Cut off from the World - Sultan Razia's Tomb, Delhi by Chaitanya Rawat

Down Chawri Bazar roads, into the Bulbulikhana one goes, if they want to find this place. There are scant bulbuls here now, but a regular bustle of people, on by-lanes which grow ever thin as you proceed down them. 

 

A gate next to a tea shop announces, Razia Sultana ki majar, (The Grave of Razia Sultana), but there is none to be found! Good old uncles direct you to even darker alleys, with workshops, sewage, and cramped buildings rising five floors high. A bustle existed there, the sights and smells of fruits, tea, tyres, meat, rickshaws, which are slowly replaced by sewage, machinery, and stagnant water. 

This continues till you break away from all that, and arrive at a small mosque, with an ASI stone to give it its name - Sultan Razia’s Tomb.

One of the rulers of the newly established Delhi Sultanate, reigning from 1236-40 CE, Razia has been termed the first female monarch of the subcontinent. Constant infighting among her nobles, some of which refused to accept her accession, would lead to constant warring. During one of these campaigns she would be killed, and the story after that becomes confusing. 

Three sites contest where she rests at last - one in Tonk, in Rajasthan, one in Kaithal, in Haryana, and finally, the one in present day Old Delhi. One must ask, why such a site in Delhi?

Geography can often be deceptive, and, in this case, it certainly is. For the time she would have been buried here, Shahjahanabad did not exist. Nor did the Mughals. Only the vast wilderness of the ridge forests near the Yamuna. In these forests lived a saint, Shah Turkman, rightly called, Bayabani (the one who lives in the forest). His grave lies close by, in the Bulbulikhana itself. Patronized by the Sultana herself, it makes sense that she would be buried nearby, to seek blessing. 

The site today is a strange mix. It has the old walls, but the dome has disappeared. Inside the compound, is a small mosque, a portable cabin for the priest, and water supply. Then there are two graves, unmarked, with stone, only stone to speak for themselves. 

As the noise of the city fades away due to the high walls of the buildings surrounding the complex, one realizes it is oddly well hidden from the general public. Still quite clean, despite the surroundings, and the stone graves are without graffiti, there is not much else to see here. Homes of people have windows peeping directly down below to the two graves present, apparently the Sultana and her sister. Prayers happen on the regular, with a dozen or so people attending. An ASI guard is assigned for the area, but only comes sometimes a week. 

Basic works like cleaning the lanes leading up to the graves, and giving clearer signs leading up to it can be done to give tourists a better chance of finding it. Beyond that, since it is nestled between private property, not much can be done about the structure itself. The locals know all too clearly about whose grave this place is supposed to be, and every one of them comes up with eager insights about the graves. 

But the ravages of time spare nobody, and nothing. Stone runs green with algae, grass starts to appear between cracks, and the streets fill up with filth. Outside, the people hurry up and down the lanes, chai is poured into cups, and the degchi turns the nihari. Time passes, a city gets built on top of the monument, and the names of places change. The Sultana of Delhi fades from memory, and what remains are stones, but only stones, to speak where she rested.