The devotion of Jitender Ch
Published on: August 28, 2015
Written By: OMAIR AHMAD
Source: https://www.thehindubusinessline.com/blink/talk/the-devotion-of-jitender-ch/article7587047.ece
House of worship: Nili (Blue) Masjid dates back to the Lodis, the dynasty that ruled Delhi sultanate from mid-15th to the early 16th century. Photo: Ramesh Sharma
A small mosque in South Delhi becomes
the stage for communal harmony
There
is a small mosque near the apartment I live in in Delhi’s Gulmohar Park. I
found it by accident. It is neither big, nor does it have a loud public address
system, but once in a while, very early in the morning, I would hear a faint
call for prayer. My wife and I grew curious about this mosque that we could
rarely, and faintly, hear. As both of us enjoy walking, we explored the
neighbourhood until we spotted it. It was about 200-300 yards from our
apartment, and well worth the search. It is a small structure, by all accounts,
with limited amenities. A new, multi-storey mosque has been around for the last
few decades in nearby Green Park, but I still prefer this old one.
Part
of its appeal is the age. The mosque — called Nili Masjid or Blue Mosque — is named
after the delicate blue colour of the tilework that adorns it. There is little
left, but that is no surprise. The building dates back to the pre-Mughal Lodi
dynasty, and would have been built sometime in the 15th or early 16th century.
There is no real record — or at least I have not come across any — of who built
this monument. Such small buildings, or ruins thereof, litter the neighbourhood
around Hauz Khas, and much larger ones have little explanations attached to
them; this one, with a main structure of barely 15ft by 3 , and an outer
courtyard of maybe twice as much, hardly rates a mention. Maybe this is why it
had become a dump until a maulvi took it upon himself to clean
it. With permission from the authorities and approval from the police — who did
not like a place that had become a grotto of illicit activities and the subject
of complaints — the Nili Masjid has become a humble gathering place, neat and
tidy, an unobtrusive bit of Indian history happily in place in India’s capital
city.
The
mosque has few regular attendees, and the few times that I have dropped in for
prayers I have met maybe five or 10 people, or during Friday prayers, all of
40-50. During Ramzan, of course, the attendance goes up. According to Islamic
belief, Ramzan is the lunar month in which the Quran was first revealed, and
during extended night prayers called Taraveeh, the whole of it is
recited. The Eid-ul-Fitr prayers, held the morning after the completion of
Ramzan, marking the end of both fasting and extended prayers, are fairly
well-attended. I found myself in Delhi that day. Having taken a day off from
work, I thought I would stroll down to Nili Masjid and offer short prayers as
well.
By
the time I reached, the mosque and the courtyard were full, and the crowd had
spilled out onto the street. I found myself at the edge, irritated at having
arrived late. The road is public property, and encroaching on it, by three feet
or so — the same area taken up by cars parked at the hospital on the other side
of the road — is just not appropriate, even if for an annual ritual that takes
all of five-10 minutes.
As
I sat down to pray, I saw a group of policemen make their way to the crowd.
Sitting on the cloth spread on the road, I was curiously pleased by the very
clean khaki of the policemen’s trousers, perfect crease et al. I was dressed in
new clothes for Eid, thanks to my mother-in-law, and it pleased me that the
policemen were as well.
As
they came to us, the policemen fanned out, standing just at the edge of the
people about to pray, and started directing the traffic around us. Quietly,
unobtrusively, they displayed their commitment to the policeman’s duty to
protect fellow citizens. The prayer was about to start, and as I rose to join
in, my eyes fell on only one policeman’s badge. It said, ‘Jitender Ch’.
During
prayer, your attention narrows, and when you prostrate for sijda,
your head to the ground, you see nothing. Completely defenceless, with my head
to the ground, I heard the gravel crunch as cars passed by, the only thing keeping
me alive as I closed myself to the world, was the devotion of Jitender Ch. I
didn’t doubt my safety for an instant.
The
prayers got over a few minutes later. Had I been in my hometown, or among
friends, we would have embraced, and said “Eid Mubarak”. Here I knew nobody,
and the only thing I said was to the policeman, “Thank you.” He smiled, and
waved me on home.
Omair Ahmad is
an author. His last book was on Bhutan
Follow Omair on Twitter @OmairTAhmad
Published
on August 28, 2015
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