Chapter I: Sind Folk Stories (3)

The tombs are built on a ridge known as the Makli Hill. Two derivations of the name are given. Some say that the hill owes its title to a pious woman called Makli who lived and was buried on it. Others say that a holy man gave it the name of Makli because he deemed it Maka laali or the threshold of Mecca. Whatever the true origin may be, let us take the tombs from north to south and put down what we know about them. The farthest to the north is a brick tomb on a masonry plinth, plastered and white-washed. Beneath it lie the earthly remains of Sayad Ali Shirazi. Great saint though he was, he would long ago have been forgotten, save for the fact that for a moment his career touched that of the great Akbar. The Emperor Humayun, defeated in battle after battle by the great Afghan soldier Sher Shah, fled to Sind. After trying in vain to establish himself at Sehwan and Bukkur, he started for Bikanir, only to learn that the Chief meant to hand him over to his enemy. He turned back and made his way first to Jasalmir and then through the desert to Umarkot. Most of his companions died of thirst. The others losing in their misery all respect for their leader, let him walk so that his wife, Akbar’s mother, should ride. At last with only seven attendants he reached Umarkot and there on the 14th October 1542 Akbar was born. Humayun had neither gifts to distribute to his friends nor clothes in which to wrap the baby. The first difficulty he overcame by breaking a pod of musk and letting its perfume spread among his guests, at the same time exclaiming with prophetic truth that his baby boy’s fame would diffuse itself through the world like the fragrance of the musk. The second difficulty he met by cutting Akbar’s first garment out of the coat of Sayad Ali Shirazi, who had been sent by the people of Tatta with gifts and greetings. Ali Shirazi lived for thirty years afterwards and the date of his burial is inscribed on his tomb, viz., 1752 A.D.

South of the Sayad’s tomb is that of Makli, the eponymous heroine of the hill, and south of Makli’s is that of Jam Nindo. It is easily distinguished as it has no roof and its stones were evidently taken from some ancient Hindu temple. Jam Nindo or the Little Jam was the founder of Tatta. His real name was Jam Nizam-ud-din and he was a Samma by caste. Here we must go back into early Sind History. When the Afghan Emperor Ala-ud-din Khilji conquered Sind, a Rajput tribe named the Sumras were in possession. Subdued then, they successfully revolted in the reign of Ghazi-ud-din Tughlak. In the middle of the 14th century, however, they were ousted by another Rajput tribe the Sammas. The latter ruled Sind from 1350 A.D. to 1521 A.D. But until Jam Nindo’s time they did not live at Tatta. They lived at Samui three miles to the northwest. When Jam Nindo had established his power and cleared the land of robbers, he thought he would build a new town, “wherein happiness might remain for ever.” He chose a site to the east of the Makli Hill and on a day picked out by the Brahmans, he founded his city, Tatta. There he ruled for at least fifty years and was buried on the Makli Hill. Another Samma chief buried there was Jam Tamachi. He was the Jam who loved the fisher maiden Nuri and was the ancestor of the Jadeja Raos of Cutch. But it is not possible to say with certainty which his tomb is! [3]

Jam Nindo’s son and successor was Jam Feroz. But the new Jam loved too warmly the beauty of his dancing girls and the jokes of his jesters to be a good ruler. The result was that in 1521 A.D. he was driven from his throne by Shahbeg Arghun, who had himself been driven from Kandahar by the lion-hearted Babar. In 1536 A.D. Shah Hussein Arghun succeeded his father Shahbeg and was the ruler of Sind when Humayun fled to it and Akbar was born. In 1554 he died and Mirza Isa Tarkhan, the founder of the Tarkhan Dynasty, became master of Tatta. It is to his tomb to which we come, shortly after saying goodbye to Jam Nindo’s. Isa Khan’s last dwelling place stands in a large courtyard close to an old mosque. The tomb is entirely of carved stone with perforated slabs let in here and there. It was in Mirza Isa’s time that the Portuguese sacked Tatta. It seems that in 1555 Mirza Isa Khan quarrelled with Sultan Mahmud the Governor of Bukkur by whose aid he had become King of Sind. Isa Khan sent an envoy to Goa to ask help from the Portuguese. The fame of that nation in India was then at its height. Only a few years before they had helped the King of Guzarat to drive out Humayun and in return had received Bassein and the whole Province of the north including Salsette Island. With their aid Isa Khan felt sure that he could humble Sultan Mahmud. On the other hand, no doubt, the Portuguese Governor-General dreamed visions of a second northern province on the banks of the Indus. He sent a fleet of 28 ships with 700 men under Pedro Baretto. The gallant Pedro duly sailed up the Indus and reaching Tatta asked for orders. In the meantime, however, Isa Khan had in several actions instilled into Sultan Mahmud Khan a sense of his inferiority and had forced him to sue for peace. Isa Khan sent word from Bukkur that he no longer needed Portuguese help. Pedro then asked for the cost of the expedition, estimated, I dare say, on a liberal scale. Isa Khan politely refused to pay. Dom Pedro flew into a rage, sacked Tatta, killed 800 people, took away two millions sterling and left the town in flames. Isa Khan rebuilt the town but he entered into no more alliances with the Portuguese. He ruled prosperously until 1572 A.D. when he died and was buried on the Makli Hill.

On Isa Khan’s death his son Mahomed Baki succeeded him. His tomb is a small ruined brick enclosure, the one immediately to the north of Tural Beg’s, of whom I shall say a word or two later. Isa Khan’s tomb is a poor thing compared with his father’s and his son’s, but then so was Mahomed Baki himself. For twelve years he gave the good people of Tatta a dreadful time. To slit their ears and noses and shave off their beards was the favourite pastime of his leisure moments. To hang them, impale them and throw them under the feet of his elephants was the serious business of his life. At last in 1584, having lived to see his daughter returned with thanks by the Emperor Akbar, he committed suicide. To him succeeded his son Jani Beg, whose tomb is the southernmost of all. It is of brick, faced with glazed blue and green tiles. It has a perforated window above the door and there are geometric tracery windows also on the four sides. By the time Jani Beg had succeeded his father, the genius of Akbar was at its zenith. Sultan Mahmud of Bukkur yielded to the great Emperor his sovereignty without a blow. But Jani Beg was of sterner stuff. Entrenching himself behind the river Phito, he withstood for some months the imperial forces. Driven from his trenches he fell back on the great fort of Kalankot; but that Akbar should not use Tatta as his base, he destroyed it and left the emperor a smouldering ruin. Yet brave as he was, he had at last to kiss the stirrup of the world conqueror, was graciously received and confirmed as imperial governor of Tatta. He died there in 1599. The Emperor confirmed in his place his son Ghazi Beg. The latter lived until 1612, when he was murdered. His body was buried in the same tomb as Jani Beg and the common grave was for many years the scene of a curious pilgrimage. Both father and son were renowned as poets and musicians and childless couples who desired off-spring, used to visit their tomb and try and win the favour of their spirits by songs and instruments. But efficacious as his spiritual aid may have been in procuring sons for barren women, poor Ghazi remained childless himself. He had no son and with him the Tarkhan dynasty of Sind ended.

The Moghul emperors thereafter ruled Sind through governors appointed directly from Delhi. The Tomb of Diwan Shurfa Khan, the minister of one of these governors, Amirkhan by name, is one of the best preserved on Makli Hill. Another less well preserved, but even more imposing tomb, that of Nawab Isa Khan, dates from the same period A.D. 1628–1644. It has an upper storey to which leads a flight of stairs. To the east of Isa Khan’s tomb are the graves of the ladies of his ample Zanana. To the south of Isakhan’s tomb is quite a small one, that of Mirza Tural Beg. It appears that he misused his position by artificially forcing up the price of grain and then selling his stock at a large profit. He was so hated in his life-time that he took the precaution to build his own tomb. But even so he did not escape infamy. He was nicknamed the “Dukario” or “Famine Man” and every one who passed his grave used regularly to heave a stone at it. In time the stones were piled up right to the stone canopy above it. Fortunately for the “Famine Man” the Public Works Department have taken charge of his tomb and have removed the stones. But his memory is still detested and his present address is believed to be somewhere in the very centre of the flaming halls of Iblis.

LARKANA.

A few miles from Larkana at a place called Fatehpur is a handsome mosque. In its courtyard hang innumerable bells. I long tried in vain to learn its history but at last I obtained from Mr. Bherumal, Inspector of Excise, the following legend.

The town of Larkana derives its name from the tribe of Larak and was probably at one time called Larakanjo got or the village of the Larak tribesmen. They were followers of a family known to history as the Kalhoras, whose family name Abbassi lent strength to their claim that they were sprung from the loins of Abbas, the uncle of the holy Prophet. After the conquest of Sind by Akbar, it became a province of the Moghul empire; but with the decline of the imperial power, authority relaxed and disorder grew. Of this disorder the Kalhoras took advantage. The first great Kalhoro was Adam Shah, who “drank the sherbet of martyrdom at Multan” or in simpler language was killed in an obscure fight with the Moghul governor of that city. Adam Shah’s grandson Shahlal Mahomed was the famous saint, whose memory still lives in the Fatehpur mosque. His first and perhaps greatest—certainly his most useful—miracle was the digging of the Ghar canal that runs past Larkana town. He did not dig it with a spade. His methods were simpler and more efficient. He mounted a Kando or thorn tree. Once firmly seated in its upper branches, he made the wretched vegetable drag its roots from Larkana to Kambar, a distance of twelve miles. In the deep hollow caused by the progress of the Kando tree, flowed the obedient water. The stream so created came to be known as the Shahlal Wah or the canal of Shahlal Mahomed. Many years later Mian Nur Mahomed Kalhoro widened the Shahlal Wah and changed its name to Ghar canal, i.e., the canal broken by the tree driven by the Saint’s superhuman powers. The Ghar canal bears this name to the present day and the tree which Shahlal Mahomed used as his humble instrument is still pointed out on the bank of the Chilo canal in the Kambar taluka.

The miracle of the Ghar canal was followed by so many others that the imperial governor became alarmed at the Saint’s growing fame and power. He reported the facts to Aurangzeb and obtained that emperor’s leave to shorten Shahlal Mahomed’s stature by a head. After a mighty resistance the Saint was taken captive and executed. The governor put his head in a wooden box and sealing it sent it in charge of a police guard to the emperor’s camp. When the police guard reached Lahore they out of curiosity opened the box, in order to see what the head looked like. The lid was no sooner lifted than the head flew out and made its way through the air to Shahlal Mahomed’s favourite village of Fatehpur, wherein the Saint’s body lay buried. The police guard were so alarmed at the strange behaviour of the head that they dared neither return to Larkana nor go on to Delhi. They buried the empty box in Lahore and building a shrine over it, appointed themselves its guardians.

The emperor, however, who was eagerly expecting the sealed box, got disturbed at its delay. He sent a body of troops to Lahore to find out what had happened to it. At first they could find out nothing. At last hearing of the new shrine, they went there and extorted from its guardians the whole truth. They then dug up the ground and unearthed the box. Opening it they found it, not only to their own amazement but to that of the quondam police guard, by no means empty. It contained another head of Shahlal Mahomed exactly similar to the one that had flown away. The troops carried away box and head and showed them to Aurangzeb. Convinced of the miracle, the devout emperor felt sure that he had killed a Saint. To show his repentance of his cruel deed, he had a tomb built at Delhi over the box and the head. In the meantime, the Larak tribe and the other countless disciples of Shahlal Mahomed had built the mosque at Fatehpur over the holy man’s body and true head, once more in union. Thus the great saint is honoured by no less than three tombs, one at Fatehpur, where lie his real head and body, a second at Lahore where the empty box was buried and disinterred, and a third at Delhi where the second head lies.

The descendants of Shahlal Mahomed were the famous Kalhoro Mirs who ruled Sind until overthrown by the Talpurs. Their capital was Haidarabad but they always loved Larkana for the sake of their ancestor; and the fame of its prosperity and wealth under the Kalhoros is still preserved in the well-known couplet

Hujie Nano
Ta gumh Larkano

If you have money (to spend) then go to Larkana.

TWO LOVE TRAGEDIES.

KUTTEJI KABAR AND MAUSUM SHAH.

One of the highest peaks of the Baluch mountains along the frontier of the Larkana district is known as the Kutteji kabar. This is the tale they tell about it. Once upon a time a rich Brohi hillman owned a very faithful and obedient dog. The Brohi was at one time rich, but from one cause or another he lost his wealth and of all his riches nothing was left to him but his dog. One day when he had no money left, he mortgaged his dog for a hundred rupees to a bania of the neighbourhood. Before leaving it, he bade his hound serve its new master as faithfully as it had served him. The dog wagged its tail as if it fully understood what the hillman told him.

Several months passed by and the dog was as obedient to the bania as it had been to the Brohi. One night a band of fierce robbers broke into the house of the bania, over-powered the inmates and carried off the savings of the merchant’s life-time. After the robbers had left, the bania began to mourn and beat his breast. In an hour or so the dog came to him and tugged at his coat. The bania abused and beat it for not having guarded him against the robbers. But the dog continued so to pull at his coat, that the neighbours advised him to go with the dog and see what it wanted. The dog led by the way for a mile or so until it came to a torrent bed, when it began to dig in the ground with its paws. The bania and his neighbours also began to dig; at last they came upon the bania’s safe with his money secure inside it. The dog seeing that it could not fight with success against a band of armed robbers, waited until they had left and then followed them until it saw them conceal their plunder. Then it went back to tell the bania. The latter was so touched at the dog’s fidelity and sense that he tied round its neck a letter to the Brohi. In it he told his debtor that he cancelled his debt and asked him to take his dog back free of incumbrances. Then he told the dog to go back to its master. Off it went wagging its tail and barking delightedly at the thought of seeing its old master.

Now it so chanced that the Brohi hillman had by working in the plains saved a sum sufficient to pay off his debt and he was returning to the hills to do so. On the way he met his hound. It rushed towards him in a transport of joy. But the hillman who knew nothing of the dog’s conduct and did not notice the letter round its neck, thought that it had disgraced him by running away from his creditor before he had paid his debt. A man of high honour, he grew very angry and holding out the fingers of his right hand made the bhundo sign in the dog’s face. This deadly and contemptuous insult was too much for the poor dog. It fell at its master’s feet and died on the spot. The Brohi tried in vain to bring it back to life. As he tried, he saw the bania’s letter round its neck and learnt too late how innocent the dead dog had been. In his grief, he bore the dog’s body to the highest peak of the neighbouring mountains and buried it there. For some time he remained by the tomb as its majawar or guardian. Then he sickened and died also. But the peak is still known as Kutteji kabar.

Another love story of a different kind is told of the minaret of Mausum Shah, that looks down from a great height on the thriving town of Sukkur and the splendid river Indus, as it runs through its two limestone banks. A certain Musulman called Mausumshah fell in love with one of the bania girls of Sukkur, whose beauty is renowned through all Sind. But he was a Musulman and the lady was a Hindu. The lady would not join Islam and he could not, if he would, become a Hindu. Yet unless one or the other became a convert, marriage between them was impossible. The lady moreover had little liking for her Musulman wooer, although perhaps a little flattered by his pressing attentions. To be rid of his ardent importunities, she bade him build a minaret, two hundred feet high before he aspired to her hand. But she had not realised the passion of the unhappy Mausum Shah. He set to work, collected stones and coolies and before the Hindu lady was very much older, she saw to her horror a splendid minaret rising above the ground. In a few more months it was finished and Mausum Shah full of pride and love went to claim the hand of his beloved. But as Francis the First, an experienced judge of the fair sex, used to say “Souvent femme varie, fol qui s’y fie,” and the lady proved as untractable as ever. In spite of her former implied promise she still refused to wed a circumcised barbarian. “I did not say that I would marry you,” she said “when you had finished the minaret. I only wanted you to build it that you might throw yourself from the top!” Cruelty could go no further; and the broken-hearted lover ascending the minaret, took a last view of the splendid panorama unrolled before his eyes and plunged head first from the pinnacle. Legend, however, relates that he never struck the ground, nor was he dashed to pieces. A divine hand caught him as he fell and put him safely on his feet. His love for the beautiful Hindu girl had died within him. He had seen the selfish heart that beat within her beautiful body. Giving up the things of this world, he became an anchorite and taught the precepts of Islam until death overtook him. He was buried at the foot of the tower from which he had once thrown himself. And to this day his tomb and those of his disciples may be seen there by the visitor to Sukkur.

SWAMI VANKHANDI OF SADH BELO.

The early history of Sadh Belo is closely connected with that of the famous Swami Vankhandi. Swami Vankhandi had been incarnated once in the seventeenth century, for we find him receiving worship as early as 1710. We, however, are only concerned with his second incarnation, which occurred in or about A.D. 1764. In the later descent on earth he lived and practised yog or asceticism at Muran Jharee in the territory of H.H. The Maharaja of Nepal. While he was still a young man his reputation for holiness spread far and wide; but it aroused the envy and malice of another anchorite of Muran Jharee named Gusai Sanyasi Sadhu. At last Gusai could contain himself no longer and made his way to the court of the Maharaja. There he told his sovereign that a certain sadhu of Muran Jharee had vowed by his austerities to destroy the kingdom. He warned the Maharaja that for several months the Sadhu had touched neither food nor water and he begged his master to destroy the Sadhu before it was too late. The Maharaja was alarmed and sent an army to take prisoner the seditious anchorite and bring him to Kathmandu, the chief town of Nepal.

When the army appeared at Muran Jharee, they found Swami Vankhandi absorbed in contemplation. As they watched him their own warlike spirit ebbed away and they were filled with a great calm; without saying a word they waited until the Swami thought fit to lift his eyes towards them. The Nepal General then told the Swami that he had received orders to take him prisoner and humbly implored his pardon. The Swami forgave him and told him that he would go on ahead of the army and wait for them at Kathmandu. With these words the Swami vanished and although the General and his officers searched for him everywhere, they could not find him. At last they returned to Kathmandu and just outside the walls, they found the Swami sitting in a deep religious trance, in the shade of a banian tree. They did not disturb him but went straight to the Maharaja, to whom they told all that had happened. The Maharaja saw that he had been deceived by the wicked Gusai and drove him from the town; then he asked for the pardon and blessing of Swami Vankhandi. The Swami saw that the Maharaja had truly repented and forgave and blessed him. Then he vanished and in the twinkling of an eye was once more to be seen at his own place in Muran Jharee.

Many and great were the miracles recorded of Swami Vankhandi, but the one that will interest English readers most is the summary way in which he dealt with a certain Captain Pauk Wales, a gentleman whom I have not been able to trace in English works of reference. In 1822 Swami Vankhandi after many pilgrimages to the holy shrines of India came to Sind. Cholera was then raging in Haidarabad, but the Swami’s presence proved sufficient to drive it away. From Haidarabad he went to Khairpur and Rohri and seeing Sadh Belo island in the river Indus near Sukkur resolved to settle there and found a monastery. There he lived for twenty years until such time as Sir Charles Napier conquered Sind and appointed Captain Pauk Wales as Collector of the Shikarpur district. Captain Pauk Wales, wholly ignorant of the power and fame of the Swami, thought that Sadh Belo island would be an ideal place for a collector’s bungalow. With Captain Pauk Wales, action followed swiftly on the heels of thought. He sent for masons and building materials and began to build a bungalow. But every morning that he went to look at the work, he found that during the night it had been levelled with the ground. He was convinced that the masons and the Swami were acting in collusion and he set a guard of English soldiers over Sadh Belo. Although the soldiers never closed their eyes all night, Captain Pauk Wales next day found that not only had the masonry work been thrown down in the night, but that the bricks, mortar and all the building materials collected by him had vanished. In a rage he went up to the Swami and roundly abused him. While Captain Pauk Wales was swearing horribly, the Swami, shocked beyond measure, vanished into thin air. That night both Captain Pauk Wales and his wife were seized with internal pains of an agonising description. After a night of anguish Mrs. Pauk Wales advised her lord and master to beg the Swami’s pardon. For a long time the Swami could not be found, but with the aid of the townspeople, he was eventually traced to a spot outside Sukkur, where he was quietly singing to himself. Captain Pauk Wales threw himself at the Swami’s feet and promised never more to interfere with his holy island.

Swami Vankhandi lived on to the ripe age of a hundred. Feeling himself nigh to death, he sent for his disciples and warned them of his approaching end. He told them that he would hold his breath until his soul departed. When they thought him dead, they should put a pat of butter on his forehead. If it did not melt, it meant that he had ceased to live. They should then throw his corpse into the Indus river. The disciples faithfully carried out their master’s wishes and when the pat of butter did not melt on his forehead, they threw his body into the great river. They had barely done so, when a rich merchant of Shikarpur came to Sadh Belo with a precious necklace of pearls for Vankhandi, of whose death he was unaware. Learning that Vankhandi was no more, the merchant refused to return to Shikarpur and infinitely firm of purpose, he vowed to sit by the edge of the river and neither to eat nor to drink until the Swami came himself to accept the necklace. On the second night the Swami in a dream promised that he would appear before his devoted follower the next day. Fortified by the vision, the Shikarpur merchant sat on by the edge of the stream. At noon the body of the Swami rose out of the Indus and the merchant put the necklace round its neck. The body then lay on the bank and the merchant called to him the anchorites of the place, who once more consigned reverently the body of the Saint into the whirling waters of the mighty river.