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LUCKNOW
Rupee Worth of GloryInterest on royal loans links penury-stricken nawabs with
their aristocratic past.
By Farzand Ahmed
There's a certain sadness to
the scene as Alimuddin Haider climbs the steps of the Bara Imambara in old Lucknow and
stops before the Bhul Bhulaiyan, the maze. He might have looked regal in his sherwani and
dark glasses, but one is frayed, the other anachronistic. There's a sigh, a wistfulness,
as he surveys the maze before him. "Ah, it's here that our past glory is
trapped," he whispers. Before he is overwhelmed by memories of his princely
antecedents, Haider rouses himself and resumes his duties as the meagrely paid
Daroga-e-Asfaud Daula Imambara (keeper of the mosque).
Haider belongs to the family that built the mosque. But, for
him the fabled comforts of the Avadh nawab lifestyle don't exist. He has to make do with
his monthly salary of Rs 500 from the Hussainabad Trust that runs the Imambara. Citizens
of a democratic country are cruelly apathetic towards royal lineage. and indeed, it is
some comfort to Haider that some people still call him "Jio Nawab". That is why
Haider holds on so desperately to that one remnant of his resplendent past: the wasiqua.
The wasiqua, a fixed share in the interest earned by the
loans given by the rulers of Avadh to the East India Company, is the one reminder that
Haider was once an aristocrat. So what if the sum he gets is a measly Rs 32.50 a month.
For wasiqua-holders the value of the endowment is much more than the money it brings.
"The glorious past is our sole possession," declares Nawab Mehdi Mirza, 55, who
supplements his Rs 500 a month job as a typist in the Wasiqua Office with a Rs 23.20
wasiqua.
Sustained more by pride than by substance, the 1,200
descendants of the Avadh rulers, of whom about 200 currently live in Lucknow, queue up
every month at the Wasiqua Office to receive their money, ranging from Rs 800 to Rs 5.
There's a proud flourish as they sign the receipts. Says Nawab Ali Mirza, 56, a
wasiqua-holder: "We know we cannot feed even a parrot with the money, but if we don't
claim it our link with the past is snapped."
The past, as history puts it, was a different thing. These
people did not live in the crowded, dirty lanes of Lucknow. They were rich. According to
records, Ghazi-ud-Din Haider, ruler of Avadh in the early 19th century, gave loans to the
East India Company on several occasions. The British borrowed Rs 1.08 crore at 6 per cent
interest in 1814 and Rs 1 crore at the same interest two years later. In 1825, another Rs
1 crore was taken as loan. The British government had undertaken to distribute the
interest on the perpetual loan to the ruler's descendants. After the British took over
Avadh in 1886, a legislation was passed to regularise the payment of the interest money. A
trust headed by the division commissioner of Lucknow and including Shia members of the
royal families was created to manage the funds. This responsibility was passed on to the
Indian government in 1947.
However, what is a blessing can also be a bane. Ali Mirza
echoes the sentiments of many when he says, "Being descendants of kings, we cannot
beg. We are silently facing starvation." Nawab Jafar Mir Abdullah, now an antique
dealer, admits that the wasiqua is a curse. "Agar yeh wasiqua na hota to shayad unke
andar kuchh karne ki justujoo hoti (if not for the wasiqua, they might learn to do
something)," he says of the families who live in penury but refuse to work. Syed
Kalbe Hussan, or Kabban Nawab, as he is more popularly known, says that the nawabs,
themselves highly educated, did not prepare their children for the big change in India's
history.
This is a big psychological burden. The wasiqua-holders are
sentimental and become upset at things they consider insults: being ignored at public
events, not being invited to the Independence Day and Republic Day functions and, worst of
all, being called paupers. But there's nothing much they can do. Except perhaps look at
history's maze and wonder if there's a way out. |