marwar, the mutawalli, who had been appointed by the Marathas, fled to Kishangarh, which was a Maratha ally at the time. The mutawalli remained there until the Marathas retook Ajmer.62 When the Marathas resumed control of Ajmer in 1791 CE, they also resumed patronage of the shrine and its personnel. In April 1791 CE, after his victory over the Marwar forces, Mahadji Shinde went on pilgrimage to the dargah and bathed at Pushkar.63 At this moment, his patronage was tied to his victory and re-establishment of Shinde power in Ajmer. While there are few records of Maratha donations to the shrine in the 1790s, a decade later, a mercenary in the Maratha army, Thomas Broughton, described the Shindes’ significant connection to the dargah. He witnessed three occasions when the Shindes patronised the cooking of a deg, or cauldron of blessed food, at the shrine. The shrine servants held the rights to the food cooked in the cauldron, which they packaged and sold to shrine devotees.64 The ritual of the cooking of the shrine was public and tied the largesse of the donor – who in all recorded cases in the 17th and 18th centuries laid claim to political authority – to the blessing of the saint and the bodies of the people. In this act, and their patronage of the shrine more generally, the Marathas inhabited the political culture of the Mughals and marked their authority through the substance of patronage. While the Marathas took on patronage roles at the shrine previously performed by Mughal emperors, other rulers across the subcontinent also sought to participate. Under the Marathas, patronage of the shrine complex, including constructing buildings in or near the shrine, was no longer restricted to the Mughal imperial family or even to Ajmer’s rulers. Alongside the Marathas and Rajputs, leaders of successor states across the subcontinent sought to establish patronage ties to the shrine from the 1790s. As the local power, the Marathas brokered these efforts. For example, when the

Patronage as Political Proxy  89 Nawab of Arcot, Muhammad Ali Khan Wallajah, sought to secure the right to repair the dargah buildings, he sent two representatives to Ajmer, gifted a telescope to Mahadji Shinde, and conveyed his intentions to English East India Company officer Charles Stuart, whom he asked to forward letters on his behalf to Shinde and the Nawab’s servants in Ajmer. These letters referenced reports of other people interfering with the repairs and trying to do the work themselves. The Nawab asked Shinde to stop this interference.65 Their correspondence indicated ‘that there was much rivalry to gain the privilege of funding this repair work.’66 The Nawab of Arcot also built a shelter for pilgrims to commemorate his recovery from illness. Other rulers who patronised construction or repairs in the main shrine during this period include the Maharaja of Baroda, who donated a ceiling covering for the saint’s mausoleum.67 Such acts established the shrine in the centre of a more complex network of patrons that indicated both the decline of Mughal power and the assumption of symbols of Mughal sovereignty by other powers across the subcontinent. It established long-distance patronage of buildings in the shrine without personal pilgrimage, a development that was supported by the extension of the wakalat system. Maratha and Rajput patronage in Ajmer both followed Mughal models and expanded the discourse of patronage at the shrine. It was motivated by ideas of a just rule in which the ruler protected sacred spaces, saints, deities, and worshippers; this ethic was as much a part of Islamic governance as it was of Hindu statecraft.68 In the Mughal case, the emperors tended to give more widely to Muslim religious institutions, and in the Rajput and Maratha case, patronage of Hindu temples was often financially more than the amounts given to Muslim institutions, such as the Ajmer shrine. However, in both instances, rulers and leaders saw the need to patronise religious institutions across sectarian lines. In the case of the Shindes, the presence of Muslims in the Maratha military and administrative corps may have served as a motivation. For both the Marathas and the Rajputs in the 18th century, the continued relevance of Mughal political culture in the power struggle motivated their patronage of the Ajmer shrine as they took on imperial roles.

Pushkar Parallels to Ajmer The dynamics in Ajmer regarding politically-tied religious patronage were closely matched by patronage and political rivalries in another major transregional religious pilgrimage centre: Pushkar. Located about 13 km from Ajmer, Pushkar is believed to be the site of a sacrifice performed by the god Brahma. Pushkar Lake is sacred; devotees flock to it to bathe during the full moon in the month of Kartik for release from sins. During the major pilgrimage days in Kartik, a livestock fair is also held. The site is of ancient provenance, although historical records for Pushkar are scarce before the late medieval period. The current physical appearance of the temples, lake,

90  Elizabeth M. Thelen and town owes much to the patronage practices of the 18th and early 19th centuries. Circumnavigating the lake, one traces an architectural record of the power and prominence of different ruling lineages. What becomes evident from examining patronage in Pushkar is that these acts of patronage could embed political rivalries in local communities because of the affiliation of ritual priests with their patrons. From the limited records of Mughal involvement with Pushkar, it is clear that while they did not invest in Pushkar as heavily as Ajmer, they were aware of the religio-political importance of the space. Jahangir is the only emperor who spent much time there. He made several visits to Pushkar while residing in Ajmer between 1613 and 1616 CE and built a lodge or small pavilions on the outskirts of the town.69 Jahangir’s relationship to the religious aspects of the town was mixed. In his initial visit, he ordered the destruction of a Varaha temple patronised by the Mewar ruling family, against whom his son was waging a battle, and had a hermit thrown out of a hillside temple. On the other hand, he granted the revenue of Pushkar as inʿam to the Brahmins of the town.70 Although other emperors did not record visits to the town, local Mughal officials took an interest in Pushkar affairs. In 1679, the Ajmer subahdar, Iftikhar Khan, attended the Pushkar fair and met with several Rajput mansabdars. He verified that proper arrangements were in place for the bathing and fair and negotiated with local Brahmins over a fee on those taking the holy dip, though some of his actions displeased the chief qazi of the empire.71 These records suggest that the imperial court took an interest in the affairs of Pushkar as a matter of course and saw it as both a religious and political space. In the 18th century, Pushkar grew as a centre of state patronage. Like in Ajmer, the major patrons in Pushkar in this period were local Rajput rulers and the Marathas. These groups undertook considerable building activities in the town and made pilgrimages to the lake and temples. Through this expansion of patronage, there was an increase in the wealth available to pilgrimage priests, and the town increasingly began to embody political divisions in its social and spatial divisions. As in Ajmer, in the first half of the 18th century, the rivalry between Marwar and Amber for central Rajasthan played out in the arena of patronage in Pushkar. The rulers of both kingdoms visited Pushkar with increased frequency, often in conjunction with military campaigns, and each gave patronage to one of two competing groups of Brahmin priests in the town. This cemented social and spatial divisions between the two Brahmin communities, who even in the 20th century lived in separate neighbourhoods. Since at least the 17th century, Pushkar was home to two separate communities of Brahmins.72 One group, the Parishars, lived in the western half of the city, known as ‘Bari Basti’. The other group lived in Choti Basti on the eastern side of the lake. Members of both communities claim the (exclusive) right to perform the pilgrimage rituals, tirth purohitai, and receive donations from pilgrims. In 1732 CE, Amber Maharaja Jai Singh II removed the right

Patronage as Political Proxy  91 of tirth purohitai for himself from the Brahmins of Bari Basti and conferred it on the Brahmins of Choti Basti instead.73 Several years later, the Bari Basti Brahmins signed a further agreement that they would not claim this right nor perform the ritual for the maharaja, his officials, nor any member of the maharaja’s clan of Rajputs, the Kachhwahas.74 Jai Singh II did not provide any justification for his decision, but it coincided with a period when he was expanding his power in the Ajmer and Pushkar region. Alongside his patronage of the Choti Basti Brahmins, Jai Singh II also undertook major renovations of Raj Ghat, a bathing complex on the edge of the lake in Choti Basti originally constructed by his ancestor Man Singh I (r. 1589–1614 CE). He added a temple for Sitaramji, the same deity he invoked in his seal, and built a ladies’ bathing ghat.75 Jai Singh II’s descendants, including Pratap Singh (r. 1778–1803 CE), continued to renovate and expand the complex.76 Raj Ghat was one of the grandest structures in Choti Basti in the 18th century and signalled the prominence of the Amber rulers in Pushkar. The Amber rulers’ involvement in Choti Basti was mirrored by the patronage and association of the Marwar maharajas with Bari Basti. The Marwar rulers patronised the most ritually significant ghats in Bari Basti, including Brahma Ghat.77 In the early 19th century, Jodhpur’s Maharaja Man Singh (r. 1803–1843 CE) undertook considerable renovations to the Marwar royal ghat, which is located directly across the lake from the Amber Ghat. In addition to their architectural patronage, the Marwar rulers supported a Bari Basti Brahmin family as their tirth purohit. From about 1707 CE, this family held revenue rights to the village Kurku and received eight rupees annually from administrative officials in Merta.78 The Marwar rulers gave further charitable donations to Pushkar Brahmins and appointed a Brahmin as the inspector (darogha) of these grants when Marwar held Pushkar between 1787 and 1791 CE.79 The connection of the Marwar and Amber ruling families to Pushkar and particular Brahmin communities was emphasised through several tales that were in wide circulation by the early to the mid-19th century and likely before. One such tale attributed the founding of Pushkar to the 10th-century king Nahar Rao, a predecessor and possible ancestor of the Marwar ruling family. He stumbled across a spring from the silted-over lake while out hunting. When the water from it cured a skin disease, he ordered the desilting of the lake, built ghats, and settled Parishar Brahmins in the area.80 This tale ties the presence of Parishar Brahmins to the rulers of Marwar.81 Another tale addresses the Maharaja of Amber’s decision to support the Choti Basti Brahmins. In the tale, the king gave his robe to a priest in Pushkar as a reward for his services. Several weeks later, the king happened to see the priest’s son-in-law wearing the robe and sitting on a bier in a funeral procession in Jaipur. From this, the king concluded that the priest was not a true Brahmin and removed the privilege of officiating at Pushkar from that priest. The king built and settled Choti Basti with non-Parishar Brahmins and conferred tirth purohitai on them.82 These two tales together

92  Elizabeth M. Thelen emphasise the association of the kings of Marwar with the Brahmins of Bari Basti and those of Amber with the Brahmins of Choti Basti by attributing the origin of each Brahmin community to rulers from those kingdoms. From the mid-18th century, the Marathas became important patrons in Pushkar alongside the Rajputs. The Marathas’ initial series of grants, undertaken in the 1750s, focused on Choti Basti. They built several ghats on the eastern end of the lake, including Bangla Ghat and Shiv Ghat. Between these two ghats, they also built a chhatri, or memorial pavilion, commemorating Jayappa Shinde, an eminent Maratha military leader who was killed in 1756 CE during the siege of Nagaur. Through this chhatri, their military prowess was also marked in the town. They installed Brahmins from Choti Basti in temples on Shiv Ghat and Varaha Ghat and funded them with revenue grants from villages in Rajasthan they had recently conquered.83 Alongside the Shindes, who controlled the area, Marathas from further away became patrons in Pushkar in succeeding decades. Most famously, Ahilyabai Holkar built a dharmshala, or rest-house, on Varah Ghat, which was dedicated to feeding 108 Brahmins daily. She financed this dharmshala with revenue from her capital territories.84 Maratha patronage at Pushkar, such as Ahilyabai’s, was part of a wider campaign in which the Marathas replaced or eclipsed Rajputs as key supporters of Hindu religious sites across India, including Banaras.85 After the Marathas retook Pushkar in 1791 CE from the Rajputs, their patronage in the area intensified and expanded to include Choti Basti and Bari Basti. Patrons included Shinde rulers and Maratha subahdars and generals posted in Ajmer. Through their patronage, much of the lakefront and city was rebuilt, including an ornate marble Mahadev temple and a temple and dharmshala complex that housed Bairagi Vaishnav priests and pilgrims.86 They also patronised the construction of Bala Rao Ghat, repairs to Kot Tirth Ghat, and the construction of an Atmateshwar temple.87 Perhaps most lavishly, the Shinde minister Gokhal Chand Parekh spent 130,000 rupees to rebuild the Brahma temple.88 This extensive patronage combined with that in Ajmer at the same time was an expression of Maratha state power and legitimacy. The patronage in Pushkar had many parallels to developments in Ajmer, and in many ways, they were part of the same religio-political complex in the heart of Rajasthan. They often shared patrons, particularly from the 18th century, and a visit to one site was frequently connected to a visit to the other. In both places, there was a complex interaction of political rivalries with religious patronage, the linking of spiritual and worldly power, and a ripple effect of political rivalries into competitive dynamics between different factions of religious attendants.

Conclusion In the 18th century, as Rajputs and Marathas sought to establish greater power or independent states in Rajasthan, they not only undertook military

Patronage as Political Proxy  93 campaigns but also expressed their power through patronage at the dargah of Muʿin al-Din Chishti. This patronage followed patterns the Mughal emperors established in the preceding 150 years. Nevertheless, there were also significant changes in the 18th century. Increasingly, patrons of the dargah were also patrons of the temples and ghats in Pushkar. This expanded Pushkar’s significance as a politico-religious site in Rajasthan and brought religious patronage in Ajmer and Pushkar into a shared discourse of state power. Furthermore, under the Rajputs and Marathas, the ranks of patrons at the Ajmer shrine and in Pushkar expanded to include regional political leaders from across the subcontinent, many of whom had not visited Ajmer or Pushkar in person. This represented transregional competition for the imperial authority invoked by such patronage. While the foremost patrons in the 18th century were local powers, they could not prevent others from seeking similar privileges. Religious patronage of the Ajmer dargah and Pushkar lake was a multidimensional symbolic conversation. Patronage produced sacred yet material spaces that linked political and spiritual power. It proved oneself a righteous Muslim or Hindu ruler in a time of competition for the throne. However, it was also about accommodating diverse subjects and speaking a language of power that was well established in the preceding two centuries and recognised across the Indian subcontinent. In the 18th century, when maharajas, nawabs, nobles, subahdars, and military commanders patronised the Ajmer dargah and Pushkar lake, they simultaneously presented themselves as being the rightful heir to Mughal power and as more powerful than the current Mughal emperor by usurping Mughal imperial prerogatives to patronage.

Acknowledgements Research for this paper was funded by a Fulbright-Nehru Fellowship and the American Institute of Indian Studies. I am grateful to Syed Liyaqat Hussain Moini, Motiur Rahman Khan, Peer Sufi Abdul Baqi Chishti Farooqi, the staff of the CAS-History Department Library at Aligarh Muslim University, and the staff of the Rajasthan State Archives for their assistance during my research in India. Earlier versions of this paper benefitted from the insights of Hannah Archambault, Munis Faruqui, Abhishek Kaicker, Kimberly Kolor, and Jonathan Sheehan. I expand on these themes in Elizabeth M. Thelen, Urban Histories of Rajasthan: Religion, Politics and Society (1550–1800), London: Gingko, 2022, pp. 31–90. Any errors remain my own.

Notes 1 David Gilmartin and Bruce B. Lawrence (eds), Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia, Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2000; Najaf Haider, ‘A “Holi Riot” of 1714’, in Mushirul Hasan and Asim Roy (eds), Living Together Separately: Cultural India in

94  Elizabeth M. Thelen History and Politics, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005, pp. 127–39; Vasudha Dalmia and Munis D. Faruqui, (eds), Religious Interactions in Mughal India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014. 2 Richard M. Eaton, ‘Temple Desecration and Indo–Muslim States’, in David Gilmartin and Bruce B. Lawrence (eds), Beyond Turk and Hindu: Rethinking Religious Identities in Islamicate South Asia, Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2000, pp. 246–81. 3 B. N. Goswamy and J. S. Grewal, The Mughals and the Jogis of Jakhbar; Some Madad-i-Maʻāsh and Other Documents, Simla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 1967; B. N. Goswamy and J. S. Grewal, The Mughal and Sikh Rulers and the Vaishnavas of Pindori, Simla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study, 1969. 4 Rajeev Kinra, ‘Handling Diversity with Absolute Civility: The Global Historical Legacy of Mughal Ṣulḥ-i Kull’, Medieval History Journal, 2013, 16(2): 251–95. 5 One key exception is the chapter ‘The Hindus and the Dargah of Ajmer, A.D. 1658–1858’, in S. Liyaqat H. Moini, The Chishti Shrine of Ajmer: Pirs, Pilgrims, Practices, Jaipur: Publication Scheme, 2004, pp. 53–95, which collates examples of Hindu patronage, visits, and employment at the shrine. 6 For examples from institutional studies, see Arjun Appadurai, Worship and Conflict under Colonial Rule: A South Indian Case, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981 and R. D. McChesney, Waqf in Central Asia: Four Hundred Years in the History of a Muslim Shrine, 1480–1889, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991. 7 Monika Horstmann, In Favour of Govinddevji: Historical Documents Relating to a Deity of Vrindaban and Eastern Rajasthan, New Delhi: Indira Gandhi National Centre for the Arts, 1999. 8 See for example Kama Maclean, Pilgrimage and Power: The Kumbh Mela in Allahabad, 1765–1954, New York: Oxford University Press, 2008; Ann Grodzins Gold, Fruitful Journeys: The Ways of Rajasthani Pilgrims, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990; M. N. Pearson, Pious Passengers: The Hajj in Earlier Times, London: Hurst, 1994. 9 See for instance the discussions of patronage in Mahesh Sharma, Western Himalayan Temple Records: State, Pilgrimage, Ritual and Legality in Chamba, Leiden: Brill, 2009; Carl W. Ernst, Eternal Garden: Mysticism, History and Politics at a South Asian Sufi Center, Albany: SUNY Press, 1992; Leslie C. Orr, Donors, Devotees and Daughters of God: Temple Women in Medieval Tamilnadu, New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. 10 Muzaffar Alam, The Languages of Political Islam: India, 1200–1800, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2004, p. 78. 11 Inayat Khan, The Shah Jahan Nama of ‘Inayat Khan: An Abridged History of the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan, Compiled by His Royal Librarian: The Nineteenth-Century Manuscript Translation of A.R. Fuller (British Library, Add. 30,777), eds W. E. Begley and Z. A. Desai, Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1990, pp. 15, 557; Saqi Mustʿad Khan, Maasir-i-Alamgiri: A History of the Emperor Aurangzib-Alamgir, trans. and ann. Jadunath Sarkar, Lahore: Suhail Academy, 1981, pp. 116–17; Abu’l Fazl, The Akbar Nama of Abu-l-Fazl: History of the Reign of Akbar Including an Account of His Predecessors, trans. Henry Beveridge, Vol. 2, pp. 542–44; Vol. 3, pp. 49, 55. 12 Abu’l Fazl, The Akbar Nama of Abu-l-Fazl, Vol. 2, p. 476. 13 ʿInayat Khan, The Shah Jahan Nama of ʿInayat Khan, pp. 195–96, 303. 14 Bichitr, ‘Portrait of Muʿin al–Din Chishti’, India, Mughal period, c. 1620. Opaque watercolour and gold on paper, 21.8 × 13 cm, Chester Beatty Library, Dublin. 7A.14. A corresponding image of ‘Jahangir Holding a Globe’ is found in the same collection, 7A.5. Reproduced in Jahangir, The Jahangirnama: Memoirs of Jahangir, Emperor of India, trans. and ed. Wheeler M. Thackston,

Patronage as Political Proxy  95 Washington, DC: Freer Gallery of Art/Arthur M. Sackler Gallery, Smithsonian Institution and New York: Oxford University Press, 1999, pp. 150–51. 15 Jahangir, The Jahangirnama, p. 161. At the time, earrings were a common ornament worn by slaves and thus a mark of utmost devotion. They were worn by various sects, such as the Nath yogis, to express religious devotion. 16 Balchand, ‘Jahangir Receives Prince Khurram on His Return from the Mewar Campaign, Ajmer, Diwan i ʿAmm, 20 February 1615’, reproduced in Milo Cleveland Beach and Ebba Koch, King of the World: The Padshahnama, an Imperial Mughal Manuscript from the Royal Library, Windsor Castle, London: Azimuth Editions Limited, 1997, plate 5. 17 S. A. I. Tirmizi, Ajmer through Inscriptions (1532–1852 A.D.), New Delhi: Indian Institute of Islamic Studies, 1968, pp. 18, 50–51; Jahangir, The Jahangirnama, p. 154; ʿInayat Khan, The Shah Jahan Nama of ʿInayat Khan, p. 15. 18 Tirmizi, Ajmer through Inscriptions, pp. 36, 42, passim. 19 Abu’l Fazl, The Akbar Nama of Abu-l-Fazl, Vol. 2, pp. 511, 516; Jahangir, The Jahangirnama, p. 202. 20 John F. Richards, The Mughal Empire, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993, p. 26. 21 Waqa’i Sarkar Rantanbhor wa Ajmer, Aligarh Transcript, Centre of Advanced Study in History Research Library, Aligarh Muslim University, f. 372. 22 For an overview of these revenue grants, see Irfan Habib, The Agrarian System of Mughal India 1556–1707, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2014 (3rd Edition), pp. 342–59. 23 Abdul Bari Maʿni, Asnad al-Sanadid, Bombay, 1952, pp. 3–5, 167–72; Tirmizi, Mughal Documents 1526–1627, p. 107, document 212; Tirmizi, Mughal Documents (1628–1659): Vol. II, New Delhi: Manohar, 1995, pp. 60–61, document 84. 24 Syed Liyaqat Hussain Moini, ‘Rituals and Customary Practices at the Dargah of Ajmer’, in Christian W. Troll (ed.), Muslim Shrines in India: Their Character, History and Significance, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2003 (2nd Edition), pp. 61–63. 25 Tirmizi, Mughal Documents 1526–1627, pp. 47–48, 107. 26 Ibid., p. 108, document 279. 27 Some argue that this separation is overemphasized in scholarship. Blain H. Auer, Symbols of Authority in Medieval Islam: History, Religion, and Muslim Legitimacy in the Delhi Sultanate, London: I.B. Tauris, 2012, pp. 93–95. 28 Abu’l Fazl, The Akbar Nama of Abu-l-Fazl, Vol. 2, p. 237. 29 Abu’l Fazl, The Akbar Nama of Abu-l-Fazl, Vol. 3, p. 156; Muhammad Arif Qandhari, Tarikh-i Akbari, trans. Tasneem Ahmed, Delhi: Pragati Publications, 1993, p. 65; ‘Abd al-Qadir Badauni, Muntakhab al-Tawarikh, trans. George S. Ranking, Calcutta: Asiatic Society of Bengal, 1925, Vol. 2, p. 176. 30 Peter Mundy, Travels in Asia, 1628–1634, ed. Lt. Col. Sir Richard Carnac Temple, London: Hakluyt Society, 1914, p. 244. 31 Jahangir, The Jahangirnama, pp. 154–56. The emperor describes feeding 5,000 poor people of Ajmer with food cooked in the deg he had made for the shrine and personally giving each of them a coin. 32 Waqa’i Sarkar Rantanbhor wa Ajmer, f. 51. 33 Maʿni, Asnad al-Sanadid, p. 250. The grant is dated to Vikram Samvat 1747. 34 Documents in the private collection of Peer Sufi Abdul Baqi Chishti Farooqi, diwan of Sultan al-Tarikin Dargah, Nagaur. Calendared in Thelen, Urban Histories of Rajasthan, pp. 207–20. 35 V. S. Bhatnagar, Life and Times of Sawai Jai Singh 1688–1743, Delhi: Impex India, pp. 47–51; Syed Liyaqat Hussain Moini, ‘The City of Ajmer during the

96  Elizabeth M. Thelen Eighteenth Century: A Political, Administrative & Economic History’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Aligarh Muslim University, 1987, pp. 59–60. 36 Bhatnagar, Life and Times of Sawai Jai Singh 1688–1743, pp. 54–56; Moini, pp. 66, 76. 37 Document 280, Rajasthani Khatoot Ahalkaran, Jaipur Records, Rajasthan State Archives, Bikaner. Calendared in A Descriptive List of the Khatoot Ahalkaran Rajasthani (1633 to 1769 AD), Bikaner: Rajasthani State Archives, 1975, p. 66. The original document now appears to be missing. 38 Moini, ‘The City of Ajmer during the Eighteenth Century’, pp. 92, 96, 100–1; Maʿni, Asnad al-Sanadid, p. 267. 39 G. D. Sharma, Rajput Polity: A Study of Politics and Administration in the State of Marwar, 1638–1749, New Delhi: Manohar, 1977, p. 226. 40 Jagat Narayan, Ajmer and the Mughal Emperors, Kota: Neha Vikas Prakashan, 1997, p. 134. 41 Vikram Singh Bhati (ed.), Mundiyar ri Khyat, Jodhpur: Itihas Anusandhan Sansthan, 2005, pp. 188–89. 42 Ghulam Hussain Khan Tabatabai, Siyar al-Mutakherin, McGill Library, mss. BWL 10–11, Vol. 2, ff. 40r, 41r. 43 Kumkum Chatterjee, The Cultures of History in Early Modern India: Persianization and Mughal Culture in Bengal, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009, pp. 11–12. 44 Bhatnagar, Life and Times of Sawai Jai Singh 1688–1743, p. 199. 45 Dastur Komwar, Vol. 18, p. 34, Jaipur Records, Rajasthan State Archives, Bikaner. 46 Ibid., p. 33. 47 Ibid., Vol. 18, p. 37. 48 Ibid., Vol. 18, pp. 34–41; Bhatnagar, Life and Times of Sawai Jai Singh 1688– 1743, p. 261; Moini, ‘The City of Ajmer during the Eighteenth Century’, pp. 160, 163. 49 Bhatnagar, Life and Times of Sawai Jai Singh 1688–1743, pp. 261–4. 50 Har Bilas Sarda, Ajmer: Historical and Descriptive, Ajmer: Scottish Mission Industries, 1911, p. 100. Sarda does not cite any sources for this. 51 Horstmann, In Favour of Govinddevji, p. 25. 52 For further examples of wakil relationships, see Moini, The Chisti Shrine of Ajmer, pp. 65–74. 53 Dastur Komwar, Vol. 18, pp. 35, 42–46, Jaipur Records, Rajasthan State Archives, Bikaner. 54 Stewart Gordon, The Marathas, 1600–1818, New Delhi: Cambridge University Press, 1998, p. 137. 55 Moini, ‘The City of Ajmer during the Eighteenth Century’, pp. 177–79; G. R. Parihar, Marwar and the Marathas (1724–1843 A.D.), Jodhpur: Hindi Sahitya Mandir, 1968, pp. 80–82, 88–89. 56 Sarda, Ajmer, p. 38. 57 Tirmizi, Ajmer through Inscriptions, pp. 62–64. 58 Jodhpur Sanad Parwana Bahi (hereafter, JSPB), no. 37, ff. 121a, 123a, Jodhpur Records, Rajasthan State Archives, Bikaner. 59 JSPB no. 37, f. 124a, Jodhpur Records, Rajasthan State Archives, Bikaner. 60 JSPB no. 37, f. 121a, Jodhpur Records, Rajasthan State Archives, Bikaner. 61 JSPB no. 37, f. 122b Jodhpur Records, Rajasthan State Archives, Bikaner. 62 Syed Liyaqat Hussain Moini, ‘The City of Ajmer during the Eighteenth Century’, pp. 191, 311. 63 P. M. Joshi (ed.), Persian Records of Maratha History: II: Sindhia as Regent of Delhi (1787 & 1789–91), trans. Jadunath Sarkar, Bombay: Director of Archives, Govt. of Bombay, 1954, p. 48, letter 26.

Patronage as Political Proxy  97 64 Thomas Duer Broughton, Letters Written in a Mahratta Camp during the Year 1809, Descriptive of the Character, Manners, Domestic Habits, and Religious Ceremonies, of the Mahrattas, London: A Constable and Company, 1892, pp. 256–57. 65 Calendar of Persian Correspondence: Being Letters Which Passed between Some of the Company’s Servants and Indian Rulers and Notables, Vol. IX, 1790–1791, New Delhi: National Archives of India: 1949, pp. 317–18, letters 1556 and 1557, 10 October 1791. 66 Currie, The Shrine and Cult of Muʿin al-Din Chishti of Ajmer, p. 188. 67 Ibid., p. 113; Tirmizi, Ajmer through Inscriptions, pp. 64–65. 68 Appadurai, Worship and Conflict under Colonial Rule, pp. 21–22, 50–51; Norbert Peabody, Hindu Kingship and Polity in Precolonial India, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003, pp. 66–70; Alam, Languages of Political Islam, p. 78. 69 An inscription on this building commemorates the Mughal victory over Mewar. Tirmizi, Ajmer through Inscriptions, p. 19. 70 Tirmizi, Mughal Documents 1526–1627, p. 92. 71 Waqa’i Sarkar Rantanbhor wa Ajmer, ff. 44, 48–50, 52–53. 72 Tirmizi, Mughal Documents 1526–1627, pp. 101–2. 73 Pandit Maharaj Kishan, Tawarikh–i Ajmer, Rohtak: Mabua Anwar al–Qamar, c. 1876, p. 18. 74 Ibid., p. 19. 75 Gopal Narayan Bahura and Chandramani Singh, Catalogue of Historical Documents in Kapad Dwara, Jaipur: Part II Maps and Plans, Jaipur: Maharaja of Jaipur, 1990, p. 20, entry 30, image 13. 76 Bahura and Singh, Catalogue of Historical Documents in Kapad Dwara, Jaipur, p. 52, entry 353. 77 Kishan, Tawarikh-i Ajmer, pp. 20–39. 78 JSPB no. 1, f. 43b; JSPB no. 5, f. 107b, Jodhpur Records, Rajasthan State Archives, Bikaner. 79 JSPB no. 32, f. 52a, Jodhpur Records, Rajasthan State Archives, Bikaner. 80 Kishan, Tawarikh–i Ajmer, p. 15. 81 Tod was shown a Persian translation of a copper plate grant from Nahar Rao, though he doubted its authenticity. James Tod, Annals and Antiquities of Rajasthan: Or, the Central and Western Rajpoot State of India, reprint New Delhi: Rupa Publications, 1997, Vol. 1, p. 607. 82 Kishan, Tawarikh-i Ajmer, p. 17. 83 Ibid., pp. 21–22, 27. 84 Ibid., Tawarikh-i Ajmer, p. 26. 85 Gordon, The Marathas, p. 146. 86 Broughton, Letters Written in a Mahratta Camp, p. 259. 87 Kishan, Tawarikh-i Ajmer p. 33; Har Bilas Sarda, Ajmer, p. 143. 88 Sarda, Ajmer, p. 142.

PART II

Religious Traditions and Texts



5

Anthologies of Difference Situating the Anthologies of Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada in the Sacred Space of Tantric Buddhism Ritwik Bagchi

Introducing the Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada The vast body of Buddhist literature produced in early medieval Bengal1 can be considered an important reservoir of sources on religious and social culture, providing a significant supplement to other historical sources such as inscriptions, archaeological monuments and artefacts. In early medieval Bengal’s context, the Buddhist literature from the 8th century onwards constituted a specific genre in the literary tradition characterised by its enigmatic description of rituals, methods of worship, iconographic details of Buddhist deities, prescriptions of physical and psychic practices of tantra etc. Historians have divided the literary tradition into different categories, distinguishing conformist and non-conformist traditions to discuss the nature of literature during this period.2 Nevertheless, some texts, especially the Buddhist anthological ones, cannot always be very safely consigned under a specific literary category since they consist of works of numerous authors representing diverse religious practices and proclaiming both allegiance and challenge to a set of beliefs. The two Buddhist anthological texts, namely Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada (also known as Caryācaryaviniścaya, Aścaryacaryāviniścaya, Caryāgītipadābalī etc.), will be dealt with in the present chapter with an attempt to explore the diverse religious, ritualistic abstractions and notions reflected in them. The main focus would be to examine the different manifestations of tantric Buddhism demonstrated in the two texts by highlighting several ideological complexities and paradoxes. The first part of this chapter will delve into the problem of identifying the composers of different sādhanas and caryās. Then an attempt will be made to situate both the texts in the sacred Buddhist landscape in ancient Bengal. In the end, the two distinguished ideological variants reflected in Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada will be investigated. This chapter will argue that Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada portrayed two very different religious practices within tantric Buddhism; at the same time, the tone of the texts reveals attempts at the validation of religious ideas by claiming origin from established orders of priests and philosophers, referred to as Siddhācārya. DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-8

102  Ritwik Bagchi Both the anthologies under survey belonged to a later phase of Buddhism known as ‘Vajrayana/tantric Buddhism’ that took shape in the 8th century CE. Though this particular form of Buddhism is believed to be an offshoot of Mahayana Buddhism, scholars have debated regarding the earliest specimen of tantric Buddhism. According to Benoytosh Bhattacharyya, the earliest trace of tantra can be found in the time of Buddha, who recognised riddhi, or supernatural power, and mentioned four iddhipadas3 conducive to the attainment of supernatural power. He is also of the opinion that Prajñāpāramitā contained the earliest elements, which can be referred to as the precursor of tantric Buddhism. In this text, detailed paraphernalia of worshipping Buddha has been described.4 The recitation of all its maṇṭras, dhāraṇis and sutras is believed to have conferred the merit of reading the whole book. The earliest manuscript of the text has been discovered from the Gandhar region dating back to the 1st century CE.5 Sashibhusan Dasgupta argued that the rise of tantra could be attributed to the loosely defined Mahāyānic practice of the 8th century or in other minor forms. He has extensively discussed several schools of tantric Buddhism like Kālacakrayāna, Sahajayāna, Nathism etc. and traced the philosophical roots of tantra from the later Mahayana schools like Madhyamaka and Yogācāravāda.6 He also argues that the basic tenet of tantric Buddhism was imbued with the conceptualisation of Prajñā and Upāya, representing the female and male entities, respectively, within a human being and their union. A group of scholars like Chintaharan Chakraborty7 and P.C. Bagchi argued that the tantric tendency in Brahmanism and Buddhism could be traced back to the Vedas. Chakraborty argues that tantra originated among the low-class non-Aryan people and was gradually appropriated by the Buddhists and the Hindus.8 He even suggested that Tantrism was present in the Atharva Veda, Dharmaśāstra, Puranas and Buddhist and Jain literature.9 As far as Buddhist tantra is concerned, Chakraborty argues that the beginning can be placed in the 1st century CE. According to him, the dhāraṇis may be looked upon as the precursor of tantras, and the Suramgama-Sutra mentioned by Faxian contained the complete list of dhāraṇis.10 P.C.Bagchi also argues that ‘Tantras emerged out of the Vedic religion and were then developed as a distinct type of esoteric knowledge’.11 He placed the origin of Buddhist tantra in the 7th century and traced the philosophical roots of tantra in the Madhyamaka and Yogācāra schools of Buddhism.12 More recently, Ronald M. Davidson, Christian K. Wedemeyer and Geoffrey Samuels have made different approaches to understanding this obscure cult. In his fundamental account of the tantra in the medieval age, Davidson has sought to elucidate the relation of tantra with the aristocratic feudal culture from the 12th century onwards. He argues that Buddhist tantra results from the complex relation between the spiritual realms and the newly developed feudal social structure within which tantra was looking for new opportunities.13 On the other hand, Wedemeyer offers a new method to understand the phenomenon by using the semiology of different terms of

Anthologies of Difference  103 tantra.14 Geoffrey Samuels’ study focuses on the origin of Śaiva, Vaisnava and Buddhist tantra in general. He argues that the Buddhist Maṇḍala model was progressively adopted by the incorporation of the wild goddesses.15 They were initially offered a place at the edges of the maṇḍala as guardians and protectors, but later they were assumed as a major figure, as can be seen in the Hevajra Maṇḍala. He has suggested three phases of the development of tantric Buddhism to show how the fierce deities gradually assumed a principal place in a maṇḍala. In the first phase (4th century CE), fierce male deities like Vajrapāṇi and Yaksa were identified and conceptualised. In the second phase (7th century CE), the basic five Tathāgatamaṇḍalas are generally expanded in the texts of this period. Apart from Prajñāpāramitā, some of the earliest tantric texts like Yoginītantra deal with the rituals and methods of worship of some deities like Heruka and Vajravārāhī, whose metaphysical base was closely associated with Vajrayana Buddhism. The root of the Yoginī and Ḍākinī cult, a typical character of Buddhism in the concerned period, has been traced by some scholars to the ancient Indic goddesses known as ‘mātṛs’.16 These mātṛs were popular deities in ancient India whose identities and worship cannot be attributed to any single religious tradition like Buddhism or emergent theistic sects. The similarity of some early Buddhist tantric texts with Śaiva Tantra has been highlighted by Alexis Sanderson, who claims that the former was heavily influenced by the latter.17 Sandarson argues that the Hevajratantra and Cakrasaṃvara Tantra are similar to the Śaiva tantric texts like Vidyāpitha, Jayadrathayamala Tantra, the Picumātā, the Tantrasadbhāvatantra and Siddhayogeśvarīmātā and they have adopted the rituals therein.18 David Gray also agrees with Sanderson regarding the texts’ Śaiva roots and argues that they have been composed by the quasi-heretical sect called ‘the Kāpālikas’.19 Gray further pointed out that Cakrasaṃvara Tantra, in its initial stage of development, was composed outside of ‘normative monastic Buddhist institutional settings’. Sādhanamālā is a late 11th to early 12th century Sanskrit Buddhist text dealing with the method of worship of several Buddhist deities. The text is best known for iconographic descriptions of the Buddhist deities. The text is also known as Sādhanasamuccaya, Sādhanamālātantra and Sādhanatantra in different manuscripts. There are at least 38 manuscripts around the world, including the eight used by Benoytosh Bhattacharyya, which is considered the standard edition of the text.20 While editing a complicated and erroneous text like Sādhanamālā, Benoytosh Bhattacharyya consulted some old Sanskrit versions of the text left on paper and palmleaf. The original Sanskrit manuscripts he analysed and utilised in editing the two volumes of Sādhanamālā are characterised by a mismatch between themselves and pose many grammatical and linguistic errors. There are a total of eight manuscripts which Benoytosh Bhattacharyya names A, B, C, N, Ab, Ba, Na and Nb.21 Among them, Na and Nb are the most corrupt, and he has consulted them less than the other manuscripts while compiling the whole

104  Ritwik Bagchi book. Two of these manuscripts were obtained from Cambridge University Library; two from the Durbar Library of Nepal, while the remaining four from the library of The Asiatic Society of Bengal. The earliest manuscripts were found in the Durbar Library of Nepal, dating back to 1104 CE (Nepal Samvat 224).22 There are four manuscripts preserved in the Tokyo University library and five manuscripts in the Kyoto University, which seem to be later recensions of the text, and many of these manuscripts consist of a few sādhanas which have not been listed by Benoytosh Bhattacharyya.23 The authors of the Sādhanamālā are numerous and belonged to different periods, indicating the long time span through which the sādhanas were composed. Though most of the sādhanas, out of a total of 312, are anonymous, the names of some composers are mentioned in the colophon of the manuscripts. Some of them have been mentioned with the title of Ācārya (principal) and Paṇḍita (scholar), indicating their exalted and canonised status in the institutionalised world of the Buddhist Viharas, while the others, majority in number, remain anonymous. Their association with Buddhist Viharas is also not beyond doubt. Being a compilation of the works of multiple authors, Sādhanamālā portrays a plethora of heterogeneous Tantric Buddhist ideas and practices. Caryāpada, discovered in the royal Durbar Library of Nepal by Haraprasad Shastri in 1907, was similarly a collection of 50 caryās (Buddhist songs) composed by several Siddhācāryas (ascetics with supernatural power). However, the name of the original text is a debatable matter, while Pandit Vidhusekhara Bhattacharya suggests that the title is Āścaryacaryāviniścaya.24 The language of the original caryā is proto-BengaliAssamese-Oriya, while the language of the commentary was Sanskrit. The text mentions that the language of the caryā is called Sāndhya Bhāṣā. After analysing the metaphorical and symbolical use of different words in the vernacular text, it has been suggested by H.P. Sastri that this is twilight language. This argument has been challenged by Vidhusekhara Bhattacharya, who suggested that it is the intentional language because the term ‘Sandhya’ here stands for abhisandhi or implied sense. In the Sanskrit commentary, it has been noticed that the terms ‘Abhisandhya’ and ‘Sandhyay’ have been used interchangeably.25According to Sukumar Sen, the name of the original text was Caryāgītikośa.26 The manuscript discovered by Sastri was a copy of the commentary of the main text. The name of the commentator of the main text was Munidatta, who has been cited in the Tibetan translation. Compiled almost in the same period between the 10th and 12th centuries, Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada belonged to the Buddhist anthological tradition, which became a distinctive literary trend in early medieval Bengal. It is to be noted that the anthologies continued to be reproduced during the consecutive centuries from their first date of compilation, probably due to a drive to popularise the texts. Apart from the two anthological texts under discussion, we come across a wide range of other anthologies during the same period, which became a distinctive literary trend in early medieval

Anthologies of Difference  105 Bengal from the 11th century onwards. One of the primary features of the anthologies is that they had an integral tie with Buddhism by the subject matter they dealt with. An anthology like Kavīndravacanasamuccaya edited by F.W. Thomas from the manuscript found in The Asiatic Society of Bengal was Buddhist. According to Ludwik Sternbach, this anthology is a part of Subhāṣitaraṭṇakoṣa of Vidyākara whose geographical provenance, according to D.D. Kosambi, was in the Jagaddala Vihara located in the Varendra region during the Pala rule.27 This text had 525 verses composed by 111 poets, among whom we have celebrated Buddhist writers like Buddhakaragupta and Ratnakirti.28 Besides this, we also have the Saduḳtikarṇāmṛita (13th century) of Śrīdharadāsa, a well-known anthology from Bengal.29 However, Sanskrit is not the only language in which these anthologies were compiled. Caryāpada is an excellent example that the anthological tradition left its imprint beyond the Sanskrit language and became an important medium of expression for the non-conformist heterodox sect. This drive to compile works of different authors, revered for their poetic merit or spiritual mastery by a section of a literate society, deserves a more comprehensive analysis. This chapter will contend that the compilation and production of Buddhist anthologies under survey served a specific purpose for the respective religious sects.

Identifying the Composers of Sādhanas and Caryās Both Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada occasionally mention the names of the composers at the beginning of the sādhanas and the caryās. The identity of these authors is rather difficult to determine for various reasons. Firstly, there can be numerous persons by the same name at the same time, as David Gordon White has shown in connection with Nāgārjuna. Besides the famous early historic Buddhist Madhyamaka philosopher, author, and commentator, we have the reference to a Nātha siddha of the same name and a western Indian medical author.30 Moreover, the Tibetan literature, such as the catalogue of Bstan-’gyur/Tanjur (13th century), the accounts like Pag-sam-jonzang (18th century) and the History of Lama Taranath (1608 CE) further aggravate the confusion by presenting varied identities of the authors. Many of these writers have been mentioned as mahāsiddhas in the Caturaśītisiddha-pravṛitti of Abhayadattaśrī.31 This text discusses the tradition and biographies of 84 mahāsiddha, most of whom were of eastern Indian origin like Magadha, Nalanda, Vaṅgāla and Kāmarūpa. The names of these siddhas etymologically belong to a non-Sanskrit vocabulary, and they were named after their profession such as Tantipa (weaver), Chamaripa (tannery worker), Kumoripa (potter), Dhombipa (washerman) etc. Among the 84 mahāsiddhas, 20 have been mentioned as shudra or lower caste. A few of them also belonged to the royal class (Kshatriya), such as Dingkapa, who was a Brahmin royal counsel, but he had to sell wine and reap rice to attain salvation. It has been mentioned in his biography that he had to perform the

106  Ritwik Bagchi lower caste profession to denounce the pride of the higher caste. Similarly, king Indrapāla became siddha Darikpa after accepting the servitude of a prostitute and washing her feet. The preceptors of most of these siddhas were also strikingly the Ḍākinī (semi-divine women figures) or yogis. The Ḍākinī, according to Judith Simmer-Brown, essentially stands for ‘the formless wisdom of mind itself… a personification of Buddhahood’ in Tibetan Buddhism.32 They rose to prominence in the tantric culture as a non-Brahmanical goddess with a demonic feature.33 In Cakrasaṃvara Tantra, the Ḍākinī has been described as a female consort who helps the yogi in realising the highest truth. Benoytosh Bhattacharyya has provided a list of 47 authors mentioned in the Sādhanamālā. Some of them have been mentioned in Tibetan Bstan’gyur, which also makes us aware of their other writings occasionally. The authors of different sādhanas, from 4th century CE during the time of Asaṅga to 1150 CE during the time of Abhayakaragupta, represent diverse Buddhist religious ideologies spanning over several centuries. Some of the authors probably belonged to the early medieval Buddhist monastic academia since they were mentioned in Bstan-’gyur with the epithet of Paṇḍita, Mahāpaṇḍita, Siddhācārya, Ācārya and Mahācārya etc. However, many authors like Cintāmaṇi Dutta, Kalyāṇagarbha, Karuṇa, Mahākāla etc. are not mentioned in Bstan-’gyur and probably belonged beyond the fold of Buddhist monastic order or hailed from obscure roots. Unlike the Sādhanamālā, the verses in the Caryāpada mention the names of the composers. About 25 such names of the authors have been mentioned, some of whom also featured in Tibetan Bstan-’gyur/Tanjur. The identities of these authors are also ambiguous. Sukumar Sen has argued that the names mentioned with the suffix ‘pa’, like aisancaryākukkuripāe gāiu in the caryā of Kukkuripāda were probably composed by his disciple since the name has been mentioned with reverence.34 Sporadic mentions of the authors of the caryās are also found in other yogic traditions. For example, the teaching of the Sanskrit text Amṛitasiddhi, a Haṭhayoga text, is attributed to Virupa or Virūpākṣa in the Tibetan tradition.35 The distinctive practice and principles delineated in Amritasiddhi (11th century) can be characteristically attributed to Vajrayana Buddhism. The Tibetan hagiography of Virūpākṣa indicates that he had spent his early life in eastern India and then was active in Deccan and the south. Similarly, the name of another composer of the caryā–Tilopā–features in Tibetan hagiography where his native land is said to be situated in the city of Zahor in Bengal.36 His name is also associated with a text called Acintyamahāmudrā where he is said to have converted eight people. The identity of Kanha, the composer of 13 caryās, is also obscure. Matthew Kapstein argued that the name Kanha ought to be seen as ‘a source of inspiration within the tradition rather than the concrete individual’.37 After analysing a Dohakośa attributed to him in the Tibetan extra canonical collection called Do ha mdzodbrgyad, he suggested that Caryāgīti and Doha verses translated into Tibetan are not a

Anthologies of Difference  107 textual translation but the products of continuing improvisation in Tibet and can be designated as ‘Grey Texts’. Interestingly, some names of the Siddhācāryas occur in both the texts such as Krṣṇapada/Kanha, Kukkuripāda, Śabara, Saraha and Śānti/ Ratnākaraśānti. Their biographies, different names and magical practices have been described in Caturaśīti-siddha-pravṛitti of Abhayadattaśrī.38 Their time period ranged arguably from the 9th to 12th centuries. Saraha and Luipa are were among the earliest siddhas (9th century), while Kanhapa, Kukkuripa and Śānti belong to the later period (11th–12th centuries).39 Different methods prescribed in the two anthologies further escalate the confusion regarding their identity. The name of the Siddhācāryas occurring in both the texts, projecting two different sets of idealism, could indicate the invocation of venerated and established traditions to claim sanctity for the verses. The Siddhācāryas commanded spiritual authority and wide fame, which was sought to validate the ideas preached in the verses included in the two texts.

Situating the Anthologies within a Sacred Landscape In order to grasp the historicity of the two texts under survey, it is important to contextualise them within specific regions of Bengal. The Buddhist sacred sites in early medieval Bengal were spread over a large area in the four principal geographical divisions of Puṇḍravardhana, Samataṭa, Vaṅga and Rāḍha. Xuanzang, during his visit to this region in the 7th century, saw 20 monasteries in Puṇḍravardhana, 10 monasteries in Karṇasuvarṇa and 10 monasteries in Tāṃṛalipta.40 The sacred Buddhist landscape in early medieval Bengal was closely tied with the process of land grants under the Pāla rulers and other local ruling houses of Bengal. At least 24 land grants were issued to the Brahmanical and Buddhist institutions under the Pāla rulers.41 A considerable amount of the Pāla land grants, especially those granted to the religious institutions, mentioned the high officials like mahāsāmanta and mahāsenāpati as the donors. Though the Pāla rulers were known to have erected Buddhist monasteries like Somapura and Vikramaśilā, none of them directly issued any land grants to the Buddhist institutions. Rather all the Buddhist land grants were issued by their subordinates like mahāsamanta, mahāsenāpati and mahāsainyapati, as pointed out by Sayantani Pal.42 The Pāla land grants were primarily concentrated in the Varendra region (northern part of Bengal) under the Puṇḍravardhana sub-region. On the other hand, the land grants of local ruling dynasties like Chandras, Devas of Paṭṭikerā, Nātha, Rāta and Khaḍgas were all concentrated in the southeastern part of Bengal under the Samataṭa sub-region. The Gunaighar Plate recorded the earliest evidence of land grants in this region. In western and southwestern parts of Bengal under Vardhamānabhukti and Daṇḍabhukti sub-regions, land grants were issued as early as 550–625 CE by Gopachandra mentioned in Jayarampur and Mallasarul Copper Plate Inscription. This region also

108  Ritwik Bagchi includes the Raktamrittika Mahāvihara situated near ancient Karṇasuvarṇa. Traces of different phases of human settlement in the adjacent mounds like Nilkuthidanga and Raksasidanga occurred from the 2nd century to the 7th century CE.43 The Murshidabad Plate of Dharmapāla was also collected from Karṇasuvarṇa mentioned the issuance of land to the Buddhist saṅghas to construct a perfumed chamber (gandhakuṭī) and a small vihara (vihārika). In the Pāli canon, gandhakuṭī is a special apartment where the Buddha lived in a monastery. It is from here that the Buddha used to assemble the monks and addressed them. Later, the term came to denote an enshrined chamber in the monastery where an image of the Buddha is placed. Land grants gave the granted lands a sacred character. This sacredness, sometimes physically not visible due to the absence of any monumental structures, can be derived from ritual and cultural practices particularly associated with that land. By studying the Chandra Copper Plates, donated to the brahmaṇas, Benjamin Fleming argued that they attest to a connection between text, rituals and landscapes.44 These sacred lands, according to him, were a ‘ceremonial complex marking out space within a sacred economy of royal and priestly reciprocity’. Buddhist Viharas and their surrounding landscapes constituted the most visible sacred spaces. Many in early medieval Bengal started to be erected as a part of the active royal patronage of the Pāla rulers. Some of them were already extant from the pre-Pāla period, as the narratives of Fa-Hsien and Xuanzang attest. The pre-Pāla Viharas, mentioned by Xuanzang, were situated in Puṇḍravardhana, Samataṭa and Vaṅga regions of Bengal, and only a few of them can be identified with substantial archaeological evidence. The Viharas built by the Pāla rulers, on the other hand, are relatively newer, and many of them have been identified with certainty like Somapura, Odantapura, Vikramśilā etc. There are at least 22 copper plate inscriptions of Pālas, Khaḍgas, Chandras, Barmans and other minor rulers recording the land grant for building a Buddhist monastery. The pre-Pāla Buddhist Viharas probably were not so much exposed to the tantric culture. There is hardly any trace of tantric culture in Nalanda in the accounts of Xuanzang and I-Tsing. I-Tsing, a famous Buddhist pilgrim from China, visited India and stayed at Nalanda at the end of the 7th century. From his records, we find that there were eight halls and 300 apartments in the monasteries at Nalanda and the number of residents exceeded 3000. The monastery was in possession of 200 villages which were bestowed on it by kings of many generations.45 I-Tsing found that the Vinaya was strictly carried out at Nalanda, which was why Buddhism continued to flourish there.46 However, the tantric regulations for sādhakas were often found to contradict the Vinaya rules leaving us to doubt whether the monks were practising tantra within the monastery. The method of instruction followed at Nalanda, as observed by this Chinese scholar during his long stay, elucidates the curriculum of academic practice at Nalanda. I-Tsing said that grammatical science is called in Sanskrit śabdavidyā, which was one of

Anthologies of Difference  109 the five vidyās mentioned by him. Apart from the śabdavidyā, there were also śilpasthāna-vidyā (arts), cikitsavidyā (medicine), hetuvidyā (logic) and adhyatmavidyā (spiritual discipline).47 The study of the vyakaraṇa (grammar) was preliminary to the study of higher subjects. Then the students devote themselves to the study of logic and metaphysics (abhidharma-kośa). From the 8th century onwards, the Viharas such as Somapura identified with present-day Paharpur in Bangladesh started to develop some features absent in the Viharas of the previous period. Caryā or Yoga Tantra based landscape of Buddhist Viharas is noticed in Udaygiri, Ratnagiri and Lalitgiri by Umakant Mishra.48 By suggesting that these were maṇḍalavihara, he argued that the insertion of dharma cetiya such as pratitya-samutpadadhāraṇi and vimalosinisadhāraṇi is the typical feature of this tantric landscape. From the 7th century onwards, these dhāraṇis substituted the body relic and became the symbol of Tathagata centring on which a stupa can be made.49 Similar dhāraṇis can also be found in the Paharpur monastery. In the 8th century, the construction of a stupa in the Udaygiri area was modelled on garvadhātumaṇḍala of mahāvairocana sutra. The structural activities throughout this period also bear the evidence of restricted access to the public as the number of votive stupas is significantly less, which Umakant Mishra argues is due to the tantra based landscape. Similarly, the layout of the central shrine of the Paharpur monastery also has been identified as symbolically representing garvadhātumaṇḍala.50 Besides, the monastery of Paharpur also yielded a few images of Dikpālas (guardians of the directions) like Indra, Vayu, Candra/Soma and Kubera.51 These deities, described in the Puranas as the guardians of four cardinal and four intermediate directions of mundane space, bear evidence of how spatial directions were conceptualised in a sacred space. Like Paharpur in the Varendra region, the architectural style of Śālavana Vihara also reached its height during the early medieval age, and it was followed by the Bhasu Vihara of Mahāsthan. The Śālavana Monastery, 550 square feet, was built around a spacious courtyard with a cruciform shrine in the centre like Paharpur. It was approached from the north by a road across a 74 feet wide gateway through the entrance hall. From this hall, a flight of steps led to the inside of the monastery courtyard. The hall was flanked by two guardrooms followed by the uniform monastic cells, numbering 115.52 The Mainamati monument is supposed to have been built about half a century earlier than Paharpur.53 Excavations from 1955 onwards at the Salbanpur Vihara, Kotila Mura and Charpatra Mura have revealed remains of Buddhist monasteries and other antiquities. A stone relief of Avalokiteśvara and Buddha was found from Kutila Mura of the Mainamati archaeological complex.54 Besides, a sandstone image of Buddha and a bronze image of Vajrasaṭṭva were unearthed from Rupban Mura and Bhoja Vihara, respectively.55 The Buddhist maṇḍalas are examples of how the different directions like north, south, east and west were given a sacred nature. Maṇḍalas are sacred

110  Ritwik Bagchi circular designs where a primary god/goddess is placed at the centre, and at the periphery, different secondary gods/goddesses are placed for worship. Descriptions of maṇḍalas of different Buddhist deities are found in the Niṣpannayogāvalī (12th century) of Abhayakaragupta. Here the deities are represented through different maṇḍalas where the direction and colour of each of them played a very important role. 26 such maṇḍalas have been described in Niṣpannayogāvalī in its 26 chapters. A large number of these descriptions are absolutely original and highly informative. Amitābha has been assigned the west direction, Samadhi Mudra, red colour and a peacock vehicle. Ratnasambhava has been assigned the south direction, Varada Mudra, yellow colour and a horse vehicle. Amoghasiddhi has been assigned the north direction, Abhaya Mudra, green colour and a Gaḍuda vehicle. The five protectresses deities like Mahāpratisarā, Mahāsāhasrapramardinī, Mahāmantrānusāriṇī, Mahasītāvatī and Mahāmāyūrī were also assigned the distinctive direction of the centre, east, south, west and north, respectively, in a maṇḍala. The erection of Buddhist monasteries and the land grants to the Buddhist religious community rendered the new lands a sacred character. A landscape is formed because of the interaction between the natural world and human practice. As argued by Himanshu Prabha Ray, this human practice can be material and conceptual.56 In the context of tantric Buddhism, which had distinctive material and conceptual aspects, we can revisit the sacred Buddhist landscape of Bengal not only in terms of the material remains of an esoteric religious culture but also as impacted by its conceptual aspect. Conceptualising a tangible spatial context from tantric Buddhist texts is difficult for several reasons. The path to attaining enlightenment under the tantric system is not intended to be vividly revealed in intelligible terms through the texts, and they were kept secret from the common people.57 Tantric literature carries the signature of intentional ambiguity in language using a wide range of metaphors. This poses the greatest challenge to understanding their spatial character and the actual subject matter. Nevertheless, we can attempt to discern a geographical provenance from certain references occasionally mentioned in both the anthologies. It has been speculated by many scholars that the compiled anthology of Caryāpada was from the region of Bengal and adjacent areas since its language is arguably a form of a prototype of the Bengali-Assamese-Oriya-Maithili group of languages. The terms of reference for water bodies and associated features, like ‘an earthly river’ (bhabanadi), ‘bank of the river’ (tira), ‘pool’ (Sako), ‘boat’ (noua) and ‘sailing’ (bahi) indicate the roots of the eastern Indian languages and therefore the probable geographical context of the anthology. The repetitive mention of rivers and associated landscape and livelihood patterns, albeit in metaphoric terms, also indicate that the terrain of these siddhas had an extensive river network. This leads us to infer that the provenance of the caryās and their composers was probably situated in the Vaṅga-Vaṅgāla-Samataṭa-Harikela-Kāmarūpa region, which is crisscrossed

Anthologies of Difference  111 by extensive river networks. The boat stands for karuna or compassion, which is explained as bodhicittva. The five ores stand for five tathagatas presiding over the five senses of the body. The two posts to which the boat is fixed stand for the illusion of the phenomenal world. The destination is described as the island of great bliss or mahasukha.58 The usage of words indicates that regional geography and associated matters impacted the symbolisation process. Thus, the human–nature interaction shaped the choice of words which later developed into tantric metaphors. In the Caryāpada, we also repeatedly come across the term ‘dombi’ as the female consort who helps the yogi attain salvation through sexual union. Dombi is indicative of a lower caste group exclusive to Bengal. Its occurrence can also be found in the Pāla inscriptions.59 Ryosuke Furui has described them as a non-sedentary ‘fringe group of the society’ with the synonyms of mātaṇgī and caṇḍālī who were incorporated into the rural agrarian society of Bengal. In the Sādhanamālā, we find the mention of four piṭhas or sacred places such as – Kāmakhyā, Śirīhaṭṭa, Purnagiri and Uḍḍiyāna.60 Apart from Uḍḍiyāna, the other sacred places like Kāmakhyā and Śirīhaṭṭa can be identified with northeastern Bengal and Assam, especially the Sylhet region of modern-day Bangladesh. Some of the Siddhācāryas of Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada were probably hailing from eastern India, especially the Vaṅga, Samataṭa and Kāmarūpa regions which are repeatedly mentioned in the Tibetan sources and the anthology itself. The sacred landscape can also be traced through the provenance of numerous Buddhist sculptures all over the region. From Sādhanamālā and Niṣpannayogāvalī, we can grasp the development of a huge complex pantheon which found its material parallel in the vast body of images of Buddhist deities dated between the 8th and 12th centuries. The material artistic sphere simultaneously reflects a culture of ritual worship in Buddhism. The sculptures of Buddhist images from Bengal, especially from the Pāla period, are visible as the dominant archaeological evidence of this period. In view of this overwhelming evidence, we can assume the rise and prevalence of a new set of Buddhist deities, their hagiographies, iconographies and material representations. The artistic style and uniformity represented in the huge corpus of images from Bengal distinguished it from others. Art historians like Rakhaldas Bandyopadhyay and Susan Huntington have used the terms like ‘Eastern Indian School of Medieval Sculpture’61 and ‘Pāla-Sena School of Art’62 in their study of eastern Indian sculptures. If we are to believe the account of 17th-century traveller Lama Taranath, such a school was established during the reign of second and third Pāla rulers Dharmapāla and Devapāla by the father and son craftsman Dhīmāna and Bītapāla, each of whom gave rise to a distinct sub-school.63 Buddhist sculptures have been found in all the four principal regions of ancient Bengal. In the Puṇḍravardhana region, there are images of Hevajra (12th century), Mahāpratisarā (10th century), Raṭṇasambhaba (11th century), Parṇaśabarī (11th century), Tārā, Prajñāpāramitā, Pretasaṇṭaṛpita

112  Ritwik Bagchi Avalokiteśvara and Mārīcī (11th century) preserved in the Dhaka Museum,64 CASTEI Museum65 and Malda Museum.66 The Samataṭa region also yielded images of Tārā, Heruka, Mañjuśrī Kumāra, Sitātapatrā and Vasudhārā during 9th–11th centuries. A vast number of Buddhist images like Tārā, Avalokiteśvara and Mañjuśrī can also be seen in Nalanda, Bodh Gaya and Kurkihar regions of the present-day state of Bihar. The geopolitical significance of the images is the key to understanding the relevance of tantric Buddhism beyond the boundaries of the monasteries and tantric texts. Though primarily its provenance lies close to the religious and political centres of the concerned period, sometimes they are reported to be found away from a monastery. Thus, the Buddhist images can be a tool to understand that the boundary of the sacred landscape was extending beyond the monastical orbit.

Idealistic Variants of Tantric Buddhism in the Sādhanamālā and the Caryāpada The earliest presence of tantric attributes in Buddhism is a controversial issue that has been much debated. The principal field of contention seems to have been considering a specific ritualistic practice as the marker of Tantrism. With its numerous sub-divisions, ritualistic diversity, heterogeneous practice and obscure philosophical standpoints, tantric Buddhism poses the greatest challenge before historians to determine its chronological and ideological boundaries. From the usage of the terms like ‘obscure’,67 ‘conundrum’68 etc., by the scholars engaged in the study of tantric Buddhism, one can assume the grave difficulty of defining tantric Buddhism. If we are to believe that maṇṭra and dhāraṇi were the earliest specimens of tantric features in Buddhism, as suggested by Benoytosh Bhattacharyya, then Prajñāpāramitā (2nd century CE) is to be held as the beginning point where the seed of tantric Buddhism began to germinate. The importance of this text can be grasped by its continuous reproductions in compressed forms since its period of composition and even the personification of the text in a goddess. The beginning of Prajñāpāramitā has been attributed by some scholars to the Buddhist tradition of the 3rd century BCE, where preoccupation with prajñā can be observed in the mnemonic list of categories (maṭṛkas) for memorisation of Buddha’s teaching.69 James Apple has argued that the Buddhist discourse that is subject to analytical discernment developed into Abhidharma literature and Prajñāpāramitā. He further argues that the discourse of Prajñāpāramitā may go back to practices of mendicants who dwell without strife and who avoid conceptual determination like Subhuti.70 One of the earliest manuscripts of the text, closely resembling the translation of Lokaksema, has been found in the Gāndhārī language and Kharoṣṭhī script from the second half of the 1st century CE. The authors who first published this manuscript assumed it was a copy of the earlier one, which is difficult to date.71 Edward Conze, who argues that the text originated among the monastic lineages of mahāsaṃghika in Andhra desa, has suggested that the

Anthologies of Difference  113 creed that adhered to the Prajñāpāramitā tradition originated in one area and then shifted to the northwestern region due to changing historical or climatic circumstances and there the text survived.72 The new text, after it had shifted to the northwestern region, existed for some time orally in Prakrit of the regions and later on, around the beginning of the Common Era, was transferred into a written language, i.e. Buddhist Hybrid Sanskrit. Edward Conze has also recognised four distinct phases of the development of Prajñāpāramitā literature – (a) the elaboration of the basic text (100 BCE–100 CE), (b) the expansion of that text (100 CE–300 CE), (c) the restatement of the doctrine in short sutras and versified summaries and (d) the period of tantric influence and absorption into magic (600–1200 CE).73 In the latest phase, arguably from 600 CE onwards Prajñāpāramitā was being used to invoke mystical power and the civil authorities used the sutra for ritual magic like producing rain, reducing pestilence etc. In tantric literature like Sādhanamālā, Prajñāpāramitā has been expressed through various bija maṇṭras.74 He has found many aberrations of Prajñāpāramitā composed between 600 and 1200 CE, mostly as a part of the drive to reduce it to a shorter and compressed form. Among them, the ‘Perfection of Wisdom in a few Words’ appealed to the ‘less endowed who have little capacity to act, who have little merit and who are dull and stupefied’. Apart from this, ten other tantric Prajñāpāramitā texts were found in Tibetan Kanjur. From 400 CE onwards, the text started to be personified as a deity and featured in Sādhanamālā (11th century CE), which described its iconography and the methodology of worshipping her. Another text which has been referred to by some historians as the most important text of tantric Buddhism is the Guhyasamājatantra (5th century CE).75 According to Alex Wayman, the Guhyasamājatantra falls into two categories: the revealed text in the Tibetan Kanjur and exegetical literature in Tibetan Tanjur.76 The chief revealed works in the Tibetan catalogue of Kanjur are Guhyasamājamūlatantra, Guhyasamājavyākhyātantra, Guhyasamājavyākhyātantra etc., which only cover some specific chapters of the main Sanskrit text. This text, revealed by Bodhisattva Vajradharma to Indrabhuti, the king of Uḍḍiyāna, for the first time proposed a fundamentally different soteriology from its preceding texts by placing ‘satisfaction of all desire’77 in the centre of attaining enlightenment. Close affinity can be observed between Guhyasamājatantra and Caryāpada in terms of embracing the innate nature of human beings as the means of realising the truth. Like the kāyāsādhana (an ascetic practice involving the body) prescribed in Caryāpada, the Guhyasamājatantra also proposed a similar idea like Nirmāṇakāyā where a body was interpreted as the material form along with speech and mind, which represent the spiritual and absolute nature (Sambhoga and Dharmakāyā).78 The Guhyasamājatantra is also the first text where the Pañca Tathāgata or five Dhyani Buddhas (Amitābha, Akṣobhya, Vairocana, Raṭṇasambhaba, Amoghasiddhi) and their maṇṭra, Maṇḍala and Śaktis were introduced.

114  Ritwik Bagchi Alongside the institutionalised religious systems, which had many visible symbols, the early medieval regional society was a complex domain with multiple heterodox cults which existed simultaneously and often silently. The elements of these heterodox sects, developed from among the dissident groups within a religious institution or independently, were mostly practised and nurtured orally.79 They were in the forms of epigrams, aphorisms, wise sayings, maxims and adages and contained primarily moral truths and practical lessons and advised people to conduct themselves appropriately. These were often composed by less known or anonymous poets and not assembled in any collection and floated freely to be quoted on an appropriate occasion. From the 9th–10th century onwards, a drive can be noted where these freefloating popular poems and songs started to be compiled into anthologies, and many of the acts of compilation took place arguably in eastern India. This act of compilation is immensely significant as far as the motive of the compilers is concerned. This act was probably due to an ardent need felt by the compilers to gather, assemble and standardise the scattered poems or songs, mostly belonging to several heterodox and non-conformist sects, into anthologies before their appropriation and assimilation into dominant and institutionalised religious systems. The compilation of the anthologies of Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada was probably a part of this cultural process. Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada offer two distinct sets of idealism to attain salvation. While the former talked about the adoption of several complex rituals and observance of a lot of austere practices, the latter offered vehement challenges to the conventional ritualistic practices of the Buddhist monastic order. Sādhanā in Hindu and Buddhist Tantrism stands for spiritual exercise by which a practitioner evokes a divinity, identifying and absorbing it into himself. Sādhanā also involves the body of the worshipper in mudras (sacred gestures), the voice in maṇṭras (sacred utterances) and the mind in the visualisation of sacred designs and the figures of divinities. In Sādhanamālā, the terms ‘Mahayāna’ and ‘Yogācāra’ occur twice, leading us to infer that Tantrism of Sādhanamālā was one of the many offshoots of Mahayana.80 The term śūnya almost occurs on every page of Sādhanamālā, but this does not represent the śūnya as conceived by the Madhyamaka School.81 The word Vajrayana occurs twice in the book and is characterised as ‘the path which leads to perfect enlightenment’ or Anuttarasamyakasambodhi in Sanskrit.82 The underscoring idea of Caryāpada, on the other hand, is often popularly termed as Sahajayāna, Buddhist Sahajiya cult etc. However, the term must be used with caution, as suggested by Per Kvaerne, as there is no textual justification for such a distinct yāna in tantric Buddhism.83 The concept of sahaja in Buddhist tradition did not occur for the first time in Caryāgītikośa but in a number of other tantric texts preceding it. The word sahaja was used as a technical term in Buddhajñapada in the first quarter of the 9th century and then was discussed as one of the four ‘joys’ in Hevajra Tantra in the late 9th or early 10th century.84 The word then was used by the Buddhist poets of

Anthologies of Difference  115 the Dohakośa and Caryāgīti to identify the culminating experience of sexual practice. In the 10th century, sahaja was appropriated by Indrabhuti, and in the early 11th century, it became incorporated into the Kālacakra Tantra and promoted the development of new doctrine like sahajakāyā. The term has been defined by many scholars, including Cecil Bendall, Shahidullah, Shashibhusan Dasgupta, David Snellgrove, H.V. Guenthar, Carelli etc., as per the respective texts they were dealing with.85 However, in the context of the term’s possible connotation in Caryāpada, we must notice its gradual transformation from a consecration ceremony called prajñaṣeka and one of the four joys (ānanda, paramānanda, viramānanda and sahajānanda) to the innate state of mind and body to attain salvation. The dominating philosophical tone of the Caryāpada is various theories of illusion which, according to Shashibhusan Dasgupta, was a mixture of Madhyamaka, Yogācāra and Vedantic philosophies.86 Caryāpada also speaks of the doctrine of śūnya which were of four kinds: śūnya, Ati-śūnya, Maha-śūnya and Sarva-śūnya expounded in the songs of Dhendanpada, Darikapada, Kanha etc.87 The sādhanas advise the worshipper to observe austere rituals in prescribed formats involving ritual cleansing, physical performances, and meditations where the mind is fixated on canonised iconic frames. In the Caryāpada, on the other hand, the Siddhācārya have expressed their ‘aversion for the recondite scholarship’,88 repeatedly negating the superiority of the scriptural knowledge. Lui Pa’s songs claimed a possibility of deliverance through meditation and yoga prescribed by the guru, who is one’s alter ego. Here we get to note a shift in the focus of reverence from obedience to scriptural dogma to personalised allegiance to human/superhuman preceptors.89 The Caryāpada has criticised physical penance through the harsh yogic asceticism by pointing to the smooth transcendence of the soul to attain salvation. It has compared the extravagant yogis with chariot riders who travel from one jetty to another but repeatedly fail to cross the mundane river. Tilopāda says that the truth which can fully be realised only by self can never be known by scholars.90 Kāṇha said in caryā no. 40 that the conventional scholars often take pride in the agama, Vedic and Puranic literature like the bees flying around the ripe fruits. However, they are illiterate and do not know anything.91 Saraha says that those who go on reciting and explaining cannot know the truth; it is unknown and unknowable to them.92 He further says that scholars explain the scriptures but have no knowledge of Buddha residing in their own body. With such a scholarship, they can never escape the cycle of birth and death. So evidently, one can notice that the advocates of ‘Sahajayāna’ stood in antagonism with the idea propagated in Sādhanamālā, which involves austere spiritual practice. The desired path to obtain enlightenment described in both texts also differs to a great extent. The sādhanas of different Buddhist deities described in Sādhanamālā are a purely psychic process for the realisation and visualisation of the deity with whom the worshipper is required to identify himself. At the beginning of almost all the sādhanas, the worshipper has

116  Ritwik Bagchi been advised to think of himself as the respective deity he is invoking. Like Ātmanāma Simhanādā-Lokeśvararupam Bhavayet in the sādhana of Siṃhanāda Avalokiteśvara93 or Mañjughoṣapuram-atmanāmpasyet in the sādhana of Mañjughoṣa.94 On the other hand, throughout Caryāpada, we find that body has been emphasised as the epitome of the whole universe. Immense importance has been attached to the kāyā (body)- Sādhana or the yogic practices for turning the body fit for higher realisation. Kāṇhapāda says in a song, ‘Make the five Tathāgatas the five oars, O Kāṇha, steer the body to tear off the snare of illusion’. The image of the body being the boat and a pure mind the oar for proceeding on the way of realising the truth is immensely popular with the ways of the caryā songs. Another field where both the texts differ fundamentally is the cult of worshipping gods and goddesses. Sādhanamālā presents a large Buddhist pantheon with a host of gods and goddesses who have been described as different manifestations of śūnya (void). The yogi has been advised to meditate on these gods and goddesses to attain bodhicittva. The phenomenon of varied numbers of deities or even multiple forms of the same deity is rather spectacular. At least 37 sādhanas have been attributed to the different forms of the Avalokiteśvara like Sadāksari Lokeśvara, Lokanātha, Halāhala, Vajradharma, Khasrapaṇa, Siṃhanāda etc. Similarly, as many as 41 sādhanas were ascribed to different forms of Mañjuśrī like Sthīracakra, Vādirāṭ, Mañjughoṣa, Arapacana, Vajrānaṇga, Dharmadhātuvāgiśvara etc. A series of sādhana have been dedicated to the worship of different forms of Tārā like Khadirāvaṇī Tārā, Varadā Tārā, Vaśyā Tārā, Vajra Tārā etc. In the Caryāpada, on the other hand, the yogis have been encouraged to embrace the natural propensities of man, including sex. Instead of meditating on the gods and goddesses, the Sahaja School proposes to realise the ultimate innate nature of the self by adopting the most natural way. Sādhanamālā represents a composite culture in many ways. In regard to the regulation prescribed for a worshipper, we find varying degrees of contradictions. It reflected the multiplicity of ritualistic cultures that prevailed among the sādhakas. The regulations mentioned in the Sādhanamālā for the worship of the deities are full of contradiction. If we are to base our notion on the lifestyle asādhaka is supposed to maintain, it is very difficult to come to any general conclusion. There are instances where the worshippers are advised not to consume non-vegetarian food and objectionable items such as onion, oil, salt etc., and must not violate the strict rule of celibacy.95 In other sādhanas, it is stated that the offerings should consist of flesh, wine and other objectionable objects.96 While in one instance, one should worship after purifying the body by bath and by observing the rule of celibacy.97 In other places, contrary to the above, no restriction is laid on any particular food. The contradiction within various prescribed rituals for the worshippers might also indicate a heterogeneous religious system because of the admixture of several marginal cults which eventually made their way into the mainstream Sanskrit Buddhist culture. The sādhakas reflected

Anthologies of Difference  117 their disagreement, and this phenomenon also indicates the decentralised nature of tantric Buddhism. In this regard, we also have to remember that Sādhanamālā is the work of many authors whose cultural compositeness became apparent when they were compiled in a standard text. The anthologies, despite possessing similar key concepts like śūnya and bodhicittva, differ in their understandings and methods of attaining it. In Sādhanamālā, every deity has been described as a form of śūnya which the worshipper must realise by following the prescribed ritualistic methods and elevating his mind to bodhicittva. One can obtain a blissful mind by uttering maṇṭras of innumerable variety like bīja, hṛdaya, puja, arghya, puspa, dhupa etc. These maṇṭras are believed to be a development of dhāraṇis, which were extant in early Mahayana texts like Prajñāpāramitā.98 Sādhanamālā has repeatedly emphasised the significance of maṇṭra, which can imbue the worshipper with mystical power. The maṇṭras of Lokeśvara, Khasarpana and Ekajāta have been described as immensely powerful to keep one out of danger and immediate attainment of salvation.99 Sometimes to emphasise the importance of the maṇṭra, it is said that it has been directly derived from Buddha. Caryāpada, on the other hand, neither talks about any deity to signify śūnya nor prescribes any rituals to attain salvation. In Caryāpada, the bodhicittva or blissful mind is achieved by a revolution from within by constantly meditating on the śūnya facilitated by controlling the nerves.100 It also does not trace its methods to Buddha and instead gives prominence to the siddha personalities. The religious culture depicted in the Caryāpada was also inclusive of varied notions and represented a host of tantric yoga cultures gathered in an anthology. A careful analysis of all the caryās reveals that there were various Buddhist schools, including adherents of tantras of various denominations like Sahajayāna, Mantrayāna, Vajrayana, etc. The compilation of the Caryāpadas also bears some affinity with Śaiva siddhas, Nātha siddhas and the baul community. A caryā of Kanha mentioned the names of Kāpālika yogis and imagined dombi as his consort. Interestingly, we note some instances where the composers have used the term natha to refer to the highest guru. These esoteric Buddhist songs and the underlining ideas later percolated into various heterodox religious sects of Bengal. Widely known as Sahajiya tradition, this idealism enjoyed a ubiquitous presence among the latter-day dervish, fakir, baul, aul, sain and several other wandering heterodox communities.101 Some scholars have argued that the rise of Vaisnava Bhakti in Bengal, led by Sri Chaitanya in the 16th century, was closely tied with the old tradition of esoteric rituals and coded discourses of the Sahajiya Buddhists. Modifications and changes, of course, characterised the process. A classic Vaisnava text like the Caitanya Caritāmṛta has offered a more profound and highly unorthodox interpretation by revising the secret, transgressive practice of the Sahajiyas.102 On the other hand, some scholars have objected to this theory and argued that the liberal Bhakti tradition marked a departure from the secret, ritualistic tantric tradition.103 The processes of these transmissions and

118  Ritwik Bagchi transitions are indeed always complex and difficult to pin down. However, it is tempting to agree with Hugh Urban and trace transitions of esoteric traditions into the Vaisnava Bhakti movement and even Islamic mysticism embodied in different Sufi orders of Bengal. The tantric tradition possibly shaped Sufi mysticism, which found a cultural parallel of Master and Disciple in the tradition of pir and murid and an elaborate system of bodily cosmography and meditative practice.104 Like the Sahajiya, the Sufis also cultivated the art of esoteric hermeneutics in different methods of reading the Koran. The cross-cultural interaction between the Sahajiyas, Vaisnavas and Sufis gave birth to the wandering holy madmen known as bauls, aul, kartavaja etc. The basic liberal, idealistic variants of bauls that violate moral and religious law seem to have derived from esoteric tantric rituals.

Conclusion The anthological texts were part and parcel of a cultural tradition marked by acts of popular compilations of cryptic and aphoristic compositions extant in early medieval Bengal. However, these compilations had the defined and specific goal, function and ideational content related to Buddhist practices. Despite being the compilation of almost the same period, the Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada asserted two different ritual and metaphysical ways of attaining salvation under the larger purview of tantric Buddhism. Both the anthologies featured the names of a few Siddhācārya, but they have been depicted to have advocated different ways of realising the highest truth. This phenomenon might be due to the constant drive the different Buddhist sects felt to strengthen their position by claiming legitimacy from the wellknown Siddhācāryas. The texts can be seen as the products of some basic developments within the intellectual sphere of Buddhist tantra. The process of compilation gave specificity to individual Buddhist siddha alongside projecting a collective religious ideology. Thus, specific individualities were appropriated within a doctrinal orbit. The compilation of the scattered sādhana and the caryās into anthologies was an ardent strategy to standardise the popular belief systems. By rendering textual forms, the compilers endeavoured to widen the intellectual boundary of tantra, which was continuously expanding. Alternatively, it could also be that the later generations of the disciples of the Buddhist Siddhācāryas validated their respective ideas by invoking their preceptors. Either way, one notes through these anthologies the prevalence of heterogeneous ideas which fell broadly within what came to denote the characteristics of two broad categories of tantric Buddhism, canonised ritualistic devotionalism and abstracted esoterism. The anthologies, alongside the archaeological evidence, also can be an important instrument for understanding the sacred landscape of tantric Buddhism. We have mentioned earlier that human activities, both material and cultural, shape a given region’s sacred landscape, material or conceptual. The two anthological texts under survey, therefore, provide us with

Anthologies of Difference  119 important clues to understanding the sacred space of tantric Buddhism in early medieval Bengal. As a collection of sādhanas and caryā songs, these anthologies reveal a broad spectrum of tantric rituals and practices that formulate a sacred conceptual space. By their incorporative nature, the anthologies are embodiments of the religious philosophies of multiple composers from different regions and caste backgrounds. They, therefore, indicate an extensive network of inter-regional cultural exchange. The material remains of Buddhist Viharas, sculptures and donative land grants are therefore supplemented by the Buddhist anthologies to formulate a holistic idea of the sacred space of tantric Buddhism. The extensive description of the rivers and boats in the Caryāpada and their internalisation as religious symbols illuminate not only a deep perception of the geographical surroundings which the composers inhabited but also how they processed their experiences in the habitat within the esoteric frame of reference. Among the four sacred places of tantric Buddhism mentioned in the Sādhanamālā, at least two can be identified in Assam and northeastern Bangladesh. Apart from giving a physical description of the surrounding space, the Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada also distinguish between the philosophical space of different composers or siddhas. The sacred space of tantric Buddhism shared by the Buddhist siddhas was evidently diverse and sometimes contradictory. The material landscape of the Buddhist Viharas, images and other remains may thus be juxtaposed with the varied idealistic attributes represented in the anthologies. The mystical power and practice of the siddhas, often challenging the orthodox belief system, add significantly to the greater understanding of the sacred Buddhist landscape during the 8th–12th centuries.

Notes 1 S.K. Dey, ‘Literature’, in R.C. Majumder (ed.), History of Bengal, Patna: N.V. Publications, 1971, p. 326. 2 Sisir Kumar Das, History of Indian Literature 500–1399: From Courtly to Popular, New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 2005, p. 150. 3 The four iddhipadas– chando, viriyam, cittam and vimainsa have been cited by B. Bhattacharyya from the Dictionary of Pali language by R.C. Childers in Tantrika Cultures Among the Buddhists in Ramkrishna Mission Studies on Tantra, Calcutta: Ramakrishna Mission Institute of Culture, 1989, pp. 86–87. 4 Benoytosh Bhattacharyya, The Indian Buddhist Iconography: Mainly Based on Sādhanamālā and Cognate Tāntric Texts of Rituals, Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay, 1958, p. 10. 5 Harry Falk and Seishi Karashima, ‘A First-Century Prajñāpāramitā Manuscript from Gandhara: Parivarta 1 (Text from the Split Collection 1)’, Aririab, 2012, XV: 19. 6 Shashibhusan Dasgupta, An Introduction to Tantric Buddhism, Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1950, pp. 98–105. 7 Chintaharan Chakraborty, The Tantras; Studies on Their Religion and Literature, Calcutta: Punthi Pustak, 1963.

120  Ritwik Bagchi 8 Ibid., p. 45. 9 Ibid., pp. 10–17. 10 Chintaharan Chakraborty, ‘A Note on the Age and Authorship of Tantra’, Journal of Asiatic Society of Bengal, New Series, 1933, XXIX:75. 11 Prabodh Chandra Bagchi, ‘Evolution of the Tantras’, Ramakrishna Mission Studies on the Tantras, Calcutta: Ramakrishna Mission Institute of Culture, 1989, p. 9. 12 Ibid., p. 16. 13 Ronald M. Davidson, Indian Esoteric Buddhism: A Social History of the Tantric Movement, New York: Columbia University Press, 2002, p. 2. 14 Christian K. Wedemeyer, Making Sense of Tantric Buddhism: History, Semiology and Transgression in the Indian Traditions, New York: Columbia University Press, 2014, pp. 1–13. 15 Geoffrey Samuel, The Origin of Yoga and Tantra; Indic Religion to the Thirteenth Century, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008, p. 262. 16 Shamam Hatley, ‘Converting the Ḍākinī: Goddess Cults and Tantras of the Yoginīs Between Buddhism and Śaivism’, in David B. Grey and Ryan Richard Overbey (eds), Tantric Traditions in Transmission and Translation, New York: Oxford University Press, 2016, p. 3. 17 Alexis Sanderson, ‘Vajrayana: Origin and Function’, Buddhism into the Year 2000’, International Conference Proceedings, Bangkok and Los Angeles: Dhammakāya Foundation, 1995, p. 92. 18 Shaman Hatley, ‘Converting the Ḍākinī: Goddess Cults and Tantras of the Yoginīs Between Buddhism and Śaivism’, p. 88. 19 David Gray, ‘The Cakrasamvara Tantra: Its History and Interpretation’, Religion Compass, 2007, 1/6: 700. 20 Ruriko Sakuma, ‘Sanskrit Manuscripts of the Sādhanamālā’, Nagoya Studies in Indian Culture and Buddhism, 2001, 21: 27. 21 Benoytosh Bhattacharyya, Sādhanamālā, Vol. I, Baroda: Central Library, 1925, pp. xi–xiv. 22 Ruriko Sakuma, ‘Sanskrit Manuscripts of the Sādhanamālā’: 30. 23 Ibid.: 30–32. 24 Vidhusekhara Bhattacharya, ‘Is it Caryācaryaviniścaya or Aścaryacaryāviniscaya’, Indian Historical Quarterly, 1930, 6: 170. 25 Prabodh Chandra Bagchi (ed.), Caryāgīti–kosa of Buddhist Siddha, Santiniketan: Visva Bharati, 1956, p. xii. 26 Sukumar Sen, Caryāgīti Padābalī (in Bengali), Kolkata: Ananda Publishers, 2015, p. 15. 27 D.D. Kosambi, ‘Introducing Vidyakara’s Subhāṣitaratnakoṣa’, in B.D. Chattopadhyay (ed.), D.D. Kosambi: Combined Methods in Indology and Other Writings, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005, pp. 721–49. 28 Nupur Dasgupta, ‘Sanskrit Literature and Technical Treatises’, in Abdul M. Chowdhury and Ranabir Chakravarti (eds), History of Bangladesh: Early Bengal in Regional Perspectives (up to c. 1200 CE), Dhaka: Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, 2018, p. 565. 29 Nupur Dasgupta, ‘Sanskrit Literature and Technical Treatises’, p. 564. 30 David Gordon White, The Alchemical Body; Siddha Tradition in Medieval India, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996, pp. 67–68. 31 Alaka Chattopadhyay, Churaśi Siddher Kāhinī (A Bengali Translation of the Tibetan Caturaśīti-Siddha-Pravṛitti), Kolkata: Anustup, 2019, pp. 31–38. 32 Judith Simmer-Brown, Dakini’s Warm Breath; The Feminine Principle in Tibetan Buddhism, Boston: Sambhala, 2002, p. 9. 33 Ibid., p. 46. 34 Sukumar Sen, Caryāgīti Padābalī, p. 21.

Anthologies of Difference  121 35 James Mallinson, ‘Kālavañcana in the Konkan: How a Vajrayāna Haṭhayoga Tradition Cheated Buddhism’s Death in India’, Religion, 2019, 10(223): 2–3. 36 Fabrizio Torricelli, Tilopā: A Buddhist Yogi of the Tenth Century, Library of Tibetan Works and Archives, (undated), p. 127. 37 Matthew Kapstein, ‘Dohās and Grey Texts, Reflections on a Song Attributed to Kāṇha’, in Charles Ramble and Hanna Havnevik (eds), From Bhakti to Bon: Festschrift for Per Kværne, Norway: Institute for Comparative Research in Human Culture, 2015, p. 292. 38 Alaka Chattopadhyay, Churaśi Siddher Kāhinī, pp. 99–152. 39 Ibid., p. 48. 40 Samuel Beal, Si-Yu-Ki Buddhist Records of the Western World, New Delhi: Orient Books Reprint Corporation, 1969, pp. 194–201. 41 Sayantani Pal, ‘Religious Patronage in the Land Grant Charters of Early Bengal (Fifth–Thirteenth Century)’, Indian Historical Review, 2014, 41(2): 187. 42 Ibid.:187. 43 Somreeta Majumder, ‘Locating the Monastery in Landscape Context: A Preliminary Study of the Raktamrittika Mahavihara of Karnasuvarna’, Journal of Multi-disciplinary Study in Archaeology, 2019, 7: 633. 44 Benjamin J. Fleming, ‘Making Land Sacred: Inscriptional Evidence of Buddhist Kings and Brahman Priests in Medieval Bengal’, Numen, 2013, 60: 564. 45 Hirananda Sastri, Nalanda and its Epigraphic Materials; Memoirs of Archaeological Survey of India, No. 66, New Delhi: Archaeological Survey of India, 1999, p. 17. 46 J. Takakusu, A Record of the Buddhist Religion as Practiced in India and Malay Archipelago by I-Tsing, New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1966, p. 165. 47 Ibid., p.169. 48 Umakant Mishra, ‘Continuity and Change in the Sacred Landscape of the Buddhist Sites of Udaygiri, Odisha’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray (ed.), Negotiating Cultural Identity, New Delhi: Routledge, 2016, p. 231. 49 Ibid., p. 245. 50 Swadhin Sen, ‘Paharpur’, in Abdul Momin Chowdhuri and Ranabir Chakravarti (eds), History of Bangladesh, Vol. I, Dhaka: Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, 2018, p. 359. 51 Gred J.R. Mevissen, ‘Dikpālas and Grahas in Paharpur in Context of Contemporaneous Pan-Indian Temple Imagery’, in Gerd J.R. Mevissen and Arundhuti Banerji (eds), Prajnadhara, Essays on Asian Art, History, Epigraphy and Culture in Honour of Gouriswar Bhattacharya, New Delhi: Daya Kaveri Books, 2009, p. 393. 52 Abu Imam, Excavation at Mainamati; An Exploratory Study, Studies in Bengal Art 2, Dhaka: The International Centre for the Study of Bengal Art, 2000, p. 50. 53 Gayatri Sen Majumder, Buddhism in Bengal, Calcutta: Navana, 1983, p. 69. 54 Abu Imam, Excavation at Mainamati, p. 52. 55 Ibid., p. 101. 56 Himanshu Prabha Ray, ‘Introduction’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray (ed.), Negotiating Cultural Identity: Landscapes in Early Medieval South Asian History, New Delhi: Routledge, 2015, p. xi. 57 Paulo Williams and Anthony Tribes, Buddhist Thought: A Complete Introduction to the Indian Tradition, New York: Routledge, 2000, p. 198. 58 Prabodh Chandra Bagchi (ed.), Caryāgīti-koṣa of Buddhist Siddha, Santiniketan: Visva Bharati, 1956, pp. xxi–xxii.

122  Ritwik Bagchi 59 Ryosuke Furui, ‘Agrarian Society and Social Groups in Early Medieval Bengal from a Study of Inscription’, in B.D. Chattopadhyaya, Suchandra Ghosh, and Bishnupriya Basak (eds), Inscriptions and Agrarian Issues in Indian History: Essays in Memory of D. C. Sircar, Kolkata: The Asiatic Society, 2017, p. 173. 60 Benoytosh Bhattacharyya, Sādhanamālā, Vol. II, Baroda: Oriental Institute, 1928, p.xxxvii. 61 R.D. Banerji, Eastern Indian School of Medieval Sculpture, Delhi: ASI, 1933, p. xlvii. 62 Susan L. Huntington, The ‘Pāla-Sena’ Schools of Sculpture, Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1984, p. 2. 63 Lama Chimpa and Aloka Chattopadhyay, Tāranāth’s History of Buddhism in India, Delhi: Motilal Banarasidass Publishers Private Limited, 1990, p. 38. 64 Nalini Kanta Bhattasali, Iconography of Buddhist and Brahmanical Sculptures in the Dacca Museum, Dhaka: Dhaka Museum Committee, 1929. 65 Gautam Sengupta and Sharmila Saha, Vibrant Rocks: A Catalogue of Stone Sculpture in the State Archaeological Museum, West Bengal, Kolkata: Government of West Bengal, 2014, p. 206. 66 Malaysankar Bhattacharya, Art in Stone: A Catalogue of Sculpture in Malda Museum, Malda: Malda Museum, 1982, p. 40. 67 Shasibhusan Dasgupta, Obscure Religious Cults as Background of Bengali Literature, Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1948, p. 3. 68 Ronald M. Davidson, Indian Esoteric Buddhism: A Social History of Tantric Movement, New York: Columbia University Press, 2002, p. 336, Christian K. Wedemeyer, Making Sense of Tantric Buddhism: History, Semiology and Transgression in the Indian Traditions, New York: Columbia University Press, 2014, p. 1. 69 James B. Apple, ‘Prajñāpāramitā’, in K.T.S.Sarao and Jeffery D. Long (eds), Buddhism and Jainism, under the Series: Encyclopaedia of Indian Religions, Netherlands: Springer, 2017, pp. 925–32. 70 Ibid.,p. 926. 71 Harry Falk and Seishi Karashima, ‘A First-Century Prajñāpāramitā Manuscript from Gandhara: Parivarta 1 (Text from the Split Collection 1)’, p. 19. 72 Edward Conze, The Prajñāpāramitā Literature, Tokyo: The Reiyukai, 1978, p. 4. 73 Conze, The Prajñāpāramitā Literature, p. 1. 74 Bhattacharyya, Sādhanamālā, Vol. II, pp. 310–11. 75 Francesca Fremantle, ‘A Critical Study of Guhyasamājatantra’, unpublished PhD thesis, University of London, 1971, p. 14. 76 Alex Wayman, Yoga of the Guhyasamājatantra the Arcane Lore of Forty Verses: A Buddhist Tantra Commentary, New York: Samuel Weiser Inc., 1980, p. 84. 77 Benoytosh Bhattacharyya (ed.), Guhyasamāja Tantra or Tathagataguhyaka, Baroda: Oriental Institute, 1967, p. 27. 78 Fremantle, A Critical Study of Guhyasamājatantra, p.15. 79 Ludwig Sternbarch, A History of Indian Literature: Subhāśita, Gnomic and Didactic Literature, Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1974, pp. 6–7. 80 Bhattacharyya, Sādhanamālā, Vol. II, p. xxii. 81 Ibid., p. xxiii. 82 Ibid., p. xxiv. 83 Per Kværne, ‘On the Context of Sahaja in Indian Buddhist Tantric Literature’, Temenos, 1975, 11: 88. 84 Ronald M. Davidson, ‘Reframing Sahaja: Genre, Representation, Ritual and Lineage’, Journal of Indian Philosophy, 2002, 30: 46. 85 Ibid.,48–52.

Anthologies of Difference  123 86 Dasgupta, Obscure Religious Cult, p. 41. 87 Ibid., pp. 51–54. 88 Ibid., pp. 60–62. Here Dasgupta has brilliantly pointed out the sheer apathy of the Siddhācāry as for the conventional scholarship who preached scriptures. 89 Sukumar Sen, Caryāgīti Padābaīi, p. 53. 90 Jo mana-goarapaitthai so paramatthanahonti, song no. 9. 91 Sukumar Sen, Caryāgīti Padābaīi, p. 72. 92 Sashibhusan Dasgupta, Obscure Religious Cult, p. 61. 93 Bhattacharyya, Sādhanamālā, Vol. I, p. 63. 94 Ibid., p. 90. 95 Ibid., Vol. II, p. 251. 96 Ibid., p. 552. 97 Ibid., p. 236. 98 Bhattacharyya, Sādhanamālā, Vol. II, p. lxviii. 99 Ibid., p. lxviii. 100 Prabodh Chandra Bagchi (ed.), Caryāgīti-koṣa of Buddhist Siddha, Santiniketan: Visva Bharati, 1956, p. xiii. 101 Hugh B. Urban, Economics of Ecstasy: Tantra, Secrecy and Power in Colonial Bengal, New York: Oxford University Press, 2001, p. 35. 102 Ibid., p. 34. 103 Patton E. Burchett, The Genealogy of Devotion, Bhakti, Tantra, Yoga and Sufism in North India, New York: Columbia University Press, 2019, p. 3. 104 Urban, Economics of Ecstasy, p. 36.

6

The Transformative Presence of Sufis in the Medieval Indian Environment Anecdotes of Miraculous Conversion and Islamicisation in Chishti Literature from the Delhi Sultanate Raziuddin Aquil

Sufism has historically spread to all parts of the known world. Wherever the Sufis went, they got themselves embedded in local customs and practices. They played important social and cultural roles in shaping and transforming society with their message of universal brotherhood, egalitarianism, tolerance and respect for difference. The focus of research of this writer has been on the significant presence of charismatic Sufi masters of mainly Chishti tradition through the medieval and early modern eras. Later custodians of this tradition have continued to show that the shrines and tombs, mazars and dargahs, of Sufis remain relevant in modern times. A large majority of Muslims in India follow peace-loving Sufi-oriented Islam, and at the same time, a large majority of visitors to Sufi shrines are non-Muslims! It is about transcending politically controlled religious boundary markers, which Sufis also defied. There are many Sufi orders, spiritual lineages or silsilas, of which Chishtis, Qadiris, Suhrawardis and Naqshbandis and their sub-branches such as Firdausis, Shattaris and Mujaddidis are especially well known in India and abroad. These primarily came to the subcontinent from the Middle East, Iraq, Iran and Central Asia through the medieval period. In the last couple of centuries or more, Indian Sufism has travelled worldwide to spread in parts of Africa, Europe and North America. For all we know, various strands of Indian or South Asian Islam – with all their diversities and intellectual and cultural excellence as Muslims – have represented Islam worldwide both as flag bearers and as examples of what it means to be Muslims. At the same time, Sufi traditions acquired deeper roots in large parts of the subcontinent. There are many records and several studies relating to Sufism in central and southern India. In fact, in current research, some of the finest works on Sufism in India are about Sufi traditions and practices in the Deccan region since at least the 14th century. Scholars such as Richard Eaton, Carl Ernst, Nile Green and Scott Kugle have published their significant new research on various important dimensions, both mystical and social, related DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-9

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  125 to vibrant Sufi traditions located at such historic centres as Aurangabad and Khuldabad, Bijapur and Gulbarga. Burhanpur was also a major Sufi centre since the arrival of Islam and Sufis in those parts in the 13th century. Similarly, Kerala and Tamil Nadu have a long tradition of Sufi-centric popular religiosities, associated specially with invocations to Abdul Qadir Jilani Ghaus-i Azam Pak, who is a kind of father of all Sufis as it were. The origins of this South Indian Sufism can be traced back to its contacts with the medieval Arab world, though some strands of North Indian Sufism also travelled southwards through the medieval period. Along with these, Punjab in the west and Bengal in the east complete the sacred geography of Sufism in the subcontinent. Islam in what is now Bangladesh is simply unimaginable without its introduction to Sufism through some charismatic figures such as Shah Jalal Mujarrad of Sylhet and a host of other Sufi masters settling down since at least the 13th century, if not earlier. The Chishti Sufi literature from the Delhi Sultanate refers to a large number of anecdotes of miraculous encounters between the Sufi shaikhs and non-Muslim miracle-workers or mystic powerholders such as the yogis, sannyasis, gurus or the brahmins. The arrival of a Sufi shaikh in a non-Muslim environment and his decision to settle there was considered in some instances to be an encroachment on the authority of the incumbent priest or the ruler of that territory. The shaikh’s authority in such cases was established only after his victory in combat, which involved sitting in a fire chamber, walking on a flooded river, flying in the air, riding a tiger, commanding a wall to move in the air and occasionally transformation of the contestants into birds, etc. While due recognition was given to the supernatural power of the non-Muslim religious leaders, the shaikh’s victory in the duel against his opponents proved his superior spiritual stature. Thus, the local challengers or the yogi and the local raja would be convinced of the finality of his faith. The yogi becomes a waliullah (friend of God) and the ruler, a pious Badshah. The conversion of the yogi and the ruler is also sometimes followed by mass conversion in the territory. In the event of the refusal of the adversary to convert to Islam even after defeat in the contest, two possibilities were there depending upon whether the former recognised the superior miraculous ability of the shaikh. If he did, he might be allowed to leave the place and settle elsewhere; if he did not, he might be eliminated by a curse. One comes across several anecdotes of the arrival of yogis and brahmins in the shaikh’s jama‘at-khana (hospice) as well. Some of them came with the specific purpose of testing the abilities of the shaikh and seeing him display his power, both in the form of jamal (grace) and jalal (wrath), and they would often be overawed. The shaikh’s superior credentials having been established, the visiting non-Muslim religious leader would either embrace Islam and become a disciple to rise to the high status of wali in his own right or, feeling humiliated, take to his heels. Sometimes the yogis came from the distant hill-forests to inform the shaikh that the knowledge of his sainthood

126  Raziuddin Aquil was revealed to them while meditating in the caves and duly accepted it by prostrating before him. In some cases, levitation contests were held between the visiting yogi and the incumbent shaikh, in which the former was shown to have been defeated. Some modern writings have noted the missionary and proselytising activities of the Sufis and their organisations.1 Recently, some scholars have also highlighted the significance of miraculous combats in Sufi literature,2 yet several dimensions of the details of these contests require further elaboration. Here, an attempt is being made to analyse some relevant anecdotes in the Sufi literature from the 13th and 14th centuries. In the process, illustrations and further testimony to what is characterised as the image of the self and the other in the Sufi world have also been provided. Our principal authorities are the Chishti malfuzat, discourses of a shaikh compiled by a disciple and generally completed and edited by the shaikh himself. Some early tazkiras (biographical dictionaries) have also been consulted. And for clarification, illustration and elaboration, some non-Chishti texts too have been examined. This has been done to correct and corroborate the anecdotes from the Chishti texts. The Chishtis have been chosen for the study as they are central to our understanding of Sufism in medieval India, and ever since the classification of the Sufi literature into ‘genuine’ and ‘fabricated’,3 a vast corpus of valuable Sufi texts has been overlooked by the scholars. Generally, the reason for this neglect has been the abundance of miracle stories in these texts, which are dismissed as later concoctions designed to make the gullible believe in the blessed power of the Sufis.4 These texts, however, are of immense value as they help in identifying and locating the source of the Sufi shaikh’s authoritative position in his ability to perform miracles. These stories were taken as reliable in the Sufi circle as well as in the broader ambit of their followers in medieval times. However, doubts about their authenticity are often raised. They enable us to have some idea of the religious milieu of the time and the images of the Sufis in it. Moreover, the rejection of these texts as unauthentic needs reconsideration because the so-called ‘authentic’ texts from the 14th century such as the Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad,5 Khair-ul-Majalis6 and Siyar-ul-Auliya7 are also replete with descriptions of fantastic feats of the shaikhs. For example, in a conversation of the Chishti shaikh Nizam-ud-Din Auliya recorded by his disciple Amir Hasan Sijzi in Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad, we are told of the mystics’ ability to fly in the air. Making this observation, the shaikh told his audience that once a yogi came to challenge Safi-ud-Din Gazruni8 at Uchch, started to argue with him, and asked him to demonstrate his ability to fly. The shaikh told the yogi that since he was the one who was making claims to mystical attainments, he should perform the feat first. The yogi immediately elevated himself from the ground defying the law of gravity and remained suspended so high in the air that his head touched the roof of the hall in which this encounter was taking place. After that, the yogi descended straight on the floor and challenged the shaikh to repeat the

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  127 miracle. Safi-ud-Din Gazruni raised his head towards the sky and prayed to God that since the others (begana) had been blessed with the skill, the same should be bestowed upon him as well. Soon the shaikh found himself flying in all four directions. The yogi was amazed, prostrated before the shaikh and confessed that his power was limited to performing a straight elevation in the air and returning the same way and that it was beyond his capacity to take a right or left turn. Marvelling at the shaikh’s ability to fly in various directions, the yogi admitted that the shaikh’s practices were true (haqq) and his false (batil).9 Similarly, Khair-ul-Majalis, a compilation of the discourses of Nasir-udDin Chiragh-i-Dehli, who was the leading khalifa (successor) of Nizamud-Din Auliya, records several miracle stories narrated by the shaikh. For instance, while referring to the sack of Ghaznin at the hands of Ala-ud-Din Jahansuz, Chiragh-i-Dehli told his audience that an arrogant Mongol soldier was ridiculing the Sufi shaikhs, Junaid10 and Shibli,11 in a verbal duel with a Turk. The latter contested that merely by their power of will, the shaikhs can, if they so desire, make the fort – the site of the dialogue – move. Even before the Turk had finished the sentence, the wall of the fort started moving (hunuz turk sukhan tamam nakardeh bud ke hisar rawan shud). Beholding this miracle, he fell at the feet of the Turk and embraced the faith.12 Also, Siyar-ul-Auliya, a biographical dictionary compiled by Amir Khwurd,13 recounts many anecdotes of the jalal of the preceptor (pir) of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya, Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar, leading to the death of his opponents. Stories such as the Ka‘ba coming for a tawaf (circumambulation) of the founder of the Chishti order (silsila) in India, Mu‘in-udDin Sijzi, and Nizam-ud-Din Auliya riding on camel-back to visit the Ka‘ba every night recur in this text very frequently.14 Thus, it is evident that it is not merely from the so-called ‘fabricated’ texts that we come to know of miracles attributed to the shaikh. What is more interesting is the fact that in the texts hitherto considered ‘authentic’, many anecdotes are borrowed from the former. Since two other major texts, Siyar-ul-Arifin of Jamali Kamboh15 and Akhbar-ul-Akhyar of Abdul Haqq Muhaddis Dehlawi, also drew heavily on this ‘forged’ literature,16 the genuine worth of all these texts becomes questionable from this perspective. In fact, in recent times, some scholars have put to question the authenticity of Siyar-ul-Auliya17 and Khair-ul-Majalis18 as well. If scholars continue exposing ‘forgeries’ of the mystics and their followers, then soon the entire Sufi tradition as embodied in the texts, including Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad which has escaped the wrath of a ‘modern’, ‘scientific’ or ‘rational’ scholarship out to destroy the ‘superstitious’ past thus far, may be rejected as dubious. It will be relevant here to submit that the significance of this literature lies in the fact that apart from it being in existence in the middle of the 14th century, it was also in wide circulation among the Persian-knowing north Indian elite. Further, the origin of the stories of miracles in these texts can be traced to the earlier authoritative works on mysticism. For instance, an earlier version

128  Raziuddin Aquil of the anecdote of conversion of a Jew at the hands of Khwaja Fuzail Ayaz, recorded in a ‘spurious’ malfuzat of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya, which will be discussed shortly, can be found in Awfi’s Jawama-ul-Hikayat, completed sometime after 1230 CE. Classification of the texts as ‘authentic’ and ‘spurious’ is superficial as both are suffused with the amusing tales of miracles which may indeed sound irrational to the ‘modern’ mind.19 What is important and relevant is the purpose and context in which these tales were narrated. As Caroline Bynum says, though, in a different context, these accounts ‘tell us of objects and events carefully constructed to elicit awe, delight, and dread’.20 Further, the accounts of competition in ‘displays of power and splendour’ included ‘intricate tricks and automata, calculated to amaze and tantalise’.21

Accounts of Miraculous Conversion There is a general belief in a dominant historiographical tradition that early mystic records did not refer to a single case of conversion.22 However, the Chishti texts of the Delhi Sultanate present the image of the shaikh as the primary agent for proselytisation and propagation of Islam. The Sufi shaikhs such as Mu‘in-ud-Din Sijzi, Jalal-ud-Din Tabrezi,23 Farid-ud-Din Ganj-iShakar, Qutb-ud-Din Bakhtiyar Kaki and Saiyid Ashraf Jahangir Simnani24 are chiefly portrayed as the propagators of Islam in north India. Caste oppression and the drawing capability that egalitarian Islam might have,25 or for that matter economic and political dimensions, are not mentioned in the literature as factors for conversion. The one recurrent motive for the conversion of individuals and at times of the entire locality or town is the attraction to the miracle-working shaikh. Most cases of mass conversion are shown to be the outcome of oppositional encounters of the visiting shaikh with the local holy man, generally, a yogi, in full view of the public, in which the former emerges victorious and establishes his authority. In the subsequent pages, we shall relate some wonderful stories of conversion and discuss the accounts of the shaikh’s role in the diffusion of Islam as recorded in our texts. The accounts of conversion are generally the sequel to the outcome of the contests involving the visiting shaikh and a local challenger, or yogi visiting the jama‘at-khana of the shaikh to test his spiritual accomplishments, or the shaikh’s thaumaturgic role such as his revival of the dead and protection from malevolent supernatural beings. We have classified the anecdotes of conversion in our texts in three broad rubrics: (a) individual conversion, (b) group conversion and (c) forced conversion. (a) Individual Conversion The collection of the discourses of Bakhtiyar Kaki, Fawa’id-us-Salikin, records an anecdote of conversion at the hands of a shaikh of the Abbasid era. The caliph Harun-ur-Rashid had sent a famous Zoroastrian physician to attend to the ailing Khwaja Sufyan Sauri.26 When the physician put his

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  129 hand on the chest of the shaikh, he (the physician) was so shocked that he fell unconscious. After regaining consciousness, the physician expressed his astonishment that such a person existed amongst the Muslims whose heart was filled with the fear of God. The physician immediately recited the kalima (the words of the profession of faith in Islam). When the caliph heard of the incident, he remarked that he had sent a physician to the patient, but it turned out to be the opposite.27 The Rahat-ul-Qulub, the discourses of Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar, records that a yogi had come to his jama‘at-khana. He made obeisance to the shaikh by kneeling on the ground, but the aura of the shaikh was so magnificent that he could not raise his head. When the shaikh noticed him, he inquired as to the purpose of his visit to the hospice. The yogi was so spellbound that he could not utter a word. When the shaikh insisted, the yogi meekly submitted that the radiance of the aura surrounding the shaikh’s head was so dazzling that he was entranced. The shaikh then informed the audience that the yogi had come to challenge him. Once he bowed his head to the ground, he was unable to lift it. The shaikh added that had the yogi not been forgiven, he would have remained in that posture until the Day of Judgement (qayamat). Turning to the yogi, the shaikh inquired about his spiritual attainments. The former informed that he could fly in the air. At the instance of the shaikh, the yogi demonstrated the feat. As soon as the yogi started to fly, the shaikh threw his shoes at him, which hit the yogi on the head. In whichever direction he moved, by God’s command, the shoes pursued him and kept striking his head. Unable to bear this, the yogi immediately descended, acknowledged the shaikh’s spiritual superiority, and embraced Islam.28 Two more accounts of individual conversion narrated by Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar may be found in the literature: one is related to Jalal-ud-Din Tabrezi, while in the other, the shaikh’s mother was the agent of conversion. (i) Once, when Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar was sitting with Tabrezi at the entrance of his residence at Badaun, a robber masquerading as a curd seller saw the face of the shaikh. At that very moment, his heart was completely transformed. Rushing to the shaikh, he fell at his feet and embraced Islam. The shaikh renamed him Ali, who became a prominent disciple. When the shaikh was leaving Badaun, Ali insisted that he too be allowed to travel with him. The shaikh, however, directed him to stay back, saying he was leaving the place under his protection.29 (ii) Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar reports that his mother was known for her mystical attainments. Once a thief broke into their house when all the inmates had retired for the night except for his mother, who was engrossed in her prayers. The moment the thief entered the house, he lost his eyesight. Not knowing how to escape from there, the thief exclaimed that the inmates of that house were like his family members. Whoever is there in the house, it can be said with certainty that the terror created by his/her very presence has blinded. ‘Pray for me that my sight is restored. I repent and swear that I will not commit thefts for the rest of my

130  Raziuddin Aquil life’. On hearing his invocations, the shaikh’s mother prayed for the restoration of his sight. Having his vision back, the thief left the house. His mother kept silent about the incident. Sometime later, the thief returned along with his family narrated the account of the previous night’s encounter and converted to Islam at the hands of the shaikh’s mother.30 Nizam-ud-Din Auliya too narrates this anecdote in his jama‘at-khana,31 while Amir Khwurd reproduces this in his Siyar-ul-Auliya.32 And in his Siyarul-Arifin, Shaikh Jamali adds that the converted thief went on to become a saintly person and came to be known as Shaikh Abdullah. The people visited his tomb in the late 15th and early 16th centuries and sought his blessings.33 It would be appropriate to point out here that if Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar’s account of the thief’s conversion to Islam in Asrar-ul-Auliya is to be rejected as a later concoction, then the recounting of the anecdote by such eminent authorities as Nizam-ud-Din Auliya, Amir Khwurd and Shaikh Jamali too should be taken with a pinch of salt. We may now turn to two more episodes of conversion recorded in the malfuzat of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya: (i) Khwaja Fuzail Ayaz was a dacoit before he turned to the mystic way of life. Feeling repentant for his misdeeds, he called all those who were robbed by him and sought their forgiveness by returning their belongings. Among them was a Jew who was not willing to forgive the shaikh. He could be convinced of his sincerity only if the shaikh succeeded in producing gold from the ground beneath his feet. The shaikh immediately performed the feat to the satisfaction of the Jew, who after that converted to Islam. He then informed the shaikh that it was mentioned in the Jewish scriptures that those whose contrition was accepted by God were blessed with the power of converting soil into gold. He added that by asking the shaikh to do so, he only wanted the confirmation that his repentance had been accepted.34 Again, this anecdote is recorded in a text rejected as ‘spurious’. However, the fact that an earlier version of this anecdote is recorded in an early 13th-century Persian text, Awfi’s Jawama’ul-Hikayat,35 discounts the view that such anecdotes had suddenly sprung in the middle of the 14th century. (ii) It is recorded in the Tazkirat-ul-Auliya that there was a Jewish neighbour of Khwaja Bayazid Bustami. Once when he was out of town, his wife gave birth to a child. The lady had no means to arrange for a lamp in the house. The infant kept crying in the darkness. When the shaikh came to know of it, he started purchasing oil every day from the grocer next door for the Jewish lady. When the Jew returned home from his long sojourn, his wife informed him of the shaikh’s kind gesture. The Jew was impressed and went to visit the shaikh to express his gratitude. The shaikh remarked that he was only fulfilling his duty towards a neighbour, whose rights indeed were many. Moved, the Jew too accepted the Islamic faith.36 In all the anecdotes mentioned above – the miracle involving the moving of a wall, the shaikh’s shoes beating a flying yogi, his production of gold to convince the opponent of his righteousness, the jalal of a saintly person

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  131 blinding a thief, and the philanthropic role of the shaikh which won him a convert – the emphasis is on establishing the superiority of the shaikh. The opponents fall at the feet of the shaikh in full view of the public and announce their acceptance of the superior miraculous ability of the shaikh. The name that the shaikh gives him after his conversion further confirms the inferiority of the antagonist. He is generally named Abdullah, that is, the servant of God. It is only after prolonged and rigorous meditation (mujahida) that the status of waliullah, that is, the friend of God, is conferred on him. In a particular case, however, a saintly Hindu of Nagaur was accorded the status of a wali even before his conversion. While remarking that if a kafir (infidel) had faith at the time of his death, he would be treated by God as a mu’min (believer), Nizam-ud-Din Auliya told his audience that Hamidud-Din Nagauri would often call a Hindu of Nagaur as wali of God.37 Amir Khwurd added that the shaikh used to say that the Hindu whom he called a wali would die as a faithful.38 Jamali went one step further. According to him, the people wondered when the shaikh called an infidel a friend of God. As it turned out, he converted to Islam and joined the rank of the saints.39 Thus, the prophecy of the shaikh proved to be true, and Amir Khwurd and Jamali confirmed his power of omniscience. (b) Group Conversion We begin with the accounts of group conversion narrated by Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar and recorded in two collections of his malfuzat, Asrar-ulAuliya and Rahat-ul-Qulub. In one instance, his own pir Bakhtiyar Kaki was instrumental in the conversion of thousands of infidels after he performed the feat of reviving the dead through his mystic powers. It is recorded that once an old lady came to the shaikh’s hospice and complained that her son was unjustly hanged by the king and pleaded for justice. The lamentation of the old lady shook the shaikh. He rushed to the place where the body of the slain youth was lying. A large crowd, comprising both Hindus and Muslims, was present. The shaikh prayed for the restoration of the man’s life in case the king had punished and killed him unjustly. No sooner did the shaikh finish the prayer than the young man returned to life. This miracle inspired thousands of Hindus to embrace Islam at the hands of the shaikh that day. Extolling this ‘achievement’ of his pir, Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar declared that the mystical attainments of the shaikhs of his order were unparalleled.40 Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar narrates three more stories of group conversion. Two of them involved the shaikhs coming from some other parts, while the identity of the shaikh in the third story is not known. We begin with the latter. Once a group of ten anti-social elements barged into the house of a dervish. Since the dervish had already ensured the safety of the house by reciting certain powerful verses from the Quran (ayat-ul-kursi) and ‘blowing’ over the boundary of the house, the trespassers lost their eyesight moments after effecting their entry. On hearing the commotion, the

132  Raziuddin Aquil dervish inquired about the matter. The strangers announced that they had come with the motive of committing theft and had lost their vision. They pleaded with the dervish to have mercy on them, adding that they were filled with remorse for their evil designs. They felt that conversion to Islam at the hand of the shaikh might redeem them. The dervish smiled and asked them to open their eyes. They got their eyesight back by the command of God and embraced Islam.41 This anecdote is a little different from the one in which Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar’s mother was the main protagonist. The blindness, in this case, is caused by the vibrations that had emanated from the recitation of the Quranic verses, while in the earlier episode, it was the jalal of the shaikh’s mother which had caused blindness. The remaining two anecdotes narrated by the shaikh relate to miracles associated with the biers of Sahal Tustari bin Abdullah Tustari42 and Qutbud-Din Maudud Chishti.43 We are informed that Sahal Tustari returned to life to perform the ritual of conversion. The bier of the shaikh was being taken to the graveyard. The leader of the Jews, along with his tribe, came forward and asked that the bier be placed on the ground. When it was done, the Jewish leader stood before the shaikh and pleaded to make him recite the kalima to become a Muslim. The shaikh took out his hand from under the shroud, opened his eyes and asked them to recite the kalima. The moment they did so, the shaikh withdrew his hand into the shroud and closed his eyes, that is, died again. When asked as to what inspired them to convert, the Jewish leader informed that at the time when the bier of the shaikh was being taken out, there was a sound of thunder in the sky, and when he looked up, he saw the angels descending with platters of divine light and sprinkling it on the bier. Realisation thus dawned on the Jewish leader that the religion of Muhammad, too, had such blessed souls.44 Similarly, in the case of Maudud Chishti, the infidels were witnesses to the angels carrying his bier on their shoulders. The shaikh had become too frail in his last days. When the bier was being prepared to be taken away to the burial ground, the people were bewildered when they found they were unable to lift it on their shoulders. After the prayer was over, by the command of God, the bier lifted in the air and proceeded towards the graveyard. A procession followed. The infidels then embraced Islam as, according to them, they had observed the amazing sight of the angels acting as pallbearers with their own eyes.45 Later, Amir Khwurd wrote that the bier was carried by the mardan-i-ghaib (invisible men), adding that thousands of infidels became Muslims that day as they witnessed the miracle of the shaikh’s bier floating in the air.46 We have already referred to the tale of the conversion of a dacoit at the hands of Jalal-ud-Din Tabrezi. Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar narrated the incident. His khalifa Nizam-ud-Din Auliya recounts another story in which Tabrezi is said to have converted the entire Hindu population of a town in Hindustan. It is recorded that Tabrezi reached a town where a demon (div) used to eat a person each night. The shaikh captured and put the div in a

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  133 vessel. The entire populace, as a consequence, embraced Islam.47 Apart from this, there are many such descriptions in our texts in which the Sufi shaikhs are shown to be protecting the hapless people from the clutches of the evil spirits. It is to be noted, however, that in most cases, the victims were perhaps Muslims, for we find that the shaikh was recommending the recital of specific passages from the Quran as a protection against the possible attack from the demon and other supernatural beings such as the pari. We shall now turn to the story of the miraculous encounter of Mu‘inud-Din Sijzi’s pir, Usman Harwani48 after he arrived at a village of fireworshippers (atish prastan), and some interesting legends related to it. Let us begin with Nasir-ud-Din Chiragh-i-Dehli’s account. On his arrival at the village, the shaikh addressed the inhabitants and suggested that since they were worshipping the fire for long, it should not burn anyone who jumped into it. The people were frightened, and no one volunteered to do so. The shaikh then asked whether they would convert to Islam if he entered the fire chamber, sat there for some time and came out unscathed. When they agreed to the proposal, the shaikh immediately took a child of a Hindu (Hindu bachcha) in his arms and plunged into the fire. The Hindus and the fire-worshippers who were gathered there recited the kalima and embraced Islam when the shaikh achieved the feat. The shaikh, then, came out of the fire chamber with the child in tow. When the people asked the child how he felt inside, he announced in Hindawi language that it seemed as if he was sitting in a garden (be-zuban hindawi guft ke man dar miyan-i-bagh nashiste budam).49 It might be relevant to point out here that this anecdote appears in an ‘authentic’ malfuz collection, Khair-ul-Majalis of Chiragh-iDehli, though we no longer subscribe to the view that any such classification of Sufi literature is essential. Providing the background of this encounter, Shaikh Jamali has added in his Siyar-ul-Arifin that Usman Harwani was provoked by the head-priest of the mammoth fire temple to resort to this marvellous exploit. Elaborating further, Jamali has recorded that after the conversion of several thousand villagers to Islam, the shaikh accepted the priest, Bakhtiya, as a disciple. He was trained in the mystic discipline, joined the rank of the saints and became renowned as Shaikh Abdullah. The child was given the name Ibrahim. He also grew up to be a saint. The people demolished the fire temple, and over time, a big shrine complex emerged on the site, which also housed the tombs of Abdullah and Ibrahim. Jamali has sought to provide an element of authenticity to his account by informing that he had visited the site, stayed there for about a fortnight and received blessings. The locals informed Jamali that Usman Harwani had resided there for two and a half years. His hospice (khanaqah), including the inner chamber (hujra), was intact during Jamali’s visit.50 The anecdotes of conversion, both of individuals and of groups as mentioned above, reveal attempts at establishing the authority of the Sufi shaikh. Contrary to the perception of some modern scholars, the anecdotes

134  Raziuddin Aquil indicate the keenness of the Chishti shaikhs for conversion. Conversion of non-Muslims due to a public display of miracles further confirmed the shaikh’s spiritual superiority and augmented his claim to power and authority. It may also be submitted here that the view that the early Chishti texts do not refer to a single case of conversion needs reconsideration in the light of the above-cited examples, which were enumerated at some length only to bolster the argument. Extensive fieldwork by the Suhrawardi shaikh, Jamali Kamboh, has established that the accounts of these texts were considered valid in the late 15th century public discourse.51 Some later works further confirm Jamali’s reports.52 We may conclude that the accounts of conversion in these texts have, historically, been considered legitimate in both the Chishti and non-Chishti Sufi circles and the larger sphere of their followers. (c) Forced Conversion The anecdote of the execution of a Hindu darogha of Uchch after his refusal to convert at the hands of the Suhrawardi shaikhs, Makhdum Jahaniyan53 and Raju Qattal,54 exhibits their zeal for conversion and also the extent to which they wielded their power in the 14th-century Delhi Sultanate. Jamali records that Firuz Shah Tughluq (ruled 1351–1388 CE) had appointed a Hindu called Nauahun as the darogha of Uchch. Once when Makhdum Jahaniyan was ill, Nauahun paid a courtesy call on the shaikh. Praying for the shaikh’s recovery, he remarked that the person of the Makhdum was the seal of the saints just as Muhammad was the seal of the prophets. The shaikh felt that from the shari‘at (Islamic law), the Hindu was deemed to have become a Muslim after having uttered these words. This statement of the darogha was heard by Raju Qattal, the shaikh’s brother, and a couple of Muslims who were present there. Fearing conversion to Islam, the darogha fled from Uchch and proceeded towards the capital city of Delhi. Reaching the court, he apprised the Sultan of what had transpired. The Sultan, who considered him as a friend, asked him whether he would convert to Islam if it were established that he had made such a statement. Nauahun expressed his unwillingness to convert under any circumstances. Soon Makhdum Jahaniyan breathed his last. Three days later, Raju Qattal left for Delhi along with the eyewitnesses. As they neared the city, the Sultan came to know of their arrival and the purpose of their visit. He invited the prominent ulama of the city to discuss the matter and find out ways and means for the acquittal of Nauahun. Qazi Abdul Muqtadir Thanesari’s son Shaikh Muhammad, an intelligent alim, advised the Sultan to ask the shaikh whether he had come in connection with that kafir. ‘The reply of the shaikh in the affirmative will tantamount to his admitting of Nauahun’s kufr (infidelity). After that, we will dispute with him’, the alim reassured. The Sultan soon left with the alim to receive the shaikh. As advised, the Sultan put forward the question. The shaikh replied: ‘yes, in connection

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  135 with that Muslim’. The alim intercepted, ‘it has not yet been established by the eyewitnesses that Nauahun has become a Muslim. What is the basis of your calling him one?’ The shaikh observed that this conversation smacked of faithlessness, adding that he may go to prepare for his burial. Soon the alim developed excruciating abdominal pain and was rushed to his residence. Seeing his son’s condition, Qazi Abdul Muqtadir hurried to the shaikh and sought forgiveness. The shaikh remarked that he was dead but added that a son would be born to him and grow up to be a pious man. As prophesied by the shaikh, the alim died soon after. His wife gave birth to a male child who grew up to be a much-respected dervish. Nauahun, on the other hand, refused to become a Muslim; he was executed for apostasy (irtadad).55 The above anecdote illustrates the Sultan’s helplessness before the Sufi shaikh’s power. The elimination of the disputing alim through the jalal of the shaikh further substantiated his righteousness. The power to take away an opponent’s life is counterbalanced by his prophecy of the birth of a son to the alim, who was destined to become a dervish. Condemning the Suhrawardi shaikhs as orthodox and uncompromising, some modern scholars have used this anecdote as evidence of their ‘intolerance’ towards nonMuslims. The same scholars suggest that the Chishti shaikhs, in contrast, were tolerant and accommodative and, therefore, disinterested in formal conversion.56 In reaching such a conclusion, however, they ignore the evidence that the Suhrawardis were subsumed at this stage in the more hegemonic Chishti silsila with the leading shaikh, Makhdum Jahaniyan, himself becoming a khalifa of Chiragh-i-Dehli.57 Also neglected are the episodes in which the noted Chishti shaikhs can be found to be compelling non-Muslim antagonists to convert. Consider, for instance, the tale in which the Chishti shaikh Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar is shown to have discovered some kafirs, masquerading as faqirs. He locked their leader for several days before forcing them to convert to Islam. The anecdote is recorded in the Ahsan-ul-Aqwal, a collection of the malfuzat of Burhan-ud-Din Gharib (died 1337 CE),58 who was a prominent khalifa of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya.59 Also, Lata’if-i-Ashrafi, the collection of the malfuzat of Saiyid Ashraf Jahangir Simnani, gives a detailed account of the shaikh’s encounter with a yogi who had refused to surrender either his person or the territory under his domination. The shaikh was compelled to send a disciple, Jamal-ud-Din, to engage him in miraculous combat. Jamalud-Din went to the yogi and told him that though it was unbecoming to display miracles, yet he would give fitting rejoinders to each of the powers displayed. The first trick of the yogi was to make heaps of black ants advance from every direction towards Jamal-ud-Din, but when he looked resolutely at them, they vanished. After this, an army of tigers appeared. ‘What harm can a tiger do to me’, quipped Jamal-ud-Din. And they all fled. After such an exhibition of skills, the yogi threw his stick into the air. Jamalud-Din asked for the staff of the shaikh and sent it up after the stick. The

136  Raziuddin Aquil shaikh’s staff kept striking the yogi’s stick till the latter was pinned down. After having exhausted all his devices, the yogi said, ‘take me to the shaikh, I will become a believer!’ Jamal-ud-Din then took him to the shaikh and asked him to prostrate before the latter. The shaikh then instructed him to recite the kalima. Simultaneously all the 500 disciples of the yogi became Muslims and made a bonfire of their scriptures.60 This anecdote further confirms the zeal of the Chishti shaikhs for conversion, a marked deviation from the usual depiction of their indifference on this matter. Here, as elsewhere, the superior miraculous power of the shaikh was responsible for the conversion of the non-Muslims. In fact, in the last encounter, the shaikh felt that it was below his dignity to engage the yogi in a personal confrontation and deputed his disciple instead for the purpose.

Shaikh’s Attitude towards Conversion We shall continue our discussion here of the Chishti shaikhs’ proclivity towards conversion in the light of the attitude of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya and that of Khwaja Bandah-Nawaz Gesu-Daraz, who later migrated to the Deccan. It is recorded in Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad that a disciple arrived in the middle of a discussion in the jama‘at-khana of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya, along with a Hindu whom he addressed as his brother. When both were seated, the shaikh asked the disciple whether the said brother of his had any inclination towards Islam (pursid keh in biradar-i-tu hich mail be-musalmani darad). The disciple replied that it was precisely for that very purpose that he had brought him to his feet so that by the blessing of his glance, he might become a Muslim. With tears in his eyes, the shaikh remarked, ‘no matter what you say, you cannot change the heart of these people’ (chashm pur ab kard wa farmud keh in qaum ra chandan begufte kasi dil na gardad). Yet, it is hoped that through the grace of the company of a devout Muslim, he might become one (amma agar suhbat-i-salihi biyabad ummid bashad keh be-barkat-i-suhbat-i u musalman shawad), the shaikh added. After this, he narrated the story of the conversion of the king of Iraq, who was entrusted by caliph Umar to the company of a pious Muslim. The dethroned king had earlier refused to embrace Islam even under the threat of execution, but the company of the virtuous Muslim made such an impact on him that he came to Umar and professed his faith in Islam. Finally, the shaikh commented on the moral integrity (sidq o dayanat) of Islam and Muslims through the story of a Jew who stayed in the neighbourhood of Bayazid Bustami. When Bayazid passed away, the Jew was asked by some persons as to why he did not become a Muslim at the hands of the shaikh. The Jew retorted as to what kind of Muslim they wanted him to become (chi musalman shawam), adding that if Islam was what Bayazid practised, he would not be able to attain it and if it were the way the Muslims lived, he was ashamed of it (mara az in Islam aar mi-ayad).61 If read together with his accounts of conversion, the shaikh’s observation clearly shows that he

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  137 was not disinterested in proselytisation. He did not approve of the use of force, nor did he recognise the importance of persuasion for ‘the change of heart’ of the non-Muslims. The shaikh believed that conversion was possible through the gradual transformation of the heart of the non-Muslims if put in the company of a pious person, for example, a Sufi shaikh, or through a cataclysmic change of heart made possible by the Sufi’s miraculous power. The shaikh also emphasised that reform within would be the best means for the propagation of the faith. A different perspective emerges from the anguishes of Khwaja BandahNawaz Gesu-Daraz over the refusal of the Hindus to convert to Islam. Gesu-Daraz complains that their learned men often came to him, challenging and disputing. He told them that he had read their Sanskrit texts and knew their mythology. They accepted without any reservation what he had to tell them about their belief. Then he expounded his faith based on logical reasoning and left it to the antagonists to judge. They were astonished by Gesu-Daraz’s reasoning, wept and prostrated before him as they did when worshipping their idols. He remarked that all this was of no use for the understanding was that the beliefs of the party which appeared to be in the right should be adopted by the other. One replied that he had a wife and child and a household to support, and another observed that what was he to do for his ancestors had followed this belief and what was good for them was also right for the present.62 One may mention Gesu-Daraz’s encounter with Saddiya, a guru of the Hindus. The shaikh defeated the guru in a levitation contest – involving the transformation of the combatants into a hawk (the shaikh) and a dove (the guru) – and acknowledged his authority but did not convert to Islam.63 It might be noted that unlike Nizam-udDin Auliya, Gesu-Daraz preferred engaging in debates and competitions of miracles with the Hindu yogis and brahmins and adopted a resentful attitude if they refused to embrace Islam. Also, while Nizam-ud-Din Auliya preferred a change of companionship, Gesu-Daraz was for an argument based on reasoning and intellectual discussions through rational thinking and disputations.

Accounts of Shaikh’s Role in Diffusion of Islam Modern scholarship complains about the paucity of information on the activities of Mu‘in-ud-Din Sijzi in the literature of the Delhi Sultanate and suggests that the popular devotion to the shaikh and the legends associated with him emerged only after the decay and decline of the Sultanate.64 On the contrary, at least three malfuzat collections, the Anis-ul-Arwah, Dalil-ul-Arifin and the Fawa’id-us-Salikin, were in circulation in the mid14th century Delhi Sultanate, primarily focusing on the life and activities of Mu‘in-ud-Din Sijzi. Besides, Asrar-ul-Auliya, the collection of the malfuzat of Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar, also contained several anecdotes related to the shaikh. Amir Khwurd has used the material in these malfuzat collections

138  Raziuddin Aquil for writing biographical accounts of the shaikh and his important disciples. Writing in the early 16th century, Jamali has further elaborated the accounts in the light of his on-the-spot study of Sufi centres and the popular construct of their history. It will be interesting to turn to the growth of legends involving Mu‘inud-Din Sijzi’s arrival at Ajmer and his ‘successful’ encounter with the local ruler. We begin with Dalil-ul-Arifin, a collection of the discourses of the shaikh compiled by Qutb-ud-Din Bakhtiyar Kaki. It is recorded that there was not much piety or propagation of the Islamic faith before the shaikh’s arrival. When the blessed feet of the shaikh reached the place, there was unbounded promulgation of Islam.65 Later, Bakhtiyar Kaki informed his audience that once he was sitting in the jama‘at-khana of Mu‘in-udDin Sijzi, it was reported that Rai Pithaura (Prithviraj), who was alive in those days, allegedly said that he would be happy to see the departure of the shaikh from his dominion. Hearing this, the shaikh remarked, while in a state of meditation (muraqaba), that he had handed over Rai Pithaura alive to the Muslims. Soon the army of Shihab-ud-Din Muhammad Gauri invaded the city, sacked it and seized Rai Pithaura alive. Thus, Bakhtiyar Kaki announced that the Sufi shaikh keeps the fire in a cup, that is, he can injure the opponent, he keeps water in another, implying he can show his benevolence as well.66 Elaborating further, Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar narrated that an official of Rai Pithaura visited the shaikh intending to become his disciple. When the shaikh refused, the official returned to the king’s court and complained. Rai Pithaura sent another official to question the shaikh, who replied that the person was not eligible to become his disciple because he was disobedient; in the king’s service and, thus, bowed to someone other than God; and was going to die as an infidel. When Rai Pithaura came to know of this explanation, he ordered the Sufi shaikh’s expulsion from the city. On being informed of the royal command, the shaikh smiled and commented that it would be evident in the following three days as to who would leave the place. In the meantime, the army of Muhammad Gauri invaded Ajmer, and Rai Pithaura was captured alive. The person seeking to become a murid was drowned.67 In the middle of the 14th century, Amir Khwurd wrote on the authority of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya that when Mu‘in-ud-Din Sijzi reached Ajmer, Rai Pithaura was ruling from there. Rai Pithaura and his high officials resented the shaikh’s presence in their city. However, the latter’s eminence and his apparent power to perform miracles prompted them to refrain from taking action against him. A disciple of the shaikh who was in the service of Rai Pithaura began to receive hostile treatment from the king. The shaikh sent a message on his behalf. Rai Pithaura refused to accept the recommendation, indicating his resentment of the shaikh’s alleged claims to understand the secrets of the Unseen. When the shaikh (referred to as badshah-i-islam) heard this, he prophesied: ‘We have seized Pithaura alive and handed him over to the army of Islam’ (pithaura ra zinde giraftim wa dadim be-lashkar-i-islam).

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  139 About the same time, Mu‘iz-ud-Din Sam’s army arrived from Ghaznin, and the tale ended as in the earlier versions.68 Suggesting that the Chishti shaikh arrived at Ajmer after its conquest by the Turks, the Suhrawardi biographer, Shaikh Jamali wrote that when the shaikh became popular in Delhi, he left for Ajmer. Although Islam was already established there, yet infidels of the neighbourhood continued to be a source of worry. Husain Mashhadi, who was appointed as the darogha of Ajmer by Qutb-ud-Din Aibak (ruled 1205–1210 CE), welcomed the shaikh’s arrival. Many prominent infidels of the area converted to Islam on account of the charisma of the shaikh. Many others who did not convert showed their faith in him by sending a large number of gifts.69 From the anecdotes cited above, it is clear that the shaikh’s encounter with Prithviraj is not mentioned in two of the five texts which include a discussion of the context in which the former had come to establish his authority in Ajmer. The silence of Dalil-ul-Arifin is understandable for it purports to have been compiled before the shaikh had arrived at Ajmer.70 On the other hand, the author of Siyar-ul-Arifin, a Suhrawardi shaikh, seemingly downplayed the Chishti ‘achievements’ at Ajmer by ignoring the reports of the shaikh’s encounter with the Rajput ruler and by claiming that Islam was already established before the shaikh’s arrival at the place.71 In all the anecdotes, the shaikh is chiefly portrayed as an Islamiser. His arrival in the region of Ajmer was marked by large-scale group conversion. There were others who did not convert but reposed faith in him. It is because of the curse of the shaikh that Prithviraj was defeated and captured by the Turkish army, which is described as the lashkar-i-islam.72 The conflict between the shaikh and the king did not lead to any levitation contest, nor is there any indication of an actual face-to-face encounter between the two. Later, Abdul Haqq Muhaddis Dehlawi73 and Dara Shukoh74 depended on Siyarul-Auliya and Siyar-ul-Arifin, respectively, for their accounts of the shaikh’s establishment of his authority at Ajmer. Some 17th-century tazkira writers have added interesting legends in their depictions of the shaikh’s life, central to which is his image as the miraculous propagator of Islam.75 Taking up the malfuzat collections once more, we do get glimpses of the mid-14th-century perception of the personality of the shaikh. The malfuzat portray the shaikh being trained in Islamic mysticism by his pir Usman Harwani;76 travelling with him to distant Islamic lands;77 expressing his concern over the indifference of the Muslims towards prayers;78 narrating the accounts of miracles performed by his pir and also by himself;79 visiting the Ka‘ba every night;80 and when the shaikh stopped doing so, the latter coming to circumambulate him.81 The image of the shaikh that emerged in the mind of the reader of these texts was one of a preacher and Islamiser with considerable charismatic power. Amir Khwurd standardised this image in his Siyar-ul-Auliya. He wrote that infidelity and idol worship were widespread in the whole of Hindustan before the arrival of the shaikh. The people worshipped stone, tree, animal and even cow-dung. Their hearts

140  Raziuddin Aquil were sealed in the darkness of infidelity. With the arrival of the shaikh, the dark clouds of ignorance gave way to the spiritual light of Islam. He was undoubtedly the mu‘in (helper) of the faith. The credit for the conversion of the people of this land goes to the shaikh and to those whose further preachings transformed this enemy land (dar-i-harb) into the land of Islam (dayar-i-islam).82 This picture of the shaikh is also reflected in the non-Sufi literature of the period. Referring to the visit to the shaikh’s tomb by the reigning Sultan of Delhi, Muhammad bin Tughluq (ruled 1325–1351 CE), Izz-ud-Din Isami calls the shaikh in his Futuh-us-Salatin (completed in 1350 CE) as the refuge of the faith.83 Thus, we learn from this and other sources that Ajmer had emerged as a major pilgrimage centre by the middle of the 14th century. One of the sources did note that it continued to draw people in large numbers in the late-15th and early-16th centuries. Jamali wrote that many prominent infidels of the region had converted to Islam on account of the barkat (blessing) of the shaikh and those who did not, they used to send gifts to him. The continued faith of these infidels was observed in the time of the biographer, who found that they visited the tomb every year and offered large sums to the keepers of the shrine.84

Concluding Remarks Certain inferences can perhaps be drawn from the anecdotes recounted above. Jews, Christians, Zoroastrians, Mongols, Hindu Brahmins and yogis formed the others who were to be convinced about the superiority of Sufi Islam with or without formal conversion. We have come across several cases of individual and group conversion at the hands of the Chishti shaikhs of the Delhi Sultanate and their preceptors elsewhere. Some cases of forced conversion have also been noticed. We found a shaikh who later settled in the Deccan, lamenting the refusal of the Hindu religious leaders to embrace Islam even after their defeat in debate and performance of miracles. Thus, the notion that the Chishtis were disinterested in conversion is not supported by the texts. In all instances of conversion, the decisive factor was the superior miraculous ability of the shaikh. The shaikh’s power to revive the dead, his ability to discover a thief or a kafir and his victory in oppositional encounters both at the time of his arrival in a non-Muslim environment and with a visiting Hindu holy man in the jama‘at-khana led to the acceptance of the charisma of the shaikh both by the opponent and by others who were witness to it. The subsequent conversion at the hands of the shaikh brought him immense prestige and authority in his wilayat (territory). Thus, the popularity of the shaikh depended on the public display of miracles. The narration of the accounts of miraculous conversion by the shaikhs in their jama‘at-khanas with the appended laudatory comments helped in their further perpetuation among the followers and the general populace.85

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  141 This is further supported by the evidence that much before the works of the so-called ‘propagandists’, Amir Hasan, Amir Khusrau and Ziya-udDin Barani, had appeared or become known,86 the Chishti shaikhs enjoyed widespread popularity in distant places so much so that the word of mouth accounts began to be put down on paper and sometimes the authorship of such popular literature was attributed to the shaikh himself, providing it with a veneer of authenticity. A disciple informed Nizam-ud-Din Auliya that a person in Awadh had shown him a book which was supposed to have been written by him (the shaikh), which the shaikh denied.87 Later Chiragh-i-Dehli quoted this statement during a discussion in his jama‘atkhana and also suggested that the malfuzat of Usman Harwani and those of Bakhtiyar Kaki, which were in circulation in Sufi circles, were not known in the time of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya; otherwise, he would have referred to them.88 Modern scholars use the two pieces of evidence to reject several malfuzat collections, including the one compiled by Nizam-ud-Din Auliya, as ‘spurious’. They, however, ignore the point that there was a difference between writing a book and compiling the malfuzat of the pir. Moreover, they set aside Nizam-ud-Din’s statement that he had also collected some malfuzat of his pir, Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar, and that they were in his possession at the time of the compilation of his malfuzat.89 We also observed that the attitude towards conversion and ways and means to achieve it differed from one shaikh to another within the Chishti silsila. Although Nizam-ud-Din Auliya has narrated the accounts of sudden transformation of individuals and groups on account of the charisma of the shaikh, he instead preferred a gradual change of heart of a person in the company of a righteous Muslim. Gesu-Daraz, on the other hand, wanted to have a confrontation with the Hindu religious leaders, dispute with them on the textual knowledge of the ‘Truth’, compete with them in the performance of miracles and convince them of the superiority of Islam. He would express his dismay when his efforts failed to win over a convert. Earlier Farid-udDin Ganj-i-Shakar extolled the unmatched miraculous ability of his Chishti predecessors to convert non-Muslims, and he forced some visiting yogis to enter the fold. We have found that the Chishti shaikhs were chiefly perceived as disseminators of Islam in the texts in circulation in the middle of the 14th century. In particular, we took cognisance that Mu‘in-ud-Din Sijzi’s image as a propagator of Islam had already come into sharp focus by then. In the light of the evidence cited above, it becomes difficult for us to be in accord with the view that the shaikh’s activities were little remembered in the 14th century and legendary accounts of his miraculous encounters emerged only after the decline of the Sultanate. We do not intend to establish the historicity of the accounts in the Sufi literature. Many of the anecdotes are folkloric, with the tales beginning with the usual ‘once upon a time there lived a certain saintly person in a distant/lonely place’. The readers cannot have any idea of time, place and

142  Raziuddin Aquil the actual person involved in the narrative. However, these anecdotes are valuable for the context in which they were narrated and the inherent morals. Many, however, can be located in the context of the Delhi Sultanate. If historians must necessarily base their understanding of the Sultanate period on the court chronicles, then the 14th-century perception of the Muslim conquest of Hindustan and Mu‘in-ud-Din Sijzi’s role in it has to be rejected as a figment of the imagination. What will be difficult to reject, however, are the references in the chronicles, corroborated by Sufi accounts, to the Sufi shaikhs’ prayers for success in the campaigns against non-Muslim rulers. References to Sufis and other saintly persons in the army, later called lashkar-i-du’agan, are too numerous to be ignored. Even if the Sufis did not participate in the actual combat, though some would vouch they did, their blessed presence (barkat) must have infused in the soldiers a sense of confidence and motivated them to fight with greater zeal. Further, if the anecdotes of the confrontation between the shaikhs and non-Muslim religious leaders are to be dismissed as fake – though we must remember that they are also recorded in the ‘authentic’ malfuzat collections – then at least they are useful for the diverse images they portray of nonMuslims in Sufi circles of the period. Ideology-driven histories – of left, right or centrist variety – have not been able to do justice to this fascinating literature on Sufis’ crucial presence in the medieval Indian environment. A proper appreciation of this important strand of Islamic tradition can help understand why Sufi dargahs have continued to attract a large number of nonMuslim devotees even in times of Islamophobia and terrorism. The extensive networks of Sufi shrines together constitute sacred geography, wilayat, controlled and presided over by medieval Indian Sufis in their own time, with references to their authority continuing even after they had passed away. This notion of sacred geography is of enduring significance in medieval Indian history. The popular belief in blessings and benediction accrued from Sufi shrines has left a lasting impact on the Indian environment across centuries. The reports of miracles attract large numbers of visitors, who may not be necessarily Muslims, to the Sufi shrines, where the spiritually infused atmosphere creates conditions for transcending theological boundaries of religion. Yet, large numbers of Muslims attribute their ancestors’ conversion to Islam to the blessed presence of Sufis. This is a claim that can be understood as a process of Islamic acculturation revolving around the cults and shrines of the charismatic personalities of Sufi saints, who settled down in different parts of the subcontinent through the medieval and early modern eras.

Acknowledgements This chapter is part of my larger work on Chishti Sufis of the Delhi Sultanate. Some material for this chapter was used first in an article in the Indian Historical Review (volume 24, Nos. 1–2, 1997–1998). This article was subsequently re-worked and published in my book, Lovers of God: Sufism and

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  143 the Politics of Islam in Medieval India, New Delhi: Manohar Books, 2017, reprinted recently with the same title by Routledge, UK (2020). The chapter appearing here is a further revised and updated version of the earlier work – revised and updated to suit its publishability in this volume, following a series of comments from learned anonymous reviewers of the manuscript. I am especially grateful to Professor Nupur Dasgupta and Dr Tilottama Mukherjee for their interest in this work and for publishing it in this fine collection of essays they are editing.

Notes 1 For a discussion of different views on the role of the Sufis in conversion, Raziuddin Aquil, ‘Sufi Cults, Politics and Conversion: The Chishtis of the Sultanate Period’, Indian Historical Review, 1995–1996, 22 (1–2): 190–97. 2 Simon Digby, ‘Hawk and Dove in Sufi Combat’, Pembroke Papers 1, Cambridge, 1990, pp. 7–25; idem, ‘To Ride a Tiger or a Wall? Strategies of Prestige in Indian Sufi Legend’, in Winard M. Callewaert and Rupert Snell (eds), According to Tradition: Hagiographical Writing in India, Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1994, pp. 99–129. 3 Mohammad Habib, ‘Chishti Mystics Records of the Sultanate Period’, Medieval India Quarterly, 1950, 1 (2): 1–42; reprinted in K.A. Nizami (ed.), Politics and Society During the Early Medieval Period, Collected Works of Mohammad Habib, Vol. I, Delhi: People’s Publishing House, 1974, pp. 385–433. The texts rejected by Habib have not been used and analysed afresh. For a reiteration of Habib’s position, see K.A. Nizami, The Life and Times of Shaikh Nizamuddin Auliya, Delhi: Idarah-i-Adabiyat-i Delli, 1991, pp. 8–9, 195; idem, The Life and Times of Shaikh Nasiruddin Chiragh, Delhi: Idarah-i-Adabiyat-i Delli, 1991, pp. 150–51. 4 For the dismissal of miracle stories on this line and the suggestion that thus they are of no historical worth, see, S.A.A. Rizvi, A History of Sufism in India, Vol. I. Early Sufism and its History in India to 1600 AD, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1978, pp. 4–5; I.H. Siddiqui, ‘The Early Chishti Dargahs’, in C.W. Troll (ed.), Muslim Shrines in India: Their Character, History and Significance, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1989, p. 12; Mohammad Mujeeb, The Indian Muslims, New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1985, pp. 118, 121. 5 Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad, Conversations of Shaikh Nizam-ud-Din Auliya, compiled by Amir Hasan Sijzi. Persian text with an Urdu translation by Khwaja Hasan Sani Nizami, Delhi: Urdu Academy, 1990. 6 Khair-ul-Majalis, Conversations of Shaikh Nasir-ud-Din Chiragh-i-Dehli, compiled by Hamid Qalandar, ed., K.A. Nizami, Aligarh: Muslim University, 1959. 7 Siyar-ul-Auliya of Amir Khwurd, Islamabad: Markaz Tahqiqat-i-Farsi Iran wa Pakistan, 1978. 8 According to Rizvi, a native of Kazirun near Shiraz, in Iran, the shaikh came to settle in Sind and founded a town later called Uchch, History of Sufism in India, Vol. I, p. 111. 9 Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad, Vol. II, 7th meeting. 10 For a biographical account of the shaikh, see, Farid-ud-Din Attar, Tazkirat-ulAuliya, ed., Reynold A. Nicholson, London: Luzac, 1907, Part II, pp. 5–36. 11 Abu Bakr Dulaf bin Jahdar al-Shibli (died 946), of Khurasanian origin, was the governor of Damavand, about 50 miles north-east of Tehran, before he turned to mysticism and became a disciple of Junaid Baghdadi, Rizvi, History of Sufism in India, Vol. I, pp. 59–60.

144  Raziuddin Aquil 12 Khair-ul-Majalis, 25th meeting. For a study of the moving wall motif in hagiographical literature in India, see Digby, ‘To Ride a Tiger or a Wall?’, pp. 99–129. 13 The author belonged to a family, originally from Kirman, which was known for its close links with the Chishti Sufis of the Delhi Sultanate. Amir Khwurd himself was ‘blessed’ with the discipleship of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya at quite a young age, and was later trained by Chiragh-i-Dehli, Siyar-ul-Auliya, pp. 218–30, 366–74; Akhbar-ul-Akhyar of Shaikh Abdul Haqq Muhaddis Dehlawi, Urdu translation by Subhan Mahmud and Muhammad Fazil, Delhi: Adabi Duniya, 1990, p. 96. 14 Siyar-ul-Auliya, pp. 56, 93–95, 153–54. Also see Akhbar-ul-Akhyar, p. 56, for a reference to Nizam-ud-Din Auliya visiting the Ka‘ba every week. 15 Siyar-ul-Arifin of Shaikh Jamali, Ms., IO Islamic 1313, Asian & African Studies (hereafter AAS), British Library, London. 16 For instance, Abdul Haqq refers to Dalil-ul-Arifin, the malfuzat of Mu‘in-udDin Sijzi compiled by Bakhtiyar Kaki, and Asrar-ul-Auliya as the malfuzat of Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar compiled by Maulana Badr-ud-Din Ishaq, Akhbarul-Akhyar, pp. 22, 25, 66–67. 17 P.M. Currie, The Shrine and Cult of Muin al-Din Chishti of Ajmer, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1989, p. 39. 18 Paul Jackson, ‘Khair-ul-Majalis: An Examination’, in Troll (ed.), Islam in India, pp. 34–57. 19 The modern mind is not actually programmed to decode the specific rationality of the folk narrative. See for arguments on these lines, Josep Marti I Perez, ‘Encountering the Irrational: Some Reflections on Folk Healers’, Folklore, 1988, 99 (2): 178–85; Richard Kieckhefer, ‘The Specific Rationality of Medieval Magic’, American Historical Review, 1994, 99 (3): 813–36. 20 Caroline Walker Bynum, ‘Wonder’, American Historical Review, 1997, 102 (1): 17. 21 Ibid., pp. 17–18. 22 See, for instance, K.A. Nizami, The Life and Times of Shaikh Fariduddin Ganji-Shakar, Aligarh: Muslim University, 1955, p. 107. Bruce B. Lawrence suggests that the early malfuzat relate exclusively to the individual cases of conversion, ‘Early Indo-Muslim Saints and Conversion’, in Yohanan Friedman (ed.), Islam in Asia, Vol. I, South Asia, Jerusalem: Magnes, 1984, p. 110. 23 For biographical notices, Akhbar-ul-Akhyar, pp. 43–45; Rizvi, History of Sufism in India, Vol. I, pp. 199–202. 24 For biographical material, Akhbar-ul-Akhyar, pp. 161–62; Rizvi, History of Sufism in India, Vol. I, pp. 266–70. 25 This has been the major thrust in numerous writings of Mohammad Habib and K.A. Nizami. Writing with a similar approach, M. Mujeeb says that Islam was adopted by families or groups of families who were regarded as outcastes in Hindu society, Indian Muslims, p. 22. Bruce Lawrence, however, suggests that family ties and strength of tradition as much as the oft-cited caste system were undoubtedly a constituent element of the medieval Hindu world view which even the Sufi could not penetrate, ‘Early Indo-Muslim Saints and Conversion’, p. 116. 26 For a biographical sketch, see, Tazkirat-ul-Auliya, Part I, ed., Reynold A. Nicholson, London: Luzac, 1905, pp. 188–96. 27 Fawa’id-us-Salikin (conversations of Shaikh Qutb–ud–Din Bakhtiyar Kaki, compilation attributed to Shaikh Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar), Urdu translation, Delhi: Maktaba Jam-i-Noor, n.d., p. 35. This anecdote is also recorded in Tazkirat-ul-Auliya, Part I, pp. 189–90, where the name of the caliph is not mentioned and the physician is said to be a tarsa (fire-worshipper/Christian).

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  145 28 Rahat-ul-Qulub (collection of the discourses of Farid–ud–Din Ganj-i-Shakar, compilation attributed to Nizam-ud-Din Auliya), Urdu translation, Delhi: Maktaba Jam-i-Noor, n.d., pp. 47–48. 29 Asrar-ul-Auliya (collection of the conversations of Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar, compiled by Shaikh Badr-ud-Din Ishaq), Urdu translation by M. Muinuddin Durdai, Karachi: Nafis Academy, 1975, pp. 224–25. Another version of this anecdote is narrated by Abdul Haqq Muhaddis Dehlawi who cites Fawa’id-ulFu’ad as his source, Akhbar-ul-Akhyar, p. 43. For a biographical sketch of Ali, ibid., p. 75. 30 Asrar-ul-Auliya, p. 223. 31 Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad, Vol. IV, 5th meeting. 32 Siyar-ul-Auliya, p. 98. 33 Siyar-ul-Arifin, pp. 43–44. 34 Afzal-ul-Fawa’id (collection of the discourses of Nizam–ud–Din Auliya), compilation attributed to Amir Khusrau, Urdu translation, Delhi: Maktaba Jam-iNoor, n.d., p. 13. For more anecdotes of gold production motif in Sufi literature, see Fawa’id-us-Salikin, p. 15; Rahat-ul-Qulub, p. 82; Afzal-ul-Fawa’id, pp. 32–33, 102, 126; Asrar-ul-Auliya, p. 202. 35 For an English translation of the anecdote, see I.H. Siddiqui, Perso-Arabic Sources of Information on the Life and Conditions in the Sultanate of Delhi, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal, 1992, pp. 13–14. For this anecdote see also Tazkirat-ul-Auliya, Part I, p. 76. 36 Afzal-ul-Fawa’id, pp. 20–21. Another version of this anecdote is recorded in Tazkirat-ul-Auliya where the neighbour of the shaikh is referred to as a gabri (Magian). 37 Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad, Vol. II, 23rd meeting. 38 Siyar-ul-Auliya, p. 168. 39 Siyar-ul-Arifin, p. 16. 40 Asrar-ul-Auliya, p. 222. 41 Rahat-ul-Qulub, p. 83. 42 For a biographical sketch, see Tazkirat-ul-Auliya, Part II, pp. 251–68. 43 For a biographical sketch, see Siyar-ul-Auliya, pp. 52–53. Also see Rizvi, History of Sufism in India, Vol. I, 115. 44 Rahat-ul-Qulub, p. 103. 45 Ibid., p. 104. 46 Siyar-ul-Auliya, p. 53. 47 Afzal-ul-Fawa’id, p. 50. 48 For a biographical sketch, Siyar-ul-Auliya, pp. 54–55. 49 Khair-ul-Majalis, 11th meeting. In the same assembly, Chiragh-i-Dehli referred to an anecdote in which a companion of Usman Harwani was provoked by the mu’azzin of a congregational mosque in Egypt to emit fire from his mouth. Despite the intervention from a leading Sufi one third of the town including the congregational mosque was gutted in the fire, ibid. It is recorded in a biographical dictionary of the Mughal nobles that Saiyid Muhammad Khan Barah, a noble of Akbar, was provoked by some critics who were questioning his genealogy, to walk into the knee-deep fire which barefooted faqirs (itinerant monks) kept burning at night. The Barah Saiyid had challenged that if he were a pure Saiyid the fire would not have any effect on him. He stood in the fire for about an hour, and was not burnt. Satisfied with his claim, the people induced him to come out, Shah Nawaz Khan and Abdul Hayy, Ma‘asir-ul-Umara, English tr. H. Beveridge, revised, annotated and completed by Baini Prasad, Vol. II, Part I, reprint, Patna, 1979, p. 38. 50 Siyar-ul-Arifin, pp. 6–8. Also see, Jawahir-i-Faridi of Ali Asghar Chishti, Urdu trans. Malik Fazluddin Naqshbandi, Lahore, n.d., pp. 236–37.

146  Raziuddin Aquil 51 Siyar-ul-Arifin, pp. 6–8, 14–16, 43–44. 52 Safinat-ul-Auliya of Dara-Shukoh, Urdu tr. Muhammad Ali Lutfi, Delhi, n.d., pp. 27–28; Jawahir-i-Faridi, pp. 236–37, 244. 53 For a biographical sketch, see, Akhbar-ul-Akhyar, pp. 139–40. 54 For a biographical sketch, ibid., p. 151. 55 Siyar-ul-Arifin, pp. 231–33. It may be mentioned here that the four Sunnite schools of jurisprudence (mazahib) unanimously recommend death penalty for the male apostate (murtadd, that is, one who turns back from Islam), but only if he is an adult (baligh) and of sound mind (aqil) and has not acted under compulsion. Whether attempts to convert are to be made is a matter of dispute. A number of jurists of the first and second Hijri centuries deny this or make a distinction between the apostate born in Islam and one converted to Islam; the former is to be put to death at once. Others insist on three attempts at conversion or have him imprisoned for three days. Yet others suggest that one should await the round of the five times of prayer and ask him to perform the prayer; only in the case of his refusal to do so is the death punishment enforced, Heffening, ‘Murtadd’, in Encyclopaedia of Islam 1913–36, Vol. VI, Leiden: EJ Brill, 1987, pp. 736–38. 56 This contrast has been noted in numerous writings of K.A. Nizami and S.A.A. Rizvi. For some of the references, see Aquil, ‘Sufi Cults, Politics and Conversion’, p. 195. 57 Akhbar-ul-Akhyar, p. 139. 58 For a study on the shaikh and his disciples, see, Carl W. Ernst, Eternal Garden: Mysticism, History and Politics at a South Asian Sufi Centre, Albany: State University of New York Press, 1992. 59 For details, see Nizami, Fariduddin Ganj-i-Shakar, pp. 106–7. Surprisingly, the author ignores this evidence and goes on to announce that there was no account of conversion in early mystic records, ibid., p. 107. 60 Lawrence, ‘Early Indo-Muslim Saints’, pp. 116–17. 61 Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad. Vol. IV, 40th meeting. Tazkirat-ul-Auliya, Part I, p. 149, attributes the last statement to a Magian (gabri). 62 Mujeeb, Indian Muslims, pp. 165–66. 63 Digby, ‘Hawk and Dove’, pp. 13–17. 64 See, for instance, Digby, ‘Sufi Shaikh as a Source of Authority’, pp. 71–72. 65 Dalil-ul-Arifin, p. 57. 66 Fawa’id-us-Salikin, pp. 14–15. 67 Asrar-ul-Auliya, pp. 201–2. 68 Siyar-ul-Auliya, pp. 56–57. 69 Siyar-ul-Arifin, p. 14. 70 Dalil-ul-Arifin, p. 51. 71 Siyar-ul-Arifin, p.14. 72 Some modern scholars consider the anecdote of the encounter with the Rajput ruler and the latter’s defeat at the hands of the Turks due to the curse of the shaikh as historically true, see, for example, Yusuf Husain, Glimpses of Medieval Indian Culture, Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1957, p. 37. Rizvi questions the stories of the shaikh’s encounter with Prithviraj, History of Sufism in India, Vol. I, p. 117, fn. 2. However, he has not explained as to why the accounts of Sufi texts, including the authoritative Siyar-ul-Auliya and Akhbar-ul-Akhyar should not be considered as reliable. 73 Abdul Haqq also notes that Pithaura was at Ajmer at the time of the shaikh’s arrival there, Akhbar-ul-Akhyar, p. 22. 74 Safinat-ul-Auliya, p. 128. Dara Shukoh’s Qadiri affiliation influenced his writings. Not only did he depend on a non-Chishti narrative for the account of the shaikh’s arrival at Ajmer but also in his arrangement of the chapters on the various silsilas, the Chishtis are placed after the Qadiris, ibid., pp. 7–9.

The Transformative Presence of Sufis  147 75 Rizvi, History of Sufism in India, Vol. I, p. 117, fn.2; Lawrence, ‘Early IndoMuslim Saints’, p. 118. 76 Anis-ul-Arwah, collection of the discourses of Usman Harwani compilation attributed to Mu’in-ud-Din Sijzi, Urdu trans., Delhi: Maktaba Jam-i-Noor, n.d., p. 45. 77 Dalil-ul-Arifin, p. 30. 78 Ibid., pp. 10–13. 79 Ibid., p. 42. 80 Fawa’id-us-Salikin, p. 26. 81 Dalil-ul-Arifin, p. 40. For more anecdotes of the Ka‘ba visiting a Sufi shaikh and circumambulating him, Anis-ul-Arwah, p. 12; Fawa’id-us-Salikin, p. 26. 82 Siyar-ul-Auliya, pp. 56–57. 83 For this and other references to the pilgrimage of Mu‘in-ud-Din Sijzi’s tomb in the 14th century, see Simon Digby, ‘Early Pilgrimages to the Graves of Muinuddin Sijzi and Other Indian Chishti Shaikhs’, in M. Israel and N.K. Wagle (eds), Islamic Society and Culture-Essays in Honour of Aziz Ahmad, New Delhi: Manohar, 1983, pp. 95–100. 84 Siyar-ul-Arifin, pp. 14–15. 85 Compare K.A. Nizami’s statement that miracle-mongering had no place in the spiritual discipline of Nizam-ud-Din Auliya, ‘Introduction’ to the English translation of Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad by Bruce B. Lawrence, Nizamuddin Auliya: Morals for the Heart, Conversations of Shaikh Nizamuddin Auliya Recorded by Amir Hasan Sijzi, New York: Paulist Press, 1992, p. 15. 86 Simon Digby attributes the popularity of the Chishti shaikhs to what he calls the organised propaganda by litterateur-disciples such as Amir Hasan, Amir Khusrau and Ziya-ud-Din Barani, ‘Sufi Shaikh as a Source of Authority’, pp. 69–70. 87 Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad, Vol. II, 5th meeting. 88 Khair-ul-Majalis, 11th meeting. 89 Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad, Vol. 1, 28th meeting. Also see, Akhbar-ul-Akhyar, p. 53, where Abdul Haqq refers to Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar’s malfuzat collected by Nizam-ud-Din Auliya.

7

Conversion and Translation Life and Work of Dom Antonio do Rosario Deepashree Dutta

The country is large and fertile; on the side washed by the sea, where the Ganges flows into the ocean, it breaks up into many islands, being intersected by many rivers, commonly called ‘gangas’ because the people hold strongly that they are arms and mouth of the Ganges.1 This description is a part of a letter written by Friar Nicholas Pimenta, Jesuit Father Visitor of East to the General of the Society of Jesus at Rome, in 1600 CE, illustrating the unique topography of the southeastern delta of Bengal. The said letter was written as a part of the series of letters exchanged between the Jesuit missionaries in Bengal, Father Visitor Nicholas Pimenta at Goa and Claudio Acquaviva, Jesuit Father General at Rome, from 1598 to 1604 CE. The Pimenta mission or the Jesuit mission, which started proselytising particularly in the southeastern part of Bengal from 1598 CE, was associated with the variegated Portuguese and Catholic presence that characterised the region from the 16th century onwards. Though the said mission proved to be short-lived, the letters written by the missionaries of the Pimenta mission provide us significant glimpses of the topographical, political and social complexities of 16th and 17th century Bengal and the efforts to negotiate with it. The letters reveal that some of the Jesuit missionaries of the mission had learnt and were using the Bengali language for proselytisation. Father Melchoir Fonseca, in a letter from Chandecan,2 dated 12 January 1600, mentions that at the opening of the new church at Chandecan, one of the reasons they had kept the feast so solemn is because he had delivered the sermon in ‘Bengala’ for the first time. Further, there is also evidence that Father Dominic Souza, of the same mission, had learnt the language and was conversant to the extent that he had translated a catechism to Bengali.3 The Augustinians in Bengal too parallelly engaged in the vernacular realm and would play a vital role in the history of Bengali literature.4 Thus the Pimenta missionaries, in a way, inaugurated a nascent stage of Christian understanding and linguistic opening towards Bengali culture. This article explores this shared space of understanding that developed in early modern Bengal due to encounters between two disparate DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-10

Conversion and Translation  149 cultures through a study of the late 17th-century figure of a local Roman Catholic convert, Dom Antonio do Rosario, and the work, BrahmanRoman Catholic Sambad, authored by him. Catholic Christianity’s negotiations between accommodation and its hegemonic agendas in the 17th and early 18th century Bengal is the main thrust of this article. Religious narratives of ‘church history’ circumscribed the writings on the history of Catholic Christianity in early modern India for long. In recent years, however, numerous scholars, notably Susan Bayly,5 Ines G. Županov6 and Ananya Chakravarti,7 have highlighted the importance of local and global exigencies in shaping the history of Christianity in India. This essay intends explicitly to explore Catholic Christianity’s interactions and accommodations in early modern Bengal through a study of a local Catholic convert and his work.

The Portuguese in Bengal Bengal, or the region east of Cape Comorin, came into the focus of the Portuguese with the second Portuguese governor Afonso de Albuquerque’s capture of Melaka in 1511 CE. Since Vasco da Gama’s landing at Calicut in 1498 CE, the Portuguese presence was concentrated on the western coast of India. The western coast was strategically more important for the Portuguese, both commercially and politically. So much so that in the early years of their presence, particularly under the governorship of Afonso de Albuquerque (1509–1515 CE), the Portuguese successfully established a chain of fortresses along the coast and introduced a regular patrolling fleet to ensure Portuguese royal monopoly over the region’s trade. Thus based out of Goa, the Portuguese established a consolidated militarised and centralised presence on the western coast.8 From Albuquerque’s successor, Lopo Soares de Albergaria’s period (1515–1518 CE), a second Portuguese settlement and trade pattern emerged in the Bay of Bengal region as a firm policy of decentralisation of trade was initiated under him.9 Hence, private Portuguese traders or casados (married Portuguese citizens, whose wives were often of Indian origin) began gradually moving to and settling in Bengal for personal profit. The Portuguese crown itself also entered the fray when in 1516 CE, an official Portuguese fleet, under Fernão Peres de Andrade was sent to explore the Bay of Bengal region. By the 1530s, Bengal received regular crown ships/carreira de Bengala10 with periodic official Portuguese embassies to Gaur, the capital of the sultans of Bengal. However, what characterised Portuguese presence in Bengal was initiatives from private people. Referred to as the ‘shadow empire’, it was primarily the unofficial, the Portuguese privateers, freebooters, convicts and adventurers, who came to settle in this region, away from the stifling official structure of the West, to make their fortune.11 The growth of private trade in Bengal was such that the very logic of official carreiras was called into question, and this resulted in the complete

150  Deepashree Dutta abandonment of crown shipping by the 1560s.12 Thus, early modern Bengal, one can conclude, was peopled by Portuguese privateers, working outside the control of the Estado da India, centred primarily around the ports of Satgoan and later Hugli in the western part of the Bengal delta and Chattagram and other smaller deltaic enclaves in the eastern part of the delta.

The Portuguese Padroado: The trajectories of the Catholic Missionaries and Orders Given the nature of the Portuguese settlement in Bengal, scholars argue that what formed a vital bridge between the privateers and the Estado was the padres or the Catholic priests and religious orders. The Church formed a very integral part of the Portuguese seaborne empire. This ‘union of faith and empire, of Cross and Crown’13 found expression in the institution of Padroado Real or royal patronage of the Church overseas.14 From the onset, the Portuguese ships brought religious15 and secular priests (non-monastic priests) to India to work here. By 1533 CE, moreover, the diocese of Goa was established, whose boundaries were defined as being in one direction the Cape of Good Hope and the other the kingdom of China.16 However, the turning point in the history of Padroado in Asia was the CounterReformation in Europe and the subsequent entry of the Jesuits into India in 1542 CE. The Jesuits instilled vigour into the missionary movement and broadened the scope of the Padroado by taking up evangelisation in the hinterland regions such as Bengal. As far as Bengal is concerned, the exact year missionaries began to visit the region is unknown. The first missionaries who reached Chittagong in 1576 CE were the Jesuits Fr Anthony Vaz and Fr Peter Dias. Despite their humble beginning, the various religious orders, particularly the Augustinians, came to wield significant authority in the region. However, the careers of the missionaries and religious orders working in the western part of the delta, centred at Hugli, proved to be very different from those in the southeastern part of the delta centring at Chattagram owing to the distinct historical trajectories of the two regions. A watershed event in the history of the port of Hugli as the Portuguese porto pequeno (small port) was Akbar’s farman (royal order) of 1578– 1579 CE. The farman officially allowed the Portuguese to build a city at Hugli with full religious liberty and leeway to preach their religion, build churches and even baptise gentiles with their consent.17 The direct aftermath of Akbar’s farman, thus, was the entry and establishment of the Augustinians at Hugli. While it is difficult to ascertain the exact date of the Augustinians’ arrival at Hugli, by 1599 CE, the Bishop of Cochin had assigned the Bengal mission to the Augustinian Order and had sent five priests to Hugli.18 In the same year, they built a church and a convent at Hugli. The Augustinians were assigned the Bengal mission, Pius

Conversion and Translation  151 Malekandathil argues, because, at that time, Goa had an Augustinian Archbishop, Dom Alexis de Menezes (1595–1612 CE), who worked in their favour.19 Moreover, though the Augustinians spread all over Bengal, Hugli remained their main centre of activity where they came to exert significant influence. However, a major disruption in the history of Portuguese Hugli occurred in 1632 CE with the seizing of the port by Shah Jahan’s forces. Interestingly, despite its severity, scarcely a year after the siege, the Portuguese returned and re-established themselves at Hugli by a farman granted by Shah Jahan in 1633 CE.20 The farman states that the Mughal Emperor had granted 777 bighas of rent-free land to the Augustinian Fathers and Christians of bandel Hugli to inhabit, with 17 religious and commercial privileges.21 This farman thus allowed the Augustinians to significantly strengthen their position at Hugli and entrench themselves in the region. In contrast to the Augustinians in the West, the career of the Jesuit mission in the southeastern part of the Bengal delta proved to be extremely short-lived. The region’s fluid and ever-changing topographical condition allowed the Portuguese privateers to centre themselves at Chattagram, the porto grande (big port), and carve out small coastal enclaves for themselves (for instance, in Bakla, Sripur, Loricul, Dianga and Sandwip). Along with the Portuguese, the region also politically accommodated numerous other actors. By the late 16th century, it saw the growth of a quadrilateral conflict for power, between the rulers of Bengal (the Husain Shahi rulers and then the Mughals), the local factors (the rajas/Bara Bhuiyans), the external forces (the Portuguese) and the Arakan kingdom. In these volatile conditions, the Jesuits launched their first full-fledged mission to the eastern parts of Bengal in 1598 CE. Hence as noted, from 1598 to 1604 CE, a series of 12 to 13 letters written by the Jesuit missionaries in Bengal to either Claudio Acquaviva, Jesuit Father General at Rome, or Father Visitor Nicholas Pimenta provides a detailed account of the fate of the mission. During the early years of their arrival, between 1598 and 1599 CE, the letters of the Jesuit missionaries narrate the enthusiastic reception, patronage and farmans to build churches and proselytise. They received these from the three local gentile (Hindu) rajas, namely Pratapaditya of Chandecan, Kedar Rai of Sripur and Ramchandra Ray of Bacala, and also the Arakanese king. However, the Jesuit missionaries’ days of peace were numbered. Things escalated by 1602 CE, when Domingo Carvalho, a Portuguese captain, took advantage of the Mughals’ fresh advances and seized the salt trading island of Sandwip or Sundiva, which was under Kedar Ray, the ruler of Sripur. The Arakanese king and Kedar Ray turned against the Portuguese and, in alliance, launched two consecutive attacks on the Portuguese of Chittagong in 1602 and 1603 CE. In the ensuing struggle, the Portuguese were defeated, and Domingo Carvalho was betrayed and beheaded by Raja Pratapaditya of Chandecan. The Jesuit missionaries notably were the worst sufferers since their churches and residences were robbed and ransacked, and they were forced to flee and

152  Deepashree Dutta abandon their mission at Bengal. Hence, the Jesuit/Pimenta mission shifted their base to Pegu.

Life and Times of Dom Antonio do Rosario From the 1670s onwards, a renewed interest in the eastern part of Bengal was seen among the Jesuits. The reason behind this can be found in a letter written by Anthony Thomas, a Jesuit stationed in China in 1681 CE, in which the latter describes the condition of Christianity in late 17th century Asia.22 When it came to Bengal, Thomas reports that of late, a new Christianity had sprung up because of the activities of someone called Anthony, who, from ‘pagan’, had become a ‘zealous preacher of the evangelical law’.23 Moreover, this Anthony or Dom Antonio do Rosario had emerged as a figure of much interest and contestation in the late 17th-century world. The Jesuit annual letter from Goa, dated 27 December 1678, begins its narrative of Dom Antonio’s life with a description of the raids conducted by the Moghs (Arakanese privateers) with their boats on the villages and kingdoms of Bengal to plunder and enslave their inhabitants. These raids, the letter notes, happened in that part of the delta where the many arms of Ganga ‘divide and cut the whole of Bengalla’.24 During one such raid, ‘among the many captives whom they once took away from the kingdom of Bhusna, there was a small gentio boy, a descendant of the ancient petty kings of that kingdom’.25 The contemporary Augustinians in their letter also refer to the captive boy, not as a descendant but a prince of the kingdom of Bhusna.26 The Augustinians also mention the year of the boy’s captivity as 1663 CE. The Moghs, on realising the boy’s lineage, handed him to the fleet’s captain-in-chief, a Portuguese. In turn, the captain entrusted the boy to an Augustinian priest named Father Manoel do Rosario, vicar of one of the Augustinian churches in Bengal.27 Father Manoel welcomed the boy and, intending to make him Christian, took great care of him and tried to make him eat. The boy, however, proved quite stubborn. That very night, both the Jesuits and the Augustinians narrate, the boy woke up shrieking and shouting, having dreamt of St Anthony, whose picture was there in the room, beating him with a girdle and ordering him to eat and become Christian. Subsequently, as the Jesuit letter narrates, ‘the amorous blows of St Anthony’s girdle made the gentio forget presently the superstitions of his heathenism’ and he applied himself to study the Christian doctrine under the guidance of Father Manoel.28 After almost six months, Father Manoel baptised him and the boy took the name, Dom Antonio do Rosario. ‘He was called Dom because he was of noble parentage; Anthony, in honour of, and out of veneration for, the saint who converted him, and do Rosario, in memory of the Father who baptised him’.29 After baptism, Dom Antonio led a life of great austerity, learnt to read and write the Portuguese language and studied ‘the truths of religion’. At the age of 23, in 1670 CE, Antonio, from Chattagram, where he was located, came back to his homeland at Bhusna

Conversion and Translation  153 to actively preach.30 The first person he baptised was a gentio girl whom he took as a wife, and hence they together took up proselytisation. The Jesuit annual letter notes that Dom Antonio, in his initial days, realised that it was not possible to proselytise Christian doctrines among the Bengali inhabitants in the Portuguese language. Hence, he had undertaken the translation of the entire Christian doctrine to the ‘language of the country’.31 In the following two years, such was the ‘divine grace’ on Dom Antonio that he went on to convert 20,000 people.32 He, however, also had to face instances of opposition and persecution, which he was able to ward off through ‘divine grace’ and the performance of miracles. Notable among these instances is when Shaista Khan, who was the Mughal appointed ‘Viceroy’ or Subahdar of Bengal (1664–1667 CE), imprisoned Dom Antonio, along with some other newly converted Christians, for baptising Moors or Muslims of the kingdom.33 Shaista Khan, however, on observing the perseverance of the Christians and after having a dialogue with Dom Antonio, which convinced the former of the quality as well as poverty of the person, not only granted them freedom on the ground that they will not convert Moors but also accepted Antonio’s plea for help. Shaista Khan hence bestowed on Dom Antonio some uncultivated land in the kingdom of Bhusna and appointed him to the office of chaudhari or factor of four aldeas or villages.34 From the revenue of these four villages, he had to pay the government some tax and the rest he was allowed to keep for himself. Dom Antonio hence took possession of the land.35 While he rented out the four villages, in the land left, he raised a hermitage, where he settled along with other newly converted Christians. Richard Eaton points to the rise of a religious gentry in Bengal from the second half of the 16th century due to the Mughal government’s patronisation of predominantly Muslim and also Hindu, and Christian pioneers in the eastern deltas. These people expanded cultivation and established settlements centred around a religious figure or institution in the region.36 Similarly, Shaista Khan’s grant and Dom Antonio’s settlement and establishment of a monastery qualifies him as one such religious pioneer who constituted a religious gentry in Bengal. As reflected in their annual letter, the Jesuits had received the news of Dom Antonio and his work with great enthusiasm since it gave them a renewed hope of a mission in Bengal. The Jesuit missionaries of Agra notably showed most enthusiasm since ‘it (Bengal) was the dominions of the Great Mogol’, where they had permission to preach.37 Hence in 1677 CE, the Provincial at Goa deputed Father Antonio de Magalháis, the rector at college at Agra, to visit and report on this new field.38 Father Magalháis begins his letter to the Provincial of Goa with a brief narration of his almost three-month journey to reach Dhaka, where he believed Dom Antonio was.39 However, neither did he find Dom Antonio in Dhaka or in Loricul, where he was reported to be. The Father, after finally

154  Deepashree Dutta finding out that Dom Antonio was in his village, Dharmanagar, sent him a letter. In his reply, Antonio informed the Father that the chief chaudhuri had held him captive in the village due to his inability to pay the rent arrears for the village.40 Father Magalháis, hence arranged for the payment of the due rent to meet Dom Antonio in person. The Father describes Dom Antonio as a ‘small man, dark and rough feature’.41 ‘He (was) very poor in worldly goods but very rich in virtues’.42 He, moreover, lived in great misery since his village failed to pay the 100 rupees rent due. Father Magalháis, convinced that Dom Antonio was ‘truly an apostolic man’, decided to accompany him in his visits to the villages of his new converts.43 However, before they could embark on their tour, opposition came from the Augustinian vicar of the bandel of Loricul, who on getting to know of the Jesuit visitor, personally warned Dom Antonio against working with him, since he had been baptised and brought up by the Augustine house, where his allegiance should have laid.44 Similar warnings also came from the Augustine vicar of Chandipur. Under such conditions, despite Dom Antonio’s troubles, Father Magalháis convinced him to resume the tour, but clandestinely. Hence the two conducted an extensive tour of the aldeas (villages) of the new Christians, mainly centring in Dhaka, for eight months and the Father made painstaking notes of the number of new Christians at each aldea, which proved to be quite significant.45 They were, however, unable to visit some of the villages on the side of the bandel of Hugli, districts of Tejgaon and Chattagram, because of the strong Augustinian presence. Moreover, Father Magalháis ends his letter to the Provincial at Goa, with the prospect of re-establishing a Jesuit mission in Bengal, provided they could firstly find a residence in a suitable place, which was independent of the Moors and at a convenient distance from the new Christians. Secondly, they could get more missionaries to help Dom Antonio, higher allowances and boats, which would help them navigate the region and some expense for the new Christians, who were extremely poor.46 From another letter dated 1680 CE, two years after the one by Father Magalháis, written by the Provincial at Goa, we get to know that Dom Antonio, frustrated with the Augustinians’ lack of support, had, in the meantime, asked the Jesuits for help. The Jesuits, in response, had bought a house near Dom Antonio’s mission.47 The letter also reveals a level of scepticism with regard to whether the Christianity preached by Dom Antonio, given that he was a ‘native’ by birth, was devoid of ‘distortions’.48 However, at the same time, they were not willing to belittle the popularity enjoyed by Dom Antonio in the region. Around this period, another Jesuit missionary Father Marcos Antonio Santucci, came to Bengal from Nepal. In his letter to the Provincial, dated 15 November 1680, he gives a detailed account of his experiences with the new mission of D. Antonio in Bengal, which was beset with setbacks and disappointments.49 Firstly Father Santucci, on reaching Dhaka, was informed that Dom Antonio was in captivity because of the enormous amount of

Conversion and Translation  155 money he owed to money lenders. Secondly, on reaching ‘Telihati’, the place chosen to establish the new Jesuit mission, the Father realised that it was not a village but an extremely marshy forested area, infested by mosquitos, sparsely populated and far from the main habitations.50 Santucci significantly notes that Dom Antonio’s difficulties in payment of rent and debt resulted from his failure to settle this marshy area despite several attempts.51 Although initially, the Augustinians treated the Jesuit Father well, their treatment completely changed after receiving a letter from Goa. They demanded from the Father a letter of permission which allowed him to work in Bengal. Hence, an argument ensued between the two parties at the end of which the Augustinians produced a document signed by Dom Antonio in which the latter declared it had been wrong of him to convert so many people alone and that he was against the working of any other order other than the Augustinians in Bengal.52 Father Santucci argued that Dom Antonio was coerced to sign this document. At the end of his letter, Father Santucci enumerated the difficulties of establishing a new mission in Bengal, indicated the geographical spread of the new Christians, their poverty and low caste status, resistance from the Augustinians and, finally, the enormous debt owed by Dom Antonio.53 Nevertheless, Father Santucci was still optimistic. He believed a successful mission could still be established if some prosperous person could sponsor Dom Antonio’s release and the Jesuits could find a convenient location to establish themselves.54 He concludes the letter, hoping that Prince Akbar, the son of Emperor Aurangzeb, who had rebelled against him, would become the Sultan since it would be easy for him to get a farman from him, as he was friends with Prince Akbar’s bakshi.55 However, in the subsequent letters written by Father Santucci in 1682 and 1683 CE, his tone would become entirely pessimistic and severely critical of Dom Antonio and his work. At the beginning of the letter, he narrates in great detail the trouble and mistreatment he received at the hands of the Augustinian vicars of Dhaka, Loricul and Hugli. He then goes on to narrate that things had taken a turn for the worse since Dom Antonio had joined hands with the Augustinians, for a bribe of Rs 500 or 600. Father Santucci writes that Dom Antonio’s new Christians had turned against them and began threatening and harassing them with this new partnership.56 Moreover, Father Santucci, in his 1683 CE letter, declared that D. Antonio was far from the apostle they had painted him to be.57 He accused him of misappropriating the money they had lent him to pay off his debt and for joining hands with the Augustinians behind their back. Further, Father Santucci also realised that Dom Antonio’s new Christians ‘had nothing of Christianity except baptism’.58 This new Christianity, as Santucci described, was a new sect of baptised gentios, Christians in name and gentios in deeds.59 This, he argues, had been very cleverly kept disguised from them. For everything, the new Christians still depended on the Brahmins for birth, marriage, death etc.60 They still observed shradhs

156  Deepashree Dutta (Hindu funerary rites) on death and fed the Brahmins. After some insistence, Father Santucci writes, the new Christians confessed that Dom Antonio and his disciples had taught them that it was sufficient if they were Christians in secret and believed the mysteries of our Holy Faith firmly, for the rest, for the sake of caste, they could observe previous customs.61 Hence, though the Jesuit fathers tried to persuade them to get rid of their ‘heathenism’, the primarily low caste new Christians refused to do so in fear of losing their caste, which meant social and economic ostracisation. Father Santucci further writes that ‘among the gentios of Bengala, caste and religion are the same things, and there is no persuading them that changing the one is not changing the other’.62 Thus, for the Jesuits, there was no solution to this big problem of caste, which the Father writes, is common to all Hindu converts of India.63 However, Dom Antonio, knowing all this, had deceived the Father to extort money from them in their own words. Views and sentiments similar to those of Father Santucci were also expressed by Father Anthony Magalháis in his letter written from Bhusna in 1683 CE. Interestingly, the Augustinian letters, particularly those written in 1682 CE, are also highly critical of Dom Antonio and his work. However, as Tarapada Mukhopadhyay points out, the Augustinians wrote these letters as a defence against the accusations made against them by their Superiors at Rome and Lisbon that they had been neglectful of the extraordinary feat achieved by Dom Antonio.64 They, in the letter, briefly argued that the number of conversions carried out by Dom Antonio was much less than he claimed, and the Augustinians had extended every possible help to him. They claimed that those converted by Dom Antonio were anything but Christians, while those converted by them were genuinely Portuguese Christians in their habits. Finally, in their letter, the Augustinians emphasised that though Dom Antonio tried to claim the glory for himself since his baptism, he belonged to the Augustinian Order.65 From these letters, one can conclude that two factors resulted in Dom Antonio’s ill-repute: firstly, his monetary crisis and debt and secondly, he got caught between the Jesuits and the Augustinians. One can argue, as already mentioned, that Dom Antonio’s story, to a large extent, resembles that of the pioneering Muslim shaikhs and pirs. During the 16th and 17th centuries, with state support, they cleared forests and established settlements centring a rudimentary mosque or shrine, predominantly in the eastern part of Bengal. This is also reflected in the fact that despite the Augustinians’ claims, the conversions are solely ascribed to Dom Antonio and his Christianity. Just like Islam in its early phase in Bengal, Christianity seems to have undergone a process of ‘inclusion’66 into the established religions and customs of the region. At the same time, one can perhaps argue that D. Antonio was possibly a failed agrarian pioneer since, as the Jesuits narrate in detail, despite several attempts, he was unable to establish a settlement in the marshy forested areas of his land, which in turn led to his failure to pay the rent, and subsequent debt and poverty. Moreover, this

Conversion and Translation  157 resulted in his taking recourse to the two religious orders, the Jesuits and the Augustinians, both of whom initially intended to usurp Antonio’s movement for their benefit. However, Antonio’s shifting allegiance between the two determined by monetary considerations led to hostilities and denunciation from the two orders. Both the orders significantly discredited Dom Antonio for his ‘monetary extortion’ and the fact that the new Christians under him were not ‘true Christians’ and retained their heathen traditions and practices. One can argue that Dom Antonio’s proselytisation methods parallel the Jesuit pastoral practice of accommodatio, which allowed the ‘spiritual preceptor to adapt the Christian lesson to the capacity and disposition of the audience’.67 A notable exponent of accommodatio in the early 17th century was the Italian Jesuit Roberto Nobili, who preached at Madurai. With the Brahmin population as his primary target, Nobili disassociated himself from the Portuguese Jesuits and started living like the Brahmin hermits.68 He also allowed his high caste converts some concessions such as maintaining distance from the lower castes, retaining the sacred thread, practise ablutions. Nobili, however, for his methods faced constant criticism from both within and outside the Christian community. Dom Antonio similarly, one may argue, allowed his primarily low caste converts to retain their caste identity and practices to avoid social ostracisation. As Jesuit Father Santucci points out, it was sufficient for Dom Antonio if the Christians in secret believed the mysteries of the Holy Faith, ‘for the rest, for the sake of their caste they could do everything’.69 Moreover, this principle of accommodatio in spreading the Christian message comes out more vividly in Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, the vernacular catechism ascribed to Dom Antonio.

Translation and Proselytisation: An Analysis of a Bengali Catechism The first reference to the text Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad or ‘Argument between a Roman Catholic and a Brahmin’ is found some 60–70 years after Dom Antonio’s time, in an extract of a letter dated 25 November 1750. This letter which the Father Provincial of the Congregation of St Augustine of Goa, Frei Ambrosio de Santo Agostinho, gave to the Viceroy of India, describes the Mission of St Nicholas of Tolentino, established in the Bhawal kingdom of Bengal between 1734 and 1754 CE.70 Interestingly in the letter, the Augustinian Father Provincial ascribes the beginning of the Tolentino mission to Dom Antonio and narrates the story of Antonio’s conversion and early life. In the course of his narration, the Father Provincial writes that Dom Antonio, at the beginning of his mission, had authored ‘a Dialogue in the vernacular between a Christian and Braemene, in which he destroyed the belief of Gentooism and demonstrated the Catholic truth’.71 It is this dialogue that he used to argue, in public, particularly against the Brahmins. The Father further informs us that this dialogue was copied by one of the Fathers of the current Tolentino mission into two columns ‘one

158  Deepashree Dutta containing Portuguese characters, the other Bengala characters, but both in the same language (Bengali) and corresponding word for word’.72 The said Father also wrote the dialogue in the Portuguese language. Unfortunately, none of the Jesuit and Augustinian contemporary letters available to us refer to the text specifically. However, most scholars based on the Father Provincial’s letter of 1750 ascribe Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad to Dom Antonio do Rosario. The printed copy of the text available to us was procured in its manuscript form from the National Library of Evora in Portugal by Surendra Nath Sen, a professor of Calcutta University, who got it published in 1937. The text in this copy is written simultaneously in Bengali and Roman script though the language is Bengali. Authored sometime between 1670 and 1680 CE, Dom Antonio’s vernacular catechism, Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, is essentially a 120-page long dialogue between a Brahman and a Roman Catholic, in which the former loses out to the superior logical claims of the latter. Catechisms notably are texts in which a summary or exposition of Christian doctrines is provided in a question-answer or dialogue form between a teacher and student or, as in this case, between a guru and shishya. Antje Fluchter argues that these catechisms in the non-European world underwent a process of translation, adaptation and at times even rewriting to suit the new circumstances.73 Thus, Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad falls directly within the vernacular Christian theological literature tradition, which developed in India in the 16th and 17th centuries. As far as the language of the text is concerned, Surendra Nath Sen writes that the language is simple and is a combination of textual Bengali and the colloquial language used in East Bengal.74 There is, however, usage of some amount of Sanskrit in the text as well. What is of particular interest is that the concerned text, like many of its genres, engages in the process of comparison, ‘translation’ and to an extent ‘finding equivalence’ between two religious traditions while establishing the superiority of the religion proselytised. The Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad commences with a conversation between an inquisitive Brahman (B) and a Roman Catholic (RC): B: Who do you worship? RC: I worship the Parameswar (Supreme Lord), the Purna Brahma. B: Good; we also do the same thing. RC: If you worship the same Purna Brahma, why do you subscribe to such bad customs and religious practices?75 The Roman Catholic to demonstrate the inferiority of Hindu or gentio76 customs and doctrines brings up various issues such as ‘Hindu’ notions of sin, karma, rebirth etc., before the Brahmin. The Brahmin, in each case, fails to defend the Hindu doctrines and beliefs and ultimately retreats in self-contradiction.

Conversion and Translation  159 Interestingly, at the very beginning, by translating the Christian idea of God as Parameswar and the Purna Brahma, the author establishes what Tony Stewart calls ‘approximations of equivalence’ or ‘refraction’ whereby there is ‘obvious and overt similarities of character and action’ between the two words.77 However, a more dynamic and functional process of translation and seeking equivalence comes through in the subsequent section in which the conversation moves to the question of God’s incarnation as a man – translated conveniently as avatar/avatara. B: How many times did Parameswar reveal himself on the Earth, according to you? RC: Only once, to free humanity. B: In which land was he born? In whose house? From whose womb? On which date? RC: In Nazareth Bethlehem, at Joseph’s house, from Virgin Maria’s womb, solely due to the blessings of God, was born Parameswar, at a very auspicious time.78 Hearing about Jesus, the Brahmin remarks that he had never heard of Jesus or his work. The Brahmin hence says to the Catholic, ‘now hear about all those we refer to as avatar and then give me your judgment so that I can know the truth’.79 The Brahmin goes on to narrate the stories of the ten avatars individually. In each case, the Roman Catholic repudiates the story based on its logical absurdity. Predictably the Brahmin starts the narration of the Puranic story of the fish avatar of Vishnu. B: Our first Avatar is the fish form, taken for the retrieval of the Vedas. RC: So, if the Parameswar had not taken the fish form, he would not have been able to retrieve the Vedas from the depth of the sea? In this manner, the Roman Catholic rubbishes the story and convinces the Brahmin that despite the sayings of the Vedas, the fish avatar is false since God, being omnipresent and all-powerful, did not need to take the form of a fish to retrieve the Vedas. The Catholic uses the same logic to dismiss the stories of the subsequent two avatars: the tortoise avatar, who saved and held the Earth on his back and the boar avatar, who at the time when the Goddess Earth had sunk into the primordial sea, is believed to have rescued her by carrying her back. In the case of the tortoise avatar, the Roman Catholic points out that if God’s command was enough to create the entire universe, his command would have been enough to support the Earth.80 Similarly, following the same logic, he argues that the Almighty did not have to take the boar form to bring back the Earth goddess. The story of the subsequent avatar Narasimha, a part lion and man avatar, who killed the demon Hiranyakashipu in a void by piercing his nails and screaming

160  Deepashree Dutta out loud, is rejected by the Roman Catholic primarily on the ground that Parameswar is not capable of such extreme rage. Similarly, he refutes the story of the dwarf avatar, who tricked the overgenerous King Bali on the ground that such trickery was not the characteristic of Parameswar.81 The Brahman continues to narrate the stories of the avatars. He subsequently takes up the story of the avatar Rama, the son of Dasarath, the ruler of Ayodhya, who killed the evil Ravana when the latter abducted his wife, Sita. However, the Roman Catholic refuses to recognise Rama as the Parameswar since he argues Rama was like any other raja or king of those times, considered and worshipped by their ‘uncivilised’ subjects as Parameswar.82 Like other kings, Rama, he argues, had fought wars, got married, produced successors, etc. Similarly, using his logic, the Roman Catholic declares the three avatars of Kripa,83 Parashuram and Balaram as ‘sinful human bodies’.84 Next, the Brahman brings up the avatar of Krishna, whom he declares as God himself, and narrates in great detail Krishna’s various divine feats and exploits since his birth. The Roman Catholic vehemently dismisses Krishna as a person of sin, a victim of lust, a householder and a killer of many.85 Such characteristics, he argues, is not of a God. After dismissing even the last Kalki avatar, the Roman Catholic convinces the Brahmin that all his avatars are lies so that the Brahmin is bound, in the end, to say: ‘Then who do I pray to?’86 The entire text, including the extensive section on the avatars described above, is clearly about discrediting and denigrating what the author construes to be the beliefs of the gentio Brahmins vis-à-vis Christianity. However, at the same time, the author ends up establishing a level of commensurability or equivalence between Christianity and Hinduism or Gentooism while discrediting the latter.87 The entire text assumes that the two religions are comparable despite Christianity being the model par excellence while the other is a deviation from the model.88 This assumption serves as the logic behind the establishment of equivalence between the idea of a man-God or Christ and that of avatars. Having established this similarity, the author, in the text, presents Christ as the quintessence of an avatar and rejects the das avatar, narrated by the Brahmin as bad or sinful gods. This translation of Christ as an avatar, however, needs to be perceived against the backdrop of both the notion of an avatar as perceived by the Christian knowledge-gathering enterprise about Indian religions that had developed in the early modern period and the idea of avatar and yug avatar89 that was circulating in early modern Bengal.

The Christian Knowledge-Gathering Enterprise and the Notion of Avatar The early years of Portuguese arrival and settlement in India witnessed the impulse to Latinise or rather Lusitanise locals, as Albuquerque visualised a society that was loyal and dependent on the Portuguese.90 This desire,

Conversion and Translation  161 however, proved short-sighted. By the mid-16th century, with the increasing expansion of the Portuguese empire, there was a gradual shift towards indigenous languages and greater involvement, as the empire increasingly recognised the plurality of the people they were dealing with.91 However, the turning point was the coming of the Jesuits and Francis Xavier, the first Jesuit missionary to come to India in 1542 CE. The Jesuits brought Ignatius of Loyola’s notion of accommodatio, which made it explicit that they should selectively tolerate unfamiliar people and their ways: accept customs that did not directly contradict Church teachings and induce change gradually, in ways understandable to the indigenous population.92 Thus starting with Francis Xavier, we come across several missionaries, through the second half of the 16th century, learning and using local languages, narrative styles and discourses while preaching and composing Christian theological literature in India. This linguistic opening, in turn, spurred the desire to understand and study the indigenous religious system among mainly the Jesuit missionaries, often in collaboration with their native informants. The resultant Jesuit discourses on Indian religion are some of the richest and most valuable sources of early modern ethnographic information.93 However, these discourses or writings were not necessarily polemical but had an important practical function for the missionaries working in the field. Firstly, to make converts among educated and elite members of the Indian society, the Jesuits felt it was necessary to refute or transform the principles of the religion they sought to replace and have the information necessary to do so.94 Secondly, some Jesuits set themselves to ‘sacralise’ Indian religion. They believed that removing misinterpretations from classical Indian writings could make it consistent with Christian doctrines.95 Interestingly, these Jesuit writings on Indian religions often delved into the concept of avatars of Vishnu from their various positions and understandings. One of the earliest descriptions of avatars of Vishnu comes from the writings of Alessandro Valignano, who in the 1570s was appointed to evaluate mission structures and strategies in India, China and Japan. Valignano mentions the avatars of Vishnu, merely noting that he appears on Earth as a man but also takes the shape of strange animals.96 Valignano also points to the avatars as the origin of Indian idol worship and condemns them as an absurd feature of Hinduism. He concludes that rational people could never have created such monsters.97 A more interesting notion of avatar comes from the writings of Robert de Nobili, the Italian Jesuit who preached at Madurai in the early 17th century. As already mentioned, Nobili chose to adapt himself and his strategies to Brahmanical cultures. In this context, Nobili used the avatars of Vishnu to construct through a rather complicated argument that God appeared as Christ in human form and hence was an avatar. However, Nobili makes a clear distinction between the Christian and Vishnu’s avatar. While the former he denotes as manusa avataram, where God assumes human nature with the unity of body and soul, the latter he denotes as teva avataram, where God only assumes the body.98

162  Deepashree Dutta In this way, the concept of Christ on Earth was incorporated into familiar ideas while remaining superior to Vishnu’s incarnation.99 The notion of avatars also featured in the works of numerous other missionaries, notable being that of Diogo Goncalves’s Historia do Malavar, which has a list of all the avatars in the correct order with short explanations and Jacobo Fenicio’s, Livro da Seita dos Indios Orientais, which has 146 folios dedicated entirely to avatars. Thus, the concept of Vishnu’s avatar, which features predominantly in Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, was quite popular in the missionary discourses on Indian religions that were being constructed in the late 16th and 17th centuries. Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad’s strategy of both co-opting and negating the notion of an avatar seems to be quite close to Nobili’s position.

Early Modern Bengal: Ideas of Avatar and Yug Avatar Parallelly, one must also consider the importance given to the notion of avatar and yug avatar by the Vaishnavites of Bengal, particularly in association with the figure of Chaitanya. By the 16th century, Tony Stewart100 argues, the position of the yug avatar was laid open for other claimants, who in turn would redefine its nature and function. With the beginning of the Turkish rule in Bengal, Vaishnavism would appear in deltaic Bengal as a popular devotional movement unmediated by priestly rituals of court patronage and marked by the appearance of vernacular literature glorifying the various incarnations of Vishnu.101 It was particularly Vishnu’s incarnation as Krishna which became central to Vaishnavism. However, by the 16th century, the Vaishnava movement in Bengal would crystallise around a single personality who appeared in the western part of Bengal – the saint and mystic Chaitanya. The local Vaishnavites would soon begin to recognise in Chaitanya the presence of divinity and openly proclaimed him as Krishna, brought to Earth as the divine incarnate of the Kali Age (yug avatar).102 Tony Stewart further argues that until the time of the beginning of the Husain Shahi rule in Bengal (1494–1538 CE), the early hagiographers of Chaitanya continued to associate him with the martial and violent forms of avatars of Krishna such as the Man-Lion, Narasimha or Varaha, the Boar. However, with Chaitanya’s departure from Bengal and ultimately his death and the rise of more cosmopolitan political powers such as the Husain Shahi rulers and ultimately the Mughals in Bengal, by the mid-16th century, there was a change in the focus of Gaudִiya Vaishnavism from Krishna’s martial avatars to the more pacifist baby Balagopala.103 Given this shift, Tony Stewart argues that the position of the yug avatar was now vacant for other claimants in Bengal. Starting from the 16th century, the most widely acknowledged and celebrated figure in Bengal to be attributed the role of yug avatar was that of Satya Pir, with allegiance to both Vaishnava and Sufi ideals, who suddenly appeared in the literature of this period.104 The other figure who lay claim

Conversion and Translation  163 to the position of yug avatar is the folk deity, Lord Dharma or Dharma Thakur, as reflected in the text Sunya Purana composed by Ramai Pandita in the 15th or 16th century. However, of particular interest here is the notion of avatar, which comes across in a section of the Muslim-Bengali epic, Nabivamsa (the Line of Prophets), composed by Saiyid Sultan in the 17th century. Nabivamsa is the first biography of Prophet Muhammad composed in Bengali in the early 17th century. It narrates the history of the creation and the prophets from Adam to Muhammad. Interestingly, in his text, Sultan incorporates a line of Hindu prophetic ancestors of Muhammad. They include ‘seven recognisable avatars of Vishnu – the Fish (Matsya), the Tortoise (Kurma), the Boar (Varaha), the Man-Lion (Narasimha), the Dwarf (the Brahman), Parasurama and Rama – ‘created’ by the Prabhu Niranjana to restore righteousness to the Earth’.105 However, like the Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, the author here too delegitimises each of the avatars to create the notion of the world’s unhappiness with these divine messengers before the creation of Adam.106 Sayid Sultan singles out Hari or Krishna as the only Hindu God to punctuate the line of the traditional Islamic Prophets after Adam. However, within his tale, the author, through several admonitory verses, chides Krishna for his ‘depraved mortal existence and seeks to disabuse him of his false sense of divinity’.107 While rebuking Krishna, Sultan, the author also castigates the concept of das avatar as ‘theologically untenable’. In this context, he says, ‘Why would the Lord create again the same kind?’108 However, what comes out as contradictory is that Sultan, while castigating the concept of avatar, ends up co-opting it by equating avatar with the Islamic concept of nabi109 or Prophet. He says, ‘That which we call avatara, we [also] call nabi’.110 By undermining Krishna and along with him, the entire idea of avatar, Ayesha Irani argues, Sultan was targeting the Gaudiya Vaishnavas of the region, who by the early 17th century had established themselves as a potent force and spread to the easternmost corner of Bengal.111 She further writes that by parallelly drawing a translational equivalence between avatar and nabi, who share the collective mission of re-establishing the rule of morality on Earth, Sultan, could ‘marshal the charisma of the avatar to Muhammad’s advantage’.112 Thus, through the contradictory strategies of subordinating Krishna to Muhammad and imbuing Muhammad with the charisma of avatar, the author establishes Muhammad as the yug avatar, over and above all the other avatars of contemporary Bengali religious landscape. A similar strategy and treatment of the notion of avatar, as to that of Nabivamsa, is followed, as described, in Dom Antonio’s Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad. Dom Antonio, notably post-conversion, spent many years studying in Chattagram, the region from where Saiyad Sultan possibly hailed,113 and the two figures were separated from one another by approximately a decade. However, despite this proximity and the fact that Sultan’s epic was quite popular in the region, it is not possible to know whether Dom Antonio was aware of Nabivamsa and the idea of avatar propounded

164  Deepashree Dutta in it. Instead, it is safer to contend that, as Surendra Nath Sen argues, Dom Antonio’s knowledge of Hinduism was based more on local tales than scriptures hence the notions of avatars and yug avatars that circulated in contemporary Bengal might have fuelled his imagination. Having trained under an Augustinian priest, Dom Antonio might have also been aware of the notions of avatar circulating in the early modern world of the missionaries. Thus, one can argue that the text Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, by adopting the contradictory technique of both co-opting and discrediting the notion of avatars, identifies both with the ‘local’ ideas of avatars and yug avatars that were circulating in early modern Bengal and with the ‘global’ concepts of avatars that were circulating in the early modern missionary networks. This dual technique moreover served the practical purposes of making Christianity palatable to an audience unfamiliar with the religion while emphasising the superiority of Christianity. In Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, the author identifies with the religious landscape of the region and its political realities. Dom Antonio, in one of the sections of the text, asserts explicitly through the voice of the Roman Catholic that while on Earth everything works according to the command of the Padshah, the ‘Trilok’ (the realm of gods, humans and hellish beings) works according to the command of Parameswar, who is the ruler of Trilok.114 By using the analogy of a Padshah, a title used by the Islamic rulers of the time rather than a Raja, the author tries to highlight and draw parallels with the immense power and glory that the Bengali audience associates with the Padshah, who ruled the ‘world’ from distant Delhi. In the rest of the text, a similar pattern of dialogue and negation of the beliefs of the Brahmin is followed. The discussion following the avatars focuses on the roles and the work of the Holy Trinity, Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva.115 Finally, after reviewing some of the popular religious practices and rites, the Brahmin is convinced by the views of the Roman Catholic. Thereafter, the text ends quite abruptly. Through these various translatory gestures adopted in the text, we thus, see an attempt to locate within, identify and negotiate with local ideas while establishing the superiority of European Christianity.

Conclusion: Imagining Lisbon in the Forests of Bangladesh The logic of accommodatio, as already noted, allowed ‘the spiritual preceptor to adapt the Christian lesson to the capacity and disposition of his audience’.116 Nevertheless, as Ananya Chakravarti argues, accommodatio did not ‘preclude the missionaries from attending to the universal aspirations of the Church’.117 It was, in fact, a ‘weapon in those territories where the simple confluence of imperial arms and missionary authority was not enough to compel conversion’.118 This is particularly true for Dom Antonio, a local convert serving in the southeastern part of Bengal, where both the Portuguese imperial and missionary presence was relatively weak. Given

Conversion and Translation  165 the circumstances, Dom Antonio, one can argue, found it feasible to identify with and accommodate indigenous belief systems while imparting the ideas of Christianity, as is reflected in both his methods of proselytisation and the vernacular catechism authored by him. Nevertheless, the ultimate motive of Dom Antonio was to push forward the hegemonic agendas of Catholic Christianity, which he does successfully through the translatory strategies adopted in Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad. In his personal life, however, circumstances compelled Antonio to fall victim to competitive Catholic Christianity’s agendas. Interestingly, the memory of Dom Antonio do Rosario still survives at the popular miracle-bestowing shrine of the 12th century Christian Portuguese saint, St Anthony of Padua, situated at the Panjora village119 in present-day Bangladesh. Syed Jamil Ahmed, in his article120 based on his field experience, points out that the mentioned shrine and the surrounding Nagori-Mathbari area, despite the accretions over time, reflects traces of the palimpsest of the Padroado Christianity subsumed in its landscape. This particularly finds expression, Jamil Ahmed argues, in the performances of Sadhu Antanir gan (songs of Saint Anthony), which takes place in the open. Traced back and attributed to Dom Antonio, the performance of Antanir gan fits right into the world of Bangladeshi indigenous theatre but evokes Jesus and Trinity instead of the widely familiar Hindu and Islamic figures.121 Moreover, in one of the pali (episode) of Sadhu Antanir gan, the Portuguese Christian past is distinctly evoked whereby the gayen/singer sitting in present-day Bangladesh sings of how God cleared the present site of its forest to establish a garden named Lisbon, where peasants from the city of Gokul came to settle down.122 Interestingly, the peasants’ subsequent forced migration from the region due to 12 years of drought in the pali resonates, one may argue, with the issues of settlement and migration which plagued both Dom Antonio and the Portuguese Christian missions in the region.

Acknowledgements This chapter is a part of my MPhil dissertation submitted at the Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. I am grateful to my supervisor, Professor Pius Malekandathil for his guidance and encouragement. I am thankful to Professors Rajarshi Ghose and Rahul Peter Das for their valuable suggestions. I am thankful to Aditya Dutta for proof reading. For giving me this opportunity, I am grateful to the editors, Professors Nupur Dasgupta and Tilottama Mukherjee. I am greatly indebted to Professor Mukherjee for her support throughout.

Notes 1 Fr. Nicholas Pimenta’s Annual Letter to the General of the Society of Jesus in Rome, Goa, 8 September 1602, translated by Fr. H. Hosten, ‘Jesuit Letters

166  Deepashree Dutta from Bengal, Arakan and Burma (1599–1600)’, Bengal Past & Present, 1925, Vol. XXX: 52–76, 54. 2 Situated in the south of present-day Kolkata, the kingdom of Chandecan was ruled by Pratapaditya from 1587 to 1608–1609. 3 Tahmidal Zami and Carola Erika Lorea, ‘Interreligious Encounter and Proselytism in Pre Mughal Bengal: An Analysis of the Report by the Jesuit Father Nicolas Pimenta’, Indian Historical Review, 2016, Vol. 43 (2): 257. 4 Ibid. 5 Susan Bayly, Saints, Goddesses and Kings. Muslims and Christians in South Indian Society, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989. 6 Ines G. Županov, Missionary Tropics: The Catholic Frontier in India (16th– 17th Centuries), Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 2005. 7 Ananya Chakravarti, The Empire of Apostles: Religion, Accommodatio, and the Imagination of Empire in Early Modern Brazil and India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2018. 8 Sanjay Subrahmanyam, The Portuguese Empire in Asia: 1500–1700, London: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012, p. 78. 9 Pius Malekandathil, Maritime India: Trade, Religion and Polity in the Indian Ocean, New Delhi: Primus Books, 2014, p. 165. 10 The carreira system represented a compromise between the Crown and private trading interests, where the crown’s share was bound to providing the vessel and control over greater part of the cargo share. Post 1518, annual voyages of carreiras to Bengal (carreira de Bengala), became an established feature. The route followed by these carreira vessels appears to have been from Goa via Coromandel to Bengal. 11 Radhika Chadha, ‘Merchants, Renegades and Padres: Portuguese Presence in Bengal in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Jawaharlal Nehru University, 2005. 12 Sanjay Subrahmanyam, ‘Notes on the Sixteenth Century Bengal Trade’, Indian Economic Social History Review, 1987, Vol. 24 (3): 265–89, 275. 13 Charles Ralph Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire, 1415–1825, Portugal: Hutchinson, 1969, p. 228. 14 The Portuguese Padroado can be loosely defined as a combination of rights, privileges and duties granted by the Papacy to the Crown of Portugal as patron of the Roman Catholic missions and ecclesiastical establishments in the vast regions of Asia, Africa and in Brazil. Boxer, The Portuguese Seaborne Empire. 15 The religious orders who primarily came to India were the Dominicans, Franciscans, Augustinians and Jesuits. 16 Chadha, ‘Merchants, Renegades and Padres’, p. 169. 17 J.J.A. Campos, History of the Portuguese in Bengal, Patna: Buterworth & Co., 1979, p. 52. 18 Chadha, ‘Merchants, Renegades and Padres’, p. 175. 19 Pius Malekandathil, The Mughal, the Portuguese and the Indian Ocean: Changing Imageries of Maritime India, New Delhi: Primus Books, 2016, p. 188. 20 Curiously only one copy of Shah Jahan’s farman survives, a Portuguese copy of early 19th century, titled ‘Copy of the Farman of the seventeen privileges of the baixá in Persian language and together with the same in Portuguese’. The original copy is claimed to have been lost in 1756, when Siraj ud Daulah besieged the English at Hugli and sacked Bandel. 21 J.F.J. Bicker, Collec̹ão de tratados e concertos de pazes que o Estado da India portugueza, Vol. XII, Lisbon: Impresna Nacional, 1886, p. 16. 22 H. Hosten (tr.), ‘Catholicism in the East Indies in 1681’, The Catholic Herald of India, 1917, Vol. 15: 499. 23 Ibid.

Conversion and Translation  167 24 Annual letter of the Mission of the Empire of Great Mughals from the year 1670 to 1678, for the General of the Company of Jesus, dated Goa, 27 December 1678, translated in Rev H. Hosten, S.J, ‘Glimpses into the Conversion of the First Dacca Christians (1663–1750)’, The Catholic Herald of India, 1917, Vol. 15: 615. 25 Ibid. 26 The Kingdom of Busna or Bhushna was situated about 20 miles southwest of Faridpur on the border of modern Jessore, in present day Bangladesh. In the second half of the 16th century, Bhusna was under the rule of one of the bara bhuiyans, Raja Satrajit. However, by 1612, Raja Satrajit had submitted to the Mughal forces under Islam Khan such that Bhusna hence had come under the Mughals. 27 Hosten, ‘Glimpses into the Conversion of the First Dacca Christians (1663– 1750)’: 616. 28 Ibid. 29 Annual letter of the Mission of the Empire of Great Mughals from the year 1670 to 1678, for the General of the Company of Jesus, dated Goa, 27 December,1678, Hosten (tr.), ‘Glimpses into the Conversion of the First Dacca Christians (1663–1750)’: 616. 30 Ibid. 31 Ibid. 32 Ibid., p. 634. 33 Ibid. 34 Annual letter of the Mission of the Empire of Great Mughals from the year 1670 to 1678, for the General of the Company of Jesus, dated Goa, 27 December 1678 in Bengali in Tarapada Mukhopadhyay, Itihashe Upakhito, Kolkata: Ananda Publishers Private Limited, 1993, p. 13. 35 Ibid. 36 Richard M. Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier: 1204–1760, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993, p. 156. 37 Annual letter of the Mission of the Empire of Great Mughals from the year 1670 to 1678, for the General of the Company of Jesus, dated Goa, 27 December,1678, Hosten (tr.), ‘Glimpses into the Conversion of the First Dacca Christians (1663–1750)’: 654. 38 Ibid., p. 655. 39 Copy of Fr Anthony Magalháis’ letter to Father Fernaõ de Queyros, Provincial of the Province of Goa, in Annual letter of the Mission of the Empire of Great Mughals from the year 1670 to 1678, for the General of the Company of Jesus, dated Goa, 27 December, 1678, Hosten (tr.), ‘Glimpses into the Conversion of the First Dacca Christians (1663–1750)’: 655. 40 Ibid. 41 Ibid. 42 Ibid. 43 Ibid., p. 676. 44 Ibid. 45 Ibid., p. 697. 46 Ibid., pp. 717–18. 47 ‘Regimento para os Padres Missionarios das Misseos de Nepal, Patana e Bengala’, Marsden collection, British Museum, no. 9855, pp. 130–31, in Tarapada Mukhopadhyay (tr.), Itihashe Upakhito, Kolkata: Ananda Publishers Private Limited, 1993, pp. 19–20. 48 Ibid., p. 21. 49 Letter of Father Marcos Antonio Santucci to The Provincial at Goa, dated Hughli, 15 November 1680. Marsden collection, British Library, No. 9855, pp. 132–34, in Mukhopadhyay (tr.), Itihashe Upakhito, pp. 22–25.

168  Deepashree Dutta 50 Ibid., p. 22. 51 Ibid. 52 Ibid., p. 24. 53 Ibid. 54 Ibid., p. 25. 55 Ibid. 56 Letter of Father Marcos Antonio Santucci to the Provincial at Goa, dated Nolua Cot, 22 June 1682, p. 25. 57 Letter of Father Marcos Antonio Santucci to The Provincial at Goa, dated Nolua Cot, 3 January 1683, p. 771. 58 Ibid., p. 792. 59 Ibid. 60 Ibid. 61 Ibid., p. 793. 62 Ibid. 63 In this context, Father Santucci mentions how in other parts of India the Jesuits had to take the garb of Brahmin and yogi in order to negotiate with the issue of caste in the society, clearly referring to the cases of Roberto Nobili and Baltasar da Costa. 64 Mukhopadhyay, Itihashe Upakhito, p. 30. 65 Letter from Saint Augustine College, Goa to The Superior of the St Augustinian Order, dated 1682, in Mukhopadhyay (tr.), Itihashe Upakhito, pp. 32–33. 66 During the early process of inclusion of a foreign religion into those established, Richard Eaton argues that the religious traditions remain distinct from one another and do not get fused into one. Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, p. 162. 67 Chakravarti, The Empire of Apostles, p. 9. 68 Županov, Missionary Tropics, p. 26. 69 Letter of Father Marcos Antonio Santucci to The Provincial at Goa, dated Nolua Cot, 3 January 1683, Hosten (tr.), ‘Glimpses into the Conversion of the First Dacca Christians (1663–1750)’: 771. 70 An extract from the Relation which the Father Provincial of the Congregation of St Augustine of Goa, Frei Ambrosio de Santo Agostinho, gave to the Viceroy of India on the 25 November 1750, J.H. da Cunha Rivara, O Chronista de Tissuary, Vol. 2, 1867, pp. 57–62, in Hosten (tr.), ‘Glimpses into the Conversion of the First Dacca Christians (1663–1750)’: 793. 71 Ibid., p. 869. 72 Ibid. 73 Antje Fluchter and Rouven Wirbser (eds), Translating Catechisms, Translating Culture: The Expansion of Catholicism in the Early Modern World, Leiden: Brill, 2017. 74 Dom Antonio do Rosario, Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, Surendranath Sen (ed.), Calcutta: Calcutta University, 1937. 75 Ibid., p. 1. 76 It should be noted that though the term ‘Hindu’ is being used here, the term ‘Hindu’ or ‘Hinduism’ in its religious sense began to be used in a widespread fashion only from the 19th century. The Portuguese texts from the 16th century onwards used the word ‘gentios’ or ‘gentile’ to refer to and distinguish the native Hindus from both Muslims (moros) and the native Christians. Moreover, the description of the beliefs of the gentios by the early-modern missionaries generally feature the same set of gods, beliefs and practises as is also reflected in Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad. 77 Tony K. Stewart, ‘In Search of Equivalence: Conceiving Muslim-Hindu Encounter Through Translation Theory’, History of Religion, 2001, Vol. 40 (3): 280.

Conversion and Translation  169 78 do Rosario, Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, p. 16. 79 Ibid. 80 Ibid., p. 22. 81 Ibid., p. 36. 82 Ibid., p. 39. 83 Interestingly, Kripa or Kripacharya is not considered one of the Das avatar in the Puranas. Instead, it is Buddha who is considered one of the avatars but gets no mention in this text. Surendra Nath Sen argues that it is Dom Antonio’s limited knowledge of the scriptures which leads him to make this mistake, but some other logic might also prevail behind this. 84 do Rosario, Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, p. 43. 85 Ibid., pp. 45–57. 86 Ibid., p. 55. 87 This argument has also been put forward in Bhaskar Mukhopadhyay, ‘Inscribing the Other? Notes on a 17th Century Bengali-Portuguese Religious Pamphlet’, in Lotika Vardarajan (ed.), Indo-Portuguese Encounters: Journeys in Science, Technology and Culture, Vol. II, New Delhi: Indian National Science Academy, 2006, pp. 630–37. 88 Ibid., p. 632. 89 Yug avatar is the god who descends in a particular age to set the world right. 90 Joy Pachuau, ‘Implantation of Christianity on the West Coast of India: Impact on Goan Society, 16th to 17th Century’, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Jawaharlal Nehru University, 2013, p. 165. 91 Ibid., p. 165. 92 Carolien Stolte, Dutch Sources on South Asia c.1600–1825: Philip Angel’s Deex-Autaers, New Delhi: Manohar Publishers & Distributors, 2012, p. 24. 93 Ibid. 94 Ibid., p. 25. 95 Ibid., p. 24. 96 Ibid., p. 26. 97 Ibid. 98 Ibid., p. 27. 99 Ibid. 100 Tony K. Stewart, ‘Religion in the Subjective: Vaishnava Narratives and Sufi Counter Narratives in Early Modern Bengal’, The Journal of Hindu Studies, 2013, Vol. 6: 53–73. 101 Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, p. 67. 102 Stewart, ‘Religion in the Subjective’: 53. 103 Ibid., p. 55. 104 Ibid., p. 56. 105 Ayesha A. Irani, ‘Sacred Biography, Translation and Conversion: The Nabivamsa of Saiyid Sultan and the Making of Bengali Islam, 1600-Present’, unpublished PhD thesis, University of Pennsylvania, 2011, p. 260. 106 Asim Roy, The Islamic Syncretistic Tradition in Bengal, New Delhi: Sterling Publisher Private Limited, 1983, pp. 138–40. 107 Irani, ‘Sacred Biography, Translation and Conversion’, p. 316. 108 Ibid., p. 317. 109 Nabi is a term widely used in Nabivamsa while referring to prophets. It is also used to refer to Muhammad, though the designated term rasul, a prophet with a message, is used more often. However, Ayesha Irani argues that Sultan in the text tends to blur the distinctions between the terms nabi, rasul and avatar, using these interchangeably. 110 Irani, ‘Sacred Biography, Translation and Conversion’, p. 323. 111 Ibid., p. 301. 112 Ibid., p. 306.

170  Deepashree Dutta 113 Saiyad Sultan’s birthplace remains a point of contention among the Bangladeshi scholars who favour either Chattagram or Sylhet. Chattagram, as Irani points out, houses a large number of manuscripts of Nabivamsa dating to the premodern period. Irani, ‘Sacred Biography, Translation and Conversion’, p. 379. 114 do Rosario, Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad, p. 44. 115 Ibid., p. 68. 116 Chakravarti, The Empire of Apostles, p. 9. 117 Ibid., p. 10. 118 Ibid. 119 The Panjora village is situated 35 kilometres northeast of Dhaka, in the district of Gazipur in Bangladesh. 120 Jamil Ahmed, Syed, ‘Mimicry and Counter Discourse on the Palimpsest of Nagori: The Play of Saint Anthony and His Double, Sadhu Antoni’, Asian Theatre Journal, Spring, 2010, Vol. 27 (1): 42–77. 121 Ibid., p. 50. 122 Ibid., p. 51.

PART III

The Material and the Sacred in Bengal



8

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad, 1650–1800 CE Gargi Chattopadhyay

A place by the name of Kasimbazar, located approximately six miles to the south of Murshidabad since the 1650s, evolved as an iconic silk production centre, a renowned hub of the silk trade and a significant commercial node. Contrary to the general belief that Murshid Quli Khan established Murshidabad, the capital of Bengal Nizamat (governorship), in approximately 1700 CE, it had established itself as a significant administrative1 and financial town around 1670 CE. It was famous as a producer of raw silk and textile, centre of commerce, and a flourishing settlement. Kasimbazar predated Murshidabad in its origin but remained under its administrative jurisdiction.2 Murshidabad had spread on either side of the Bhagirathi. After Murshidabad, the river meandered to form a horseshoe. Kasimbazar was tucked inside the middle and lower arm of the horseshoe. Both places were situated at the upper reach of the Bhagirathi and formed the heart of the region of Bengal. Originally Kasimbazar was a locality within Murshidabad, but in the heydays of the Nizamat, this commercial quarter had evolved as a separate settlement. Physically Murshidabad and Kasimbazar were contiguous. This article aims to focus on the residents, their habitation areas, town planning and whether any enclavisation had occurred there between 1650 and 1800 CE. It particularly attempts to delve into the possible deciding factors behind the formation of the residential clusters of Murshidabad and Kasimbazar. The question of religious affiliations is embedded in this issue. Naturally, the article touches upon to what extent forces like religion influenced the evolution of the residential patterns of the people of the chosen space. Further, it focuses on the factors that moderated the gradual decline of the bustling region. Finally, the article enquires to what extent the river and ecological forces impacted the decline of the select settlements. However, this work is an intervention in studying local history from the ecological prism.

Historical Setting Taking advantage of the cracks in the Mughal imperial edifice since the late 17th century, the Mughal subah of Bengal gradually metamorphosed into DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-12

174  Gargi Chattopadhyay the Nizamat of Murshidabad under generations of Nazims: the most significant of them being Murshid Quli Khan and Alivardi Khan. Murshid Quli shifted the capital from Murshidabad to Dhaka. Murshidabad was already an important centre of production and trade in 1700 CE.3 The objective was to establish an efficient system of revenue collection, supervision of trade activities and administration from this location. Kasimbazar in the vicinity had already made its presence felt by the early 17th century for its raw silk, cotton, and textile.4 An expansive land around Murshidabad and Kasimbazar appeared like an island and was referred to as the ‘Cossimbazar island’ by the Europeans. The Bhagirathi River watering the island was called the ‘Cossimbuzar river’. The land was trapped between the Bhagirathi in the west, the Padma in the east and the Ganges flowing from the north to east. Therefore, the silt-laden soil of Kasimbazar, Murshidabad and the adjoining areas was particularly suited to the growth of mulberries and nurtured generations of weavers, winders, expert workers and ‘cheap labour,’5 dyers and silkworm growers. Murshidabad had trade links with north and western India and beyond – with Afghanistan and Persia and Southeast Asia via the Bay. In the 1620s, the English East India Company had identified Murshidabad as the supplier of ‘infinite quantities’ of cheap and ‘choicest’ stuff. Streams of local and Asian traders had been exploring its commercial prospects. Later, the European companies utilised the strategically situated river-trapped fertile belt as their commercial base and halting-place before moving further towards Patna and beyond in the upper Gangetic plains. The ‘Cossimbuzar island’ encompassed a series of busy agro-commercial settlements such as Murshidabad, Bhagwangola, Azimganj, Ziaganj, Plassey, and Daudpur. The commercial centres specialising in the marketing of a wide variety of commodities such as raw silk, coarse cotton and silk piece goods, rice, wheat, sugar, ivory ware were supported by a chain of bazars (marts), ganjs (market towns on major land/river routes), hats (weekly village markets), golas (granaries), and transhipment points. The mercantile compulsions led to the mushrooming of arangs (silk manufacturing nodes) under royal patronage from the 18th century in and around Murshidabad and Malda, which had integrated with the commercial web around the Murshidabad-Kasimbazar region. The Kasimbazar factory commanded over a large conglomeration of arangs like Shilganj, Malda, Nawabganj, Bauleah, Kumarkhali, and Rangpur as the far northeast of the Padma6 spread over a far-flung geographical area. The old unmetalled fair weather roads of commercial relevance had turned largely dysfunctional by this period. The readymade river system came in use that hemmed together a vast commercial realm composed of markets, granaries, arangs, towns, and settlements. It laid the basis for the principal highway of commerce. This facilitated prodigious river traffic that

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  175 moved in and moved out, passed through local, provincial, and national marts and headed towards international markets. Hugli provided maritime exposure to the Murshidabad-Kasimbazar belt through the port of Kasimbazar.7 From the map study of the geographical location of the place, it appears as though Kasimbazar allowed passage of big ships.8 The extensive trading network of Kasimbazar spread between the Mughal headquarters in the northwest, north Indian settlements, Patna port, Gujarat in the west, and Aurangabad to its southwest. The widespread riverine lattice and broad access for penetrations could have drawn the European companies to the place. The Dutch cartographer, Pieter Van der Aa’s map, titled ‘Koninkryk van Bengale En Landschappen Aande Gangele Vloedtussen Mogolen Pegu Gelegen’9(1706 CE) depicted a vast river that watered the bank of Kasimbazar-Murshidabad and beyond, to its north till Sasaram. It leaves enough scope to imagine that the big cargo vessels had a passage to ‘Patana’. Naturally, the East India companies were keen to extend and entrench their foothold over the region. Bhagwangola, to the north of Murshidabad in ‘Cossimbuzar island’, was a crucial river port connected to north India and beyond, up to west Asia through Rajmahal, Patna, and other nodes. Though Somendra Chandra Nandy claimed that an array of big vessels lay moored at Kasimbazar,10 there is evidence to show significant blockades at Sooty11 since the 1660s and at Hugli around the same time, the conditions worsened since then. So by the 18th century, Kasimbazar was regularly transhipping its raw silk, textile, and gunpowder from Patna in patellas (small flat-bottomed vessels) to Hugli and beyond.12 Raw silk, silk goods attracted different commercial groups from distant corners of the subcontinent, loosely clubbed together as ‘Asian merchants’; traders and businessmen from other parts of Bengal, western and northern India; business groups of various grades from near and far-flung places, the Armenians and the European business houses. People from diverse walks of life: unskilled labourers to skilled artisans, men of letters, and prosperous gentry made select places their homes.13 The involvement of different business groups, especially the Europeans, big Asian merchants and west Indian traders in the silk business and the flourishing grain trade in the 18th century, helped integrate with the monetised economy.14 As Murshidabad assumed the status of the capital of Bengal in 1704 CE, business flourished further. The boundaries of both settlements expanded after the battle of Plassey. Again, when the political and economic powers were yet to be concentrated in the hand of the English East India Company, the state apparatus was a vertically layered network of symbiotic relationships among the ruling class, landed proprietors, peasants, merchants, and bankers. A delicate balance was maintained that created a semblance of order in Bengal. This, in

176  Gargi Chattopadhyay turn, promoted a favourable ambience for commerce.15 The Nizamat looked after the ‘various facets of the economy’ like the smooth trading activities, maintenance of roadways, ‘functioning of the marketing networks’.16 Though Kasimbazar was technically under the administrative jurisdiction of Murshidabad and initially a locality within it, from the early 17th century, it got a special mention in the travelogues, many of which recognised it as a separate settlement.

Kasimbazar and Murshidabad: 1700–1900 CE In Mukundaram Chakrabarty’s Chandimangal, one of the earliest of the Mangalakavyas written in the 1590s, the protagonist Dhanapati had traversed upriver from Ujaninagar in Burdwan to Gaur. While he had passed through Majlishpur, Balighata, and Sheetalpur, located close to Murshidabad and Kasimbazar, he did not mention Murshidabad or Kasimbazar. In 1632 CE, William Bruton, a seaman in the service of the Company, described it as the centre for enormous quantities of silk and muslin.17 K.M. Mohsin quoted Ghulam Hussain to argue that the city’s central area stretched between Mahimapur18 (Mahinagar) in the north to Lalbagh in the south.19 However, he also recognised that there were other records indicating that Murshidabad in the 18th century had extended from Mahinagar up to Kasimbazar and Berhampur.20 From Table 8.1, it is fairly apparent that the mercantile core of the capital had carved out its separate entity as a prosperous town over time. Further, poorer sections lived in the suburban areas between Kasimbazar and Murshidabad. Niccolai Graaf, the Dutch surgeon and traveller, noted the presence of several dilapidated villages between Murshidabad and Kasimbazar in the 1650s.21 More than a hundred years later, the Austrian geographer Joseph Tieffenthaler noted that Murshidabad was five miles in length and two or three miles wide. It was a vast city spread between Baminian and Lalbagh, expanding to the other side of the river and towards Kasimbazar in the south.22 The border of Kasimbazar at some points merged with that of Murshidabad. Shabby peripheral townships made room for a thriving suburban area. Some localities within and at the fringe of Murshidabad attained a degree of opulence, like Mahimapur, the colony of the wealthy Jains. Kasimbazar had attained its identity as a prominent business centre. So there were signs of widespread prosperity in both places. Since the 1750s, Kasimbazar showed a degree of unplanned growth towards the border of Murshidabad.

People and the Living Area The Nawabs, the Nobility and the Wealthy Merchants The Nawab, his extended family and nobility formed the apex of the society. The Hindus, as well as the Muslims, filled in the rank of the nobility.

Niccolao Manucci

Tavernier

Thomas Bowrey

Streynsham Master spent some weeks in Kasimbazar between 23 September and 8 November 1676. Alexander Hamilton

1660–61

1666

1670s

1675

‘The Dutch have some times seven or eight hundred natives employed in their silk factory at Kassem bazar, where in like manner, the English and other merchants employ a proportionate number’. The place was located at three days’ distance from Hooghly, Kasimbazar produced white cloth and highquality piece goods. The three European Companies had established their factories there. According to him, Kasimbazar was a village. ‘The Dutch sends abroad every year two and twenty thousand Bales of Silk; every Bale weighing a hunder’d pound … . the Hollanders usually carry away six or seven thousand Bales’. The crude yellow silk of Kasimbazar is exported from Hooghly via Ganga. Kasimbazar was a ‘very famous and pleasant towne, the only market place in this Kingdome for Commodities made and vended therein’. It was a ‘town … . two miles long narrow … . where a Pallanqueen can but just passe’.

Observations

It was a typical small settlement that was evolving from its agrarian moorings into a congested town.

Kasimbazar was a busy mart.

The silk production and exports by the Dutch had hit a significant high. The process of commercialisation of Kasimbazar was taking place.

Kasimbazar came in contact with European mercantilism. Some jobs were generated in the silk factories in an otherwise agrarian economy. It was a village that stood at the banks of the Bhagirathi. It produced textile. These factors attracted European trade bodies to establish commercial footholds there.

Inference

Murshidabad was a place of much greater antiquity, Kasimbazar was a buoyant trading though currently ‘its trade and grandeur adorns’ settlement. Kasimbazar. However, in the early 18th century, there was a slack in the European commercial activities due to various disturbances like revolts and rapine. The establishment of the Nizamat in 1704 provided stability to the subah and Murshidabad-Kasimbazar complex assumed an important status. (Continued)

Francois Bernier

1660s

1705

Contemporary Observer

Year

Table 8.1 Kasimbazar and Murshidabad in Contemporary Accounts

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  177

De Gennes de la Chanceliere

Tieffenthaler

Comte de Modave

Ghulam Hussain Salim

James Rennell

1743

1760s approximately

1773–76

1786–88

1780s

Murshidabad was an unplanned city dotted with houses of Amirs, rich Moors, baniyans, merchants. Had a number of suburban villages and there was ‘nothing remarkable’ about it. Kasimbazar boasted of trees and greenery. Both Kasimbazar and Murshidabad had expanded considerably, had impressive buildings owned by the affluent class. The dismal villages that were seen in between Murshidabad and Kasimbazar in the 17th century ceased to exist in the next century. There were pockets of thatched mud cottages in the midst of a series of big houses. Kasimbazar’s prosperity was to be related to the production of silk and various types of textile. He took note of the thriving European factories and colonies and an Armenian settlement. Murshidabad was a prosperous and beautiful city. Murshidabad continued as the seat of administration even after 1757. After 1772, when the criminal, civil, and Supreme courts were shifted to Calcutta, the settlement gradually lost its importance. Murshidabad was a large and modern city, but ill built. Kasimbazar, a ‘small city’ housing the residences of European factors. It was the centre of their trade.

Observations

No mention of Kasimbazar though Murshidabad had been described in detail. He had focused on the political developments of the Nizamat. Murshidabad seemed to be impressive, though Kasimbazar was a commercial hub.

Both the towns had assumed a certain degree of urban character.

Urbanisation process had gripped the whole area – so much so that Kasimbazar and Murshidabad touched each other. Kasimbazar evolved from a village to a town and spread far.

Murshidabad was on the brink of urbanisation, and a wealthy class was emerging, but Kasimbazar retained its rural characteristics.

Inference

Sources: Francois Bernier, Travels in the Mogul empire, 1656–1668, Archibald Constable tr., London: Oxford University Press, 1916, p. 440; Niccolao Manucci, Storia Do Mogor or Mogul India, Vol. 2, William Irvine tr., London: John Murray, 1907, p. 96; Jean Baptiste Tavernier, Travels in India, Vol. 2, Valentine Ball tr., London: Macmillan and Co, 1889, pp. 29, 31; Thomas Bowrey, A Geographical Account of the Countries round the Bay of Bengal; 1669–1679, R.C. Temple (ed.), New Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 1993, p. 213; Streynsham Master, The Diaries of Streynsham Master 1675–1680 and other contemporary papers relating thereto, Vol. 2, Richard Carnac Temple (ed.), London: John Murray, 1911, p. 28; Alexander Hamilton, A New Account of the East Indies, being the observations and remarks by Captain Alexander Hamilton, 1688–1723, Vol. 2, London: C. Hitch and A. Millar, 1744, pp. 21–22; Indrani Ray, ‘Journey to Cassimbazar and Murshidabad, observations of a French Visitor to Bengal in 1743’, in Lakshmi Subramanian (ed.), The French East India Company and the Trade of the Indian Ocean, A Collection of Essays by Indrani Ray, New Delhi: Munshi Manoharlal Publishers, 1999, p. 165; cited in Aniruddha Ray, Moddho juger bharotio shohor, Itihash Granthamala Series 1, Calcutta: Ananda Publishers, 1999, p. 359; Ghulam Husain Salim, Riyazu-s-Salatin, A History of Bengal, Maulvi Abdus Salam tr., Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, 1902, pp. 27–28; James Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan: or the Mogul Empire, with an introduction illustrative of the geography and present division of that country, London: Printed by W. Bulmer and Co. for the author, 1788, p. 59.

Contemporary Observer

Year

Table 8.1 Continued

178  Gargi Chattopadhyay

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  179 Between Murshid Quli and Alivardi, the wealthy Shia families having aristocratic lineage and commercial inclinations were invited to relocate to the Kasimbazar-Murshidabad region. Alivardi strongly believed that the ‘merchants are the country’s benefactors’.23 Proximity to the political seat of Murshidabad and the mint, Diwani (revenue office), and faujdari (criminal) court encouraged the settlement of merchants and various professional groups from near and far. Many leading local families of merchants helped the East India companies at Kasimbazar in the investments in silk between 1685 and 1754 CE.24 The Katmas, Surmas, Dutts, and Biswases were in the league of the ‘big partners’, dadni merchants. The ‘small partners’ were the likes of Ghosh, Tagore, and Kapri (Coppras) families, extensively mentioned in the archival documents.25 Also, the Gujaratis, Rajasthanis, Punjabis, ‘Calwars’ of Delhi,26 Gorakhpuris, Arabs, Sidhis, Iranians, Kashmiris, Turks, and Pathans loosely grouped as the ‘Asian merchants’, settled in Kasimbazar. There was a subgroup of ‘Mughal merchants’ within this category comprising the Muslims.27 The European trade bodies, and the ‘Asian merchants’,28 were major purchasers of cash crops such as silk and cotton. An archival document dated 1770 CE identified varied merchant groups like: ‘Goozeratt and Bauz Goozaratt Merchants’,29 ‘Gentooz’,30 ‘Multaney,’ ‘Gentooz Surrat Merchants’, ‘Musselman Surat Merchants’, ‘Musselman Hydrabaud Merchants’, ‘Musselman Multaney Merchants’, ‘Bazee Rampur Boalia Merchants’, ‘Mirzapur Gentoos Merchants’, ‘Gorockpoor Musselmen’, ‘Jungepoor Gentoos Merchants’, ‘Armenians’, ‘Lahore Musselmen Merchants’, ‘Gentoos Sonasse’, and ‘Madras Musselman Merchants’. The region attracted an influential Jain trading community of northern and western India31 who took up the roles of bankers, merchants, and mahajans (merchant bankers). The zamindars (landlords), who had replaced the Mughal mansabdars (government officers under the Mughals)32 as the new revenue collectors, relied heavily on mahajans in order to pay the revenue to the Nizamat exchequer. The ryots often borrowed from mahajans to pay land revenue within a stipulated period. The government depended on bankers and merchants to meet varied expenses. The moneylenders profited by charging substantial interest on loans. The period saw the rise of big-time merchants cum moneylenders like the House of Jagat Seths representing the Oswal community from Rajasthan. This House had amassed an enormous fortune from interests upon debt and government transactions like remitting annual revenue to the Mughal treasury.33 The House subsequently became the kingmakers of Bengal. The Living Space The old fort, or Qila Nizamat, was located on the eastern bank of the river at the heart of the capital city, where the fort of the Nazims existed in the

180  Gargi Chattopadhyay 18th century. In the days of the Nizamat, the verdant bank of the Bhagirathi at Kasimbazar-Murshidabad region was dotted with palaces, gardens, residences of rulers, wealthy nobles, prosperous businessmen, bankers, and government officials. So, the prime locations were monopolised by the upper strata of the society. They enjoyed the view of the river and the invigorating evening breeze during their promenades. This probably explains the extensive spread of the city along the riverbank in proportion to its width.34 Northern and western India’s prosperous bankers and traders had settled down in one-quarter of Kasimbazar. The place became known as Mahajantoli (merchant bankers’ quarter). It had an impressive temple of the 24th Tirthankara (spiritual teacher of Jainism) Neminath. Murshid Quli Khan’s confidante Manikchand, the Jain banker and the founder of the Jagat Seth House, lived at a place called Mahimapur near Bhagirathi within striking distance from the Nawab’s house.35 Subsequently, a rich community of Jain merchants had flourished at Mahimapur. As a Diwan (Revenue Minister), Murshid Quli Khan had built his palace at a remote corner of Murshidabad along with the Board of Revenue and the Court of Exchequer.36 He combined his post of Diwan with that of the Subahdar (Head of the Mughal provincial administration) and built a mint on the western bank of the river.37 The Katra masjid, to the northeast of Motijheel, built by the Nawab, was an impressive mosque that houses the tomb of Murshid Quli. It had an inbuilt hostel for itinerant merchants and readers of the Quran.38 It evolved as a grand seminary of Muslim learning, where intellectuals were invited to exchange ideas.39 He also built a palace of 40 pillars known as Chihil Satun in his capital.40 His successor Sujaudaullah (1727–39 CE), had got some buildings erected by his predecessor demolished. He built a grand palace, an arsenal, a lofty gateway, revenue court, audience hall, private office, exchequer, and reception hall.41 The magnificent Motijheel palace was built by Alivardi’s son-in-law Nawazish Muhammad Khan, towards the southeastern side of Murshidabad on the edge of a horseshoe lake that was part of the river Bhagirathi.42 The piece of land surrounding the Motijheel had many beautiful houses.43 Sirajuddaullah had built the Hirajheel palace, overlooking the lake by the same name. Both palaces were the most magnificent of the Nizamat palaces.44 Sirajuddaullah got the site for his grandfather’s grave constructed at the heart of a manicured garden called Khoshbagh, opposite Motijheel.45 The magnificent Imambara built by Sirajuddaullah46 and Jafarganj cemetery, built in the Italian architectural style,47 were other remarkable Islamic structures of the Nizamat. The Kila Nizamat (with notable buildings like Madina Mosque, Imambara, Clock Tower, and residential buildings48) was later replaced by the majestic Hazarduari Palace in 1829 CE. The houses of the upper social echelons were strategically aligned with the direction of the sun and riverfront. The town was so congested that the sun’s rays could not penetrate the living quarters of ordinary people.49

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  181 A Wide Section of People Merchants, traders, and bankers of various means formed an important section of the population in this seat of commerce. The middle-level and smalltime traders from near and far swelled the rank of the ordinary residents. The advent of the Europeans inducted the locals into new professions, most significant being those of the paikars (intermediaries). They provided dadan (cash advance) to weavers in far-off villages of the subah on behalf of the European companies, who were to deliver the finished goods within a fixed time.50 The people who passed the dadan to actual manufacturers were known as dadni merchants. The dalals (agents) were probably appointed by the trading houses and privateers to procure the finished products. The gomastahs acted as the intermediary between the English Company and the collection point. Subsequently, under the Agency System, they were directly put under the Company’s payroll.51 Further, the trade of Kasimbazar silk got a boost from the congregation of an integrated network of ‘specialist dealers, owners of mulberry plantations, winders’,52 ‘throwsters’,53 spinners, weavers, and dyers. There were many tillers of the soil, along with the labourers. The region was famous for its ivory work, wooden craft and toys, and metalwork (brass, copper, and bell metal).54 So craftsmen swelled the ranks of the residents. The capital city attracted peons,55 palace guards, gunmen,56 soldiers,57 porters, boatmen, and migrants from numerous corners. Again, Murshidabad and its adjoining areas attracted groups of amlas (zamindari officers), qanungoes (registrars of landed property), and others involved in the bureaucracy besides clerks. As the capital of Bengal got transferred from Dhaka, the office of the Diwani, mint and faujdari court shifted to Murshidabad. They settled there, and many acquired landed property. People of other professions were residing there too. For example, the vaids (Hindu physicians) and kavirajs (doctors) seemed to be more sought after than the hakims (Muslim physicians using indigenous remedies). Priests and maulavis (Islamic religious scholars) enjoyed special status. As the English Company was evolving as the Company State, there were demands for lascars (sailors),58 workers, artificers in Kasimbazar to pursue public utility works like repairing embankments, and labourers for Company’s buildings,59 tank diggers,60 and bricklayers for building the Company’s fortification.61 Often local zamindars and talukdars (class of landholders) were asked to provide the workforce.62 There were workers like the bricklayers, carpenters, ironsmiths, coolies to work at the construction site,63 apart from the washermen to wash the silk textiles.64 The Company had employed boatmen, masons, barbers, torchbearers, gardeners, ordinary servants, and peons.65 Same jobs under the local employers fetched them very little money.

182  Gargi Chattopadhyay However, the bottom of the pyramid consisted of the tillers of the soil, the base-level contributors to land revenue. Many artisans were agriculturists augmenting their income by direct associations with handloom industries in the offseason. However, the agriculturists and farmers cum artisans lived mainly in the countryside. Residential cum Business Quarters Murshidabad, in the 18th century, had a central chauk. The main street radiated from there, and the smaller streets occupied by the shopkeepers and traders converged with the main street at right angles. The streets were provided with a drainage system.66 The localities were marked for various communities. Ordinary people associated with different trades, crafts, and services in the Murshidabad-Kasimbazar region had their business quarters and living spaces. The areas earmarked for the bulk of merchants and traders were Mughaltoli and Mahajantola.67 Those were the major wholesale markets cum living quarters. The former indicated the residential pocket determined by faith and the latter, professional community. Also, the Gujarati merchants had aligned along the regional line to reside in Gujaratitoli. Mention may be made of Chinitola (sugar quarter),68 Kathgola (wood mart),69 Sukurtoli (sugar corner), Jahurtoli (jewellers’ corner),70 Lakraganj (firewood market),71 Gariwantola (a quarter of the cart pushers),72 Bakrigali (cattle lane),73 Gowkhana (milkman’s quarter),74 ‘Oordoobazar’ (market of the Urdu speaking people)75 on the right bank. The wealthy Jain merchants used to live in ‘Mhymapoor’ near Kasimbazar. Badrigali,76 MurshidabadKasimbazar complex had several ganjs, bazars, and ghats that contributed to small-scale local trade and served its hinterland. The excavated ponds and tanks and the natural jheels (lakes) connected with the river took care of the water requirements.77 Mostly, the local landlords built bazars, ganjs, roads, and bridges.78 The Mughal nobles constructed temporary accommodations such as sarais to accommodate visiting merchants.79 The European Part The European Companies established themselves in the subah in the 17th century, much before the Nizamat was established. Those trade bodies constructed their factories with residential places at an advantageous position along the riverbank facilitating smooth transhipment of goods and for enjoying evening promenades along the riverbank. In around 1652 CE, the English East India Company set up its factory and residency on the western bank of the Bhagirathi in Kasimbazar.80 The Dutch factory and colony were set up to the south of the English township overlooking the river at Kalkapur in 1648 CE. A small peaceable community of Armenians had settled in Saidabad in 1655 CE. In 1691 CE,

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  183 the French settlement and factory of Saidabad were located still further to the west of the Dutch factory. All three settlements were located contiguous to each other. The Danes and Armenians maintained their commercial contact with Kasimbazar individually, but they did not set up factories there. Factories and Living Areas of the Europeans Tieffenthaler had sketched an elaborate plan of the English, Dutch, and French factory combined with settlements and the Armenian colony on the bank of the Bhagirathi.81 The land was granted to the trading bodies by the Mughals. The English factory and residential area at Kasimbazar looked small and spartan compared to the other two settlements. All three factories were located near the river. Despite maintaining a frugal lifestyle,82 a part of the prime area along the riverfront was occupied by the Europeans, who got the best view, fresh air, direct sunlight, and access to the river. The houses of the English township were arranged in a line to the left of the connecting lane between the entrance and the factory. The small factory seemed to have been fortified. The Kasimbazar factory of the English Company had walls built around it much later as a protection against the Bargis (Maratha raiders) depredations of the 1740s. The English had a cemetery just on the opposite side of the old factory,83 known as the British Residency. The cemetery contained the tombs of Mrs Warren Hastings and her little daughter Elizabeth, dated July 11, 1759.84 The Dutch settlement at Kalkapur, located next to the English East India Company’s occupied area, was more prominent than the latter. The quadrangular factory seemed to have a boundary wall. It lay adjacent to the residential area. The factory was connected to the squarish residential area within four walls with big and small buildings meant for various purposes. Some houses were built along the outer side of the wall. Close to the English cemetery, in the ruins of the Dutch burial ground at Kalkapur, a few inscriptions could be seen dating between 1721 and 1792 CE. The French had occupied a sprawling rectangular area next to the Dutch quarters at Saidabad.85 The factory was a substantial-looking double-storeyed house situated towards the river. The residences of the distinguished people lay on either side of the two lanes going towards the wall in the opposite direction from the gate. There was one big two-storeyed and one small two-storeyed public building to the rear side of the left lane. On the opposite side of the gate lay many houses, some of which were meant for commercial purposes. There were manufacturing units related to textile or saltpetre within the compound. The Armenians had built their small colony to the west of that of the French colony at Saidabad86 in 1655 CE, on a piece of land granted by an imperial sanad (order). They never built a factory. Tieffenthaler had sketched the Armenian church built by Khwaja Minas in 1758 CE. They indulged in the ‘peaceful pursuit of commerce’ involving importing and

184  Gargi Chattopadhyay selling piece goods and exporting raw silk.87 This settlement had declined by the 1750s. Did Religion Act as a Dividing Line between the Various Residential Groups? A redeeming feature of the Nawabi era was the reasonably peaceful coexistence of various communities. The Shias and Sunnis were believed to have prayed in the same dargah.88 Apart from the Shias and Sunni Muslims and the Hindus in Murshidabad and its outlying area, people of other faiths, languages, and cultures lived and pursued their customs and practices. The era also witnessed the immense popularity of a syncretistic culture of Satya pir/Satyanarayan worship by the Hindus and Muslims. Also, the celebrations of Holi (festival of colours) and Diwali (festival of lights) by the Hindus and Muslims were encouraged by the Nawabs.89 Berabhasan,90 the Muslim ritual of worshipping the river spirit by floating decorated handmade boats into the river after the monsoons, were akin to the Hindu custom of sedho and Ganga puja performed in winter.91 The Hindus and Muslims participated fully92 in this common man’s festival. It was patronised by the Mughal subahdars and turned into a grand spectacle by the Nawabs.93 Muslims and Hindus held key positions in the administration and revenue department and received post facto approval from the Mughal headquarters.94 The Hindu bankers became a leading faction at the Nizamat court from the tenure of Murshid Quli Khan95 and subsequently played a crucial role during Alivardi’s tenure and were kingmakers during the battle of Plassey. In the administration of justice, Murshid Quli was extremely impartial.96 Each year, the Nawab used to participate in the magnificent celebration of the Prophet’s death anniversary for 12 days. He employed more than one lakh labourers to light up the chiraghs (lamps) on both sides of the river from Mahinagar to Lalbagh. The Nawabs adopted the policies of inclusivity and impartiality to retain the ordinary people’s faith. After signing the treaty of Alinagar, Sirajuddaullah celebrated Holi on a grand scale in Murshidabad for seven days.97 Murshidabad and its outskirts were dotted with Muslim and Hindu shrines. The Gujarati Shaivites got a number of temples built on the riverside. The Shaktas had shrines of the mother goddess, the most famous ancient site being the temple of Kiriteswari at Kiritkona, close to Murshidabad. In the 18th century, many Jain temples and akharas were built in Murshidabad. Rani Bhavani, the zamindar of Rajshahi, built several temples in Murshidabad, including the Bhabanisvar mandir and Char Bangla Shiv temples. Murshidabad and its adjoining areas boasted of as many mosques as temples. Some of the renowned shrines were Katra masjid, Nausari Banu’s tomb, Begum masjid, Futi masjid, and Chauk masjid. The English, Dutch, and the French had their factory settlements in and around Kasimbazar. Only the English one was fortified. The unfortified

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  185 Dutch and French factories looked more like country houses.98 During the European war, the English and the French, apprehending trouble from either side, ‘began … to … strengthen their fortifications’.99 The Maratha raids had also prompted the Europeans to step up their defences in 1742–43 CE.100 Nevertheless, in the initial years of the European settlements, ‘the inhabitants, if inclined to destroy the Europeans, might have done so with sticks and stones’.101 So this separation in the form of close groupings of some countries could be more psychological than absolute segregation. Perhaps the underpinnings of the white township had existed in the MurshidabadKasimbazar area in this period. The Nawabs had allowed the resident Europeans to construct their living areas, factories, and offices and build their churches and burial grounds. However, Murshid Quli and Alivardi Khan did not fortify their respective areas on a big scale. The remnants of the magnificent Armenian church built on the riverfront, the English and Dutch burial grounds remained part of the skyline of the Murshidabad-Kasimbazar complex. So, the Hindus, Jains, Muslims, Christians, and people of other faiths had cohabited within the chosen period. Contrary to Mohsin’s claim that the place had a ‘craft-wise arrangement’ of localities,102 some areas were also demarcated on the communal and linguistic lines. ‘Mughaltola’ was distinguished as the living area of some of the Muslim Asian merchants. Although people lived amicably under strong rulers and there were hardly instances of major social clashes, dwelling cum workspaces were formed based on professions (Jahurtoli), language (Urdubazar), region (Gujaratitoli), or even essential commodities in a market (Chinitola). Mostly professional exigencies facilitated interactions. Later, the changing dynamics in the mid-18th century prompted the English Company to think of walled living-office premises and commercial zones. It was keen to earmark an area around Kasimbazar for a ‘citadel to the southward of the old dock’103 fitted with office, residences, military garrison, the supply of potable water, a modern wharf for cargo transhipment. It would be ‘a fortified place near the capital of the soubahship, would be of use in … checking any designs that the government might in future conceive against us’.104

Emergence of the English East India Company and the Silk Trade In 1673 CE the total imports of raw silk from Bengal were as high as 21,874lb.105 The East India Company decided to invest 20,000 lb for raw silk in Bengal in December 1674 CE.106 In 1680 CE, when Job Charnock took charge of the Kasimbazar factory107 from 230,000 pound sterlings to be invested in Bengal by the English; 140,000 pound sterling was dispatched to Kasimbazar.108 This highlights the growing British commercial interest towards Bengal and Kasimbazar in particular. In the 17th century, Kasimbazar produced around 22,000 bales. Each bale weighed

186  Gargi Chattopadhyay approximately 100 pounds. By a rough estimation, the total production of Kasimbazar in that century was 3.1 million pounds.109 The major purchasers were the Asian merchants and Armenians. Also, the European Companies grew more and more interested in acquiring this expensive commodity. Initially, in the 17th century, the Dutch and the English companies substantially exported the silk manufacturers from Bengal.110 Comparing the data of silk exports from Bengal by the Dutch, the English and the Asian merchants (See Figures 8.1 and 8.2); we see that both the British and the Dutch were close competitors initially, with the Dutch enjoying an initial edge over the English Company. Scholars such as Sushil Chaudhury111 have claimed that the exports of the Asian merchants from Bengal and their import of cash and silver in the 1750s were far greater than those of the Europeans. K.M. Mohsin made an interesting observation that between 1740 and 1756 CE, during Alivardi Khan’s tenure, raw silk export worth Rs 70,000 was recorded yearly at the account of the Murshidabad custom house. This did not include European investment.112 The consignments were directed towards parts of the empire, Kabul, and adjoining countries.113 Even in the 1740s, the Asian merchants enjoyed a clear lead in the silk trade. The Factory Record of Kasimbazar suggests that the mixed group of Asian traders dictated the terms of price in the silk market.114 In 1750–51 CE, the Asian merchants exported 124,675 pieces of silk textiles, while the Europeans sold 25,650 pieces. Then onwards we saw a dip in

Figure 8.1 Rivalry between the Dutch and English over Raw Silk Exports: 1700— 1745 CE.

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  187

Figure 8.2 Comparison of Raw Silk Exports by the English Company, Dutch Company and the Asian Merchants (in Eng. Lb.)

the exports by the Asian merchants to 75,062 in 1754–55 CE. On the other hand, the export by the European merchants increased to 75,043 in 1754–55 CE, thereby signifying an equal share of sales in the market. However, the phrase ‘Asian merchants’ indicated a loose heterogeneous group within which intragroup competition must have existed to retain its position in the market. The term European traders included mainly the Dutch and the English.115 However, in a letter dated March 25, 1757, the directors expressed their dissatisfaction with the quality of silk.116 Nevertheless, the English economic objective of revenue maximisation at all costs had a sharp repercussion on Bengal’s agrarian sector and trade and was linked with the famine of 1770 CE. In the mid-18th century, the English Company established its political superiority over Bengal. Accordingly, fortunes of the local traders, Asian merchants and other European trade bodies, especially its closest competitor, the Dutch, had to be realigned in favour of the emerging Company State. If one compares the amount of the Company’s investments in Kasimbazar in the late 17th and late 18th centuries, one sees that it had trebled within a gap of approximately a century. The Bengal silk and textile were the most significant export commodity next to cotton since pre-Plassey days. Since the early 19th century, Britain emphasised more on the export of the raw silk of Bengal and not the silk goods, as it needed to safeguard the interest of the emerging textile manufacturers’ lobby117 back home.

The Decline of the Murshidabad-Kasimbazar Region On the one hand, Murshidabad was a thriving commercial centre; on the other, it bore a distinct aura of an aristocratic and resplendent Nawabi

188  Gargi Chattopadhyay settlement. In the latter half of the 18th century, it lost its importance faster than it had acquired it. An official record dated 1775 CE hinted at symptoms of a subsistence economy in Murshidabad as long-distance trade became minimal.118 This state of Murshidabad and Kasimbazar could be explained in terms of a series of crises that it had faced: like Maratha onslaughts, Alivardi’s lack of funds and inability to sustain his army, the Sannyasi uprisings, the political takeover by the English Company in 1757 CE, and its economic entrenchment in 1765 CE, two consecutive years of drought, floods, rain, hoarding by grain traders leading to ‘artificial’ scarcities,119 the Bengal famine of 1770 CE and the associated bouts of epidemics had killed one-third of the population of Bengal. It may be relevant to note that the Company records and one school of scholars have highlighted the impact of the decade-long Bargi raids (1740– 50 CE approximately) on Bengal’s economy and the resultant decline of its business centres. Gangaram’s contemporary account of Maratha depredations mentioned mass migrations to safer places.120 While agreeing that dislocations and disruptions did occur because of their inroads, they differed on the intensity and extent of the impact. K.K. Datta121 and Om Prakash122 claimed that it bore a major impact leading to large-scale migration and death. Sushil Chaudhury argued123 that the Bargis brought about ‘serious dislocation’ in the economy by causing ‘destruction’ in the areas along the route march. The rest of Bengal was more or less unaffected.124 There was no sharp and marked price rise of export commodities like textile, raw silk, or rice125 in Bengal. Chaudhury’s stand was critiqued by J.R. McLane,126 Hameeda Hossain127 and Rila Mukherjee.128 However, Rila Mukherjee also asserted that other factors influenced the price rise in silk and textiles since the 1730s, even before the raids began.129 From the review of the textile trade in Kasimbazar for the decade by comparing instances when business was affected and instances when business was smooth; from scant records available at hand, the following rough trend emerges: Despite the instances of disruptions in the silk trade, goods were contracted from time to time, though production and deliveries were irregular at times. Further, the trend in Kasimbazar conformed to Chaudhury’s view that the decade was not as hopeless as some historians portrayed it. Nevertheless, it is a micro view of local history from the perspective of its signature product based on data culled from the Home Miscellaneous Series.130 Shifting the Diwani and Khalsa (Treasury) offices from Murshidabad to Calcutta in 1772 CE provided the proverbial last straw to Murshidabad. The rise of an alternative vector of growth in Calcutta attracted the zamindars, wealthy businessmen and a trail of people to explore newer avenues. This adversely affected its port town. Further, the gradual decline of trade in Kasimbazar had an unfavourable impact on Murshidabad.

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  189 Role of River and Ecology The river played a crucial role in the history of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad. Prior to the 16th century, the main flow of the Ganges passed southward through the Bhagirathi to the sea. Much of the decline of the MurshidabadKasimbazar belt could be related to the eastward swing of the Bhagirathi between the 16th and 18th centuries. It was slowly moving towards the bed of a smaller stream called the Padma. During the eastward shift, the Padma was expanding as the main flow of the Ganges. Simultaneously the Bhagirathi was practically bereft of its headwater supply and fresh sediments. Therefore, the silt could not be evenly distributed, and excessive sediment kept piling up on the riverbed as blockades. The French traveller Tavernier provided the earliest record of its declining navigability on January 6, 1666. A very large sandbank at Sooty impeded the passage131 between Rajmahal and Kasimbazar. in November 1676, Streynsham Master, a pioneering Company official, observed that the water level of the Bhagirathi at Kasimbazar between September 23, and November 8, 1676, had receded by five fathoms after the rainy season.132 In April 1683, William Hedges, the first Governor of the East India Company, travelled from Maula, near Sooty to Kasimbazar by a palanquin.133 The river had to continuously chart out new courses by deserting the old beds by skirting through the obstructions that took the forms of shoals and sandbanks that impeded the navigability in post-monsoon dry months. The Bhagirathi’s abandoned courses lingered in Murshidabad and Kasimbazar as pestiferous bils (marshes). This very prolonged natural phenomenon of the river shift spanning a couple of centuries generated binary delta systems; a moribund western delta watered by a trickling Bhagirathi and the fresh silt-laden eastern delta sustained by the Padma that was growing wider and voluminous. It gave rise to a fertile land of fresh alluvium in its new delta in eastern Bengal that encouraged wet rice cultivation and nurtured settled community life. Murshidabad and Kasimbazar fell into the declining delta. Figure 8.3, a timeline, has noted the river decline in the primary records, during 50 years between the 1740s and 1780s. The river was charting out new paths. In 1813 CE, a new course flowed southward from Murshidabad and barely touched Farashdanga to Kasimbazar to connect the tips of the old course shaped like an inverted ‘C’. As a result, Kasimbazar, Kalkapur, and Farashdanga were thrown three miles away from its eastern bank. The abandoned riverbed lingered as malarial marshes.134 However, the magnitude of the river’s decay is never commensurate with the pace of decline of a settlement that had been reared on its banks.135 Hence in 1769 CE, the Bengali poet Bijoyram Sen in the Tirthamangala described Kasimbazar and Murshidabad as flourishing towns with a thriving trade

190  Gargi Chattopadhyay

Figure 8.3 Steady deterioration of the Kasimbazar river between the 1740s and 1790s: A Timeline.

and impressive residential buildings overlooking the river.136 Kasimbazar was once a crowded place studded with pucca brick houses juxtaposed with a maze of narrow alleys.137 Although long after 1813 CE, many silk filatures were producing ‘Kasimbazar Silk’ all over the district of Murshidabad till it could withstand the competition from mass-produced cheap Manchester cotton. According to an official survey dated November 1813 CE, there were no houses towards Kasimbazar though some huts were spotted towards the city’s edge. The river’s closure within ‘Cossimbuzar’ was recorded in the same year.138 In 1835 CE, the English Company gave up its commercial monopoly in the silk trade in Bengal.139 The mid-19th-century map of Gastrell shows several bazars, golas, ganjs on the western side of the river140 in Murshidabad that were indicative of short-distance local and seasonal trade via temporary routes. The eastern part of the river was almost blocked with two extensive sandbars. There was a marginal dip in population in Murshidabad district between 1801 and 1829 CE. Between 1740 and 1829 CE, there was a remarkable population decline in Kasimbazar.141 Map 8.1 provides a fair idea of the settlement along the choked up Kasimbazar river in the 1850s.

Conclusion It seems hard to imagine that less than a century ago, the MurshidabadKasimbazar region was bustling with activities in which people of myriad

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  191

Map 8.1 Residential-Business enclaves in and around Murshidabad.

192  Gargi Chattopadhyay professions and various corners of the world lived together, sharing space with the local population. Nihal Singh, a reputed Jain poet, who had visited Kasimbazar and Murshidabad in the 1730s, had aptly remarked, Rahte lok gujraatik, topiwaal jeti jaatik. Arab armaani angrez, habshi hurramji ulangdez. Sidhi faraashi salemaan, saudagar mughal pathaan. Sethi kungpani ki jordamke lagey laakh kiror.142 (There are Gujaratis and other cap wearers, Arab, Armenian, English, African and Dutch, Sidhi and French, Mughal and Pathan traders, Sethi Company’s might flutters lakhs and crores). Bengal between the 17th and 18th century and the settlements of Murshidabad and Kasimbazar in particular were conducive to peaceful coexistence between people of varied races, beliefs and practices. Like the preceding Turko Afghan rulers, the nawabs of Murshidabad never imposed Islam as a state policy and ensured the allegiance of the local people. Further, a spirit of eclecticism, plurality, and inclusiveness prevailed in Bengal that could be substantially explained in terms of the long and abiding influences of the Sahajiyas, Bauls, Gaudiya Vaishnavas, and Sufis that had questioned the Hindu and Islamic orthodoxy. Nevertheless, on a personal level, many opted to cluster along the lines of religious beliefs and practices and professional and linguistic lines. Areas like Hariganj,143 Dulalganj144 indicated Hindu areas, while Mahmudganj,145 Karimganj146 on the Bhagirathi’s western bank could be, as the names suggest, Muslim localities. Those ganjs, meaning market towns located on a major river or land trade route, were generally named after their founders. Panditpur,147 Shyampur148 were indicative of distinctly North Indian Hindu localities. Map 8.1 would throw some light on the residential cum professional enclaves of the people of Murshidabad. Apart from the religious and linguistic bondings, racial clusters also provided the dwellers with some sort of a comfort zone of assurance and a sense of security, as in the case of the Europeans in particular. A convergence of diverse people had turned this area into what could perhaps be termed as a thriving cosmopolitan salad bowl, even if it could have been short of being a melting pot. However, by the early 19th century, the Kasimbazar-Murshidabad region had moved away from the arclight of history. While riverine changes took away the commercial glory of the select settlements, the newly emerging political and business centre eclipsed Murshidabad. Also, the role of the environment and socio-economic and political forces has been decisive in many ways in reconfiguring the history of the riparian terrain. The ‘breakdowns and suspicious noises’149 that were beginning to occur long ago were

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  193 perhaps not appropriately addressed. While the evolving Company state was busy plotting diplomatic moves, war strategies, and asserting control over space with the aid of geographical knowledge and cartography, the dynamics of nature was ignored. Despite Rennell’s forewarnings, attempts were made to harness a declining river (removal of sandbanks, redirecting other channels to water the Kasimbazar river) for business. The river shifts and associated problems like frequent floods and land encroachments, the formation of sandbanks, marshes, changes in the pattern of flora, fauna, waxing and waning of the forest covering between the late 17th and 19th century reveals that the Kasimbazar-Murshidabad region represented a fragile topography and ephemeral ecology.150

Glossary Amla Arang Baul Bazar Dalal Dadan Diwani Faujdar Ganj Gaudiya Vaishnava Gola Hakim Kaviraj Khalsa Lascar Mahajan Mansabdar Maulavi Nizamat Paikar Patella Quanungo Sahajiya

Sufi

Talukdar Tirthankar Zamindar

zamindari officer silk manufacturing node mystic minstrel of Bengal, an offshoot of the Sahajiya philosophy Market Agent advance payment to manufacturers revenue office Police market town located on a major land/river route A form of Bhakti movement rooted in 16th century Bengal and inspired by Sri Chaitanya, in which Vishnu or Krishna is worshipped as the supreme deity. It challenged the Brahmanical orthodoxy. Granary Muslim physician Hindu physician Treasury Sailor Moneylender government officer under the Mughals Islamic religious scholar Governorship intermediary providing cash advance to weave, agent Small flat-bottomed boat registrar of landed property A Buddhist religious non-conformist cult that was popular in the Pala period in the 8th CE It believed that the body embodies the universe and attainment of the self can only be made through physical love. A form of non-conformist Islam that emphasised love, brotherhood, and equality. These preachings connected them with the common people groaning under Brahmanical and Islamic orthodoxy. a class of landholder spiritual teacher of Jainism landowner

194  Gargi Chattopadhyay

Notes 1 During the 1660s, Murshidabad became the pargana headquarters and its officers had control over the European factories in Kasimbazar. 2 Philip B. Calkins, ‘The Role of Murshidabad as a Regional and Sub Regional Centre in Bengal’, in Richard L. Park (ed.), Urban Bengal, Asian Studies Centre, South Asian Series, Occasional Paper no. 12, East Lansing: Michigan State University, 1969, pp. 19–28. 3 Ibid., p. 19. 4 Francois Bernier, Travels in the Mogul Empire, 1656–1668, Archibald Constable (tr.), London: Oxford University Press, 1916, p. 440. 5 W. Foster (ed.), The English Factories in India, 1618–1621, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1906, p. 153. 6 Home Public, Consultation, no. 6, March 22, 1779. National Archives of India New Delhi (hereafter NAI). 7 Later the port of Calcutta came up. 8 Trading network of Kasimbazar spread between the Mughal headquarters in the north west, north Indian settlements, Patna port; Gujarat in the west and Aurangabad to its south west. 9 Susan Gole, A Series of Early Printed Maps of India in Fascimile, New Delhi: Jaya Prints, 1980, Plate 25b. 10 Somendra Chandra Nandy, Bandar Kasimbazar, Calcutta: Bangiya Natya Sangsad Prakasani, 1978, p. 48. 11 At Sooty Bhagirathi diverged from the Ganges to water western Bengal. 12 Home Miscellaneous Proceedings, Vol. 2, Copy Book of Hugly Letters, 1680– 81, p. 189. NAI. 13 Karam Ali, ‘Muzaffar-Namah’, in J.N. Sarkar (tr.), Bengal Nawabs, Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 1985, p. 58. 14 In many such ways Kasimbazar and Murshidabad were representatives of those settlements that could at best be dubbed as ‘rurban’, to echo P.J. Marshall. So some facets of an emerging commercial town could be noted within the rural structure. P.J. Marshall, Bengal, The British Bridgehead, Eastern India: 1740–1828, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987, p. 38. 15 Tilottama Mukherjee, ‘The Co-ordinating State and the Economy: The Nizamat in Eighteenth-Century Bengal’, Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 43, No. 2 (2009): 389–436. 16 Ibid. 17 W.W. Hunter, A Statistical Account of Bengal; Districts of Murshidabad and Patna, Vol. 9, London: Trubner and Co., 1876, p. 88. 18 Spelt as Mhymapoor in Gastrell’s ‘Map of Moorshedabad’, 1853–54. 19 K.M. Mohsin, ‘Murshidabad in the Eighteenth Century’, in Kenneth Ballhatchet and John Harrison (eds), The City in South Asia, Pre-Modern and Modern, London and Dublin: Curzon Press Ltd, 1980, p. 76. 20 Ibid. 21 Niccolai Graaf cited in Aniruddha Ray, Moddhojuger Bharotio Shohor, Itihash Granthamala Series 1, Calcutta: Ananda Publishers, 1999, p. 353. 22 Joseph Tieffenthaler, ‘Des Recherches Historique et Chronologiques sur l’Inde et la Description du Cours du Gange et du Gaugra avec une tres Grande Carte’, in M. Jean Bernoulli (ed.), Description Historique et Geographique de l’Inde qui presente en trios volumes, Vol. 1, Berlin, 1791, pp. 451–52. https:// gallica​.bnf​.fr​/ark:​/12148​/bpt6k5037814​/f1​.image​.texteImage (accessed on 11.12.19). 23 Home Public, Vol. 1, January 9, 1749, p. 69. NAI.

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  195 24 Rila Mukherjee, Merchants and Companies in Bengal: Kasimbazar and Jugdia in the Nineteenth Century, Delhi: Pragati Publishers, 2006, pp. 53–57. 25 Ibid., pp. 55–56. 26 S. Chaudhury and M. Morineau (eds), Merchants, Companies and Trade: Europe and Asia in the Early Modern Era, New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007, p. 305. 27 Afghans, Turks, Pathans, Arabs. 28 Sushil Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline: Eighteenth Century Bengal, New Delhi: Manohar, 1999, p. 333. Chaudhury noted that the Asian merchants had a major role in the silk trade of Bengal as major importers of bullions in Bengal. 29 Committee of Circuit (Appendix), Proceedings, Vol. 9A, July 7–September 17, 1772. West Bengal State Archive, Kolkata (hereafter WBSA). 30 Gentooz meant the Hindus. 31 Sushil Chaudhury, Nobabi amole Murshidabad, Calcutta: Ananda Publishers, 2008, p. 25. 32 This happened as Murshid Quli had distanced himself from the Mughal hegemony. 33 Mohsin, ‘Murshidabad’, p. 74. 34 Ibid., p. 80. 35 Kamal Chaudhury (ed.), Murshidabader Itihash, Vol. 1, Kolkata: Dey’s Publishing, 2011, p. 83. 36 Ibid., p. 28. 37 Kamal Chaudhury (ed.), Murshidabader Itihash, Vol. 1, p. 83. 38 Mohsin, ‘Murshidabad’, p. 74. 39 William Hodges, Travels in India during the Years 1780, 1781, 1782, and 1783, London: Printed for the author, 1783, pp. 18–19. 40 Mohsin, ‘Murshidabad’, p. 74. 41 Salim, Riyaz, pp. 290–91. 42 Mohammad Faique, Murshidabad in the Era of Nawabs, Persian Architecture, Art, Painting and Culture, Delhi: Meena Book Publications, 2015, pp. 25. 43 Rev. J. Long, ‘On the Banks of River Bhagirathi’, in Kamal Chaudhury (ed.), Murshidabader Itihash, Vol. 2, Kolkata: Dey’s Publishing, 2011, p. 101. 44 Salim, Riyaz, p. 29. 45 H. Beveridge, ‘Old Places in Murshidabad’, in Kamal Chaudhury (ed.), Murshidabader Itihash, Vol. 1, p. 699. 46 Salim, Riyaz, p. 29. 47 Faique, Murshidabad in the Era of Nawabs, p. 22. 48 Purna Chandra Majumdar, The Musnud of Murshidabad (1704–1904), Being a Synopsis of the History of Murshidabad for the Last Two Centuries, to Which are Appended Notes of Places and Objects of Interest in Murshidabad, Murshidabad: Sharoda Ray, 1905, p. 73. 49 W.W. Hunter, The Imperial Gazetteer of India, Vol. 5, London: Trubner and Co, 1881, p. 302. 50 H.N. Sinha (ed.), Fort William-India House Correspondence and Other Contemporary Papers Relating Thereto, Vol. 2, 1757–59, New Delhi: National Archives of India, p. 122. 51 Ibid., pp. 159–60. 52 K.N. Chaudhuri, The Trading World of Asia and the East India Company, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1978, p. 353. 53 Streynsham Master, The Diaries of Streynsham Master 1675–1680 and Other Contemporary Papers Relating Thereto, Vol. 2, Richard Carnac Temple (ed.), London: John Murray, 1911, pp. 326–30.

196  Gargi Chattopadhyay 54 K.M. Mohsin, A Bengal District in Transition, Murshidabad, 1765–1793, Dhaka: Asiatic Society of Bangladesh, 1973, p. 30; Mohsin, ‘Murshidabad’, p. 79. 55 Bengal Public Consultations, Microfilm, Fort William, November, 1714, Accession no. 2662. NAI. 56 Dacca Factory Record, Microfilm, Dacca, April, 1742, Accession no. 2696. NAI. 57 Mohsin, A Bengal District in Transition, p. 77. 58 Provincial Council of Revenue Murshidabad, Proceedings, Vol. 15, dated April 6, 1778, p. 200. WBSA. 59 Provincial Council of Revenue Murshidabad, Proceedings, Vol. 8, dated April 15, 1776, p. 225. WBSA. 60 Home Public, Proceedings, 1757, Part 1, p. 206. NAI. 61 Home Public, Proceedings, Vol. 32, dated November 23, 1767, p. 1025. NAI. 62 Provincial Council of Revenue Murshidabad, Proceedings, Vol. 15, dated March 16, 1778, p. 123; Provincial Council of Revenue Murshidabad, Proceedings, Vol. 15, dated April 6, 1778, p. 198. WBSA. 63 Home Public, Proceedings, Vol. 32, dated December 31, 1767, p. 1143. NAI. 64 S.C. Nandy, Bandar Kasimbazar, Bandar Kasimbazar, Calcutta: Bangiya Natya Sangsad Prakasani, 1978, p. 30. 65 Ibid., p. 31. 66 Calkins, ‘The Role of Murshidabad’, p. 26. 67 Published sources are indicative of more than one quarters of the trading communities of varied levels of solvency Hence there were, most likely, more than one ‘mahajantolas’/’mahajantoolis’. 68 ‘Map of the City of Murshidabad’, in Miscellaneous Maps of the Survey of India, Surveyed by Capt. J.E. Gastrell, 1853–54, (Old Ref–Reg. no. 18–0–54). NAI. Though Gastrell’s map was published in 1853–54, obviously the relevant data were collected prior to it and some of the localities might have continued to exist during his time, which provide a rough idea of the various quarters of the nawabi times. 69 Ibid.; Mohsin, ‘Murshidabadin the Eighteenth Century’, p. 79. 70 Mohsin, ‘Murshidabad in the Eighteenth Century’. 71 Ibid. 72 Ibid. 73 Ibid. 74 Ibid. 75 ‘Map of the City of Murshidabad’, Surveyed by Capt. Gastrell, 1853–54. NAI. 76 Ibid. 77 Mohsin, ‘Murshidabad’, p. 80. 78 Tilottama Mukherjee, ‘The Co-ordinating State and the Economy’: 389–436. 79 Ibid. 80 Major J.H. Tull Walsh, A History of Murshidabad District, with Biographies of its Noted Families, London: Jarrold and Sons, 1902, p. 2. 81 Tieffenthaler had referred to the Bhagirathi as small Ganges. 82 Following is the representative lifestyle of any high-level European expatriate of that time. The first Chief Factor Ion Ken, on 13th March 1659 had a frugal ‘chank and mud’ house along with minimalistic accessories like ‘a cot, a table, stool and a candlestick’. P. Thankappan Nair, British Beginnings in Bengal (1600–1660), Calcutta: Punthi Pustak, 1991, p. 123. 83 They had a new cantonment at Berhampur, constructed in 1758. 84 J.E. Gastrell, Statistical and Geographical Report of the Murshidabad District, Calcutta: Bengal Secretariat Office, 1860, p. 12.

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  197 85 Initially they had a factory at a place close to Kasimbazar, that became known as Farasdanga. 86 S.C. Nandy, Bandar Kasimbazar, p. 95. 87 Mesrovb Jacob Seth, Armenians in India from the Earliest Times to the Present Day: A Work of Original Research, New Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 2005, p. 325. 88 Sushil Chaudhury, Nobabi amole Murshidabad, p. 134. 89 Ibid., pp. 134–35. 90 Rafts made of banana, palm or plantain leaves were floated to appease the water spirits. It is a common practice in Bengal’s riverine terrain. 91 Rila Mukherjee, ‘Putting the Rafts Out to Sea: Talking of ‘Bera Bhashan’ in Bengal’, Transforming Cultures, e Journal, Vol. 3, No. 2 (2008): 124–44. https://www​.academia​.edu​/26391042​/Putting​_the​_Rafts​_out​_to​_Sea​_Talking​ _of​_Bera​_Bhashan​_in​_Bengal (accessed on 8.12.2019). 92 Ibid. 93 Ibid. 94 Abdul Karim, Murshid Quli Khan and His Times, Dacca: Jatiya Sahitya Prakash, 1963, pp. 218–19. 95 However, there is a view based on Seid Gholam Hossein Khan’s Seir Mutaqherin, Nota Manus (tr.), Calcutta: T.D. Chatterjee, 1902, pp. 273–77; Salim, Riyaz, pp. 307–14; that Murshid Quli was a Hindu hater. This has been strongly refuted by scholars like Abdul Karim, Murshid Quli Khan and His Times, pp. 255–56, on the ground that those primary sources were not reviewed critically in the contemporary perspective and the nawab has to be judged within the framework of Mughal rule as till his last he was loyal to the Mughal government. 96 Salim, Riyaz, p. 280. 97 ‘Muzaffarnamah’ of Karam Ali. English trans. Jadunath Sarkar, in Bengal Nawabs, Calcutta: Asiatic Society, 2008, p. 72. 98 S.C. Hill, Bengal in 1756–57, Vol. 1, A Selection of Public and Private Papers Dealing with the Affairs of the British in Bengal during the Reign of Sirajuddaullah, London: John Murray, 1905, p. xxxv. 99 Ibid., p. xlvi. 100 Ibid., p. xxxv. 101 O’Malley, Bengal District Gazetteers, Murshidabad, p. 207. 102 Mohsin, ‘Murshidabad’, p. 73. 103 C.R. Wilson, Old Fort William in Bengal, Indian Records Series, Vol. 2, London: John Murray, 1906, p. 128. 104 Sinha (ed.), Fort William-India House Correspondence, Vol. 2, p. 122. 105 Chaudhuri, The Trading World, p. 347. 106 Ibid. 107 Home Miscellaneous, Vol. 1, Serial 1, Letters from Court, 1680–1681, p. 1. NAI. 108 Mohsin, A Bengal District in Transition, p. 15. Rila Mukherjee, Merchants and Companies in Bengal, p. 9. 109 Rila Mukherjee, Merchants and Companies in Bengal, p. 10. 110 H.R. Ghosal, Economic Transition in the Bengal Presidency, 1793–1833, Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay, 1966, p. 40. 111 Sushil Chaudhury, ‘The Asian Merchants and Companies in Bengal’s Export Trade, circa Mid Eighteenth Century’, in Sushil Chaudhury and M. Morineau (eds), Merchants, Companies and Trade: Europe and Asia in the Early Modern Era, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999, pp. 300–20. 112 Mohsin, A Bengal District in Transition, p. 40. 113 Ibid.

198  Gargi Chattopadhyay 114 Factory Records, Kasimbazar, Vol. 6, 23 January 1744. A Office Records, London, cited in Sushil Chaudhury, ‘Asian Merchants and Companies in Bengal’s Export Trade’, in S. Chaudhury and Michel Morineau (eds), Merchants, Companies and Trade, p. 304. 115 Ibid., p. 317. 116 Fort William-India House Correspondence, Vol. 2, p. xlix. 117 Sabyasachi Bhattacharya, ‘Eastern India’, in Dharma Kumar (ed.), The Cambridge Economic History of India, Vol. 2, New Delhi: Orient Longman, 2008, p. 319. 118 Revenue, Governor General in Council, July 4–25, 1775, Proceedings, Vol. 6, dated July 18, pp. 330–31. WBSA. ‘Moorshedabad is now reduced to a Village compared to its former state, and the Country around affords a sufficiency of the articles of Consumption to the Inhabitants’. 119 The hoardings and the extent of soaring prices was the ‘key in transforming a famine-warning into a famine-point in eighteenth century Bengal’. Cited from Rajat Datta, Society, Economy and the Market, Commercialization in Rural Bengal: 1760–1800, New Delhi: Manohar, 2000, pp. 213–14. 120 Dimock, Jr, and Pratul Chandra Gupta translated and annotated, The Maharashta Purana: An Eighteenth Century Bengali Historical Text, Hyderabad: Orient Longman, Reprint, 1985. 121 Kalikinkar Datta, Alivardi and His Times, Calcutta: World Press, 1963, pp. 49–50. 122 Om Prakash, The Dutch East India Company and the Economy of Bengal, 1630–1720, New Delhi: Manohar, 2012. 123 Sushil Chaudhury, From Prosperity to Decline, Eighteenth Century Bengal, New Delhi: Manohar, 1995. 124 Ibid., p. 300. 125 Ibid., p. 330. 126 J.R. McLane, Land and Local Kingship in Eighteenth Century Bengal, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. 127 Hameeda Hossain, The Company Weavers of Bengal: The East India Company and the Organisation of Textile Production in Bengal, 1750–1813, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1988. 128 Rila Mukherjee, Strange Riches, Bengal in the Mercantile Map of South Asia, New Delhi: Foundation Books Private Ltd, 2006. 129 ‘There is a definite decline in both silk and cotton production in Bengal from the early 1730s’, Cited in A.G. Frank, ‘India in the World Economy, 1400–1750’, Economic and Political Weekly, Vol. 31, No. 30 (July 27 1996): 50–64. 130 Home Miscellaneous Proceedings, Vol. 11, 1742–46, dated January 8, 1742, pp. 15–16; Ibid., Vol. 10, 1737–42, dated July 31, 1742, p. 361; Ibid., Vol. 11, 1742–46, dated February 3, 1743, pp. 125–129; Ibid., Vol. 11, 4, 1746, p. 315; Ibid., Vol. 13, 1747–48, Ibid., Proceedings, Vol. 14, 1748–49, pp. 33, 61. NAI. 131 O’Malley, Bengal, Bihar, Orissa and Sikkim, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1917, p. 49. 132 Master, The Diaries, Vol. 2, p. 221. 133 Cited in O’Malley, Gazetteers: Murshidabad, p. 10. 134 Gastrell, Statistical and Geographical Report, p. 14. An official correspondence of the East India Company dating back to 1757 stated that Kasimbazar ‘will become the resort of many considered wealthy merchants’, cited in Home Public Proceedings, 1757, Part 1, p. 206. NAI. On May 10, 1838, in one of his letters to the Collector, Krishnanath Roy of Kasimbazar mentioned, ‘Kasimbazar is a very unhealthy place, I am always sick here’, cited in Somendra Chandra

Settlements of Kasimbazar and Murshidabad  199

135 136 137 138 139 140 141

142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150

Nandy, History of the Cossimbazar Raj in the Nineteenth Century; 1807– 1897, Vol. 1, Calcutta: Dev-All Private Ltd, 1986, p. 200. The natural process of a river’s swing usually takes place in an unhurried pace over a long period, unless a severe flood results in an overnight change of the course. Bijoyram Sen, Tirthamangal, Calcutta: Parashpathar Prakashan, Parashpathar edition 2009, p. 116. O’Malley, Bengal District Gazetteers: Murshidabad, p. 187, quoted from E.V. West Macott, ‘The Territorial Aristocracy of Bengal: The Kasimbazar Raj’, Calcutta Review, Vol. 57 (1873): 88–100. Field Book 51. Survey of the City of Moorshedabad, by Lt Colonel Fleming. Received on November 25, 1813. NAI. O’Malley, Bengal District Gazetteers: Murshidabad, p. 127. ‘Map of the City of Moorshedabad’, Surveyed by Gastrell, 1853–54. NAI. Somendra Chandra Nandy claimed that in 1740 about 100,000 people lived in Kasimbazar. The figures for 1801 estimated the population of Murshidabad district at 1,020,572. As per the report of 1829, there were 555,310 Hindus and 412,822 Muslims. In the same year, the population of Kasimbazar was estimated at 3538. Nihal Singh, ‘Bangal desh ki gazal’, cited in Kamal Chaudhury (ed.), Murshidabader Itihash, Vol. 2, p. 465. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Fernand Braudel, The Mediterranean and the Mediterranean World in the Age of Philip II, Vol. 1, Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1996, pp. 322, 352. Gargi Chattopadhyay, ‘Kasimbazar: A Commercial Centre, c. 1660–1800’, in ‘A Study of Three Locations along the Hugli from the Late Sixteenth to the Early Nineteenth Century: Kasimbazar, Hooghly and Sagor,’ PhD thesis, Jadavpur University, 2017.

9

Physical Environment, Customary Practices, and the English East India Company Regime A Narrative of Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Lower Deltaic Bengal Arijita Manna

The role of physical environment as it has influenced or facilitated clandestine manufacture or contraband trade has always fascinated scholars studying the world of smuggling. Attention has mostly been confined to smuggling across trans-regional planes such as across oceans or between countries.1 Smuggling (throughout the 18th century) in the salt-producing tracts of lower deltaic Bengal offers a perspective of this larger process of environmental influence. It helps to frame a cohesive dialogue between the physical environment and the dynamics of the local economic process. However, before discussing how the natural landscape facilitated contraband activities, it needs to be explained how the term ‘smuggling’2 came to be coined for the 18thcentury salt trade in the English East India Company records. Smuggling in the archives is portrayed as a deviant act, an anomaly juxtaposed against normalised relations of trade. However, this very normality of economic relations was arbitrarily defined to render the marginalisation of existing practices of the trade.3 To put it differently, the problem of smuggling existed because the early Company state imposed certain restrictions on indigenous commercial activities that were antithetical to indigenous traders’ economic interests. The latter resisted the Company’s monopoly over the production and trade of salt by continuing commercial activity along the pre-existing course. Such defiance of Company authority and Company dictated mode of commercial activity was designated as contraband. What acted as the catalyst of contraband activities was the landscape of the salt-producing tracts of the lower deltaic Bengal. The extensive expanse of tidal rivers and creeks and small forested islands represented a gigantic area where salt could be manufactured at any location, virtually undetected due to impenetrable dense forest and the shifting nature of the delta. This article studies the problem of salt smuggling as manifested in the southern and southeastern frontier regions of the Company dominion, namely in the salt agencies of Bhulua, Chittagong, Raimangal, and 24 Parganas. The southern part was heavily forested, parts of these agencies were in the greater Sundarbans, and smuggling was rampant in the interior forested parts of these agencies. DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-13

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  201

Map 9.1 Location map of Salt districts. Based on the map of the Deputy Surveyor General in charge of the Surveyor General’s office, published in 1856. Source: Appendix to the Report of the Commissioner appointed to enquire into and report upon the Manufacture and Sale of and Tax upon Salt in British India and more especially upon the Practicability of Substituting for Present Arrangements a System of Excise in the Presidencies of Bengal and Madras, Calcutta: Thos. Jones ‘Calcutta Gazette Office’, 1856.

202  Arijita Manna From the ancient period, salt was manufactured on an extensive scale along the coast of Bengal. The saline tracts extending from Chittagong to Jellasore were popularly known as the Noon-Dwip.4 James Grant, in his report, stated that salt was produced over an area of 7,000 sq. miles in almost 12,000 khalaries yielding over 30,00,000 maunds of salt5 (see Map 9.1). This article focuses on the salt districts between the mouth of the river Hugli in the west to the Chittagong coast in the east. This coastline marks the southern and southeastern frontier of the Company dominion where the plains of central Bengal gave way to the scattered islands, numerous rivers, streams and distributaries and dense jungle, eventually reaching the sea. Since time immemorial, salt has been produced extensively in this tract. The organisation of manufacture, circulation, or consumption, that is, the dynamism of the commodity network, was fundamentally rooted in the physical environment and socio-cultural practices. Reorganising the existing commodity network would require an adequate understanding of these environmental and socio-cultural specificities. However, reorganising the pre-existing network was an object of economic calculation and exercise of political authority for the Company state. Such a world view of the legal regime produced imagery of the fluvial, forested delta where the landscape was needed to be explored and monitored for economic resources only. This idea was antagonistic to how the indigenous inhabitants understood their relationship with nature. In the indigenous perception, the forests were a shared space reflecting the symbiotic relationship between man and nature. The indigenous world view stood in stark contrast to that of the Company. The Company perceived the southern periphery as the ‘zone of the anomaly’,6 which restricted the colonial ambition of documenting, monitoring, and controlling the entirety of the Company dominion. This chapter seeks to discover how the intractability and illegibility of the forested riverine terrain had been instrumental in restricting the Company’s attempt to administer economic activities and shape the early colonial enterprise. It had aided to continue the pre-existing commodity network. This article argues that the physical environment did not remain as a backdrop against which conflict or precarious coexistence of colonial and indigenous forces has to be studied; instead, it became the site of interaction between the two forces and shaped the Company enterprise. The Company attempted to impose the language and methods of control over environmental factors, which proved challenging to enforce. Another theme discussed is how legality and legitimacy became problematic concepts in specific ecological terrains, forcing the Company to vacillate over its legal stance and, through this indecision, endanger its productive endeavours. Finally, the problematics of the indigenous perception of the forests as shared spaces and the hazards produced by the hostile environment will be juxtaposed against the Company’s determined attempt to establish command over the local economy. Underlying all these scenarios was the fundamental disjuncture between the local people and the Company – the notion of what constituted

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  203 legitimate salt production and trade and what was smuggling. This chapter explores how the physical environment and the traditional knowledge systems associated with it and the customary practices became subject to economic laws and governmentality of the state and thus became involved in a binary narrative of legality and illegality. This methodology of studying the salt monopoly and its myriad complexities from the point of view of environmental dynamism helps capture the gradual difficult transition into a new political-economic regime.

The Landscape Conundrum: Illicit Manufacture of Salt In Bengal’s salt districts, procuring salt within the household had been a common practice, a part of everyday life for a large section of the local inhabitants. Nevertheless, this everyday practice became outlawed when the English East India Company established its exclusive monopoly7 over the manufacture of salt (in 1781 CE), by which producing on the private account was prohibited. This was an absurd ambition for the Company, for it sought to subvert an everyday practice into a legal violation. In this context, it should be noted that the Superintendent of eastern chauki commented that from Natchily to Balasore, salt was extensively produced within the household for personal consumption.8 However, unauthorised salt production was not confined within the household only; instead, it was carried on extensively throughout the lower deltaic Bengal. The salt districts of this part of Bengal were endowed with the environmental requirement9 of the salt industry, which was salinity of the earth, an adequate supply of fuel and proximity to riverine transport network facilitated the local milieu to produce or trade in salt unhindered by the Company intervention. The entire tract being this tangled network of rivers, estuaries, creeks, cross-channels, swamps, and impenetrable dense forest, the Company found it difficult to venture into the interiors to inspect or control these unauthorised activities. Besides, the intervention or the supervisory and monitoring activities were inherently limited as the administration was manned by the ‘native servants’ of questionable character. The manufacturers took every advantage of the incapacity of the Company and manoeuvred through the pre-existing commercial network to run a parallel organisation of clandestine manufacture and trade. This is evident from the report of the Salt Agent of 24 Parganas that the places of manufacture in the woods and the estimate of the quantity to be manufactured were difficult to ascertain and were subject to many discrepancies as to the places of manufacture kept on changing every year or two, and as did the ghats where the salt was to be delivered by the contractor malangis (salt manufacturers). He further reported that manufacturers might have worked in khalaries close to the cultivated land in the previous year, but in the current year, they might be working in the southernmost part of Sagar Island. This shifting of manufacturing grounds or places of delivery made it difficult for the Salt Department to monitor

204  Arijita Manna and regulate manufacturing in the woods. Such mobility also gave the producer much scope for clandestine manufacturing or petty theft, even as they worked for the Company.10 Manufacturers were often found to have dug a hole in the salt beds where they stored salt, which they had stolen from each day’s production.11 These manufacturers often were aided by the salt agency servants themselves. These ill-paid servants stationed at a hostile location found it lucrative to side with the manufacturers in their illegal enterprise. It was the remoteness of the salt-producing tracts that facilitated the indigenous manufacturers and merchants to procure and trade in salt outside the purview of the Company and, at the same time, rendered the ambition of the Company state to command the local market unattainable. The Salt Agents of the eastern provinces commented that given the topography of the division, it was easy to carry on salt production clandestinely. The coastline along river Fenny and Teck were bordered by hills covered with jungle.12 The Chittagong contractor reported that in the northern part, there were several illicit khalaries. Zamindars had given patta to ryots and received rent for each of the barrahs (salt pans), which had been erected in large numbers for manufacturing salt in the open.13 In the eastern chaukis, illicit manufacture was carried on to a large extent in Moloy and Sahees.14 There were 2,376 illicit barrahs in zila Tiperrah, 195 illicit ones in Islamabad, 541 in Bakarganj and 3,112 illicit barrahs in Bhulua. Malangis worked on the illicit barrahs on their account. They did not receive any advance for working these salt pans. They produced 2–10 seers a day and sold the produce to paikars (traders) who retailed it throughout the province. Sometimes malangis, instead of selling it to the paikars, carried it to different hats and sometimes sold it from door to door.15 In Dhaka, zamindars of Rattandia Kalkapur had allegedly erected six illicit khalaries and provided 1,200 maunds of salt to private traders.16 Illicit manufacture was also rampant in the South 24 Parganas. The Agent of this division hesitantly acknowledged its existence in parganas of Balunda, Pygotty, which lay at the southern part of Nadia and the eastern side of the salt lake water of Calcutta pargana.17 In Khulna, Bakarganj, and Noakhali, the scale of illicit manufacture was almost unfathomable. In the district of Bakarganj, the daroga of Daspara chauki reported that a considerable quantity of salt was manufactured against the public order issued around that place18 (see Table 9.1). According to Mr Ashton, salt was produced in alarming amounts in the Sundarbans.19 The Sundarbans, covered with dense jungle and intersected with too many rivers and rivulets, khalaries were difficult to patrol. It was not possible either to control manufacture or transactions by establishing chaukis. For instance, the daroga of Bawpaul thana reported that ‘Bawpaul was 30 miles at its longest and 15 miles in its widest point and it covered 50 rivers. For every river guarded there are ten unguarded rivers’.20 The desi khalari of Meghna delta, frontier along Arakan, and the island of Moscolly were also hubs of large-scale production of illicit salt.21 The Company’s

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  205 Table 9.1 Salt seized at different Golas in 1204 BS (1798 CE) Arang

Amount produced and delivered Amount confiscated (maunds) (maunds)

Bhulua and Gopalpur Jugdea Dandra Babupur Sagardip Bumney Dakshin Shahbazpur Cundal Koojoorah

7,004 5,521 1,346 9,520 4,050 10,546 1,553

1,592 402 242 329 329 560 951

Source: Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 3 September–29 October 1798, Vol.19, letter dated 21 August, p. 211. WBSA.

inability to penetrate deep into the region left an enormous quantity outside its purview. Thus, it can be argued that in this area, almost all the lands near creeks produced salt, and almost all the waterways provided potential avenues for transportation.

Monitoring the Riverine Network The Company attempted to acquire knowledge of the subtleties of the landscape by mapping and surveying the coastal and interior parts of the delta. From the early 19th century, the coast of the Ganges-Brahmaputra delta, outlets of different rivers, islands, and islets at the confluences of the principal rivers, as well as creeks and inlets and waterways, were extensively surveyed, but it is doubtful if these ‘scientific’ endeavours made the Company state any more knowledgeable about the particulars of the interiors of the country. There were also practical problems for undertaking route surveys. The Superintendent of western salt chauki reported that the tract between the Rasulpur and the Myaserai river was equally distant from the western salt chauki and the eastern salt chauki, therefore patrolling on the river route had been very difficult. As a result, illicit trafficking was carried out on an extensive scale in these waterways. The Superintendent of western salt chauki proposed creating Midland salt chauki for the tract lying between the river Hugli and the Jamuna.22 However, creating another salt chauki hardly helped prevent illicit manufacture or traffic. In 1802 CE during the manufacturing season, around 146 maunds of illicit salt were seized, while in 1804 CE, at the end of the manufacturing season, around 1,681 maunds of illicit salt were seized.23 While quantities seized were not that huge, it must be kept in mind that these amounts were only small parts of the real state of salt smuggling. Also, these official records were accounts of individuals who were caught. The goindahs (spies) often reported that smugglers would carry away salt through small, obscure creeks in their pansway

206  Arijita Manna (small boat) in the dead of night. It was difficult to patrol every creek and waterway. They would always find out one where there was no guard. Sometimes the mere location of certain parganas made it easy for smugglers to evade the vigilant eyes of the Company. For example – the Mandalghat pargana was notorious for being the abode of smugglers. More salt had been smuggled from this pargana than from the rest of the district. The Salt Agent reported that the location of the pargana facilitated illicit traffic. The two rivers, Rupnarayan and Hugli, embraced the two sides in a triangular form. The acute angle at the junction of these two rivers and the Damodar River running entirely through it gave the smugglers an accessible transit through the pargana.24 (see Map 9.2) The principal and most accessible means of transporting large quantities of salt were by waterways, and the conjunction of three major rivers gave the smugglers an abundance of options to carry out their activities. The Company, at this juncture, was stretched thin for resources and could not always provide the regular and diligent patrols needed to police such a vast and fluid riverine area. To prevent clandestine transportation of salt, the Company had fixed official routes for salt trade and had established preventive chaukis at principal riverine routes and patrolled different smaller streams or canals. For example – regular patrolling on the river Kaliganga and the River Ganges had commenced to prevent smuggling to north India. According to Irwin, the Superintendent of eastern chauki, the principal spot of smuggling was Jaffarganj, lying at the confluence of the Dhalsary and the Ganges. Near the confluence of the rivers Meghna and Ganges, many islands were chief centres of the illicit salt trade. The chaukis of Lallyganj, Bakshinagar, and the station of Mascotta were hardly effective in preventing clandestine transportation.25 It can be argued that the Company surveillance was limited, and its gaze drifted along the ‘principal routes’ only. However, the chauki establishments were inadequate (both in numbers and in capacity); besides, the riverine network was too vast and fluid to be inspected and controlled. To quote from the survey report of the 24 Parganas ‘the rivers and nullahs that intersect … (the) Sunderbunds are innumerable and many of them open to beautiful channels, … I don’t conceive it possible to situate any choky that could command the Sunderbunds sufficiently to prevent smuggling’.26 The survey report provides an interesting account of how the intricacies of the riverine transport network facilitated the indigenous merchants as they could easily forsake certain routes where the Company had established chaukis or was patrolling and could immediately move to obscure creeks and canals to supply local hats or bigger marts and thus they managed to frustrate the Company enterprise. Although these chauki establishments were meant to prevent contraband activities, they remained mere spectators of such activities. In the following section, I shall briefly discuss how the chaukis remained ineffective in preventing contraband transactions. The Gariahat chauki (of pargana of Kashipur) was established on the Tolly nullah, which gave the chauki command over different routes

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  207

Map 9.2 Locational advantage of the Mandalghat pargana. Archival records suggest its proximity to the Damodar, Rupnarayan, and Hugli rivers. Hence a map of the meeting place of the three rivers has been illustrated to show the locational advantage of the pargana. This map is based on the map of Deputy Surveyor General in charge of Surveyor General’s office published in 1856. Source: Appendix to the Report of the Commissioner appointed to enquire into and report upon the Manufacture and Sale of and Tax upon Salt in British India and more especially upon the Practicability of Substituting for Present Arrangements a System of Excise in the Presidencies of Bengal and Madras, Calcutta: Thos. Jones ‘Calcutta Gazette Office’, 1856.

connecting to Calcutta. However, towards the south of the chauki, there was a nullah, Cowrahcoly, which gave easy communication to the Barbony khalaries of the interiors of the Sundarbans. The malangis of these khalaries disposed of whatever salt they had pilfered while working in the salt pans or from the boiling house to the smugglers. The smugglers then proceeded eastward of the nullah and entered the saltwater lakes. The banks of these

208  Arijita Manna lakes were dotted with numerous salt works. They also purchased salt from these khalaries and sold it at the nearby mart of Ballyganj and several other smaller bazars along the salt lakes. From these bazars, illicit salt was supplied to the market of Calcutta. The Henckelganj chauki was established on the bank of the river Kalindi to command the routes leading to various chief distributive marts such as Kalna, Calcutta, Bakarganj, and Dhaka. On the northeast of the chauki, the river Kalindi united with the river Jaboona and then branches off into two streams, of which one stream led in the northern direction towards Krishnanagar and united with Hugli near Kalna. The other branch led in the eastern direction. The river, throughout its course, was connected to numerous channels which were ‘unnoticed in any map’. Those obscure and uncharted paths posed challenges for the salt administration. A study of the darogah chauki established near the Kulpi Phandy provides a vivid description of the intricate nature of the riverine transport network that connected the salt districts of Sundarbans with distant distributive marts. The chauki through different channels was connected to the barboony khalaries of the Sundarbans’ interior and the salt districts of Hijli, Tamluk, and Mysadal. It also commanded routes leading to several distant marts such as Murshidabad, Azimganj, and Patna. This chauki also intersected with many rivers and rivulets. In the south of the chauki flowed the rivers Durrougrah, Ghubasti, and Cheneah; in the north flowed the Ghughudanga River; to the east was the confluence of the rivers Hetall and Sursunny; and to the west was the canal Jamuna. The chauki establishment was set up to patrol all these passages. However, these rivers were quite large and immediately connected with several other channels, which again intersected ‘the great Sunderbunds’, so it was not difficult for smugglers to escape unnoticed. The Company had also fixed the principal routes for transporting salt, which was mentioned in the rowanna (official pass) issued by the Salt Department. These rowannas contained information regarding the boats’ transit route, such as from where the boats were coming and where they were bound to, and the routes to be taken by them. However, in a terrain where the active delta rivers would regularly wax or wane, often substantially shifting from their former course rendered these administrative measures and decisions as ‘hydraulic utopia’.27 For example, around 1819 CE salt merchants started complaining about difficulty navigating the Mathabhanga khal because of the siltation of the riverbed. Boats remained stationed at Ghurriah ghat as they could not proceed towards Tolly nullah to reach Calcutta. Therefore, small boats were engaged to transport salt from Sutanuti, pass through Tolly nullah, and cross the Pakapole to reach Ghurria ghat.28 Engaging smaller boats to unload bigger boats and transporting salt created scope for embezzlement, and there are several instances of such petty pilfering in which the manjhis, the lower rung chauki servants, petty retailers all were party to the offence. Whatever quantity fell

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  209 short, as was discovered during weighing after the whole quantity was delivered, was believed to have been wasted in unloading, loading, and transportation. Since the Company had fixed routes to be taken for transportation, therefore a deviation from these routes mentioned in the permits for the sake of convenience was prohibited.29 The previous paragraph suggests that official routes were changed only when the passage became unnavigable. Nevertheless, if an individual or merchants were found deviating from the fixed route because of tempestuous weather, this would be considered an act of deviation and a breach of the Company rules. This was because the Company feared if the boats were allowed to take whatever passage they found convenient, they could collect salt from the illicit khalaries along their passage or from malangis stationed at a specific location to provide them with illicit salt and would sell the salt at any local market. The Salt Agent of Bhulua reported that three boats laden with salt came out of Krooscool creek at the foot of Aubadaib Hill, and they were proceeding towards Mynamati, which was on the south of the Chittagong River. However, the water being shallow, boats remain there for a long time. Had the boats been at Parkey Creek, it would have been easier for the merchants to proceed. However, the boats did not deviate from the official route. They would have been liable to confiscation if they moved eastward to enter any creek in Sandwip.30 Thus, the Company’s inability to manoeuvre into every waterway made former trade routes illegal. In this context, it will not be incorrect to say that the Company could not venture beyond the major navigable rivers or rivulets or creeks. The desire to create a complete chart of inland navigation where salt-producing villages, golas, and chaukis would be laid down and creating an official riverine route for transporting salt was almost like a mirage that could not be attained. However, these surveys revealed the extent of contraband trading in the southeastern frontier. For example – the Superintendent of eastern salt chaukis, James Irwin, on his journey westward of the Meghna to Baleswar, found several fake salt chaukis established at Cowcolly, Charcally, and Cutchoa, which aided smuggling in the southeastern part of Bengal.31 Sometimes these ‘smugglers’ retaliated violently. Irwin reported that smugglers were large in number and well-armed in this respect. Smugglers of the island of the Ganges and the Meghna were armed with swords, matchlocks, bows and pots full of snakes which they used as weapons. They transported salt in large convoys. After they crossed the swampy marshes, the salt was delivered into small dingis (small boats) and sent out to houses and small shops whose owners had one chitty and sold salt under its cover. The Superintendent commented that the only way to stop them was to use firearms. However, a small number of armed sepoys were despatched, which was inadequate to prevent smuggling.32 The Company had neither the knowledge nor administrative capability to exercise a monopoly over the salt industry in this part of Bengal.

210  Arijita Manna

Legality versus Legitimacy: The Dilemma in Char Lands In the early colonial imagination, the south and southeastern frontier region were portrayed as a haven for smugglers and dacoits. The Salt Agents of Bhulua, Chittagong, and Raimangal made attempts to establish new khalaries, ‘peopled’ newly reclaimed chars to strictly monitor production organisation and distribution only to find a considerable quantity of production and trade continued along with the pre-existing pattern rendering Company monopoly over the salt industry as nominal throughout the 18th and early 19th centuries. Another problem with reclamation was that while these chars were the refuge of salt smugglers in the Company imagination, occupancy of the Salt Department over these chars was questioned by the zamindars or talukdars whose estates were adjacent or contiguous to these chars. They believed that since these chars were essentially new and uncultivated lands within the borders of or contiguous to their zamindaris, they had the right to cultivate and receive revenue from them. Due to the shifting courses of rivers throughout the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries,33 many chars arose in the eastward part of the delta. The Salt Department endeavoured to establish khalaries in these chars. However, these chars were often contiguous to zamindars’ estates; hence they demanded khalari rent (i.e. rent for using the salt pans) from the Salt Department. The Salt Department denied these claims on the ground that those chars were part of the wasteland from which zamindars never received any rent. However, the zamindars demanded rent on the ground of proprietorship over those parts of their zamindari, which they could otherwise use to procure revenue. What is interesting is that while salt production in these chars on the private account was unlawful in the eyes of the Company, at the same time, the Salt Departments’ occupation over these chars was questioned by the landholders who perceived such occupation to be a violation of the law, so much so that the zamindars of Nizampur,34 Sandwip, talukdars of Tipperah and Chittagong appealed to the Diwani Adalat to interfere into these matters.35 However, the interference of the Adalat could not always resolve the dispute. For example, there was a dispute regarding the Jugney-Mugney char, whether it was contiguous to the mainland or an island. The magistrate ordered that irrespective of the position of the char land, the land should belong to the Salt Agent. However, the zamindar of Sandwip brought a considerable portion of the char land under cultivation despite the Company’s admonition.36 The secretary of government in the Judicial and Revenue Department in this context reported how these usurpations by the Salt Department were contested by the local zamindars who claimed that only a small portion of those lands occupied by the Salt Department was used for salt production and the rest was left fallow or used for agricultural production by the corrupt employees of the Salt Department. In this context, the acting magistrate

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  211 of Tipperah resented that he could neither ignore the interests of the Salt Department nor entirely overlook individuals’ rights and claims.37 Thus the legality or legitimacy regarding possession of these lands or the carrying out of any activities on these lands became dubious and disputed in this region.38 The very uncharted, fluid, and undefined nature of the land that so helped the smugglers also made it difficult for the Company to stake concrete claims on the chars or maintain any effective patrol. The landscape was not particularly receptive to the strictures of Company rule. In an attempt at land management for the benefit of the Company enterprise, it promulgated specific regulations. However, these laws and regulations had to converse with the existing customs. According to the ‘custom of the land (Bengal delta)’ all char lands, which were formed all of a sudden due to hydro-morphological activities of the sea or the river, were to be considered as the property of the government, but when parts or whole of an estate was washed away by the sea or the river, and a reduction equal to the damage sustained by the landholder was granted from the total land revenue payable as per the Permanent Settlement, the zamindars would have no claim to any land that would be formed on the original spot. In that case, such lands were considered the government’s property. However, the occupancy of the government did not end all contentions over those lands: the Land Revenue Department and the Salt Department frequently demanded that such lands be utilised for their respective purposes.39 While the Land Revenue Department proposed leasing those lands on temporary terms, the Salt Department proposed to let them grow into fuel lands as fuel was gradually becoming scarce from the early 19th century. Establishing claim over char lands and reclaiming lands from the forest of Sundarbans had always been a bone of contention between the zamindars and the Company state. These forested tracts were perceived as an abode of robbers and salt smugglers, which the Company wanted to control by bringing it directly under the Company’s jurisdiction. In reclaiming lands from the Sundarbans, the Company’s agricultural-manufacturing frontier would also expand, which would yield higher revenue. Also, the general state of law and administration would improve.40 However, the process of reclamation was resisted by the zamindars.41 They complained that a specific portion of land that the Company considered contiguous to the forest of Sundarbans belonged to their zamindari. It was customary to leave a particular portion of agricultural land to develop as wasteland only to cut down the trees for fuel and again bring them under cultivation. Since the Company was not familiar with this custom, it mistook agricultural fallow lands for forest lands.42 In these cases where the proprietary right became disputed, the Company asked for detailed information regarding their estate, which the zamindars often failed to provide. This situation restricted the Company’s desire to create ‘coherent imperial economies’43 and aided indigenous inhabitants to produce or trade without the interference of the Company state.

212  Arijita Manna

Multiple Hazards of the ‘Zone of Anomaly’ It became challenging for the Company to exercise its monopoly in this area due to the vagaries of nature.44 The entire region was subject to many environmental hazards such as sudden oceanic storms or deluges, inundation etc. Unseasonal rain often swept away a vast quantity of salt, and boats capsized due to unpredictable and choppy river waters. These problems became detrimental for the manufacturers who worked amidst the woods or in distant khalaries where resources for daily provisions were scarce. They often suffered huge losses as they failed to fulfil their obligation to supply stipulated quantity to the Company gola. Often manufactured salt was washed away while still in the khalari due to sudden torrential rain and lack of proper storage facilities. The capsizing of salt-laden boats was a widespread problem, and often there could be no confidence that a load of salt from the delta was safe till it reached the Company golas. Thus, the inclemency of the weather inflicted considerable loss on the Salt Department (in 1801 CE January and February in Bhulua and Chittagong, as much as one lac maund of salt was lost).45 This volatile and dangerous environment also provided an avenue for fraud for ingenious officers. ‘Native’ salt officers often sold a certain quantity of salt to the smugglers and later cited that deficit quantity as being lost due to the capsizing of boats in the river.46 This made it difficult for the Company to maintain a monopoly over production and distribution in the southern frontier. However, such practices committed by the Company servants were somewhat understandable, given the hostility of the landscape in which they found themselves. Fear of unknown diseases plagued the khalaries and thanas; the salt labourers and the agents and other officers fell victim to them. In 1799 CE an unknown fever broke out in Hatia. Salt labourers deserted this place, and the Company experienced considerable loss in production.47 The salt labourers and very often the Salt Agents were found to appeal for leave due to illness caused by staying in the swampy, marshy inhospitable Sundarbans for a long time. So much so that the Salt Agent of Raimangal desired that the salt agency should be abolished on humanitarian grounds. He said that he was ‘short on provisions,’ which implied a lack of supply of necessities.48 The Company had not only failed to implement its enforcement mechanism effectively in this region; it could not even establish a reliable supply chain. Under these circumstances, the Company’s hold over indigenous production or trade became impossible. The other problem with reclaiming interior parts of the jungle to establish salt pans was that these parts were infested with wild predators and salt labourers often fell victim to them (in the salt manufacturing season of 1812 CE, tigers devoured as many as 25 malangis).49 (see Table 9.2) However, the Company was not bothered by the death toll initially. The Company often doubted if the statistics were accurate. When the Salt Agent of Raimangal reported that he could not collect enough men to be employed in the salt

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  213 Table 9.2 An account of total death and casualties in the years of 1788 /1789 CE Name of parganas

Total death

Total employed

Raimangal Shibpur Gomoor

(1,788) 278 134 47

4,800 2,288 1,080

(1,789) 360 212 56

Source: Salt Proceedings Board of Revenue: Fort William, January–March 1790, Vol.6, letter dated 18 December 1789, p.16. NAI.

works, which caused inadequate production in 1789 CE, the Company found the Agent’s ‘explanation’ as not convincing and ordered for a more detailed report on actual loss of men at work.50 When the Company became aware of the loss, it came up with a novel idea of granting widow allowances so that the family of the deceased remained loyal to the Company and the younger sons served the Company as their elders had done. The Agent of 24 Parganas opined that though this allowance would increase the expenditure of the Salt Department up to Rs 5,000–6,000 per annum, it would save the lives of many malangis. This allowance not only was ‘an act of highest humanity’ but also would serve ‘the interest of the Government’ in the long run.51 Men of any profession were often abducted from their houses and sent to the forest to clear the jungle to establish khalaries.52 These practices of coercion also had a more substantial detrimental effect as the abducted men usually had jobs in other areas. In this context, the zamindar of Jessore complained to the Company government that every year 300 to 400 men were devoured by tigers or died of sickness as they had to work in the inhospitable climate for prolonged periods. Many ryots had fled from his country to avoid being employed in the salt khalaries, and three-fourths of his total population had been depleted. This incurred a massive loss in revenue collection in his zamindari.53

The Relationship between Humans and the Forest: The Role of Ritual Propitiation The indigenous inhabitants had always depended on the forest for their livelihood but entering or working amidst the woods was never subject to governmentality in the way the Company envisaged and fashioned. The assumptions that underlay this administrative initiative were that people and nature were two discrete, disconnected domains that could be exploited for financial gain. Under the aegis of the Salt Department, the unfortunate ryots thus had to enter the jungle regularly against their will. As the intrusion into the forest increased, the worship of different forest deities such as Dakshin Ray and Bonbibi became more popular.54 Texts such as Roymongol–kavya, Bonbibi–Johuranama provide information regarding the ritual practices of

214  Arijita Manna the indigenous people. These rituals show an idea of a symbiotic relationship between the men and the forest, which was neither understood nor shared by the Company state. For example, it becomes clear from a perusal of the Roymongal–kavya that there existed traditions restricting the chopping down of trees for firewood. Some large trees were seen as abodes of God, and the use of those trees by human beings would have detrimental consequences.55 Such traditions now began to come up against implacable directives from the Company to gather more firewood for salt making. The entire official discussion about the crisis in wood supply and initiatives for better exploitation of ‘wasteland’, when read alongside the existing folk traditions that were intimately interwoven through the lives of the local people, immediately shows the range of contradictions the ryots had to confront. Thus, the indigenous inhabitants depended on the forest for their livelihood, but to them, its resources could not be exploited unlimitedly, and frequent forays into the forest disturbed the non-human dwellers of the forest.56 However, the problem with this narrative is that the voices of the malangis never found their way into the archives or contemporary vernacular sources. The oral sources such as folk tradition, poems and songs etc., mention tiger spells, snake or spirit charms and worship of forest deities, and this tradition of usage evinced the anxiety shared by the men. An example of tiger charm from the pre-colonial period is given below: Aahaandi ahamunda ap – thap thapar thapar kore paa | Ae sima chhari tui anya sima ja | Gandhah-gama dur paalaa, Udh shikaal bedha ||57 [The way the tiger advances towards the traveller, swaying its head from side to side with deliberate steps. You leave the country and go to some other place. Go away rhinoceros and other beasts.4 I have bound you in the chains of this mantra, flee.58] These encapsulated the fear and anxiety that men had experienced and their dependency on the forest for resources, and their understanding of the laws of nature. Thus, indigenous people were trying to balance the law of the forest and the state’s demand. However, the Company’s desire to prevent illicit production in the remote interiors and bring it under the Company’s authority was hardly successful because it compelled the inhabitants to break their norms of behaviour regarding the forest and enter it at times determined by the higher authorities. Thus, they were deserting to other places to avoid being caught and sent to the forest. The Company’s understanding of the forest was different from the inhabitants, which resulted in an unstable, unreliable labour force, which contributed to the Company’s failure in its endeavours. The Company still compelled this terror-stricken labour force to enter the jungle, which to them was a source of terror, an inhospitable abode of

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  215 wild animals. Their only comfort was that a fakir accompanied them as they proceeded into the jungle. These fakirs were supposed to have supernatural powers to ward off perils. Before entering the forest or before starting their journey, these men engaged in some ritual propitiation such as performing pujas or casting spells to nullify the influence of the beings of the forest.59 This type of ritual propitiation was essential for entering the forest. It was believed that frequent entries disturbed the balance of shared space and would anger the forest deities. Hence, the rituals of checking the land and the air for danger and chanting mantras to placate the hostile entities were thought to be necessary.60 Fakirs were allowed to collect tookra salt from the salt labourers, which was meagre in quantity. However, the Salt Agents often objected to this practice because these concessions were potential sources of abuse, and hence this was abolished. In 1808 CE the Salt Agent of Bhulua and Chittagong confiscated 1,556 maunds of tookra salt from the Brahmins and fakirs and deposited it into the Company golah.61 It was clear that any practice which could not be fitted into the structure of the Company’s monopoly arrangement was decried as outlawed or contraband. Offering tookra salt or salt produced in the desi khalaries for religious purposes was an age-old practice in parts of 24 Parganas.62 Only after the takeover of these desi khalaries by the Salt Agent, production in these khalaries became lawful, and tookra salt was once again distributed to the fakirs and other beneficiaries. However, the Company also limited the quantity to be collected as tookra salt and thus collected, it was to be deposited first in the Company golah. Deposition in the golah ensured that the collection of tookra never exceeded the quantity allowed for by the Company. In 1810 CE the quantity allowed was 500 maunds for the fakirs, but the year’s collection was only 244.6 maunds. The quantity allowed for the Brahmins was 1,100 maunds, but the quantity collected was 430.29 maunds.63 The Company also limited the salt allowance for each religious institution (see Table 9.3). Thus even in the arena of small-scale customary practices, monopoly became the rule of law and contravening the rule of law was deemed as ‘smuggling’.

Consuming the Contraband Condiment The Company imposed restrictions on producing certain varieties of salt such as hoppah salt and chye noon. The Agent of the Bhulua division reported that the production and sale of these cheap salt varieties had displaced the Company salt from the market; therefore, these were banned.64 Pots in which salt was boiled contained the residue of salt, which was ‘clandestinely scraped’ by the salt labourers. This salt was called hoppah salt. Malangis were suspected of artificially increasing this encrustation and making away relatively large quantities.65 These practices were not new; instead, they were traditional perquisites that the Company sought to replace by forcing ordinary people to consume the high-priced Company

216  Arijita Manna Table 9.3 Allowance of Tookra salt Place of worship

Arang

Average collected between 1805 and 1807 (maunds)

Average collected in 1808 (maunds)

Limit on amount of collection (maunds)

Gopal ji

Bhulua Gopalpur Jugdea Dandra Bomney Baboopur Char Hazari Bhulua Gopalpur Bomney Jugdea Dandra Char Hazari Doonea Mooneah

282.28

357.38

300.00

373.37

485.17

350

60.00

77.23

65

Arang

Average collected between 1805 and 1807 (maunds)

Average Limit on collected in amount of 1808 (maunds) collection (maunds)

1.28

4.00

5.00

14.00 6.20 6.20 14.20

8.30 17.50 3.00 38.20

10.00 15.00 5.00 30.00

Bedahsaree Thakurani

Joy Kali Thakurani Name of Fakirs

Imam Ali Saha Bhulua Gopalpur Alam Saha Bomney Panchoo Saha Sagardip Md. Ali Sultan Saha

Source: Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 2–30 January 1810, Vol. 53, letter dated 25 November 1810, pp. 717–19. WBSA.

salt. The Company’s monopoly produced salt, which fetched a higher price, whereas the ‘other’ varieties were designated as inferior and hence outlawed. Another inferior variety of salt, called the chye noon (although the Company initially referred to them as saline substance rather than salt), which was also a preserve of private manufacture, became outlawed. Chye noon was made with steeping rice stubble in saltwater for two to three days, then drying it under the sun and then burning it. This salt was locally produced or consumed; however, it had a wide circulation, especially as the price of Company salt started to skyrocket. This salt was consumed to a great extent by the hill people of Chittagong where it was sold at the price of seven maunds per rupee, whereas the price of Company salt was 3–4 S.R per maund (in 1796–97 CE).66 This manufacture was carried on all the rivers and creeks below Chittagong, and 400–500 boats were

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  217 engaged in transporting this salt to a different place. Around 7,000–8,000 maunds were made annually. Hence the Company prohibited the sale of this salt, but it was unable to capture the local market in the interior of Chittagong. What had limited the Company’s intervention in these lands, as well as an expansion of the eastern boundary, was ‘wild mountainous tract interspersed with small spots of cultivated land’ which rendered it difficult to cut roads and clear land and the ‘natives by the artful perversion of the meaning of words’ while serving as local guides further inhibited the Company enterprise from commanding the supply chain or capturing the market in the interior of the district.67 It is also interesting to note how these injunctions on particular varieties of salt that the indigenous inhabitants had freely consumed also changed the commodity status of salt. For example – the chye noon, which was essentially looked upon as an inferior, impure variety of saline substance, was consumed in the local milieu as they could not afford high-priced Company salt. The circulation and consumption of this variety of salt significantly increased in response to the increased price of Company salt in the markets. This was frequently evoked by the opponents of the Company monopoly in the British Parliament as an example of the miserable condition to which the poor people of Bengal had been reduced due to the extortionate overpricing of the Company salt. They argued that the poor had no option but to consume a degraded product that had little similarity to the British conception of salt.68 However, this derogatory characterisation of chye noon needs to be contrasted with the fact that consuming burnt ashes steeped in saline water was not a peculiar practice of the Bengal delta. It was a common practice in many cultures. In many parts of Africa, America, and Zealand, similar practices existed of obtaining brine not directly from the sea or brine springs but indirectly through filtering ashes of salt-impregnated plants or turfs in Zealand.69 However, mere promulgation of regulation could hardly prevent the production or consumption of these salts. The Salt Department officials often complained that women in Sandwip island and Bhulua were producing these inferior varieties of salt inside the house by merely scraping the floor or making salt from ashes. Natchilly and Burricum malangis clandestinely produced salt in pots and small ovens at home, which amounted to 2 seer per day.70 The Salt Agents of the eastern division often reported that it was customary not to buy salt for everyday consumption, for they lived in a world abounding with saline substances.71 Thus, indigenous inhabitants suddenly became subject to a draconian law of the Company state which they did not comprehend, and their everyday practices became outlawed. Producing salt from scraping the earth or selling it door to door had been their way of living, over which the Company imposed restrictions and forced them to buy and consume Company salt. Thus, the regulations of the Company sought to create a very fundamental dislocation between local people and their environment where they could no longer take advantage of

218  Arijita Manna its apparent bounties. Smuggling was the rhetoric espoused by the Company to legitimise its actions which were otherwise alien to indigenous society. It has also been argued that what the Company perceived as illicit was a way of everyday life of indigenous society. The Company strove to regulate the inhabitants’ livelihood and dismantle local cultures. Therefore, smuggling became a form of ‘everyday resistance’.72

Conclusion The environment moulded the various practices of salt manufacture, trade and consumption in southern and southeastern Bengal and there existed an intimate relationship between the socio-economic life of the people and the local ecology. The practices and regulations of the Company took little account of these local intricacies and found themselves confronted with a frustratingly fluvial terrain. The knowledge associated with it was the preserve of the local inhabitants who jealously guarded this information and manoeuvred accordingly to continue the pre-Company period commodity networks. The undefined nature of the fluvial terrain and its multiple hazards was a significant factor in the incompleteness of the Company salt regime. The failure of the Company to account for the environment and the various practices it engendered contributed, on the one hand, to dislocation and hardships for the local people while, on the other, it encouraged and failed to check the perpetuation of previous practices, which, though suddenly outside the ambit of colonial law continued to flow, nonetheless.

Notes 1 Eric Tagliacozzo, Secret Trade, Porous Borders Smuggling and States along a Southeast Asian Frontier, 1865–1915, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2005; Alan L. Karras, Smuggling: Contraband and Corruption in World History, Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2010; Bettina Bruns and Judith Miggelbrink (eds), Subverting Borders Doing Research on Smuggling and SmallScale Trade, Heidelberg: Springer Science and Business Media, 2011. 2 In the archives terms like contraband practices, illicit practices, and smuggling were used interchangeably. Therefore modern understanding of these terms would not apply in this context. 3 Diana Kim, ‘“No Exaggerated Picture of Lawlessness” Opium Smuggling and the Colonial State in Late Nineteenth Century British Burma’, Political Theory Workshop, University of Chicago, 13 February 2012, pp. 1–6, https://voices​ .uchicago​.edu​/politicaltheory​/archives–2/winter–2012/ (accessed on 15 March 2015). 4 J.K. Nag, ‘History of Bengal’s Salt Industry’, Modern Review, September, 1939: 300–3. 5 M.N. Rai Gupta, Analytical Survey of Bengal Regulation and Acts of Parliament Relating to India up to 1833, Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1943, p. 353. 6 K. Sivaramakrishna, Modern Forests: Statemaking and Environmental Change in Colonial Eastern India, Standford: Standford University Press, 1999, pp. 30–38.

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  219 7 Salt had been subject to Royal monopoly in the pre-company period but the monopoly exercised by the Company state was of a different kind in the sense that the Company monopoly was more intrusive and interventionist. In the precompany period monopoly was farmed out to the highest bidder but under the company regime the right to manufacture was restricted to the Company agency itself. 8 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 8 July–29 December 1800, Vol. 23, letter dated 17 August 1800, pp. 214–18. Directorate of State Archives (hereafter WBSA), Kolkata. 9 Indrajit Ray, ‘Imperial Policy and the Decline of the Bengal Salt Industry under Colonial Rule: An Episode in the ‘De-industrialisation’ Process’, Indian Economic Social History Review, 1st June, Vol. 38, 2001: 1. 10 Home, Revenue Department, Salt Proceedings, October–December 1790, letter dated 17 August 1790, pp. 307–13. National Archives of India, New Delhi. (hereafter NAI). 11 Proceedings Board of Trade - Salt, 3–19 January 1801, Vol. 24, letter dated 16 June 1801, pp. 207–9. WBSA. 12 Tarashankar Banerjee, Internal Market of India 1834–1900, Kolkata: Academic Publishers, 1966, p. 217. 13 Proceedings Committee of Revenue, 27 September–28 October 1784, Vol. 46, letter dated 5 October 1786, no. 9, pp. 553–55. WBSA. 14 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 22nd October–30th December 1802, Vol. 27, part II, letter dated 19 October 1802, pp. 749–61. WBSA. 15 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 8 July–20 December 1800, Vol. 23, letter dated 24 April 1801, p. 493. WBSA. 16 Proceedings Committee of Revenue, 2–30 May 1782, Vol. 14, letter dated 13 May, no. 1 and no. 18, pp. 171–87. WBSA. 17 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 8 July–20 December 1800, letter dated 11 July 1800, pp. 202–12. WBSA. 18 Proceedings Committee of Revenue, 2nd–30th May 1782, Vol. 14, letter dated 13 May, no. 1, p. 171. WBSA. 19 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 22 October–30 December 1802, Vol. 27, Part II, letter dated 19 October 1802, pp. 749–61. WBSA. 20 J.C. Sinha, Economic Annals of Bengal, London: Macmillan and Co. Limited, 1972, p. 33. 21 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 3–19 January 1801, Vol. 24, letter dated 6–18 February, pp. 201–10. WBSA. 22 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 8 January–19 March 1803, Vol. 28, Part-I, letter dated 19 February 1803, pp. 261–69. 23 Statistics are compiled from different Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt. Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 8 January–19 March 1803, Vol. 28, Part-I, letter dated 31 December 1802, p. 22.; Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 5 May–26 July 1804, Vol. 32, Part I, letter dated 30 May 1804, pp. 44, 144 and 306; Board of Customs, Salt and Opium - Salt, 6 January–23 February 1819, Vol. 140, letter dated 8 Magh 1225, p. 560; and letter dated 16 February 1819, pp. 552–53. WBSA. 24 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 8 January–19 March 1803, Vol. 28, Part-II, letter dated 31 December 1802, pp. 477–89, WBSA. 25 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 22 October–30 December 1802, part 2, Vol. 27, letter dated 19 October 1802, pp. 749–61. WBSA. 26 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 5 November–31 December 1803, Vol. 30, Part-II, letter dated 3 October 1803, pp. 590–617. WBSA. 27 Rohan D’Souza, ‘Mischievous Rivers and Evil Shoals: The English East India Company and the Colonial Resource Regime’, in Vinita Damodaran, Anna

220  Arijita Manna Winterbottom, and Alan Lester (eds), The East India Company and the Natural World, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2015, p. 132. 28 Proceedings Board of Customs, Salt and Opium-Salt, 6 January–23 February, 1819, Vol. 140, letter dated 26 Magh 1225, p. 401. 29 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, January–July 1801, Vol. 25, letter dated 16 December 1801, p. 508. WBSA. 30 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 8 January–19 March 1803, Vol. 28, Part-II, letter dated 6 January 1803, pp. 54–56. WBSA. 31 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 22 October–30 December 1802, Vol. 27, Part II, letter dated 24 July 1802, p. 727. WBSA. 32 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 6 July–29 December 1801, Vol. 25, letter dated 19 October 1802, pp.749–61. WBSA. 33 Satish Chandra Majumdar, Rivers of the Bengal Delta, Alipore, Bengal: Superintendent Government Printing Bengal Government Press, 1941, p. 28. Majumdar has discussed in great detail about the major changes in the course of rivers between 16th Century and 19th Century. 34 Ibid., letter dated 13 January 1803, pp. 84–101. 35 Proceedings Board of Customs, Salt and Opium - Salt, 6 January–23 February 1819, Vol. 140, letter dated 23 December 1818, pp. 26–27. WBSA. 36 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 14 July–25 August 1803, Vol. 29, Part II, letter dated 30 June 1803, pp. 754–55. WBSA. 37 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 8–29 October 1811, Vol. 68, letter dated 3 August 1811, pp. 42–50. WBSA. 38 Bettina Bruns and Judith Miggelbrink (eds), Subverting Borders, pp. 11–12. The concept of legality and illegality in the context of relations between state’s law and trading activities has been explored in this book. However, the focus of the book is on cross-border trading. 39 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 8 January–19 March 1803, Vol. 28, Part-II, letter dated 10 December 1802, pp. 112–14, 9 November 1802, pp. 114–16, 23 November 1802, pp. 117–19. WBSA. 40 J. Westland, A Reports of the Districts of Jessore: Its Antiquities, its History and its Commerce, Calcutta: Printed at the Bengal Secretariat Press, 1874, p. 60; Proceedings of Committee of Revenue, 2–29 April 1784, Vol. 39, letter dated 3 April 1784, pp. 108–15. WBSA. 41 Sutapa Chatterjee Sarkar, The Sundarbans: Folk Deities, Monsters and Mortals, New Delhi: Orient Black Swan, 2010, pp. 74–77. 42 Proceedings of Committee of Revenue, 1–27 December 1785, Vol. 62, letter dated 8 December 1785, p. 166; Proceedings Committee of Revenue, 12–22 July 1784, Vol. 42, Part II, letter dated 22 July 1784, pp. 544–47. WBSA. 43 Trevor Burnard (ed.), ‘Smuggling’, in Oxford Bibliographies in Atlantic History, https://www​.academia​.edu​/2763607, p. 1 (accessed on 02 March 2019). 44 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 5 May–26 July 1804, Vol. 32, Part-I, letter dated 31 March 1804, pp. 15–18. WBSA. 45 Proceedings Board of Trade-Salt, 8 January–19 March 1803, Vol. 28, Part-I, letter dated 31 March 1804, pp. 24–26. 46 Proceedings of Board of Customs, Salt and Opium - Salt, 6 January–23 February 1819, Vol. 140, letter dated 31 December 1818, pp. 18–19. WBSA. 47 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 2 August–31 December 1799, Vol. 21, pp. 185–207. WBSA. 48 Proceedings of Board of Revenue-Salt, 2 January–28 April 1795, Vol. 12, letter dated 22 December 1795, pp. 129–33. WBSA. 49 Proceedings of Board of Customs, Salt and Opium - Salt, 4–28 May 1819, Vol. 142, letter dated 19 Baishakh 1224, letter number 61, p. 111. WBSA.

Salt Smuggling in Late 18th-Century Bengal  221 50 Finance Department, Board of Revenue, Salt Proceedings, January–March 1789, Vol. 3, p. 225. NAI. 51 Proceedings of Revenue Department of Governor General in Council, 23 September 1789, Vol. 177, letter dated 11 September 1789, pp. 305–15. WBSA. 52 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 26 June–28 July 1806, Vol. 38, Part-II, pp. 1064–65. WBSA. 53 Proceedings of Board of Revenue-Salt, 14 October–2 December 1794, Vol. 2, Part-II, letter dated 16 December 1794, pp. 759–63. WBSA. 54 Shree Satyanarayan Bhattacharya, Kabi Krishnaram Daser Granthavali, Calcutta: University of Calcutta, 1958. 55 Sree Sanat Kumar Mitra, Bagh o Samaskriti, Kolkata: Pustak Bipani, 1980, p. 33. 56 Annu Jalais, Forest of Tigers: People, Politics and Environment in the Sunderbans, London, New York, and New Delhi: Routledge, 2010, pp. 31, 157. She has given a very insightful analysis of the changing relationship between nature and man. Her work focuses on the intrusion of the modern state and modern ‘scientific discourse’ regarding nature which have represented the forest in a different light which is not shared by the local inhabitants. The local inhabitants believed that state intervention had disturbed the sanctity of the forest. She adopted ethnographic-anthropological methodology to discover the changes in the relationship between man and nature in the Sundarbans and the world of folk-culture which reflects the essence of this relationship. This idea of forest being a shared space between man and non-human beings has been explored in this article to understand the lives of salt labourers who were forced by the company state to work in the forest. 57 Sirajul Islam, ‘Sundarbaner peshajibi o prashongik mantratantra’, in Rajib Ahmed (ed.), Sundarbaner Itihas, Dhaka: Gatidhara, 2012, p. 213. 58 Nirmal Chandra Chaudhury, ‘Uttarbanger Byaghra-Biswas, Dharmamat o Debdebi’, in Sanat Kumar Mitra (ed.), Bagh o Samaskriti, Calcutta: Pustaka Bipaṇi, 1980, p. 44. 59 Meena Bhargava, ‘Forest, Wild Beasts and Supernatural Powers: A Folk Tale from Sunderbans’, Indian Folklife Serial, no. 28 January 2008: 10–11 (accessed on 30.10.2019). She has discussed the rituals performed by the fakirs and Brahmins to protect the malangis and wood cutters in the forest. 60 Jalais, Forest of Tigers, p. 77. 61 Proceedings of Board of Trade – Salt, 4 July–15 August 1808, Vol. 46, Part-I, letter dated 23 July 1808, pp. 246–47. WBSA. 62 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 1 September–2 December 1795, Vol. 14, letter dated 30 November 1795, pp. 470–72. WBSA. 63 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 1810, Vol. 58, letter dated 7 July 1810, pp. 130–36. WBSA. 64 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 1 September–29 December 1795, Vol. 14, letter dated 31 August 1795, pp. 123–25. WBSA. 65 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 5 May–26 July 1804, Vol. 32, Part-I, letter dated 1 May 1804, pp. 78–79. WBSA. 66 N.K. Sinha (ed.), Midnapore Salt Papers: Hijli and Tamluk, 1781–1807, Calcutta: West Bengal Regional Records Survey Committee, 1954, p. 6. 67 Proceedings Committee of Revenue 1–29 April 1782, Vol. 13, letter dated 4 April 1782, p. 70. WBSA. 68 Appendix to the Report of the Commissioner appointed to enquire into and report upon the Manufacture and Sale of and Tax upon Salt in British India and more especially upon the Practicability of Substituting for Present Arrangements A System of Excise in the Presidencies of Bengal and Madras, Thos. Jones,

222  Arijita Manna ‘Calcutta Gazette Office’, Calcutta, 1856 Appendix H, No. 5, pp. 627–28; Charles Tomlinson, The Natural History of Common Salt: Its’ Manufacture, Appearance, Uses, and Dangers, in Various Parts of the World, London: The Committee of General Literature and Education, 1850, p. 306. 69 S.A.M. Adshead, Salt and Civilization, New York: Palgrave, 1992, p. 5. 70 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 22 October–30 December 1802, Vol. 27, Part-II, letter dated 19 October 1802, pp. 749–61. WBSA. 71 Proceedings of Board of Trade-Salt, 8 January–19 March 1803, Vol. 28, Part-I, letter dated 31 December 1802, pp. 491–92. WBSA. 72 Stellan Vinthagen and Anna Johansson, ‘“Everyday Resistance”: Exploration of a Concept and its Theories’, Resistance Studies Magazine, 2013, No. 1: 1–46.

10 Rise of Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Evolution of Bengali Platter in 16th to 18th Centuries Pritam Goswami

Gaudiya Vaishnava bhakti of early modern Bengal entered the broader folds of the bhakti movement a little later than other areas. Scholars have often traced the origin of the bhakti movement in South India, where the Alvar (Vaishnavite) and Nayanar (Saivite) saints had started propagating the ideologies of Saguna bhakti (worshipping the God with form and qualities through devotion) as early as the 6th century CE. From the origin of the form of bhakti in Dravidadesha (present Tamil Nadu), it moved west and west to North India. From the north, the bhakti tradition reached the eastern provinces such as Bengal, Odisha, and Assam.1 Gaudiya bhakti which emerged around the city of Nabadwip, the then cultural and academic capital of Bengal, finally developed its shape with several energetic Vaishnava evangelists and then the millennial man Sri Chaitanya Mahaprabhu. The upper caste Hindu society’s cultural environment between the 13th and the 15th centuries in Bengal is somewhat confusing and our knowledge incomplete. Scholars of Bengali literature have seen a syncretistic tendency during this period. According to the scholars, because of the continuous pressure of orthodox Islam on the one hand and the egalitarian doctrine of the zealous Sufi saints, the orthodox Hindu society was suffering from insecurity. A flexible attitude had to be adopted. The upper caste ‘high traditions’ of the scriptural Brahmanism had to compromise with the ‘little traditions’ of the indigenous folk cults at the fringes of the established caste society. The first clear cultural picture is of 15th-century Nabadwip, Sri Chaitanya’s birthplace. During that time, Nabadwip was the confluence of many contemporary philosophical schools and religious sects. The theological sphere was dominated by Navyanyaya, a school of logic that denied God’s existence, and Advaita Vedanta, the monistic ideals of Shankaracharya (700−750 CE). Then there were the followers of Shakti cults who used to follow different Tantrika rituals.2 On the other hand, there were acts of worship of different folk cults and regional deities with elaborate arrangements. The first biographer of Sri Chaitanya, Vrindavan Das, narrated that during the childhood of Chaitanyadeb the people of Nabadwip used to worship the deities like Bashuli, Bishahari or Manasa, Yakshas and others by offering them wine and meat.3 They had forgotten the worship of Krishna, and all DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-14

224  Pritam Goswami forms of worship they did were purely for materialistic gains instead of unconditional surrender and love towards God. Sri Chaitanya’s hagiographies refer to the continuous development of different ill practices, including uncontrolled drinking, libertine tendencies, dominating and gagging caste oppression by the Tantrikas and Vedantists of the period. On the other hand, there was an inevitable disillusionment of Vedantic scholars with the Shankarite monism. The confession of Basudeb Sarbobhouma at his ripe age is a clear example of it.4 Several Shankarite monks with the title Puri were shifting towards the ideals of Saguna bhakti. It was during this juncture when Madhavendra Puri had reached Nabadwip. Madhavendra Puri (1420–90 CE), a very well-known Vaishnava figure of the period, was instrumental in initiating some religiously inspired personalities of contemporary Bengal into Vaishnavism. Three of those key figures were Advaitacharya, Nityananda Prabhu and Ishwar Puri (who later inspired Sri Chaitanya). The bhakti movement got a new and robust impetus from his presence in Bengal.5 Gaudiya bhakti underwent a rapid expansion in the following centuries. Sri Chaitanya (1486–1534 CE), the true spiritual successor of Madhavendra, had helped the Gaudiya cult evolve into a newer shape and a new historical identity. Around his personality, there gathered a group of energetic and spiritually inspired personalities of bhakti cult whose religious energy and evangelic zeal had helped the Gaudiya movement to reach such a spiritual, cultural and social pinnacle that it was being compared with the European Reformation or an early Renaissance by some modern scholars. On the other hand, nationalist ideologues have criticised this movement as a religious ideology that severely harmed the Bengalis’ martial power and turned the Bengali males effeminate. However, conventional historiography is yet to analyse several significant contributions of Gaudiya Vaishnavism in early modern Bengal’s material and social life. The influence of Gaudiya Vaishnavism on the contemporary gastronomic milieu is undoubtedly one of them. In early modern Bengal’s socio-cultural history, food consumption and associated practices are much underrated. Only a small number of secondary materials are hence available to us. The works of the scholars such as Kaliprasana Singha’s Madhyajuger Bangala (1930s)6 and Pranab Ray’s Banglar Khabar (1970)7 briefly narrates the culinary food connections of early modern Bengal in a generalised way. While narrating the Gaudiya Vaishnava world’s culinary culture, they chiefly present the detailed listing of vegetarian delicacies and sweetmeat delights found in the Vaishnava hagiographic literature. The doyen of the Gaudiya Vaishnava studies Ramakanta Chakravarti had referred very briefly to some congregational dining and folar preparation in the Vaishnava gatherings.8 Some critical studies about the Gaudiya Vaishnava prasada (sanctified food, consumed after offering it to Sri Krishna) in Vrindavana had been made by scholars such as Paul M. Toomey and Kenneth Russell Valpey. Paul Toomey has mostly studied the continuation of the offering of the Gaudiya Vaishnava

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Bengali Platter  225 bhoga and the consumption of prasada in Vrindavana. He had compared the grandeur and limitations of the Vaishnava bhoga and their religious counterpart Pushtimargi Vaishnavas, the follower of Vallabhacharya in Vrindavana.9 Kenneth Valpey has studied how Gaudiya’s prasada consumption has continued to influence the daily rituals of food offerings to Krishna and Radhika into 20th-century Vrindavana.10 However, these texts have studied the question of Vaishnava food mainly through observing everyday practices, not through the thorough textual studies of the Gaudiya literary works. We find most of the works to date provide only a descriptive study of the Gaudiya Vaishnava platter. However, to study Gaudiya Vaishnavism’s influence on the gastronomic milieu embraces much broader and complex areas. Here we will first try to show how the Gaudiya Vaishnava movement had contributed to the spreading and popularising of vegetarianism across the western part of Bengal and simultaneously created a sudden boom in the production and variation in the sweetmeat dishes. Secondly, we see how Gaudiya Vaishnavism contributed to exposing the Bengali platter to its early modern counterparts across the subcontinent. Finally, we will try to show how in the greater spiritual arena of Gaudiya Vaishnavism, food had worked as a pathway for elevating the material into the metaphysical. In the Vaishnava gatherings or mahotsavas, the Vaishnava prasadas were distributed among the poor and those on the fringes of caste society. This had helped to introduce congregational dining, partly going beyond the caste barriers. Apart from this practical aspect, we will also elaborate on how the concept of prasada evolved in the Vaishnava world. The consumption of sanctified food had turned co-terminus and representative of attaining different Vaishnava moods (rasas). This particular communication between food and Vaishnava feelings has different dimensions. We will, however, concentrate on only one of those.

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and the Change in the Bengali Platter Gaudiya Vaishnavism has in multiple ways contributed to the development of early modern Bengal’s gastronomic platter. None of its contemporary bhakti counterparts had contributed so variedly in constructing a particular province’s and community’s food consumption pattern. We will discuss how it has enriched and expanded the Bengali platter by multiplying and popularising vegetarian dishes and sweetmeats. The considerable growth it indirectly caused in the production of sweets might be argued as a modest form of a ‘sweetmeat revolution’. This production of sweetmeats got further impetus by adopting and integrating the sweet delicacies of the other regions of the subcontinent. Consumption of animal protein was quite deep rooted in early medieval Bengal, especially the south and eastern parts known as Banga and Samatata.

226  Pritam Goswami The early medieval texts composed in Bengal include Brihaddharmapurana, Prayaschittaprakarana of Bhabadeb Bhatta, Tikasarvasva of Sorbnanda, Kolaviveka of Jimutbahana, Naishadhcharita of poet Sri Harsha, etc. In early medieval Bengal, we find that there was a widespread practice of the consumption of different fish. The Brahmins adored white and finned fish like rui (Labeo rohita), shol (Channastriata), punti (Systomus sophore), ilish (Tenualosa ilisha), etc. Goats, sheep and tortoises were also widely consumed.11 From the lyrics of Chorjagitika we know that the intake of the animals forbidden by the Brahminical doctrines was also popular among the people at the fringes of caste society.12 The dietary patterns in Bengal were hence overwhelmingly dominated by the riverine deltaic ecology and the consumption of aquatic creatures. In a region like this, some doctrinal flexibility was naturally obligatory. The considerable variation of fish and animal meats preparations referred to in the Mangalakavya texts proves the large scale existence of non-vegetarianism in medieval and early modern Bengal. Gaudiya Vaishnavism found its real momentum in Rarh Bengal, comprising Burdwan, Bankura, Birbhum and parts of Hooghly. However, this particular region was less exposed to the consumption of animal protein than any other part of Bengal. From the Gaudiya Vaishnava hagiographies, we find that meat consumption was not considered favourably by the people of Nabadwip. Intake of animal meats was connected and equated with alcoholism and the Tantrika cult practices. One of the principal vices of Jagai and Madhai, the notorious city administrators of Nabadwip, was the consumption of different animals forbidden in the scriptures.13 Sri Chaitanya himself had lashed out against the Kazi (chief justice) of Nabadwip for sinning by consuming beef.14 In such an atmosphere, the popularisation and glorification of vegetarianism were not surprising. The Gaudiyas started depending on vegetables, especially different spinaches (srishakas) and dairy products, to replace the fish and animal flesh. From the Sri Chaitanyabhagavata (1542 CE), we find references to different srishakas in various contexts. Chaitanyadeb himself was immensely fond of different spinaches. We find him praising the spinaches like achyut, bastuk, salincha, helencha and kalo to maintain good health and attain Sri Krishna’s grace.15 From Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita (1615 CE), the magnum opus of Krishnadas Kaviraja, we find different references to vegetable preparations, including curries (byanjan), chops (bora), fried vegetables (vristo) and pickles (amlo). However, the primary replacement for animal proteins was undoubtedly sweets and dairy products. After the demise of Sri Chaitanya and Sri Nityananda, the two most influential personalities of the Gaudiya movement, several sects and subsects emerged among the Vaishnavas in Bengal. An ideological umbrella was required to unite these diverse sections, and during this time, the six Goswamis of Vrindavana were developing the philosophical ground of Gaudiya Vaishnavism. The scholars such as Sri Jiva Goswami and Gopala

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Bengali Platter  227 Bhatta had turned the Gaudiya doctrine ritualistic, and it appeared almost like a parallel to the Brahminic orthodoxy. Ancient scriptures were studied and commented on by them to find support for these new Vaishnava rituals. In the well-known Kheturi mahotsava of the Gaudiya Vaishnavas (1616 CE), it had been accepted that the philosophical doctrines of the great Goswamins would be accepted as the general philosophical guidelines of the Gaudiya Vaishnavas and the rituals and injunctions collected in these new Vaishnava Smritis primarily by Sri Jiva Goswami and Sri Gopala Bhatta were gradually integrated into the mainstream of the Gaudiya world.16 The Vaishnava Smriti, which will help us most, is Sri Gopala Bhatta’s Haribhikhakvilasa composed in Brajamandala a few years after Chaitanyadeb’s disappearance. Sri Gopala Bhatta had collected all the prescriptions and references found in the Vaishnava Shastras about bhogas and prasadas offered to Vishnu. Quoting from the scriptures like Kurmapurana, Vishnupurana, and Brihajjamal Tantra, he also referred to particular food items forbidden for a pious Vaishnava.17 He had quoted from the Brihajjamal Tantra where it is stated that Hari is displeased with those places where meat, fish, figs, musur (red lentil), polandu (onion) and mulak (radish) are consumed.18 So we find definite displeasure towards non-vegetarianism and those vegetarian products that increase rajas (material or muscular pleasure) according to the scriptures. These were considered harmful to the quality of satwa (spiritual), of which Vishnu himself is the embodiment. The dishes in the Vaishnava festivals, occasional meals and sumptuous feasts remain strictly vegetarian. However, we must remember that Gopala Bhatta himself was from South India. The injunctions he collected do not always match the Vaishnava world’s consumption pattern in Bengal. The differences in opinions appear prominently, mainly in the consumption of different spinaches and lau (gourd). The consumption of both these was forbidden in Haribhaktivilasa, while in the hagiographies of Chaitanya, they are often referred to as the favourites of Sri Chaitanya himself and most of his prominent followers. So vegetarianism was undoubtedly not introduced in Bengal by the Vaishnavas, but they did expand it. This Vaishnava emphasis and association with vegetarianism came under sharp criticism during the 19th-century ‘Bengal Renaissance’. Swami Vivekananda (1863–1902 CE), a noted figure among those renaissance personalities, had accused the followers of Chaitanyadeb of rejecting animal protein, which ultimately helped reduce the rajas or the energetic manliness among Bengalis.19 The more significant impact that Gaudiya Vaishnavism had on the early modern Bengali platter was the strict emphasis on vegetarianism. For popularising vegetarianism in a region where the intake of animal flesh was deep rooted and widespread, some substitute was required. This came in the form of innovations and preparations of different sweetmeats. In early modern Spain, Jodi Campbell showed that the Church inspired people to observe different fasts and abstain from animal proteins on those days and used them to encourage the preparation of different cakes and sweet

228  Pritam Goswami products.20 We can find a parallel in the Gaudiya Vaishnava world of early modern Bengal. In contrast to the Mangalakavyas where sweets do not occupy any significant position, in the Vaishnava hagiographic texts, the main description of cooking starts with sweet products. These appear to be very elaborate and sophisticated, with portions prepared with the greatest effort, care and expense. The western part of Bengal had always enjoyed an abundance of sugar, rice, dairy products and coconuts. These four are the very basic products used to prepare a variety of sweets. Good sugarcane was abundant in Nadia, present-day Murshidabad, and the Hooghly areas. The European travellers and various East India Company employees such as Duarte Barbosa, Ludovico Di Varthema, Francois Bernier and others who came to Bengal between 16th to 18th centuries had all observed the abundance of rice and sugar in Bengal both as a food and as exportable crops.21 So Bengal had plentiful supplies of the two main ingredients for preparing those sweetmeats. Sugar, milk, ghi, butter and cream also helped in the sweetmeat preparations. In the case of sweets, Bengal did not have to depend on any import of these products. From the descriptions in Sri Chaitanyabhagavata, we only find simple descriptions of vegetables and dairy products. Vrindavan Das described that in Srikhetra (present Puri in Odisha), Advaitacharya and other bhaktas had arranged a lunch with rice, ten types of spinaches clarified butter, milk, thickened milk, butter, pithas and different kinds of sugar, sandesh and bananas (Ghrito dodhi dugdha sor nabani pishtok/nanabidha sharkara sandesh kadalak).22 For the first time, we find a reference in the Bengali literature to sandesh, one of the major representatives of modern Bengali sweets and food culture. However, these sandeshes were probably prepared of coconuts, ghi, milk, and camphor, commonly known as narikel-sandesh in Bengali. It was not like the present sandesh made of chana (fermented milk). The Vaishnava texts mention several mahotsavas (public feasts in the akharas, the Vaishnava hermitages) where the folar or Sanskrit folahar was prepared of puffed rice, milk, yoghurt, sugar, bananas and sandesh. In Sri Chaitanyabhagavata there is a reference that Chaitanyadeb was delighted to see the arrangements of puffed rice and bananas, hundreds of pitchers of milk, yoghurt, khir (thickened milk) and lots of sugarcanes in Odisha.23 However, elaborate and generous descriptions of sweetmeats are available in other Vaishnava texts, including Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita. The descriptions of not only sweetmeats and different vegetarian cuisines can be obtained from the Charitamrita, but they also seem to indicate that the Vaishnava scholars and devotees (bhaktas) were materially well off. However, we do not find any descriptions of their daily consumption. However, only the occasional preparations often arranged to offer a special feast to the reputed Vaishnava guests or contributed to any particular mahotshava in an akhara or Sripat (hermitage) were described in detail. So we do not know what they consumed everyday and whether they had to curtail their everyday expenses for making those expensive and elaborate

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Bengali Platter  229 arrangements for these special occasions. From Chaitanya Charitamrita we get the long lists of sweets and other delicacies on four occasions. These are (1) the lunch of Chaitanyadeb in the house of Advaitacharya after two days of getting Sannyas from Keshava Bharati in Katwa, (2)Mahaprabhu’s lunch in the house of Sarbobhouma Bhattacharya in Puri (3) the descriptions of the prasadas sent to Mahaprabhu and his associates by Raja Prataparudra after the puja of Lord Jagannath in a place called Bonogondi and (4) description of the list of refreshments carried by the Gaudiya bhaktas from Bengal to Mahaprabhu in Puri. The number of sweetmeat products found in these lists appears rather endless. The first two descriptions are primarily of lunches. Naturally, the number of sweets is comparatively less and supplemented by other cooked prasadas. The last two are mostly the nosh items and snacks, predominantly the hard-sweet dishes. We find more references to sweets made with milk in the descriptions of lunches as it was more useful to have with rice. In both the lunches in Advaitacharya’s and Sarbobhouma Bhattacharya’s house, there are descriptions of serving folar at the end of the lunch. The special delicacy of folar (a kacha prasada in Paul Toomey’s words) was prepared by soaking the puffed rice either in yoghurt or in hot milk and then adding sugar, bananas and sandesh to it.24 The arrangement of folar even at the end of a full course lunch with plain rice and lots of other arrangements clearly shows how deep rooted this folar culture had become to the Bengalis. The very Bengali idiom folare bostom (folar loving Vaishnava) proves that.25 Apart from folar in these two meals, we find the reference to other sweets like shells of coconut with sugar, pumpkin with milk (dugdhakushmanda), sweet pickles (madhuramlo), chops of lentil (mudagbora), chops of bananas (kolabora), chops of pulses (masbora), pithas of khir (khirpuli), pithas of coconut (narikel puli), bananas (chapakola) with yoghurt and sandesh, payes prepared with lots of ghi, condensed milk, dugdhalaklaki, chops of broken rice (kanjibora), bananas and mangoes in milk, yoghurt prepared by using mangoes etc.26 We find the lengthiest detailing of the nosh items in the elaborate list of the Bonogondi bhoga (the bhoga offered to Lord Jagannath in the place called Bonogondi). The sweetmeats prepared here under the royal arrangement were all extremely costly and hardcore sweetmeats. The descriptions of this royal arrangement can be appropriately placed in the genre called pakka prasada, referred by Paul Toomey who described the divisions made by the Pushtimargis in calling the cooked prasadas as kacha and the sweetmeats as pakka.27 Krishnadas Kaviraja used the word niskori prasada, which many Gaudiya hagiographers would later use. However, the word niskori and pakka carry some differences in meaning. Niskori prasada means any products apart from the cooked ones like rice, curries, dal etc. However, pakka products refer to hard-baked sweetmeats made of sugar, coconuts, and rice or barley pastes. The sweets carried by the Bengali bhaktas to Prabhu in Puri during their annual visit include rice products, fried, puffed, or parched using ghi, sugar and different spices. These were

230  Pritam Goswami prepared to preserve for more than a month. The Vaishnavas were aware that the overconsumption of these stodgy sweets could cause indigestion. So some sour stomachic (mostly the paste of particular spinach called nalte) were given with the sweets as digestives.28 There are references to the preparation of different delicacies like pitha, pana and amritagutika by the Vaishnavas. Mahaprabhu himself, however, was fonder of sour and bitter dishes. He preferred the bitter dish (byanjan) called lafra to the delicious sweets like pitha and pana (Prabhu kohe more deho lafra byanjane/pitha, pana, amritagutika deho bhaktagane).29 However, the Gaudiyas were usually well known for their fondness or addiction to sweets. We find elaborate descriptions of sweetmeats from the descriptions of occasional dining in the texts like Govinda Lilamrita of Krishnadas Kaviraja, Krishnanhikakaumdi of Kavikarnapur and Rasikamangala of Gopijanaballabh Das (1660 CE). In all these descriptions, sweets occupied the chief position in the shararas (wholesome meal carrying six kinds of flavours) meals. In Nilachala, the Shankarite monotheistic sage Ramachandra Puri mocked Mahaprabhu for the Gaudiyas’ addiction to the aikkhaba (products originated from ikkhu that is sugarcane) and doubted the intensity of their penance.30

The Growth of Inter-regional Dietary Connections The culinary specificities mentioned above had undoubtedly generated in the Rarh region of Bengal. However, it was not restricted to a localised area and enriched the Gaudiya platter through substantial gastronomic reciprocities. The references to different foodstuffs, spices and cooking ingredients in the Gaudiya literature indicate contacts with the gastronomic milieu outside Bengal. We have already stated that the Gaudiya Vaishnavas had moved outside Bengal in their evangelical zeal. Their reach was established up to Varanasi and Vrindavana in the north and south through Odisha. Chaitanyadeb himself had travelled a large part of North and South India. He stayed in Vrindavana for several months, rediscovered many of the lost shrines there, and asked two of his most learned and spiritually inspired disciples Rup and Sanatana to regenerate the spiritual and scholarly tradition of Vrindavana. Many of the Vaishnava scholars and hagiographers later settled in Vrindavana, and hundreds of Vaishnava texts in Bengali and Sanskrit were composed there. Cultural relations among Bengal, Odisha and Brajamandala were developed since this period. If we study Charitamrita thoroughly, we will discover that the Vaishnavas in Puri used several words and terminologies from Odia and Dravida languages in their conversation. Parallel to this semantic reciprocity, the Bengali platter was also exposed to delicacies and preparations from outside Bengal. In the Gaudiya Vaishnava hagiographies including different parts of Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, Govinda Lilamrita, Krishnanhikakaumudi of Kavikarnapura, Rasikamangala of Gopijanaballabh Das and others, we find the references to certain dishes, delicacies and cooking processes which testify to

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Bengali Platter  231 the reciprocal interchange among the gastronomic spaces of Bengal, North India and Odisha. The first reference to North Indian foods that we find in Charitamrita is in the description of the annakut ceremony arranged during the Gopala temple’s foundation by Madhavendra Puri near Giri Govardhana in Vrindavana. In the ceremonial dining, paid Brahmins cooked for the guests, and the food was served on plates made of the leaves of palash (parrot tree) typical of Vrindavana instead of banana leaves commonly found in Bengal. From the nearby villages, massive amounts of rice, a paste of wheat (godhumchurna) and lentils were collected. Heaps of rice and rotis were placed on the bundles of palash leaves. The word roti was probably used in Bengali literature for the first time. Certain delicacies were relished, especially by the people of Brajamandala. These were dalbora (chops of lentils), kori (a preparation of curds and pea flour, very common to the Brajabasis), shikharini (a preparation of milk, curds, sugar, ghi, honey, pepper, rocksalt and camphor, claimed to be enjoyed by Krishna himself in the age of Dwapara) and matha (whey). To provide a sense of North Indian ambience, Krishnadas Kaviraja has deliberately used matha to refer to whey. In other places, he had used Bengali synonyms like ghol or dhodhi-tokro for the same purpose.31 A few years later, Madhavendra moved to Nilachal (present Puri in Odisha) to collect sandal paste (malayachandan) for putting on the idol of Gopala. In Remuna, he reached the Gopinath temple where he learned about the famous amritakeli khir, a speciality of that temple and was commonly known as the khir of Gopinath. The story referred to a supernatural incident that had taken place around Madhavendra. Gopinath had stolen khir for his ajachaka bhakta (an ascetic who can only take anything offered unasked). This is probably the first time any Odia delicacy is referred to in Bengali literature.32 Later, when Madhavendra’s spiritual successor Sri Chaitanya moved to Nilachal with his associates, he experienced ecstatic feelings by enjoying the same khir.33 There are different and detailed descriptions of the prasadas of Jagannath and different Odia delicacies in Charitamrita while narrating the life of Sri Chaitanya in Odisha. The most elaborate descriptions of Odia delicacies are found in the descriptions of the niskori prasada of the Bonogondibhoga. Among the prasadas, there were several dishes particular to Odisha, and in their descriptions, Odia synonyms were used. There were the delicacies like chena (curdled milk), pana, poiro (green coconut in Odia), mangoes, bananas, the tender kernel of a palm (bijtal in Odia), coconut, jackfruit, naranga, cholnga, taba, oranges, pomegranates (bijpur in Odia), nuts, grapes, lumps of preserved dates (pindokhorjur), monohora, different kinds of larus, amritagutika, khirosa, amritomonda, chenabora (chops of cheese), karpurkuli, soramrito, sorvaja, sorpuli (preparation of cream), horiballabh, seboti, karpurmaloti, dalima, naru mixed with pepper (marichanaru), amrita (sweets made of sugar and pea-wheat), biyori, kodma (types of sugar cubes), tilekhaja (khaja, a typical Odia sweet mixed with sesame), different forms of jaggery in the shape of

232  Pritam Goswami flowers, fruits and leaves, curds, buttermilk of curds (dodhi-tokro), different forms of limes (nebu) and jujube (koli in Odia). The food was served on the screw pine leaves (keyapatradroni), typical of Odisha.34 After the fall of Gajapatis and the sudden disappearance of Sri Chaitanya, the ideological base of the Gaudiya Vaishnavism had shifted from Odisha and Bengal to Brajamandala in North India.35 Since then, the dietary connection between Odisha and Bengal gradually grew weaker. The connection with North India, especially around Vrindavana, had, however, persisted. We observe this connection from a few texts composed in the late 16th- and 17th-century Bengal. In the descriptions of the texts like Govinda Lilamrita of Krishnadas Kaviraja or Krishnanhikakaumdi by Kavikarnapura, we find that while narrating the dinner of Sri Krishna and Sri Radhika, the poets have mentioned some North Indian dishes along with the Bengali delicacies. Both Krishnadas Kaviraja and Kavikarnapura had spent several years of their life in Vrindavana, and they indeed got acquainted with the cuisines specific to those places. In Govinda Lilamrita we find references to different fruits and branches cooked in sugar and syrup to be taken with pokkanno. There were also specific sweets called panda prepared with sugar, coconut, camphor, cloves and cardamom.36 In Krishnanhikakaumudi we find the specific inclusions of some North Indian sweets for the first time in Bengali literature. There are references to saradugdhakupya made of thickened milk, camphor and pepper.37 Jilevis, gojas, kachuris, dadhimakshara, laddus in the shape of a swan, sour yoghurt and other delicacies were served.38 In the early modern Bengali literature, the North Indian wheat dishes like puri/luchi and kachuris were latecomers. The first reference to luchi comes through the Vaishnava text Rasikamangala (1660 CE). Later they reappeared in the mid-18th century Mangalakavya texts such as Annadamangala of Bharatchandra Ray and Sri Dharmamangala of Ghanaram Chakrabarti. The Sanskrit term maudgika-śaṅkulibhiḥ found in Krishnanhikakaumudi, which is muger kachuri in Bengali, is the solitary reference of the cuisine in the early modern period. This interconnectedness and inter-regional reciprocity had brought the world of sweets closer. Rasikamangala, which we have already mentioned, is a hagiography of the eminent Vaishnava personality Shyamananda Prabhu. Shyamananda was a close associate of contemporary Vaishnava figures like Srinivas Acharya and Krishnadas Kaviraja and was instrumental in preaching Vaishnavism in Medinipur. In the maharasajatra festival in his akahara in Gopiballabhpur arranged by his son Rasikananda Prabhu, we find the arrangements for storing wheat for preparing luchi and puri (godhum moyda chola khesari opar).39 The reference to the word puri specifically indicates direct knowledge about the delicacies popular in North India. Thus, the wheat products of North India seem to have reached even the distant districts of a peripheral province of the Mughal empire A considerable number of spices were used, including nutmeg, asafoetida, a paste of betel leaf, anise, cuminseeds, graceum etc.40 This indicates that the Gaudiya Vaishnava world was well exposed to the larger circuits of spice imports

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Bengali Platter  233 from the Coromandel coast and South-East Asia controlled by European entrepreneurs and their Indian counterparts. The contents of Vaishnava texts appear in sharp contrast with their textual counterpart, the Mangalakavyas. While Mangalakavyas describe the beginning of the pujas and acceptance and incorporation of Bengal’s regional, local and semi-folk deities among a wider group of Bengali texts, the Vaishnava philosophical tracts and hagiographies narrate the tale of the development of the Vaishnava bhakti cult in Bengal and its connection with the broader cults and sects of Vaishnava bhakti which had already spread in different parts of the subcontinent. In the Mangalakavyas, we can trace the developments of sub-regional identities and local elements. Utsa Ray had shown with detailed examples that many of the Mangalakavyas refer to the dishes, foods, fish and floral products typical to only one district or pargana inside the Bengal Subah.41 On the other hand, the Vaishnava texts indicate the Bengali platter’s connection with the other parts of the subcontinent. Instead of the sub-regional gastronomic spaces typical to the Mangalakavyas, Vaishnava texts indicate trans-regional interactions.

Serving the Patitos: Prasada and the Question of Charity Sri Chaitanyabhagavata and Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita referred to two reasons why Chaitanya took incarnation. First is the patito uddhar, rescuing the patito or the fallen people, those rejected by traditional religious dogmatism, and secondly, enjoying the prema or unrivalled divine love for Krishna by turning himself into Radhika.42 Chaitanyadeb hence was considered the incarnation of Sri Krishna and Radhika in a single body. Here we concentrate on the first and more practical aspects of these two reasons and the connection to food. The question of charity was closely linked with the distribution of prasada among the poor and fallen people (patito), poor and ordinary Vaishnavas and a large section of villagers. By offering the sanctified prasada to the lower and downtrodden people, they (the patitos who were in the lower section of the varnasrama and outside the folds of established religion) were also accepted as followers of Krishna. The distribution of prasada and the charitable works of supplying food fulfilled the purpose of patito uddhar during Chaitanya’s time and in the post-Chaitanya Gaudiya movement. Like any other bhakti sect, the Vaishnava prasada was distributed among the bhaktas during the Vaishnava festivals or the mahotsavas. This charity and distribution often became the source of survival for the downtrodden people. The most celebrated mahotsavas are the chire-dodhi mahotsavas of Panihati arranged by Raghunath Das and another in Saptagrama organised by Uddharan Dutta, under the instruction of Nityananda. The detailing of these mahotsavas often demonstrates the differences between Vaishnava texts and the Mangalakavyas. While in the Mangalakavyas, the descriptions of consumption are restricted to the banquets in the royal

234  Pritam Goswami palaces and occasions where only the people with enormous financial resources or the members of the same caste of the organiser (samaj) could participate, the Vaishnava texts mention gatherings where hundreds of poor or ordinary Vaishnavas were invited. They were offered food in the mahotsavas of the akharas and were also allowed to take the folar in their houses. For the top-ranked Vaishnavas to the ordinary folk, the prasada of these mahotsavas were equally prestigious and sacred for all. The prasada was often distributed to everyone from the same pots. So this common dining often stood for the egalitarian ideology of Gaudiya Vaishnavism preached by Nityananda and Sri Chaitanya. It resembled the langar system introduced by Guru Nanak among the Sahajpanth Sikhs in North India.43 Often these mahotsavas appeared as the occasions of freedom from the daily grind and the mundane and acted as food shelters during scarcities. In the Vaishnava texts, there are references to such mahotsavas. The largest and probably the most popular in Bengal (which continues even today) is the chira-mahotsava in Panihati. There is a detailed description of this mahotsava in the Chaitanya Charitamrita.44 The chira-mahotsava or dandamahotsava was first organised by Sri Ragunath Das (one of the six renowned Goswamis of Vrindavana in later years) under the instruction of Nityananda Prabhu, as we mentioned earlier. He arranged a considerable amount of thickened milk (ghanabarta dugdha), curds (dodhi), ripe bananas (rambha), puffed rice (chipitok), sugar (sharkara), sweets (sandesh) and camphor (karpur) for the preparation of folar. The gathering included almost all the villagers. The total number of participants had crossed thousands. In the descriptions of the mahotsavas we find the gathering of many noted Vaishnava personalities along with hundreds of common Vaishnavas. However, no special arrangements were made for the renowned ones besides offering them seats earlier. They were offered the prasada from the same tubs and in equal amounts. During Raghunath’s chira-mahotsava Raghav Pundit came to meet Nityananda and said that he had arranged a fair amount of bhoga and prasada for him in his home. Nityananda replied that he found greater pleasure in these mahotsavas with the hundreds of ordinary people rather than consuming the sumptuous prasadas in a closed circle. This get-together, which resembled the gathering of the milkmen of ancient Vrindavana, was most agreeable to him. So the prasadas could be tasted later. These shows the popular character of Vaishnavism in contrast to the contemporary dominating Vedantic school of philosophers who lived in their ivory tower of seclusion.45 Preparation of prasadas was, however, always entrusted to the Brahmins. In the mahotsavas where cooked prasadas were served, the lower caste bhaktas were not always allowed with the Brahmins in the same batch.46 Enough clamours were raised when Nityananda Prabhu and his associates took the rice cooked by Uddharan Dutta of the lower Suvarna Vanik caste.47 Unlike Kabirpanths, the Gaudiyas could never truly accept intercaste dining.

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Bengali Platter  235 Apart from these utsavas, there are references to the affluent and generous Vaishnavas’ charity works and distribution of food during food shortages and emergencies. In 1557 CE (1479 Shaka era), a devastating famine broke out around Saptagrama. Uddharan Dutta, the noted Vaishnava figure, established a huge charity house there. The vast warehouse for storing the food items had covered 30 bighas (10 acres) of land. Uddharan had bought enormous amounts of foodstuffs from distant places, indicating a significant monetary transaction. According to some scholars, Uddharan Dutta used this charity work as an ideal opportunity to initiate (dikshadan) those famine-ridden people into Gaudiya Vaishnavism.48 In Nilachal, Mahaprabhu had instructed his associate Govinda to distribute the niskori prasadas (delicacies except for the cooked products such as rice, dal or curries)49 of the Bonogondi puja of Jagannath among all the poor of Nilachal. Watching them eating joyously, Prabhu was delighted, and ecstatic feelings (astasattwika bhava) had appeared in him.50 In every Vaishnava household, there are two main daily offerings to the idol of Sri Krishna. One is known as madhyanhik or rajbhoga. This is served at noon. The second one is known as boikalik or sital, offered in the evening. In boikalik, the offerings are primarily fruits and sweets. All the Vaishnava bhaktas had a right to the prasada of these offerings, whether they were made in a Vaishnava home or a large akhara. In the texts such as Chaitanyabhagavata, Charitamrita, Prem Vilasa of Nityananda Das (1600 CE), Narottam Vilasa of Narahari Chakrabarti etc., we find the references to prasada enjoyed by thousands of bhaktas. However, there are hardly any references to the consumption and distribution of the prasada daily. Those were all on special occasions. Unlike the descriptions provided by Monika Horstmann about the everyday distribution of prasada among hundreds in the Dadupanthi hospices, there is hardly anything similar in the world of Gaudiya Vaishnavism.51 Despite these limitations, it is undeniable that Chaitanya’s effort of patito uddhar was not restricted only to introducing Namasankirtana (chanting and singing the name of Sri Krishna) among those in the fringes of the established Hindu caste society. It tried to bring them under Vaishnavism by the generous offering of prasadas. The kangals (poor) found the share of the Krishnaprasada a more practical inducement which attracted them to the Gaudiya bhakti movement.

Making of a Vaishnava Body: Prasada, Seba and the Gaudiya Aesthetics In the Gaudiya Vaishnava aesthetics and religious ritualism prasada or consecrated food offered to God, which is then shared and eaten by the devotees, occupies a significant position. Like all major bhakti sects, Gaudiyas also emphasised the sacred prasadas offered to the idol (or simply to God in one’s mind in the absence of an image). Among the idols worshipped

236  Pritam Goswami by the Gaudiyas, the most important are Radha and Krishna together (Jugalabigraha) and the six-handed idols of Chaitanyadeb, known as Sribigraha. However, prasada usually refers to the remnants of the offerings to Sri Krishna. The devout Gaudiyas never use the word bhojan (eating) and refer to it as prasadagrahana (taking the prasada) or seba (literarily means serving). No Vaishnava bhakta can enjoy anything before dedicating it to Sri Krishna, and food is probably the most important among those offerings. Scholars of Religious Studies, sociologists, and cultural anthropologists have tried to analyse the importance of prasada among different bhakti sects in the early modern period and the 20th century. Among the few secondary works on the prasada tradition of different bhakti sects, a significant one is Monica Horstmann’s article ‘Flow of Grace. Food and Feast in Hagiography and History of the Dadupanth’. Here she has studied several bhajans, verses and canonical works of the Dadupanthis to study the practice of the consumption and distribution of the prasada.52 However, this type of study is yet to be made regarding the Gaudiya tradition. A small number of studies have concentrated on the Gaudiya rituals, practices and festivals in Vrindavana. Among these books, Paul M. Toomey’s work is based not on the Gaudiya scriptural and theological texts and doctrines but the everyday observations of the daily and occasional preparation of the prasadas and bhogas in the Gaudiya temples, akharas and the celebrations in Vrindavana. However, he had not analysed the economic reasons for the decline in the sumptuousness of the Gaudiya celebrations in Braj and considered them insignificant, besides the special occasions of the Pushtimargis.53 Kenneth Valpey, in his excellent work on the murti-seva (daily and special service to the idol) of Krishna in Vrindavana, has offered explanations about the lunch and the daily bhoga and rituals associated with the puja of Radharamana. By consulting the texts such as Gunamanjari Das’s Utsava Manjari and Gopala Bhatta’s Haribhaktivilasa, he tried to show how the traditional rituals and delicacies in the worship of Radharamana had continued through the centuries. He also studied how the rituals are observed to remind and inculcate Vaishnavas’s metaphysical ascetic experience of Madhavendra Puri in Vrindavana and Remuna.54A detailed study of the practice of bhoga and prasada of the Gaudiya world (especially the most unique narratives found in the Charitamrita) and the material and associated metaphysical aspects is still awaited. Prasada in the Gaudiya ideology refers to the leftovers of the food after being taken by God himself. Prasada carries and transfers God’s essence (or some eminent Vaishnava spiritual personalities) in the food. Through this consumption, the essence reaches the Vaishnava bhaktas’ soul. Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita refers to the leftovers of food offered to Krishna and prominent VaishnavasasVaishnavachhista. Charitamrita had associated great spiritual importance to this Vaishnava-uchhista. In the Antyalila or the third and final part of this sizeable hagiographic text, we have a mention of a Kalidas, a mahabhagavata, a Vaishnava of the highest spiritual stature.55 Kalidas, an

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Bengali Platter  237 uncle of Raghunath Das Goswami, is credited with partaking in the leftovers of all the eminent Vaishnavas of Bengal. He even overcame all the caste barriers and took the leftover of the mangoes already sucked by a Vaishnava named Jharu belonging to the lower caste of Bhuinmali.56 When he moved to Puri to visit Mahaprabhu, he waited for the remnants of Chaitanya’s lunch. Prabhu had offered him his leftover and the water in which he washed his feet. Chaitanya himself used to take the leftovers of the Vaishnavas. He eulogised Kalidas before other disciples and stated that the remnants of the food taken by Krishna are known as mohaprasada. When the Vaishnavas take those, the leftovers turn into maha-mohaprasada (more sacred even than the leftovers of Sri Krishna). The three important things which can generate love towards Krishna are the dust of the Vaishnava feet (bhaktapadadhuli), the water after washing the feet of the Vaishnava (bhaktapadajol) and the leftovers of the food of the Vaishnavas (bhakta-bhuktashesh).57 So these three sacred items that came in bodily contact with the bhaktas help create a sense of love for Krishna. Prabhu had emphatically mentioned the importance of these things (Tate barbar kohi suna bhaktagon/biswas koria koro e tin sebon/e tin hoite Krishnapremer ullas/Krishner prasad tate sakkhi Kalidas).58 Charitamrita described another incident of the same year. After the Gopalballabh bhog was offered to Lord Jagannath and the puja was completed, the servants of Jagannath gave the prasada in Chaitanya’s hand. The prasada was aromatic and of heavenly taste. Prabhu had taken very little of it and tied the rest in the anchal (the edge of the upper garment) of his companion Govinda. Prabhu experienced ecstatic feelings and divine union with Sri Krishna by taking that prasada and chanting Sanskrit verses referring to the sacredness of the prasada. When his companion Ishwar asked the meaning of the verse, Prabhu answered that the prasada had carried the divine feeling of Krishna’s lips with it.59 Krishnadas Kaviraja had referred to this feeling as Krishnadharamrita, the feeling of divine amrita generated by the touch of Krishna’s lips.60 The feeling of a bodily union with Krishna had been transcended through prasada. In the evening, Govinda, on the instruction of Prabhu, had distributed the same prasada among the eminent Vaishnavas such as Ramananda Ray, Sarbobhouma Bhattacharya, Swarup Damodar and others. They all had been overwhelmed by the divine taste and supernatural smell of the prasada. Prabhu said that the prasada was prepared with ordinary ingredients such as jaggery, sugar, camphor, cardamom, cloves, cubeb, pepper, cinnamon, ghi and milk.61 Only the divine touch of the nectar of Sri Krishna’s lips made it delicious. Even the smell of it could make someone feel ecstatic. The prasada carried all the qualities of Krishna’s lips and Sri Radhika’s, whose lips had once touched Krishna’s lips. The taste could make people forget their worldly pleasures. So the prasada was the greatest exhilarator (mohamadak).62 The prasada should be consumed with the greatest of devotion (Haribhakti). The question of physical contact with Krishna through the prasada is a unique spiritual theory among the Gaudiyas. The Gaudiya ideology talks of

238  Pritam Goswami pancharasa (five human relationships with Krishna), which are shanta: the condition and experience which views Krishna as a transcended God; dasya, the condition and experience which generates a relation of master and slave between Krishna and the bhakta; sakhya, the condition and experience of Krishna as a friend; vatsalya, the condition and experience of filial love and finally the most important madhurjya, the condition and experience of Krishna as a lover. In the last two relations, one can touch the lips of Krishna in the feeling of mother Jashoda in vatsalya and the inamoratas Radhika and the Gopis in madhurjya and experience that Krishnadharamrita. This adharamrita finds its embodiment in prasada and reaches all the Vaishnavas who, in some way or the other, have a love for Krishna (Krishnaprema).63 The difference between the kama (a selfish lust for oneself) or atmendria priti and prema (the love for anything finding it as an extended expression of Krishna) or Krishnendria priti is also reflected in the experience of prasada. A person driven by kama finds in prasada nothing but food ingredients and preparations. However, a true Vaishnava with the Krishnaprema experiences the transcendental feeling of union with the lips of Krishna. Kenneth Valpey studied the stories of Madhavendra Puri in Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita. He explained how the material prasada had helped Madhavendra attain a devotional and metaphysical feeling. In the offering of the foods in the annakuta, Govardhana Puri was overcome with the bhava of vatsalya and later in the service of Gopala, both dasya and vatsalya dominated him. In Remuna, Lord Gopinath, by stealing the khir himself, served his devotee and provided the devotee with the way to serve him. He served as the servant by offering service to Gopinath. In this way, he experienced the dasya bhava. He achieved the two greatest feelings of Vaishnava prema.64 Adharamrita creates a bodily contact with Krishna as a lover and hence generates madhurjya. From the time of Madhavendra to the age of Mahaprabhu, Gaudiya Vaishnava spiritualism had evolved into a different path where the foremost importance was given to the feeling of madhurjya instead of dasya and vatsalya. The Vaishnavas regard Mahaprabhu himself as an incarnation of Sri Radha, and the attainment of the condition of the gopis (milkmaids) in Vrindavana is the supreme desire of the Gaudiyas. These milkmaids are said to have known Krishna most intimately. In the conversation between Chaitanyadeb and Ramananda Ray, which is considered the most spiritually enriching part of Charitamrita, Mahaprabhu declared that madhurjya is the greatest way to achieve Krishna. It carries all the qualities of shanta, dasya and vatsalya.65 The adharamrita is the experience of that madhurjya which could be attained by taking the prasada with true prema.

Conclusion We have discussed that Chaitanyaite Gaudiya Vaishnavism was a late entrant in the bhakti movement. The grand arrival of Madhavendra’s spiritual

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Bengali Platter  239 successor Sri Chaitanyadeb marked the end of the earlier existence and practice of what is known as Sahajiya bhakti. It introduced what is popularly described as Gaudiya bhakti or ‘raganuga bhakti’. Many scholars refer to this period as the ‘first Renaissance of Bengal’. Instead of wholeheartedly accepting or vehemently opposing this label, we have tried to analyse the material and metaphysical influence of Gaudiya Vaishnavism on contemporary and later Bengali socio-cultural milieu. The specific area for our study is the gastronomic space of Bengal, especially the western part of the province where the religious field had come under a rapid sway of Gaudiya Vaishnavism since the 16th century. We have tried to focus on the questions regarding the introduction of vegetarianism, impetus to the production of sweetmeats, the introduction of a liberal approach to the public consumption of food and the charitable distribution of foodstuffs to the impoverished sections of the people (patito) etc., which are often associated and credited to Gaudiya Vaishnavism. Apart from these material aspects, we have tried to explore a sensorial arena to show how food often connected the material and metaphysical in the Gaudiya spiritual domain. The question of sanctified food or prasada has always played a significant role in attaining bhakti for the Vaishnavas. We have tried to interweave this sensibility and sense of spirituality with our study of Vaishnava platter. Vaishnava texts hardly care for materialist, worldly histories. Apart from the Charitamrita, no other Vaishnava work informs us of contemporary events. Linking such a movement with materialist aspects such as gastronomy and presenting it historically is a challenging and complicated task. Initially, the Gaudiya platter appears from the descriptions from the Vaishnava texts as static and unmoving. However, a thorough reading of these texts composed between the 16th to 18th centuries certainly enlightens us about a slow but sure pace of change in the Vaishnava food choices throughout this period. It was far from the simplistic Braudelian conceptualisation of timeless sustenance and unmoving longue duree.66 The intermixing in the gastronomic space induced by Vaishnavism is one of the key factors for the slow but certain change in early modern Bengal’s greater socio-cultural arena.

Notes 1 Bishnupada Bhattacharya, Bharatiya Bhaktisahitya, Kalikata: Lekhapora Prakashan, 1961, p. 52. 2 Khetra Gupta, Bangla Sahityer Sampurna Itihas, Kalikata: Granthanilay, 2000, pp.90–95. 3 Vrindavan Das Thakura, Sri Chaitanyabhagavata Adikanda, Serampore: Gyanarundodoya Jantra,1776 Shakabda (1854), p.9. 4 Ramakanta Chakravarti, Bange Vaishnav Dharma: Ekti Aitihasik o Samajtattwik Adhyayan, Kalikata: Ananda Publishers, 1996, p.33. 5 Bhaskar Chatterjee, ‘Social Perspective of Caitanyaism’, in N.N. Bhattacharya (ed.), Medieval Bhakti Movements in India, Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal Publishers Pvt. Limited, 1989, pp.315–25.

240  Pritam Goswami 6 Kaliprasanna Bandyopadhyay, Madhyajuger Bangala, Kalikata: Deys Publications, 2010 edition, pp. 154–70. 7 Pranab Ray, Banglar Khabar, Kalikata: Sahityalok, 1987, pp.3–24. 8 Ramakanta Chakravarti, Bange Vaishnav Dharma, pp. 79–80. 9 Paul M. Toomey, Food from the Mouth of Krishna: Feasts and Festivities in a North Indian Pilgrimage Centre, Delhi: Hindustan Publishing Corporation, 1994. 10 Kenneth Russell Valpey, Attending Krishna’s Image: Caitanya Vaisnava MurtiSeva as Devotional Truth, London: Routledge, 2006, pp. 66–69. 11 Niharranjan Ray, Bangalir Itihas Adi Parba, Kalikata: Deys Publications,1416 B.S. (2009) edition, p. 445. 12 Ibid., p. 446. 13 Jayananda, Sri Chaitanyamangala cited in Kaliprasanna Bandyopadhyay, Madhyajuger Bangala, p.62. 14 Krishnadas Kaviraja Goswami, Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita Adilila, (ed.) Harekrishna Mukhopadhyay Sahityaratna, Kalikata: Deb Sahitya Kutir, 2009 edition, p.127. 15 Vrindavan Das, Sri Chaitanyabhagavata, Antyakhanda, p.50. 16 Ramakanta Chakravarti, Bange Vaishnav Dharma, pp. 83–96. 17 Sri Gopala Bhatta, Haribhaktivilasa; translated, edited and published by Ramnarayan Vidyaratna, Baharampur: Radharaman Jantra, 1298 B.S. (1892), pp. 718–40. 18 Ibid., p.735. 19 Sharachhandra Chakrabarti, Swami Shishya Sangbad Purba Kanda, Kalikata: Udbodhon Karjyalay, 1362 B.S. (1955) edition, pp.113–14. 20 Jodi Campbell, At the First Table: The Food and Social Identity in Early Modern Spain, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2017, pp. 87–112. 21 Biplab Dasgupta, ‘Trade in Pre-Colonial Bengal’, Social Scientist, 2000, 28 (5–6): 47–76. 22 Vrindavan Das, Sri Chaitanyabhagavata Antyakhanda, p. 94. 23 Ibid., p. 106. 24 To know about kacha prasad see Toomey, Food from the Mouth of Krishna, pp.50–51. 25 The folar was common in each mahotsavas of the Gaudiya akharas and this practice is continuing. However, it was not prescribed and compulsory like karha prasad (made of wheat, semolina, ghi and sugar) in the Sikh langars. To know more about karha prasad see Karamjit K. Malhotra, ‘The Sikh Sacred Space in the Eighteenth Century’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, 2013, 74: 380–87. 26 Krishnadas Kaviraja, Charitamrita Madhyalila, pp. 160–61and pp. 302–03. 27 Toomey, Food from the Mouth of Krishna, pp.97–98 and p.103. 28 Krishnadas Kaviraja, Charitamrita Antyalila, pp. 558–62. 29 Krishnadas Kaviraja, Charitamrita Madhyalila, p.268. 30 Krishnadas Kaviraja, Charitamrita Antyalila, p.548. 31 Krishnadas Kaviraja, Charitamrita Madhyalila, pp.169–71. 32 Ibid., pp.171–72. 33 Ibid., p.175. 34 Ibid., pp.282–83. 35 Prabhat Mukherjee, The History of Medieval Vaishnavism in Orissa, Calcutta: Prabasi Press, 1940, pp.170–78. 36 Krishnadas Kaviraja Goswami, Govinda Lilamrita, translated and edited by Jadunandana Das, Kalikata: Chaitanyachandrodaya Jantra, 1774 Shakabda (1852), pp. 187–89.

Gaudiya Vaishnavism and Bengali Platter  241 37 Kavikarnapura, Sri Krishnanhikakaumudi, edited by Haridas Das, Nabadwip: Haribol Kutir, 454 Gaurabda (1954), p. 13, sloka (verse) 114. 38 Kavikarnapura, Sri Krishnanhikakaumudi, p.13, sloka 115. 39 Gopijanaballabh Das, Rasikamangala Paschim Bibhag, pp.94–96 cited in Pranab Ray, Banglar Khabar, pp.23–24. 40 Ibid. 41 Utsa Ray, Culinary Culture in Colonial India: A Cosmopolitan Platter and the Middle Class, New Delhi: Cambridge University Press, 2015, pp.203–04. 42 See the introduction of Harekrishna Mukhopadhyay Sahityaratna in the Sri Chaitanya Charitamrita, Kalikata: Deb Sahitya Kutir, 2009 edition, pp.i–iii. 43 Langar was, however, a daily practice. Panktibhojan was not an everyday affair. See Karamjit K. Malhotra, ‘The Sikh Sacred Space in the Eighteenth Century’, pp.380–87. 44 Krishnadas Kaviraja,Charitamrita Antyalila, pp.527–29. 45 Ibid., p. 528. 46 See the reference number 39. 47 Nityananda Das, Prem Vilasa, edited by Jashodalal Talukdar, Kalikata: Bagbajar Patrika Press, 1320 B.S. (1913), p.249. 48 Haridas Das, Gaudiya Vaishnav Abhidhana Dwitiya, Tritiya o Chaturtha Khanda, Nabadwip: Haribol Kutir, 1957, p.1157. 49 The difference between anna prasada (cooked prasadas like rice and curries) and niskori prasada had been referred to in different places of Charitamrita. It is very difficult to understand why Paul M. Toomey stated that Gaudiyas never made a difference between the kacha and pukka prasadas. See Toomey, Food from the Mouth of Krishna, p. 70. 50 Krishnadas Kaviraja, Charitamrita Madhyalila, pp. 282–83. 51 Monika Horstmann, ‘The Flow of Grace: Food and Feast in the Historiography and History of the Dadupanth’, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenladischen Gesselchaft, 2000, 150(2): 513–80. 52 Ibid., pp.519–40. 53 Toomey, Food from the Mouth of Krishna, pp.48–60 and pp. 91–98. 54 Valpey, Attending Krishna’s Image, pp. 66–69. 55 Krishnadas Kaviraja, Charitamrita Antyalila, p.592. 56 Ibid. 57 Ibid., p.594. 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid., pp.595–96. 60 Ibid. 61 Ibid. 62 Ibid. 63 Krishnadas Kaviraja, Charitamrita Adilila, p.42. 64 Valpey, Attending Krishna’s Image, pp.67–69. 65 Krishnadas Kaviraja, Charitamrita Madhyalia, p.210. 66 Fernand Braudel, ‘Sustenance’, in Maurice Aymard and Harbans Mukhia (eds), French Studies in History, Vol. I: The Inheritance, Hyderabad: Orient Longman,1988, pp.168–92.

11 Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal with Special Reference to the Site of Kankandighi Durga Basu

Introduction As a prelude to the chapter, an overview of issues related to the early medieval settlement history in Bengal should be appropriate. From the beginning of the Common Era, the settlements that had developed in and around the coastal part of Bengal have shown evidence of rich material culture, indicating the growth of well-established urban life. It has been archaeologically shown that from the 2nd century BCE to the 2nd century CE, there have been both qualitative and quantitative improvements in the material culture of coastal Bengal.1 The continuity of settlement through different phases of time in many places of this region could not be ascertained in a proper chronological framework due to lack of scientific archaeological investigation. But sporadic availability of material indicates that coastal Bengal was once one of the core regions for human settlement which flourished from the 7th to the 13th century CE. In coastal Bengal, the early medieval settlement history is evident through recent archaeological explorations and excavations. Before 1938, early medieval settlements and sites were determined only by the findings of sculptural specimens, architectural fragments and bricks. Several reports of antiquarian remains were published in the 19th and early 20th century by Francis Buchanan-Hamilton (1762–1829), E. Vesey Westmacott, Alexander Cunningham (1814–1893), S. K. Saraswati (1906–1980) and Henry Earnest Stapleton (1878–1962), highlighting the material assemblages and structural remains of a culture that we can now term as early medieval. In 1938, the excavation at the site of Bangarh in West Dinajpur district, conducted by K. G. Goswamy, first revealed a clear-cut early medieval phase in its stratum-II with the evidence of a vast settlement as indicated by stupendous building activities at this site.2 Again in 1962 and 1995, two large religious settlements discovered at Karnasuvarna in Murshidabad district,3 and Jagjivanpur in Malda district4 revealed evidence of early medieval life from stratified context. From 2003 to 2012, the excavated site of Moghalmari in

DOI: 10.4324/9781003095651-15

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  243

Map 11.1 Physiographical map of Malda district.

244  Durga Basu the West Midnapur district in coastal Bengal provided data for a flourishing early medieval cultural phase with intensive structural activities.5 In the late 20th century, a band of professional archaeologists like D. K. Chakrabarti,6 R. K. Chattopadhyay,7 Sheena Panja8 and other scholars explored some regions to trace the nature and spatial distribution of early medieval settlements in West Bengal. These surveys were undertaken in two major geographical zones, namely the Barind Plain in North Bengal covering the districts of West Dinajpur and Malda and in the coastal region concentrated in Medinipur and 24 Parganas. From these archaeological investigations, the distributional pattern of early medieval sites and the settlement areas in West Bengal have been known. Based on these reports, it is now clear that the early medieval settlements were mainly concentrated in two major physiographical units, namely (a) the Barind plain, composed of the Pleistocene alluvium tract of North Bengal covering the districts of West Dinajpur and parts of Malda (Map 11.1); and (b) the coastal region centring around the district of north and south 24 Parganas. S. Panja undertook an intensive survey in the area around the site of Bangarh in West Dinajpur and parts of the Malda district. This survey highlights other early medieval habitational areas which surround the main structural complex of Bangarh, as evident from the material assemblages like pottery, sculptures, inscriptions, bricks and structural remains. Another settlement area is located in the Barind tract of Malda district, where the site of Jagjibanpur has revealed a large early medieval religious settlement, along with several small sites clustered around the region, indicating the concentration of settlements during the Pala Sena period (8th to 12th century). The other districts of West Bengal had also witnessed the growth of early medieval settlements, but only sporadically, the majority of which were small and flimsy with concentrated areas of habitations. Interestingly, the site of Karnasuvarna, located in the alluvial plain of the river Bhagirathi, revealed a huge monastic complex dating back to the 2nd/3rd century, and has also shown early medieval habitation in this area, as reported by S.R. Das. The distribution of early medieval sites in varied geographical areas undoubtedly demonstrates that the growth of early medieval settlements in West Bengal was primarily conditioned by the physiographical factors and links with the other regions. Thus, while attempting to understand the material culture of the early medieval period in coastal Bengal, we should consider the geographical factors that have left deep imprints on it.

Physiography West Bengal has a unique landscape comprising varied landforms from the Himalayan mountains in the north to the open seafront in the south. While the stable Indian shield skirts the western fringe area on the west,

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  245 the rest is covered with a vast stretch of alluvial plains with fluvial, deltaic, estuarine and coastal landforms. Coastal areas are commonly defined as the interface or transition areas between land and sea. The West Bengal coastal region is a part of the Bay of Bengal, and geo-morphologically it is dominated by the Ganga river system. Writing in 1792 CE, James Rennell (1742–1830 CE), the English Surveyor-General of Bengal under the English East India Company, was struck by the unique inland navigation network of the region.9 He remarked on the brisk trade carried out in boats in rice, salt, and fish throughout the area. This fluvial network not only provided a distinctive environment throughout the history of Bengal, but it also linked Bengal to the larger Ganga and Brahmaputra valley networks on the one hand, and the east coast and Bay of Bengal systems on the other. Coastal soils are the outcome of the interaction of rivers and tides which have developed in the deltaic districts of West Bengal. These soils have been formed from deposits brought by tidal currents. The soils contain calcium, magnesium, and half-decomposed organic matter. Primarily these soils are rich in plant nutrients and support a good stand of paddy, as long as the rainwater remains in the field to dilute the salt.10 These soils have been classified into four groups, namely (a) saline soils; (b) non-saline alkali soil; (c) saline-alkali soils; (d) degraded alkali soils. These soils are found mainly in the coastal districts of Medinipur, 24 Parganas and Howrah. The coastal region is primarily enriched with Ganga and many other rivers and tributaries flowing to the sea. This geographical unit of West Bengal is well connected by the riverways with seaborne traffic and has commercially remained a very active zone from the early Common Era. Admittedly, in due course of time, with the advent of strong ruling powers in Bengal in the early medieval period, the coastal region emerged as the most viable settlement area with a rich and distinct cultural phenomenon. This chapter will highlight both excavated and explored material remains discovered in and around the early medieval urban site of Kankandighi in south 24 Parganas, which lies 78 km from Kolkata in the Sunderbans area. The 11th century brick temple known as Jatar Deul stands with its 30 m high shikhara or tower on a hill east of Kankandighi. Located in the river valley of Mani, the region around the village of Kankandighi in the coastal region of south 24 Parganas was once covered with dense forest and was inaccessible during the British period. Raidighi lies on the opposite bank of the Mani river and shows the remains of a tank. The district of south 24 Parganas lies at the tail end of the Ganga flowing as Hughli, which along with several distributaries meets the Bay of Bengal. The district has a unique environment with the rich mangrove forest and numerous islands created by sedimentation and silt deposition on lands once the parts of riverbeds. Another significant feature of this region is the changing courses of some important rivers. The major rivers are the Hughli,

246  Durga Basu Saptamukhi, Thakuran, Bidyadhari, Matla, Gosaba, Raimangal, and the Piyali. One of the tributaries of Adi Ganga is the Mani River, on whose bank the site of Kankandighi is located. Physiographic Features of the District   1. The District falls within the active deltaic region.   2. It reveals hardly any well-defined stage of evolution.   3. It represents a typical deltaic strip with flat terrain.   4. The district has been considered a land of islands, interspersed with many rivers, numerous distributaries and tidal creeks.   5. The Hughli and its distributaries form the major river systems of this region.   6. In this part of the land, rivers are characterised by a broad meandering pattern with fewer bends.   7. The areas near active river courses are raised, whereas those deprived of annual depositions are depressed.   8. The district marks the lowest level deltaic plain with marshes, mudflats, swamps, creeks, tide-dominated regions, representing a very active tidal estuarine delta.   9. This part of the land comprises recent and sub-recent alluvial plains. 10. The southern part of this district is popularly known as the Sundarbans, covered by mangrove forests dominated by Sundari trees (Heritiera Fomes).

The Site: The village of Kankandighi lies at a distance of about 12 kilometres southwest of Mathurapur railway station (belonging to the south suburban section of Sealdah-Lakhmikantapur railway branch). The site of Kankandighi was reported for the first time by the late Kalidas Dutta, who, in his article ‘The Antiquities of Khari’ published in the Annual Report of Varendra Research Society, 1928–29, mentioned the importance of this site. The report enumerates that ‘East of Raidighi across the gang is Lot No. 26, called Kankandighi. The southern portion of the lot is still under forest, but the northern portion that has been cleared reveals many dried-up tanks and brick mounds’.11 Among these mounds, Gajgiribati, Pilkhanabati and Svetrajarbati were very large, as mentioned by Kalidas Dutta. Several stone pillars, door jambs, sculptures and other antiquities were found in this region. Since then, many explorations and village-to-village surveys have been undertaken by the University of Calcutta, State Directorate of Archaeology and Museums, Government of West Bengal, local museum authorities, and many independent scholars and researchers. In 2011–12, a small-scale excavation was also conducted by the Archaeological Survey of India, Kolkata circle, in the temple complex of Jatar Deul – an 11th-century Shiva temple located in the vicinity, though no report of the work is available. From all these sources and based on material assemblages, it may be considered that Kankandighi and its adjoining regions witnessed the emergence of a flourishing settlement area.

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  247 We may mention here very briefly some of the significant archaeological reports. Nirmal Mukhopadhyay once reported the significance of this site and mentioned the archaeological remains collected from this area and its adjoining villages. These are the stone images of Buddha, Vishnu, Nataraja, a miniature stone plaque of Mahiṣāsuramardinī, bronze images of Batuka Bhairav, Sadakshari Lokeswara, and two Ganesha images and Manasa, along with several terracotta images and minor antiquities. Different types of potteries belonging to the early historic and early medieval periods have also been reported. D. K. Chakrabarti has also given an account of the findings of Jain images along with an inscribed Buddha image from the neighbouring areas. Kankandighi was further explored extensively by the Department of Archaeology, the University of Calcutta, from March to April 2013. This exploration recorded three major mounds in the vicinity of Kankandighi, of which the largest was the Pilkhana mound which had shown some significant pieces of evidence of early medieval structural complex. So, in 2014, excavation was undertaken at this site by the Archaeology Department, the University of Calcutta, under the present author’s directorship, to expose the structural remains for understanding its nature and ascertain the cultural sequences and antiquity of this region.12 Endowed with the flows of the Mani River, the region of Kankandighi was once covered with dense forest during the British period when it was gradually cleared for settlement. However, this forested land became a wellconnected and habitable region in due course. The village of Kankandighi is divided into two major parts, viz. Uttar Kankandighi and Dakshin Kankandighi. From an archaeological point of view, Uttar Kankandighi is more important than Dakshin Kankandighi. Mounds in the northern part of Kankandighi are rolling, and these are locally known as Danga. Several mounds have been noticed in the village of Kankandighi within a one-kilometre radius, and these have the potential of providing archaeological material. The elevated portion of Pilkhana in Mondalpara has exposed a huge structural mound of about 40 m × 40 m in measurement. (Figure 11.1a)

Excavation and Stratigraphical Sequences Since the basic aim of this excavation was to expose the structural remains to understand the early medieval habitational pattern, the trenches were laid out in the horizontal method. The excavation was undertaken in nine trenches of 6 × 6 m each (Figure 11.1b). In each quadrant, structures were exposed except B1 and ZA1. The trenches at Pilkhana mound were excavated either partially or fully to different depths. These trenches are A1, B1, C1, D1, XA1, YA1, ZA1, XB1, YB1. Among these trenches, XA1 was taken as an index trench. (Figure 11.2a &11.2b) The digging in trench XA1 has revealed a total number of nine stratified layers.

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Figure 11.1a Pilkhana mound, Kankandighi.

Figure 11.1b  Trench.

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  249

Figure 11.2a Index trench: Description of layers.

Layer No. 1

Surface humus comprising windblown sand.

Layer No. 2 Layer No. 3 Layer No. 4 Layer No. 5 Layer No. 6 Layer No. 7 Layer No. 8 Layer No. 9

Comprising loose earth. Comprising loose earth with occasional brickbats. Comprising brickbats with pebbles. Comprising brick line. Comprising semi-compact soil. Comprising a brick line. Comprising compact silt deposition. Small number of brickbats.

250  Durga Basu

Figure 11.2b Index trench: Description of layers.

Structures In trench A1 structure is represented by a north/south-oriented wall with a rammed floor. In trenches C1 and D1, a square platform with four courses of brick alignment has been unearthed (Figure 11.3). The structure was built over a mud filling. The brick platform is 4.75m × 4.75 m square in

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  251

Figure 11.3 Plan of structure.

measurement with a 4 cm projection at each side. The total height of the structure is 80 cm (Figure 11.4). The trench XA1 was excavated up to a depth of 4.29 m, and it has revealed a massive north/south-oriented wall of 5.01 m in length. The excavation was carried out up to a maximum depth of 4.29 m without reaching the natural soil. The wall has exposed 30 courses of brick alignment in the present digging. It was made of burnt bricks (26 × 18 × 6 cm). The large size of the wall indicates a plinth of a superstructure. The next important structure came up in trench YA1 where several small cells were unearthed. Some of these structures were made with reused bricks. Ceramics Ceramics obtained during the excavation are dominated by red ware followed by black ware, grey ware, black and red ware and buff ware (Figure 11.5a–11.5e​​). Many handis, bowls and dishes in various shapes and sizes

252  Durga Basu

Figure 11.4 Brick Brick-built square platform.

Figure 11.5a  Ceramics.

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  253

Figure 11.5b  Ceramics.

Figure 11.5c  Ceramics.

have been found. These potteries have revealed different impressed designs, like basket impression, cord impression, floral motifs, etc. Potteries found on this site range from very fine quality to coarse variety. A large in situ storage jar has been excavated in trench XA1 (Figure 11.6). Many moulded brick fragments, broken lamps, and the lower part of one fragmented sculpture have been found inside the jar.

254  Durga Basu

Figure 11.5d  Ceramics.

Figure.11.5e  Ceramics.

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  255

Figure 11.6 A huge storage jar.

Iron Objects The site has revealed many iron nails of different shapes and sizes (Figure 11.7) used for construction. One of these iron objects has been scientifically analysed by the Department of Metallurgical and Material Engineering, Jadavpur University, Kolkata. It is reported that iron objects from the Kankandighi excavations fall under the ductile wrought iron group. One of the samples obtained from XB1 demonstrates excellent pure iron having carbon content in ppm level, like modern IF-steels. The microstructure of this iron object reveals the full ferrite phase of soft and malleable nature.

Stone and Terracotta Images From this site, a gaṇa figure in stone has been recovered. This heavy stone figure was probably a part of an architectural portion (Figure 11.8). A unique terracotta image of the Buddhist deity Jambhala was also discovered (Figure 11.9). This broken image of Jambhala has been identified by his attribute and the presence of ratna kumbha or treasure vase below the deity’s feet. Here the deity is seated on the lotus seat in lalitasana pose. Jambhala is the Buddhist counterpart of Kubera Vaisrabana. He has always been connected with wealth and treasure. In eastern India, many Buddhist sites have revealed the images of Jambhala. The presence of the Jambhala image in the Buddhist site indicates that the region was well connected with trade network in the early medieval period. People associated with trade worshipped this deity for their well-being and prosperity. Another fragmented lower part of a stone sculpture showing a female devotee was recovered.

256  Durga Basu

Figure 11.7  Iron implements.

In this small sculptural fragment, the female devotee is seated with folded hands. The upper part is completely broken. Other important antiquities include lamps, shells and cowries, and along with these materials, several decorated bricks have been recovered, showing comb design, diamond design, and step-designed bricks (Figures 11.10a– 11.10c). Similar bricks have been unearthed from many early medieval settlement sites of West Bengal, be it a religious settlement area or a simple village habitation. An interesting fact about the building activities during the 10th/11th century CE in West Bengal was the use of stucco as either mortar or for coating the outer and inner walls or structures, which became an almost a regular feature in construction activity. We have seen its extensive use in image making in other coastal districts too.13 Explored Materials from Kankandighi Village Kankandighi is presently a small village under the jurisdiction of the Raidighi police station in the coastal region. During the 9th/10th to 12th/13th

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  257

Figure 11.8  Gaṇa image.

Figure 11.9 Buddhist deity Jambhala.

258  Durga Basu

Figure 11.10a  Decorated bricks.

Figure 11.10b  Decorated bricks.

centuries, it was one of the flourishing settlement regions of coastal Bengal, as evident from the archaeological materials. A series of archaeological explorations conducted by professional archaeologists in the last few decades and the initiative taken by local villagers and historians made it possible to reveal the material culture of coastal Bengal during this period. As

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  259

Figure 11.10c  Decorated bricks.

we have seen, the search for early medieval settlements in this region began in 1928–29 and continues to date. As a result of such archaeological investigations, a huge material assemblage has been discovered which solves the important issue related to the identification of the material culture of the early medieval period in Bengal to some extent. The significance of these explored materials and chance findings is unquestionable. Numerous potteries with varied shapes, colours and sizes have been found. These were used for different ritualistic, domestic and storing purposes. Among these potteries, buff, black, grey, and redware are noteworthy. Fine, knife-edged redware has been found from excavated and explored sites marked as the early medieval pottery in West Bengal. Besides the pottery assemblages, the region has yielded numerous sculptures of Brahmanical, Jain and Buddhist deities in stone and metal, belonging to the 7th/8th century to 12th/13th centuries CE. In Brahmanical sculptures, the images of Vishnu, Surya, Mahishasuramardini (Figure 11.11), Nataraja, Uma-Maheshvara, Bhairava and Navagrahas are of special significance. The stone sculptures of Jain Tirthankaras, Ambikas,14 along with a small stone image of a seated Buddha (Figure 11.12), have been recovered from the northern slope of the Pilkhana mound at Kankandighi.

Terracotta Figurines Kankandighi has yielded several terracotta figurines highlighting both secular and religious themes.15 Among the terracotta plaques, some objects depict very interesting scenes that have documented the region’s contemporary geophysical aspect. A plaque showing a group of elephants transporting wood from the forest (Figure 11.13) has been reported. The depictions

260  Durga Basu

Figure 11.11  Mahishasuramardini.

Figure 11.12  Seated Buddha.

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  261

Figure 11.13  Elephant image.

bear traces of the fact that the region was once covered with dense forest, and elephants were used for transporting the forest resources. Terracotta art has been considered as a medium for the visual representation of dayto-day life. Kankandighi terracotta plaques depict the commoner’s social life and serve as significant document for early medieval religious and ritualistic activities. The region has yielded a large number of cult figurines showing both Brahmanical and Buddhist deities. These are Durga, Ganesha, Lakshmi, Buddha, Marici (Figure 11.14) and others. These plaques belong to the early medieval period.

Emerging Issues While attempting to analyse the material culture of the early medieval period of West Bengal, some important issues have come up that need to be clarified. In Bengal, before this major archaeological investigation, there was no clear perception about the characteristic features of early medieval pottery. From the Kankandighi excavation and other previous archaeological reports of Moghalmari, Jagjibanpur and Bangarh, an analogical study has been done through which the pertinent issues relating to the identification of early medieval potteries of Bengal have been resolved to some extent. We can mark the knife-edged bright red ware as the distinctive pottery of this period. However, proper typological and technological studies of these potteries are yet to be done. Another salient characteristic of the material culture of this period was the huge construction of structures which happened to be a major driving force for day-to-day life, irrespective of caste and creed. In the construction, stucco was used significantly as a building material in major sites of Bengal during this period. Its use has been noticed throughout India from

262  Durga Basu

Figure 11.14 Image of Marici.

very ancient times. In most cases, the ingredients selected for making the stucco compound were locally available; thus, these materials differ from region to region. For analysing early medieval structural buildings of coastal Bengal, it is necessary to know the type of construction techniques, building materials and house patterns. Since Kankandighi is a religious site, it has its building layout, which cannot be compared to the domestic house patterns of the common people. However, the materials employed for mortar and plastering the structures can be analysed as a frequently used building material of the society.

Stucco Mortar Excavation has exhibited several structures at this site, some of which are found plastered with stucco material. Stucco as a mortar was extensively used to construct buildings in eastern India, including Bengal. In general, stucco is a compound formed by blending de-hydrated lime or gypsum or glue, pulverised marble or stone chips, sand and water.16 Certainly, regional variations of these ingredients have been noticed. From this site, the presence of gypsum in stucco material has not been reported. Bricks with stucco mortar have been found mainly in trench nos. D1 and YD1. Sometimes patches of stucco plastering have been noticed on the walls, a common phenomenon

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  263 in the material life of the early medieval period. The stucco mortar has been scientifically analysed in the laboratory by ‘The Lime Centre, Kolkata’. The report gives us very interesting information regarding rock particles. The scientists have found the angular shape of the rock particles (limestone, mainly dolomite) with a mixture of low-graded marble, charcoal and brick dust in stucco mortar. These rocks were not transported with the flow of the river; instead, they had been brought down from the neighbouring regions.17 Laboratory analysis of stucco indicates that some locally available ingredients and marble granules were used to prepare this material. Now the question arises about the source of this marble. Undeniably, a huge collection of stone images have also been discovered in this region. These stones are not locally available in the alluvial plain of Bengal. Many scholars have tried to provide a superficial explanation without giving a positive indication of the land route through which these stones were brought. According to them, these were brought from the neighbouring hilly region of Jharkhand through waterways. However, we do not have much archaeological data to deal with this question. This is a serious issue that needs to be resolved. Another issue emerges from the scientific analysis of the iron tools. In any structural site, iron tools such as nails, clamps and other objects are required for construction. Kankandighi has also produced iron objects which have been scientifically analysed. The result that has emerged from this laboratory analysis has been given below: 1. Though the application of all the principles of hot processing and controlled cooling of austenite at designated rates were not known to ancient wrought iron makers, the soft deformable iron was produced to serve the purpose. 2. The investigation revealed that wrought iron had been a constant source of supply at Kankandighi through the centuries spanning more than a millennium. Microstructures and chemical compositions almost match modern IF-steels. 3. The microstructure consists of a ferrite matrix of equiaxed-shaped grains with dark elongated slag inclusions embedded in the matrix. The iron ore inside the primitive furnace was reduced into iron in a single step. A powder metallurgical process consolidated it well below the melting point of iron, which is 1536°C. The granulated ore reacted with wood or charcoal fuel to produce porous blooms (sponge) that never reached their molten condition, yet the SiO2 rich slag was separated as a melt. 4. At Kankandighi, a lot of development has been noticed in structural iron or wrought iron. Modern principles of iron making and hot processing were not known in the past. However, in Bengal, iron makers could produce the soft deformable iron manufacturers valued to serve their societal requirements. All wrought irons contained a lot

264  Durga Basu of entrapped slag that is not appreciated nowadays, and those irons became obsolete. 5. The chemical compositions, metallography, XRD, microhardness and other tests indicate that the iron objects of Kankandighi appear to be that of modern IF and EDD steel (interstitial free steel and extra deep drawing steel). The issue now arises whether this manufacturing technique was locally employed or a common technique used by the early medieval ironsmiths elsewhere too. This problem can be resolved through further excavations and material analysis of early medieval sites in West Bengal.

Conclusion In the final part of the chapter, it will be useful to emphasise the broader significance of the excavations at Kankandighi, especially for students and researchers of the history of Bengal. Keeping the thrust of the present volume on material culture and landscape and religion in pre-modern India, the question arises: how does an archaeological study of the material culture provide fresh insights in understanding transformations in landscape and religious history? These two issues are addressed in this section in that order. The early history of coastal Bengal has primarily focused on trade and trading activity.18 However, historians of medieval India refer to the coastal region in the context of the early spread of Islam in Bengal, when in popular memory, Muslim holy men or pir were associated with the clearing of forests and introducing wet-rice cultivation from 1600 CE onwards. There are also references to shifts in the river systems of the delta in the late 16th century.19 This formulation raises important questions relating to the archaeological evidence for the beginnings of agriculture in Bengal, as well as changes in the delta rivers. It may be underlined that the coast, referred to as Vanga or central deltaic region and Samatata (areas to the east of the Meghna), is by no means a homogenous landscape and may be divided into four different sections, viz. the lower course of the Hughli, the Sundarbans coast, the mouths of the Padma and the Brahmaputra and finally the Cattagrama coast. A striking aspect of the delta is the fluctuating and shifting channels and estuaries and the penetration of tides far upstream, enabling close contact between maritime navigation and an inland water transport system.20 Overlays of Rennell’s map of 1779 CE with the modern one show considerable differences between the courses of the present-day rivers and those of Rennell’s time. Geologists and hydrologists have studied changes in the formation of the Bengal delta. However, thorough geo-archaeological work correlating river changes with archaeological and historical sites continues to be under-researched.21

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  265 The beginnings of rice cultivation in Bengal date at least to 1000 BCE based on scientific analysis undertaken at the archaeological sites of Pandurajar Dhibi in Burdwan district and Mahishdal in the district of Birbhum.22 These results have been substantiated by more recent archaeobotanical research from two sites in coastal Bangladesh: Wari-Bateshwar, an archaeological site dating mainly between 400 and 100 BCE, with a later 7th century CE temple complex, and Raghurampura Vikrampura, a Buddhist monastery located within the Vikrampura city site complex and dating to the eleventh and sixteenth centuries CE. The results indicate the predominance of rice cultivation, including the practice of wet-rice farming.23 Though there is archaeological evidence for the village and urban settlements located in the delta region from the beginning of the Common Era as discussed in this chapter and by others,24 it is only from the 4th and 5th centuries that this is reflected in the inscriptional record in the form of copper plate charters. The charters refer to agrarian expansion in the coastal regions and mention rivers, channels etc., as boundary markers of the land.25 They provide details of the network of rivers and canals and include details such as posts to fasten boats (Naudandaka-sima, Faridpur copper plate inscription of Dharmaditya).26 These examples point to the contribution of archaeology in providing early dates for agrarian expansion in coastal Bengal, which is now adequately established. This then suggests that Eaton’s interpretation of the beginnings of wet-rice cultivation in the medieval period in coastal Bengal needs to be reassessed. Analysis of medieval Bengali literature shows that the coastal regions suffered relentless attacks by Portuguese and Arakanese pirates for enslaving villagers, which led to the abandonment of villages from the 16th to the 18th centuries. The 16th-century Bengali poet Mukundaram Chakravarty in his Kobikankan-Chandi, when narrating the voyage of Srimanta Saudagar, tells us how Srimanta’s sailors spent their days and nights in fear of harmads—‘Ratri-din bahi jaye harmader darey’.27 Annu Jalais refers to two kinds of  inhabited islands of the Sunderbans created by the confluence of the Ganga, Brahmaputra and Meghna rivers and their distributaries: those closer to the mainland, which were deforested and cultivated mainly between 1765 and 1900 CE, and those on the fringe of the mangrove forest, reclaimed between 1900 and 1980 CE.28 The modern history of coastal Bengal starts with the entry of the East India Company and land reclamation from the 18th century onward.29 Thus, there have been many population movements in the coastal region due to shifting rivers and changes in their courses and through abandonments resulting from attacks by the Portuguese and Arakanese slave dealers from the sea. Archaeological investigations have drawn attention both to survival strategies, resource utilisation and settlements, and the presence of religious imagery and architecture in the coastal region prior to the coming of Islam, with Kankandighi being no exception.

266  Durga Basu As mentioned in earlier sections, a terracotta image of the Buddhist deity Jambhala was unearthed during excavations. At the same time, explorations in the village have yielded a rich haul of Brahmanical, Buddhist and Jain images made of stone and metal dated from the 7th to the 13th century CE. Large stone images of Jain Tirthankaras were found at Raidighi and an inscribed image of the Buddha.30 One of the surviving architectural features in the vicinity is the brick temple of Jatar Deul, which is a nationally protected monument. The temple was discovered in the forested Sunderbans area in the 19th century when the land was being reclaimed for agriculture. At this time, two 12th-century CE copper plates were found, known as the Dighirpur-Bakultala (Sundarban) and Dakshin Govindapur inscriptions of the last Sena ruler, Lakshmansena. The charters recorded land donations and were issued in the second regnal year of Lakshmansena, though these are now lost.31 In addition, one more inscription was found and is known as the Rakshaskhali Plate of the time of `Dommanapāla, possibly a local ruler. The grant was issued from Dvarahataka, located on the mouth of the Bhagirathi in the vicinity of Gangasagara sangama in favour of ratnatraya or a Buddhist establishment.32 No doubt, Gangasagara was also an ancient place of Puranic pilgrimage. This is evident from an 11th-century Vishnu image, which was removed from Sagar Island by the European traveller William Hedges (1632–1701 CE) in 1683 CE. He returned to England in 1685 CE and sent the image to the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, where it is now housed.33 As reported by Gautam Sengupta, Director-General, Archaeological Survey of India, the excavation by the Archaeological Survey of India unearthed huge structures adjoining the Jatar Deul temple, including a  square mandapa  covering an area of roughly 160 square metres and a  garbha-griha  (sanctum sanctorum) in the style of the Orissan temples. The walls were covered by decorative stucco as protection, and the complex included a brick staircase, a foundation trench and a workshop for mixing lime. In addition, the excavations yielded moulded bricks with geometric and floral patterns, a terracotta Shiva linga, clay lamps, shards of red and grey pottery and other antiquities.34 It is evident from surveys that the brick temple was by no means an isolated structure. Within a two-square-kilometre area around Jatar Deul, many structural mounds and sculptural finds have been reported from the sites of Baishhata, Raydighi, Monirtat, and Nalgara. To quote from the report of an archaeologist, ‘Vestiges of similar towers have been found at Deulbari (PS Kultali), at Banashyamnagar, seven miles north-west of Patharprotima, and at Gobindapur, eight miles north-west of Banashyamnagar, all in the tract adjoining Jatar Deul.’35 How are these finds to be interpreted? The religious background of early Bengal has been studied around two axes, one with reference to Buddhism, often suggesting its close links with trading groups, and the second indicating that several autonomous and fragmented traditions existed, which centred on the worship of local goddesses.

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  267 A semblance of homogeneity and transformation to a distinctive Puranic form of worship is said to have appeared in Bengal only when brahmanas established a social order by the early medieval period.36 The data actually shows the coexistence of Buddhist and Jain remains and the extensive presence of Brahmanical temples and images. We also come across ‘rare local cults which are to be found only within this region and which are intricately tied up with the local lifestyle within the given environment.’ An example of this is the worship of the Ganga river, which shows ‘how a Sastric deity was transformed into the regional paradigm of Saktism’ and the evolution of the river into an independent Matrika icon.37 This prominence given to Ganga Devi is in consonance with the development of feminine goddesses, such as Janguli, the Buddhist goddess with close similarities with the Puranic goddess – Manasa. Significantly, Ganga Devi continues to be worshipped by the Muslim inhabitants of Bangladesh, though her cultural identity is transformed by the addition of Khwaja Khizir as her consort. Khwaja Khizir is often represented as a white-bearded man standing astride a fish and was first introduced into Bengal in the 13th century. It is suggested that ‘the twinning of the two provides insight into how Islam found footing alongside Hinduism in Bengal.’38 Unfortunately, images of these local deities are yet to be substantially documented. Nevertheless, important additions to the archaeology of coastal Bengal have been made through discoveries at many sites. Kankandighi, along with evidence from many other sites helps in establishing a long sequence of settlements in the area and provide a context for the brick temples such as the Jatar Deul. This micro-study of the archaeology of coastal sites is critical for a holistic understanding of the landscape and religious history of the subcontinent.

Notes 1 G. Sengupta, ‘Archaeology of Coastal Bengal’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray and Jean-Francois Salles (eds), Tradition and Archaeology: Early Maritime Contacts in the Indian Ocean, New Delhi: Manohar Publishers, 2012, pp. 115–27. 2 K.G. Goswami, Excavation at Bangarh, Calcutta: Ashutosh Museum, 1948. 3 S.R. Das, Rajbadidanga 1962, Calcutta: The Asiatic Society, 1968. 4 Amal Ray, Jagjivanpur 1996–2005, Excavation Report, Kolkata: Director of Archaeology & Museums, Government of West Bengal, 2012. 5 Asok Kumar Datta, Excavations at Moghalmari: first interim report 2003–04 to 2007–08. Kolkata: Asiatic Society, 2008. 6 D.K. Chakrabarti, Archaeological Geography of Ganga Plain, Lower and Middle Ganga Plain, New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2001, pp. 144 – 45. 7 R.K. Chattopadhyay, ‘In Search of the Settlement History of Coastal West Bengal: An Archaeological Reconnaissance 1’, Puravritta, Vol. 1, Kolkata: Directorate of Archaeology & Museums, Department of Information and Cultural Affairs, Government of West Bengal, 2016: 27–39. 8 Sheena Panja, ‘Understanding Early Medieval Sites of North Bengal’, in Gautam Sengupta and Sheena Panja (eds), Archaeology of Eastern India New Perspectives, Kolkata: Centre for Archaeological Studies & Training, 2002, pp. 227–78.

268  Durga Basu 9 James Rennell, Memoir of a Map of Hindoostan; or, The Mogul Empire: with an introduction, illustrative of the geography and present division of that country: and a map of the countries situated between the heads of the Indian rivers, and the Caspian Sea, Printed by W. Bulmer and Co. for the author, London, 1792, p. 35. 10 P. Chakrabarti and S. Chakrabarti, ‘Soils of West Bengal’, State Agricultural Research Institute 40, Calcutta, 1957: 93–101. 11 Kalidas Dutt, ‘The Antiquities of Khari’, Varendra Research Society, Appendices to Annual Report for 1928–29, Rajshahi, 1929: 53. 12 D. Basu, ‘A Brief Report on Excavation at Kankandighi’, Puravritta, Journal of the Directorate of Archaeology & Museum, Vol. 2, Kolkata: Department of Information & Cultural Affairs, Govt. of West Bengal, 2017: 17–29. 13 D. Basu, ‘Stucco Art’, in Asok Datta (ed.), Excavation at Moghalmari, Kolkata: The Asiatic Society, 2008, pp. 24–30. 14 S. Ray Bandopadhyay, ‘Sculptures from the Archaeological Site of Kankandighi in West Bengal’, Kala, Vol. XIX, The Journal of Indian Art History Congress, Guwahati, Assam: Indian Art History Congress, 2013–2014: 82–86. 15 Kallol Dasgupta, ‘Art & Archaeology of Kankandighi’, International Journal of History, Archaeology, Indology & Numismatics, Kanpur: New Archaeological & Geological Society, 2015: 74–86. 16 S.R. Das, ‘Stucco Art-Creations in Eastern India’, reprinted in M.A. Konishi and A. Uesugi (eds), Occasional papers, Rikkyo University Centre for Asian Studies, no. 9, 2000. 17 G. Sengupta, ‘Archaeology of Coastal Bengal’, in Himanshu Prabha Ray and Jean-Francois Salles (eds), Tradition and Archaeology: Early Maritime Contacts in the Indian Ocean, New Delhi: Manohar Publishers, 2012, pp. 115–27. 18 See Shatarupa Bhattacharya, ‘Littoral Space: Making a Case for the Southern Deltaic Region of Bengal’, in Rila Mukherjee (ed.), Living with Water: Peoples, Lives, and Livelihoods in Asia and Beyond, New Delhi: Primus Books, 2016, p. 56. ‘For, the coastal regions of India—the little maritime states like Pattikera in ancient Bengal, and Sripur and Bakla in medieval Bengal—were more dependent on trade for generating revenue than on agriculture. However, the nature of the trade was an unstable one because of the environmental conditions, where rivers changed course rapidly and new ports and villages disappeared overnight.’ 19 Richard Eaton, The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, 1204–1760, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994, pp. 207–11. 20 Jean Deloche, Transport and Communications in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994, pp. 116–26. 21 Jean-François Salles, ‘Environmental Changes in North Bengal: An Opportunity for the Mauryas’, in Patrick Olivelle, Janice Leoshko, and Himanshu Prabha Ray (eds), Reimagining Aśoka: Memory and History, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2010, pp. 544–91. 22 Annapurna Chattopadhyay, ‘An Insight into Agronomic Products of Ancient Bengal’, Proceedings of the Indian History Congress, Vol. 42, 1981: 100–7. Purushottam Singh, ‘The Neolithic Cultures of Northern and Eastern India’, in S. Settar and R. Korisettar (eds), Indian Archaeology in Retrospect, Vol. I, New Delhi: Manohar Publishers, 2002, pp. 140–6. 23 M. Rahman, C.C. Castillo, C. Murphy, et al. ‘Agricultural Systems in Bangladesh: The First Archaeobotanical Results from Early Historic Wari-Bateshwar and Early Medieval Vikrampura’, Archaeological and Anthropological Sciences, Vol. 12, 2020: 37, https://doi​.org​/10​.1007​/s12520​-019​-00991​-5.

Early Medieval Material Culture of Coastal Bengal  269 24 Himanshu Prabha Ray, ‘The Archaeology of Bengal: Trading Networks, Cultural Identity’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, Vol. 49, No. 1, 2006: 68–95. 25 Ryosuke Furui, Land and Society in Early South Asia, Eastern India 400–1250 AD, London and New York: Routledge, 2020, pp. 85, 102–5. 26 R. Mukherji and S.K. Maity, Corpus of Bengal Inscriptions, Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyaya, 1967, p. 82. 27 Sumanta Banerji, ‘Riverine Waterscape and Cultural Landscape in Bengali Folklore and Literature’, in Rila Mukherjee (ed.), Living with Water: Peoples, Lives, and Livelihoods in Asia and Beyond, New Delhi: Primus Books, 2016, p. 83. 28 Annu Jalais, Forest of Tigers: People, Politics and Environment in the Sunderbans, London, New York, and New Delhi: Routledge, 2010, p. 3. 29 Emily Eden, Up the Country, London: R. Bentley, 1866, p. 3. 30 Chakrabarti, Archaeological Geography of Ganga Plain, p. 144. 31 Bishnupriya Basak, ‘Interpreting Historical Archaeology of Coastal Bengal: Possibilities and Limitations’, in D.N. Jha (ed.), The Complex Heritage of Early India, Essays in Memory of R. S. Sharma, New Delhi: Manohar, 2014, pp. 171, 153–78. 32 D.C. Sircar, ‘Rakshaskhali (Sunderban) Plate. Saka 1118’, Epigraphia Indica 1953 – 54, Vol. 30: 42–6. 33 Richard Davis, Lives of Indian Images, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997, p. 143. 34 Sebanti Sarkar, ‘ASI Unearths Untold Temple History - Odiya-Style Architecture Dug Up at Centuries-Old Sunderbans Temple’, https://www​.telegraphindia​.com​ /west​-bengal​/asi​-unearths​-untold​-temple​-history​-odiya​-style​-architecture​-dug​ -up​-at​-centuries​-old​-sunderbans​-temple​/cid​/1280881, accessed on 21 September 2021. 35 S. Saha, ‘In Search of a Legitimate Identity: The Enigma of Ichai Ghosher Deul’, Journal of Bengal Art, Vol. 19, 2014: 201–16. 36 Kunal Chakrabarti, Religious Process: The Puranas and the Making of a Regional Tradition, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2001, pp. 2, 306. 37 Nupur Dasgupta, ‘Environs and Cults: Tracing the Roots of the SocialPsychological Paradigm of Folk Existence in Deltaic Lower Bengal’, Journal of Anthropology and Archaeology, Vol. 2, No. 1, June 2014: 147–61. 38 Naveeda Khan, ‘Living Paradox in Riverine Bangladesh: Whiteheadian Perspectives on Ganga Devi and Khwaja Khijir’, Anthropologica, Vol. 58, No. 2, 2016: 179–92.

Index

Abhaya Mudra 110 Abhayakaragupta 106, 110 abhisandhi 104 Abhisandhya 104 Abul Fazl 65 Acquaviva, Claudio 148 Ādityabhaṭṭāraka-deva 25 Advaita Vedanta 223 agallochon tree 63 agar 59, 63 Agra 57 agricultural land 21 Ahsan-ul-Aqwal 135 Ain-i-Akbari 64 Ajmer: attacking Mughal Centre 83–85; Mughal Political political Culture culture 80–83; Mu‘in al-Din Chishti in 7; New new Patrons patrons 85–89; religious patronage and ritual 78 Ajmer shrine 7 Akbar 59, 68, 79, 155 Alamgiri maund 58 Alexandria 31 Alivardi Khan 174, 179 Aloewood 7, 59, 63–66 amalaka 21 ambar 59 Ambarikha 38 Ambarish Tila 38 Amber Maharaja Jai Singh II 90 Amir Hasan 141 Amir Hasan Sijzi 126 Amir Khusrau 141 Amir Khwurd 130–32, 137 Amitābha 110 amlas 181 Amoghasiddhi 110 Amreli 20 Anis-ul-Arwah 137

aphorisms 114 Apple, James 112 Arabs 179 Arakan kingdom 151 arangs 174 araqs 59 Aravalli 38 archaeology/archaeological 1, 4; Archaeological Research Society 17; Archaeological Survey of India 22; at Dwarka 22; evidence 31, 46; findings 46; investigations 265; sites 26 architectural: elements 4; fragments 21; pieces and shrines 46; remains 42 argaja 66 Arjunpura mohalla 41 Armenians 179 Arthaśāstra 24, 25 Asian merchants 179, 186, 187 Asrar-ul-Auliya 131, 137 Assam 62, 111; campaign 64 Assam-Koch-Kamrup region 63 Atharva Veda 102 Atharvavedins 24 Augustinian Father Provincial 157 Aurangzeb 61, 65, 68, 155 Avalokiteśvara 109 avatar/avatara: Christian knowledgegathering enterprise 160–62; dwarf avatar 160; fish avatar of Vishnu 159; Kalki 160; of Krishna 160; Narasimha 159; Rama 160; teva avataram 161; tortoise avatar 159; Yug Avatar 162–64 Axum 30 Azimganj 174 Baburnama 56 Babylon 60

272 Index Bactria 38 Bactrian 29 Badami 28 bagicha 57 Bahadur Shah 84 Baharistan-i-Ghayabi 62, 66 Bakarganj 204 baked bricks 39 Bala Rao Ghat 92 Balhika 38 bali 25 Balighata 176 Bandyopadhyay, Rakhaldas 111 Bangarh 261 Bangladesh 125, 164–65 baptism 152 Barind Plain 244 Barsana 38 Bashuli 223 bauls 118 Bendall, Cecil 115 Bengal 3, 62; Bengali Brahman 9; Bengali Roman Catholic 9; Husain Shahi rule in 162; Jesuit mission in 154; silk and textile 187; silk exports from 186 Berabhasan 184 Berenike 30 Bernier, Francois 69 Bhabanisvar mandir 184 Bhadreṇiyaka Plates of Shiladitya I 25 Bhadreswar 5, 32 Bhagwangola 174 Bhamodra Mohota 25 Bharukaccha 29 Bhatta, Gopala 227 Bhattacharya, Vidhusekhara 104 Bhulua 10 Bhuteshwar 38, 40, 42, 46 Bidyadhari 246 Bijapur 125 Bishahari 223 Biswases 179 Black-Slipped Ware (BSW) 39 Bodh Gaya 112 bodhicittva 111 Bodhisattva 40, 45 Bonbibi–Johuranama 213 Brahma 164 Brahmanical: Bari Basti 91; Brahmanism 46; Brahmins 90, 92, 125, 226; charitable donations to Pushkar Brahmins 91; of Choti Basti

91; cultic worship 44; cultures 161; faith 45; and fakirs 215; language 26; Parishar Brahmins 91 Brahman-Roman Catholic Sambad 9, 149, 162–64 Brahmi script 29 Brahmins 90, 92, 125, 226; Bari Basti 91; charitable donations to Pushkar Brahmins 91; of Choti Basti 91; and fakirs 215; Parishar Brahmins 91 Buchanan-Hamilton, Francis 242 Buddha 21, 40, statue 41 Buddhadeva 41 Buddhakaragupta 105 Buddhism/Buddhist 3, 8, 32, 42, 49; Buddhist sacred sites 107–12; caves 21; inscriptions 25; monks 26; Sādhanamālā and Caryāpada 101–5, 112–18; Sādhanas and Caryās 105–7; viharas 18, 119 Burgess, James 17 burial rituals 61 Cakrasaṃvara Tantra 103, 106 Candra/Soma 109 Caracalla 30 caru 25 caryā 104 Catholic Christianity 8, 9; in early modern India 149 Catholic priests 150 chaharbagh 56 Chaitanya 162 chaityas 47 Chakraborty, Chintaharan 102 Chakravarty, Mukundaram 265 Chalukya King Mangalesha 28 Chamaripa 105 champa (Michelia champaca) 57 Char Bangla Shiv temples 184 Charan Pahari 38 Charnock, Job 185 Charpatra Mura 109 chars 210 Chattagram 151 chauki 207, 208 Chhata 38, 39 Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya 24 Chiragh-i-Dehli 127 Chishti silsila 135 Chittagong 10, 202 Christians/Christianity 3, 8, 31, 140, 185; communities 31, 157; depend

Index  273 on Brahmins 155; in Dhaka 154; doctrine 152; Roman Catholic 159 Chua 64 chye noon 215, 217 Cis-Yamuna tract 37 coastal shrine 18, 28 conversion and translation: avatar and yug avatar 162–64; Bengali Catechism 157–60; Catholic Missionaries and Orders 150–52; Dom Antonio do Rosario, life and times of 152–57; notion of avatar 160–62; Portuguese in Bengal 149–50 copper plate 20, 26, 27 Cosmas Indicopleustes 31 Cossimbazar island 174 culture/cultural: biography 53; history 1; hybridity 4; identities 1; landscape 3, 6, 29; materials 6; practices 70 dadan 181 Dakṣiṇāpatha 38 dalals 181 Dalil-ul-Arifin 137, 138 Dara Shukoh 65, 66, 79, 139 dargah 86 dargah khadims 88 dargah officials 84 Dargah Quli Khan 67 Das, Raghunath 233, 244 Dasavatari gali 41 Daudpur 174 de Nobili, Robert 161 Deccan Sultanates 79 decorated bricks 259 Delhi Sultanate 7, 79, 128, 137, 142 desi khalaries 215 devagṛha/devatāgṛha 24 devakula 24, 26 devāyatana/devatāyatana 24 Dhaka 153 Dhank, in Rajkot district 21 Dhaṇṇakaḍā (Dhānyakaṭaka) 27 dharma cetiya 109 Dharma chakra 41 Dharmaguptaka 45 Dharmapāla 111 Dharmaśāstra 102 dharmshala 92 Dhombipa 105 Dhulkot fortification 39 Dhunsarpara quarters 41 Dickie, James 56, 68

Dilras Banu Begum 66 Dilwara 88 Dingkapa 105 Divine Light 59, 65 Diwani Adalat 210 Diwan-i-Am 58 Do ha mdzodbrgyad 106 do Rosario, Dom Antonio 9, 148–65 Dombi 111 Drangika 20 Durbar Library of Nepal 104 Durvasa rishi ashram 23 Dutta, Uddharan 233, 235 Dwarka: excavations at 22; settlements 23 Dwarkadheesh temple 22 Earth goddess 159 Egypt 30, 60 Eid-i-Gulabi 65, 66 Ekajāta 117 Elephant image 260 English East India Company 10, 89, 174, 175, 182, 183, 185–87, 200, 203 epigrams 114 Europe 124; European merchants 187; European settlements 185 excavations: ceramics 251–55; at Dwarka 22; index trench 249, 250; iron objects 255; Pilkhana mound, Kankandighi 248; stucco mortar 262–64; trench 248 fakirs 215 farawani 58 Farid-ud-Din Ganj-i-Shakar 128, 129, 132 Fatehpur Sikri 58 Fath-Jang, Khan 64 faujdari 181 Fawa’id-ul-Fu’ad 127 Fawa’id-us-Salikin 128, 137 Fenicio, Jacobo 162 Fidai Khan Koka 58 Futuh-us-Salatin 140 Gaḍuda vehicle 110 Gaṇa 257 Gandhasara 55 Ganges 3 Ganges-Brahmaputra delta 205 ganika 48 ganjs 174, 192 Gantholi 38

274 Index Gaudiya Vaishnavism 11, 162, 163; and changes in Bengali Platter 225– 30; inter-regional dietary connections 230–33; prasada, seba and aesthetics 235–38; Prasada and charity 233–35 Gentooism 160 Gesu-Daraz 137, 141 Ghanahedo 88 ghats 203 Ghelo river 20 Ghumli 17 god Vishnu 21 goddess Koṭṭammahikādevī 25 goddess Pāṇḍ[u]rājyā 25 Goddess Sikotar Mata 30 goindahs 205 golas 174 Goncalves, Diogo 162 Gop 17 Goraj, in Vadodara district 21 Gorakhpuris 179 Gorpiaios 44 Gosaba 246 Gosana Khera 42 Goswami, Jiva 227 Govardhan hills 38 Govinddevji 79 Govindnagar areas 46 Graaf, Niccolai 176 Grant, James 202 Greece 60 Greek-Byzantine traders 31 Guenthar, H.V. 115 Guhyasamājamūlatantra 113 Guhyasamājatantra 113 Guhyasamājauttaratantra 113 Guhyasamājavyākhyātantra 113 Gujarat 3, 17; coast of Kachchh in 32; coastal shrines in 5; maritime landscape in 5 Gujarat State Department of Archaeology 17 Gujaratis 179 Gukharauli 42 Gulab Khana 58 Gulab/Gulabi Bagh 58 Gulbarga 125 Gulf of Kachchh 17, 27, 29 Gulf of Khambhat 17, 18, 29 gulistan 57 Gunaighar Plate 107 Gurppiya 44 hagiographies 111 hakims 181

Hanuman temple 87 Harappan sites 17 Harsiddhi Mata 30 Hastakavapra 29 Hathab 20, 21, 23, 29 Hatia 212 hats 174 Hedges, William 189 Hevajratantra 103 hina-bandi ceremony 65 Hindus 102, 185; Hindu Brahmins 140; Hindu–Muslim politics 79; North Indian Hindu localities 192; Satya pir/Satyanarayan worship by 184 Hindūstān/Hindustan 61 Hiran River 17 Hiranyakashipu 159 Hokaran 88 Holi 66 Holy Trinity 164 hoppah salt 215 Hugli/Hughli 175, 245 Husain Shahi rule in Bengal 162 Hussain Ali Khan 84 Huviṣka 45 Ibn Sina 70 Ibrahim Beg 61 iconography 53 Iftikhar Khan 90 Indian Ocean 32 Indo-Islamicate traditions 65 Indra 109 Iranians 179 Islamophobia 142 itr-i-Jahangiri 58–62, 64 itr 7, 9 I-Tsing 108 Jagaddala Vihara 105 jagati (plinth) 23 jagir 84 Jagjjibanpur 261 Jahangir 56, 57, 81, 90 Jahangirnagar 64 Jahangirnama 57 Jai Singh II 84, 85 Jaina antiquities 41 Jaina nuns/devotees 48 Jaina Tirthaṅkara 40 Jainism 21, 42, 49 Jains 185 Jalal-ud-Din Tabrezi 128 jama‘at-khanas 140 jamal 125

Index  275 Jamali Kamboh 134 Jamalpur 40, 46 Jamal-ud-Din 135, 136 Jambhala 255, 259 Jamnagar district 17 Jashn-i-Gulabi 66 Jayadrathayamala Tantra 103 Jayarampur 107 Jayaswami 26 Jesuit mission in 154 Jesuit missionaries 151, 152 Jews 140 Junagadh 20 Junaid 127 Kabirpanths 234 Kachchh 32; coast 5 Kadvar 23 kafirs 135 Kālacakra Tantra 115 Kālacakrayāna 102 kalima 133 Kalkapur, Dutch settlement at 183 Kalyanpura taluka, Jamnagar district 21 Kaman 38 Kaniṣka 45 Kankali Tila 38, 39, 42, 45, 46 Kankandighi 12; emerging issues 261–62; excavation and stratigraphical sequences 247–50; iron objects 255; physiography 244–47; stone and terracotta images 255–59; structures 250–55; stucco mortar 262–64; terracotta figurines 259–61 Kankandighi Village 256–59 Kannauj 26 karkhanas 71 Kashmir/Kashmiris 58, 179 Kasimbazar and Murshidabad 10; in contemporary accounts 177–78; decline of 187–90; English East India Company 182–83; English East India Company and the Silk Trade 185–87; factories and living areas, Europeans 183–84; historical setting 173–76; living space 179–80; Nawabs 176–77; religious affiliations 173; residential cum business quarters 182; residential patterns 173; river and ecology 189–90 Kathika 40 Katmas 179 Katra 38, 39, 42, 46 Kavīndravacanasamuccaya 105

Kaviraja, Krishnadas 229, 230 kavirajas 181 Kerala 125 khaddar 37, 38 khadims 82, 86; rights 88 khalaries 203, 207 Kharosthi 29 Khasarpana 117 kh’ilat 64 Khuldabad 125 Khulna 204 khushbukhana 58, 59 Khwaja Fuzail Ayaz 130 Khwaja Minas 183 Kila Nizamat 180 Kindarkheda 23 King Bali 160 King Dhruvasena 24 King Huviṣka 40 King of Balkh 61, 62 King Visnusena 27 Kirtivarma 28 Kishanpura 88 kishti 66 Koch Bihar 62 Kodinar (Mul Dwarka) 23 Kot Tirth Ghat 92 Kotila Mura 109 Krishnanhikakaumudi 232 Ksatrapa Sodasa 40 Ksatrapa-Kushan period 40, 45 Kubera 109 Kumaragupta 21 Kumoripa 105 Kurkihar 112 Kushan 39, 40, 42, 45, 46, 49 Kutila Mura 109 labour shortages 10 Lahore 57 Lajja-Gauri 17, 21 Lalitgiri 109 land grants 108 landscape: Bengal’s salt districts, 203–205; Buddhist sacred sites, 107–112, 118, 119; cultural 2; see also Mathura; history 1–4; and homogenous 264, 267; material culture 1; natural 2; rural 2; spiritual 2–3; west coast and the maritime cultural landscape, 29–31; see also scent-landscape lapis-lazuli 62 latafat 58 Lata’if-i-Ashrafi 135

276 Index Lisbon 165 Little Rann 29 lohikakarika 48 Lokeśvara 117 Lord Jagannath 229 madad-i maʿash 79, 81 Magalháis, Anthony 156 Mahabharata 17 Mahadji Shinde 88 Mahājanapada 49 mahajans 179 Maharaja Jai Singh II of Amber 83 Maharaja of Baroda 89 Mahāsaṅghika/Mahāsaṅghikas 41, 45 Mahayana Buddhism 102 Mahisasuramardini 44, 260 Māhismatī 38 Mainamati monument 109 Maitraka 5, 19, 23, 24; dynasty of Valabhi 5, 18; epigraphs 20; period 21, 26; rule 18; sculpture 21; temples 18; of Vallabhi 18 Majlishpur 176 makaras 42 Makran 32 malangis 203, 204, 207, 213 Malda district 243 malfuzat 8, 126, 131, 139 Mallasarul Copper Plate Inscription 107 Man Singh I 91 Manasa 223 Maṇḍalas 109 Mandali-dranga 20 mandapa 21 Mandasor 26 Mangalakavyas 233 manjhis 208 mansab 84 Manucci, Nicollao 58 Marathas 7; in Pushkar 92 mardan-i-ghaib 132 Marici 261 maritime 28; cultural landscape 29–33; economy 5; orientation 18; trade 5 Marwar 87, 88 Mat 5 material fetishism 54 material identities 53 Mathura 5, 26; association of Buddhism 40–41; Brahmanical images in 44; early historic settlement

complex 38–40; Macedonian calendar in 44; miscellaneous evidence 44–45; museum 40, 42; people, patronage, pilgrimage 45–49; physical setting and strategic location of 37–38; presence of Jainism 41–42; Yakṣa and Nāga cults 42–44 Matla 246 Maudud Chishti 132 maunds 205 Mauryan period 46 Mediterranean 30 mercantile community 5 Mirza Baqi Beg 62 Mirza Chaman Beg 87 Mirza Nathan 62, 63 Mirzapur 179 Mission of St Nicholas of Tolentino 157 Miyani 23 Moghalmari 261 Moghs 152 Mongols 140 Mughal 6, 7, 79, 85; campaigns 62; empire 58, 59; gardens 56, 57; merchants 179 Muhammad Ali Khan Wallajah 89 Muhammad Azam Shah 58 Muhammad bin Tughlaq 140 Muʿin al-Din Chishti 78 Mu‘in-ud-Din Sijzi 128 mukha-liṅgas 44 Mukhlis Khan 64 Mulberry grove 58 Mumtaz Mahal 68, 69 Mundra 32 Mundy, Peter 63, 82 Murshid Quli Khan 174, 179, 180, 184 Murshidabad 10, 174 Muslim/Islam 3, 8, 136, 185; Islamic mysticism 118; Islamic Prophets 163; maritime trade with India in 31; Muslim Asian merchants 185; religious institutions 89; Satya pir/ Satyanarayan worship by 184; shaikhs and pirs 156; Shias and Sunnis 184 mutawalli 88 Myaserai river 205 Nabataea 30 Nabivamsa (the Line of Prophets) 163 Nadia 228

Index  277 Nāga 42–44, 49 Nagarasarvasva 55 Nalanda 108, 112 Nandgaon 38 nataka 48 Nathism 102 Nauroz 65, 66 Navyanyaya 223 nawabs 93, 176–80, 184; of Murshidabad 192; Nawab of Arcot 89 Nilkuthi danga 108 Ni’matnama 55 nirandhara varieties 21 Nityananda Prabhu 234 nivartanas 27 Nizamat 179–80 Nizam-ud-Din Auliya 130, 131, 136, 141 Noakhali 204 Nobili, Roberto 157 Noon-Dwip 202 North America 124 Northern Black Polished Ware (NBPW) 39 Northern India 3, 86; foods 231; Hindu localities 192; Jain trading community 179 Nur Jahan 58 Ochre Coloured Pottery (OCP) 38 Odantapura 108 Pachtar 17 Padma 189 Padri 20 Padshah 164 Paharpur 109 Painted Grey Ware (PGW) settlements 38 pakka prasada 229 Pala Sena period 244 Palikhera 42 Palmyra 30 Palmyrene Aramaic 29 pan 61, 64, 66 Panchmahals 26 Pandita, Ramai 163 paramamāheśvara 24 Parameswar 160, 164 Parkham 46 Pārśvanātha 42 Pasnavada 23

Patagaṇḍiguḍem 27 patellas 175 Pathans 179 perfumed gardens 7 perfumes/fragrances 7; aloewood 63–65; ceremonial consumption 65–67; death and consumption of 67–71; emotions and memories 7; fragrant landscape 59–60; Itr-i Jahangiri 62–63; landscape and acculturation 55–59; material culture and 53–54; musk 61–62; religiouscultural artefact 7, 65–67; and textual representation 54–55 Persia 60 Persian Gulf 29 Persianate court culture 65 petha 20 Picumātā 103 Pimenta, Friar Nicholas 148 Pimenta missionaries 148 Piyali 246 Plassey 174 Praci 17 Prajñāpāramitā 103 prasada 11 Pratīhara Mammaka 25 Pratiṣṭhāna 38 pratitya-samutpadadhāraṇi 109 Priests: Brahmin priests 90; Catholic priests 150; and maulavis 181 Prince Muhammad Aurangzeb Bahadur 66 Prince Parviz 66 Prithviraj 139 Prophet Muhammad 9, 68, 70 Provincial of Goa 153 pujari 30 Pulakeshin I 28 Puṇḍravardhana 107 Punjabis 179 Puranas 102 Puri, Madhavendra 224 Pushkar 7; Brahmin communities 91; lake 78; Marathas 92; Mughal involvement with 90; political rivalries in local communities 90; religious patronage and ritual 78; temples and ghats 78 qanungoes 181 Qazi Abdul Muqtadir 135 Qulij Khan 63

278 Index Quran (ayat-ul-kursi) 131 Qutb-ud-Din Bakhtiyar Kaki 128 Rabiul-Awwal 60 Rāḍha 107 Raghunath, Raja 62 Rahat-ul-Qulub 129, 131 Rai Pithaura, Rai 138 Raimangal 10, 246 rājadharma 28 Rajasthan/Rajasthanis 81, 179 Rajputs 7, 81, 89 Raksasidanga 108 Raktamrittika Mahâvihara 108 Rani Bhavani 184 Rarh Bengal 226 Rasulpur 205 Ratnagiri 109 Ratnakirti 105 Ratnasambhava 110, 111 raw silk 175 Red Sea 29, 30 religion/religious: affiliations 44; architectures 47; artefact 59; belief 7, 12, 55, 70; bodies 47; centre 49; ceremonies 30; culture 117; epiphany 8; establishments 48; functions 8; institutions 79; meanings 6; mendicants 28; merit 28; monuments 3; motif 59; philosophies 119; practices 46, 47; religious-cultural artefact 65, 71; symbols 7, 119; systems 114; trends 48 Ṛgvedins 24 ring wells 39 ritual symbols 8 River Brahmaputra 64 Rohi (Rohakata) 38 Roman Catholic 159 Roman Empire 31 Rome 60 Rosario, Manoel do 152 Rose Garden 58 rowanna 208 Roymongal–kavya 213, 214 Ṛṣabhanātha 42 Rudradaman 20 Rustam Bagh 58 ryots 179 sacred spaces 3 sādhakas 108 Sādhanamālātantra 103

sadhanas 8 Sādhanasamuccaya 103 Sādhanatantra 103 Sadhu Antanir gan 165 Sahajayāna 102 Sahajiyas 118 Saidabad, French colony at 183 sailalaka 48 Śaiva Tantra 103 Saiyid Ashraf Jahangir Simnani 128 sajjada-nishin 88 Sakala (Sialkot) 38 Sakhitara 38, 39 Śālavana Monastery 109 Salima Sultan Begum 58 salt smuggling, in lower deltaic Bengal 10; contraband condiment 215–18; illicit manufacture 203–5; indigenous commercial activities 200; legality vs. legitimacy 210–11; location map of salt districts 201; ritual propitiation, role of 213–15; riverine network, monitoring 205–9; zone of anomaly 212–13 Samadhi Mudra 110 Samataṭa 107 Samavedins 24 samita 44, 45 Sammitîya 45 Sanchi 38 sandal-tree 57 sandhara 21 Sāndhya Bhāṣā 104 Sanjeli 26 Sanketban 38, 39 Santucci, Marcos Antonio 154 Saptamukhi 246 sarapa 61 Sarvāstivādin 45 Sasanian Empire 32 Sati 69 Saurashtra 17 scented oil 69 scent-landscape: death and consumption of perfumes, 67–71; gardens to factories, courts and households, 59–60; material culture and perfumes, 53–54; Mughal gardens, 55–59; politics and religion, 61–65; religious-cultural artefact and ceremonial consumption, 65–67; 16th–18th Century India and textual representation, 54–55

Index  279 scents 7 Schmiedchen 26 Seated Buddha 260 Sen, Bijoyram 189 Sena 42 Septimus Severus 30 Shah Alam II 87 Shah Jahan 66, 69 Shahidullah 115 Shahnawaz Khan 66 Shaikh Jamali 130, 133 Shaikh Muhammad 134 Shaista Khan 153 Shankarite monism 224 Sheetalpur 176 Shetrunji 20 Shias and Sunnis 184 Shiv Ghat 92 Shiva 164 Shiva linga 23 Shyamananda Prabhu 232 siddha Darikpa 106 Siddhayogeśvarīmātā 103 Sidhis 179 Sikotar Mata 30 Sikri 38 silk goods 175 Sindh 32 Singh, Abhai 85 Singh, Ajit 84 Singh, Madho 86 Singh, Nihal 192 Singh, Vijai 87 Sir Bani Yas 31 Sitaramji 91 Siyar-ul-Arifin 139 Skandagupta 21 Somalia 29 Somapura 108 Somnath 23 Sonkh 5, 38, 39 South Arabia 30 South Asia 6; cultural life of 1; material culture in 54; Tantra in 8 Souza, Dominic 148 spatial imaginations 8 sresthin/sarthavaha 47 Sri Chaitanya 11, 233 Sri Chaitanyabhagavata 226, 228 Sri Krishna 11, 232, 237 Sri Radhika/Radha 232 Śrīvatsa 42 St Anthony 152, 165

sthali 20 stupas 47 subah 181 subahdar 64, 93 subahdari 84 sub-Saharan Africa 30 Sufism/Sufis 3, 8, 118; Chishti shaikhs proclivity conversion 136–37; forced conversion 134–36; group conversion 131–34; Indian Sufism 124; individual conversion 128–31; local customs and practices 124; Shaikh’s role in diffusion of Islam 137–40; Sufi shaikh 8, 127, 137 Suhrawardis 135 Sujaudaullah 180 Sultanate 32 Sun god at Kukkūṭagrama 25 Sundarbans 200 Sunga-Kushan period 39 Sunya Purana 163 Surasena Janapada 5 Surmas 179 Sutrapada 23 suvarnakara 47 Swami Vivekananda 227 Syed Jamil Ahmed 165 tabarruk 86 Talaja, in Bhavnagar district 21 talukdars 181 Tamil Nadu 125 Tantipa 105 Tantra 8 Tantrasadbhāvatantra 103 Tantric Buddhism: Buddhist sacred sites 107–12; sādhanamālā and caryāpada 101–5, 112–18; sādhanas and caryās 105–7 Taranath, Lama 111 Tavernier, Jean Baptiste 63, 189 tazkiras 8 Tazkirat-ul-Auliya 130 Telangana State Museum 27 temple 5; Dwarka 22; fertility goddess Lajja-Gauri 20; Ganesha and Vishnu 21; at Gop in Jamnagar district 19; in Gujarat 20–24; Hindus and Hindu temples and religious organisations 79; Somnath temple 23 terracotta figurines 259–61 textual records 31 Thakuran river 246

280 Index Thebi 20 Tibetan Kanjur 113 Tieffenthaler, Joseph 176 tirtha 49 Tirthankara 42, 45, 48 Tirthayatra 49 Tookra salt 216 traders 38 trading communities 48 Trans Yamuna Valley 6 Trilok 164 Turkish rule in Bengal 162 Turko Afghan rulers 192 Turks 179

Vāsudeva-Kṛṣṇa cult 44 Vayu 109 Vidisha 38 Vidyāpiṭha 103 viharas 45 Vikramaśilā 108 Vima Kadphises 45 vimalosinisadhāraṇi 109 Vīrādhyikā 26 Virgin Maria 159 Visavada 23 Vishnu 164 Vrindavan 41

Udambara (Pathankot) 38 Udaygiri 109 Ujjain/Ujjayinī 26, 38 Usman Harwani 133 Uttarāpatha 38

wakalat 86 wakil 86 West Coast 29–33 West Dinajpur 244 Western India, historical archaeology of 5 western Indian Ocean 5, 31

Vadrapalli 26 vaids 181 Vaishnava movement in Bengal 162; Vaisnava Bhakti in Bengal 117 Vaishnavism 3, 162 Vaisnava Bhakti movement 118 Vaisnavas 118 Vallabhi 19, 24 Vallabhipur 23 Vaṅga 107 Vaṅga-Vaṅgāla-Samataṭa-HarikelaKāmarūpa region 110 Varada Mudra 110 Vardhamāna 42 Vardhamānabhukti 107 Vartu River 21

Xavier, Francis 161 Xuanzang 108 Yadgar Ali 66 Yajurvedins 24 Yaksha 40, 42–44, 49, 223 Yamuna 37 Yavana 29 Yemen 29 yogis 125–27 zamindars 179, 181, 204, 210, 211 zeduar 62 Ziaganj 174 Zoroastrians 140