If that name means nothing to you, you're not alone. It meant nothing to most people we met that day either.
Including, as it turned out, some of them standing right next to his tomb.
I am not a history buff. Let me clear that up right away.
I am a history enthusiast. There is a difference.
A buff needs facts, dates, footnotes. An enthusiast just needs a good story and a cool morning.
Key Points
- Malik Ambar was an Ethiopian, brought to India as a slave. He worked his way up to become the de facto ruler of a large part of the Deccan. From 1600 until his death in 1626.
- He is, among other things, the real founder of the city that later became Aurangabad. Now renamed Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar.
- Aurangzeb is buried in Khuldabad in a remarkably simple grave, reflecting his own wishes for his final resting place.
I like visiting old places. I like listening to whatever the locals tell me about them.
Half of it is hearsay. Someone heard it from someone else, who heard it from someone before that.
I don't mind. People have been rewriting history at the local level long before it became a national pastime. And an agenda.
Theirs is a gentler version. No agenda attached.
At worst it spreads a little ignorance. And ignorance comes with its own kind of peace.
So one day I found myself in Khuldabad, near Aurangabad in Maharashtra.
Some call it Khultabad. Nobody minds the spelling, not when the trend these days is to rename the whole place anyway. So you also ignore.
Anosh came along. Last week I called him, chasing some forgotten links for this memoir. I sent him a rough draft, full of broken threads, half-remembered names, stray words.
He took one look and said, this needs more than one part.
He was right. The more mornings I spent digging up these memories, the more context kept piling on.
Aurangzeb's Final Resting Place
Now, the short version of the history, for anyone who slept through that chapter in school.
Emperor Shah Jahan had four sons. Dara Shikoh, Aurangzeb, Shah Shuja, Murad Baksh.
In 1657, the father fell ill. The sons did what sons of emperors have always done in that situation.
They turned on each other.
Aurangzeb won. His father spent his last years under house arrest.
His brothers did not get years at all. All killed.
Aurangzeb himself died in 1707, at 88. An old man by any century's standard.
He is buried right there in Khuldabad. A plain grave, open to the sky. As per his own death wish.
No dome. No marble. Nothing that says emperor.
I'll admit, I was a little let down. I had expected something grander, even from a man famous for wanting nothing grand.
I said so to Anosh. He suggested we walk over to Bibi Ka Maqbara instead, a smaller cousin of the Taj Mahal.
Built for Aurangzeb's wife, Dilras Banu Begum. Not by Aurangzeb, though.
By their son. The father, true to form, stayed well away from the extravagance.
But before any of that, we wanted to pay our respects to someone else.
Malik Ambar.
If that name means nothing to you, you're not alone. It meant nothing to most people we met that day either.
Including, as it turned out, some of them standing right next to his tomb.
Who Was Malik Ambar?
Malik Ambar was an Ethiopian, brought to India as a slave. He worked his way up to become the de facto ruler of a large part of the Deccan. From 1600 until his death in 1626. Anosh and I have grown rather fond of him since, the more we've read.
He is, among other things, the real founder of the city that later became Aurangabad. Now renamed Chhatrapati Sambhajinagar.
Its original name, under him, was Khadki. I did say, changing a name is far too small a crime to fuss over.
The Wrong History
Finding his grave was another matter entirely.
We got lost. We asked around. Nobody quite knew.
Understandable, in a way. Khultabad means Valley of Saints, and the valley lives up to it.
Dozens of Sufi tombs. Minor rulers. Forgotten princes. All crowded together under the trees.
It was a hot afternoon. We found a vendor selling kakdi, that long pale cucumber that does more good with a pinch of masala salt than most drinks on a hot day.
Refreshed, I asked him if he knew where Malik Ambar's tomb was.
Yes, he said, without a flicker of doubt. Keep walking that way.
He pointed towards a dome half hidden behind the trees.
Pleased, and a little curious, I asked him who exactly this Malik Ambar was.
He didn't blink. 'Ye to Aurangzeb ka chhota bhai tha.' He was Aurangzeb's younger brother.
What? Even Jadunath Sarkar and Audrey Truschke -- arguably the two most serious authorities on Aurangzeb the world has produced -- never knew this one.
We hid our expressions. Paid him for the kakdi. Walked off saying nothing.
Both of us fairly certain that two long-dead men were turning in their graves at that exact moment.
A Deccan Powerhouse
Malik Ambar could not have been anyone's younger brother in that story. He died a full thirty years before the war of succession even began.
If the two men shared anything, it was longevity. Both lived long lives. Both died naturally.
No small thing, in that century, in that line of work. And that, for now, is where I'll leave it.
Feature Presentation: Ashish Narsale/Rediff
