Lying In The Heart Of Nizamuddin Basti, Take A Look @ Atgah Khan’s Tomb

Historical monuments, bad maintenance, urban squalor, negligence & erasure from public memory - these have all become proverbial, the routine that we have all become accustomed to. Yet, every time we behold a pure historical marvel shrouded in ignominious anonymity, we cannot help but feel a profound disappointment, a violent indignation. As you reach Atgah Khan’s Tomb, lying in the heart of the Nizamuddin Basti, you gasp at its surprisingly untarnished beauty and simultaneously shudder at the dingy settlements and grime amid which it stands. 

About The Man

‘Atgah’ is not a name but a loving title which means ‘father figure’. Befittingly, his wife was one of Akbar’s wet nurses named Jiji ‘Angah’ meaning ‘mother figure’. His real name was Khan-e-Kalan Shamshuddin Muhammad Khan. 

When still a petty soldier in Humayun’s army that fought to win back Delhi from Sher Shah Suri, he had saved Humayun from drowning in a swift current, thereby earning himself special life-long favours thereafter, and he then proved his mettle on the battlefield as a commander of the Mughal army at various occasions during the reign of Humayun. 

After Akbar was crowned king, he saw him through many difficult situations, being a permanent ally, an unflinching source of strength and support and became his harshest critic and deepest admirer. His position in the Court was influential enough to make Adham Khan, son of Maham Angah, intensely jealous of him which led to his death eventually. It was for this outrageous act which Akbar saw as high treason, that he ordered Adham Khan to be put to death by being pushed off a balcony.

Getting There

It is almost stuck to the sides of the Nizamuddin Dargah which attracts believers from halfway round the world. Yet, hardly anyone can guide you to it from the entrance to the basti. You can approach a kind old man selling ittar, a young man skillfully carving meat, a robust woman selling incense sticks or a group of adolescent boys trying out various ways to tie a bandana round their heads, but your attempts will prove futile. 

Finally, from behind the broken boundary wall of a house, between lines of colourful clothes hanged out to dry, in the same line of view as a mesh of cable wires, you spot the top of a spherical dome of white marble and realise this must be it. 

But there’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip. Spotting the tomb was one thing, but reaching it finally will require you to literally walk through people’s bedrooms, courtyards and even kitchens, all the while apologising abashedly to everyone around and mindful of not letting the flimsy dupatta slide off your head. 

The Making Of The Tomb

Akbar commissioned Atgah Khan’s son, Mirza Aziz ‘Kokah’ (meaning younger brother) to build a magnificent tomb for the veteran jewel of the Mughal court. Architect Ustad Khuda Quli and calligrapher Baqi Muhammad were deputed with the task of designing the monument. Their joint efforts produced a result so marvellous that even after all these years of uninhibited negligence and anonymity, the tomb takes your breath away. 

It is stately, fiercely guarded by the very communities that encroach upon it and are paradoxically proud of it, and largely unsullied marks on its walls. The only damage to it has been inflicted by the virulent forces of time. 

The Magnificent Design

Alongside Atgah Khan lie the tombs of his wife and daughter. The combination of red sandstone and white marble is tastefully used and both colours offset one another in brilliant symmetrical contrast. The vivid work of the sculptor’s scalpel on the three tombstones provide a different paradigm of beauty altogether. The audacious simplicity of ancient artistry stuns you as you gasp at the beauty of the medallions, brightly-coloured stone work and intricate lattices!

A Call To Action

As a young woman offers to lead you out to the main road, because by now you have forgotten which way you came in, you wonder what can be an adequate compensation for the realm of oblivion this striking monument has been pushed to exist in. Can writing about it recreate its legacy? Will the best pictures do any justice to its faded artistry? How can we recapture what is lost? 

With children playing on bicycles in its courtyard and walls of houses threatening to close in more and more every year, the monument is shorn of its context and grandeur. From a distance, it just looks like an edifice of stone. Its meaning, its place in history is lost among all the walls that hem it in. The legacy is lost; we only get a whiff of it, so come on by before this too fades away!