As you read the first few pages of Aslam Mahmud’s invaluable volume Awadh Symphony: Notes on a Cultural Interlude, you are most likely to be overcome by mixed feelings. You would lament that the author — a tireless and dedicated researcher — died a year before his decades-long labour of love could have been dyed in printing ink. But you would also at the same time feel relieved that his daughter-in-law, Tasneem Mahmud, and his friend, Rajan Mehra — chairman of Rupa Publications — joined hands to ensure that the script could reach students of history, particularly Awadh-enthusiasts, instead of collecting dust on a shelf.

What makes the book all the more weighty is the illuminating introduction by the well-known literary critic Shamsur Rahman Faruqi. Lucknow, as the capital of the Awadh state, has fascinated many writers. Faruqi regrets that some European — and even Indian — writers have denigrated the nawabs of the state for being “lecherous, effeminate, thriftless and exploiters of their subjects.” Even Munshi Premchand, in his 1924 short story Shatranj Ki Baazi [The Chess Move] portrays Nawab Wajid Ali Shah with a tinge of bias, which becomes more evident in Shatranj Ke Khilari [The Chess Players] Satyajit Ray’s 1978 cinematic adaptation of the story. However, around the same time as Premchand’s story appeared in print, his contemporary scholar Abdul Halim Sharar’s adulatory work Guzishta Lucknow [Lucknow of the Past] hit the bookstores and outsold the noted fiction writer’s work by a wide margin.

Even so, one can’t think of any other author who has dealt with the subject so knowledgeably and meticulously, although Mahmud doesn’t refer much to the architecture of the region — perhaps because plenty has already been written about it. A consummate bibliophile, Mahmud has based Awadh Symphony on extensive research, which allows him to take the reader on a journey to a rich, bygone era. But his style of writing is a far cry from the prosaic and dry manner in which researchers usually present their findings.

A posthumously published book on the culture of Awadh is by far the most knowledgeable and meticulous description of a state that was once the epitome of refinement

Mahmud examines many different sources before presenting his conclusions. For instance, to depict the life of womenfolk in the state, he relies on Observations on the Mussalmans of India, a portrayal penned by Mrs Meer Hassan Ali, an Englishwoman married to a noble from Lucknow. She had free access to the zenan khaana [women’s section] of the house and so the six salient features of their lifestyle, presented by Ali, serve as a vivid commentary on Lucknavi women of noble background; these include showing “undeviating kindness to aged servants, no longer capable of rendering services” and “strong belief in charity and almsgiving...”

While this chapter on Muslim women throws light on their lifestyle, more interesting is the one dedicated to the courtesans who sang and danced. Contrary to popular imagination, they were not sex workers, but if they did have sexual relationships, they did so quite discreetly. Their salons were, in fact, the hub of poetry, music and kathak dancing. Some courtesans also composed Urdu poems.

Ali writes about the festivals celebrated in Awadh, including Basant and Holi which were normally associated with the Hindus — this symbolised what is known as Ganga-Jamuni culture, or a combination of Hindu and Muslim traditions. Mahmud writes in detail about the ceremonies associated with weddings, including the ones practised pre- and post-nikah. At least one ceremony — where the bridegroom’s shoe is hidden by the bridesmaids and returned after a sum of money is given to them by the groom — has become common in most of the northern and central subcontinent, not just among Hindus and Muslims, but also among Sikhs. Bina Sarkar Ellias, editor of the prestigious quarterly International Gallerie, notes that Bollywood films and Indian television serials have made the practice common even in South India.

In the field of music, the courtesans sang thumri, dadra and ghazal. In fact, the Lucknow style of thumri, sung in the language of Braj Bhasha, came to be known for its subtlety and rivalled the Banarsi and Punjabi styles of thumri. Another genre of music that gained popularity in Awadh was the rendering of wedding songs by girls from one side of the wedding party — bride or groom — with the other side seemingly rivals.

The chapter on daastaangoi, or the traditional form of storytelling, is also highly informative. Long-winded stories with improvisations came into vogue in the early 19th century and the daastaango, or the storyteller, gifted with the art of retaining the audience’s interest for a long time, thrived in no uncertain terms. One such story, Daastaan-i-Amir Hamza [The Tale of Amir Hamza] when first put down in writing, occupied 46 volumes. Mahmood Farooqui, who revived interest in the tradition of oral storytelling in the current century, introduced the concept of having two daastaangos performing in tandem. He came to Pakistan as well and created quite a stir. The Karachi-based National Academy of Performing Arts (Napa) has been conducting courses in daastaangoi and some graduates, male and female, have begun giving public performances of scripts that are usually chosen from contemporary literature.

All these practices would seem totally alien to Muslims from other countries, just as the rituals and elegies associated with Muharram would seem outlandish to them. Says Mahmud, “Although the locale of these elegies was Karbala in Iraq and the characters were Arabs, in the Urdu marsiyas, particularly those written in Awadh, the events seemed to have taken place in Lucknow on the banks of [the] Gomti [river].” The practice of female mourners breaking their bangles is also typically subcontinental. Mahmud introduces the uninitiated to the noha [lamentation], soz [dirge] and — more popular than any other genre — the marsiya [lamentation]. These were written by many poets, but Mir Anis and Mirza Dabir, two contemporaries who were also rivals, were to this form of Urdu poetry what William Shakespeare was to English drama.

The chapter on art, games and skills is quite comprehensive, too. This reviewer was quite fascinated by the section on Awadhi paintings, particularly the description of how Awadhi art evolved from the Mughal style and then traversed its own path. Mahmud claims that in portraying the sensuousness of women, Awadhi painters were in no way inferior to their Mughal counterparts. As for Awadhi crafts — be it jewellery or attractive embroidery such as chikankari, jaamdaani, zardozi and kaamdaani — they are in a class of their own.

Awadhi cuisine has not just stood the test of time, it has flourished. The high wages paid to chefs by the nawabs induced many cooks to experiment to achieve excellence and diversify their repertoire, if one may use the word. The head chef, or darogha-i-bawarchikhaana, would have many cooks working for him, each of whom specialised in a particular field; for example, the one who excelled in making and baking various kinds of bread would not dabble in desserts. Mahmud writes very knowledgeably about the culinary art that went from strength to strength even after the dissolution of the state of Awadh by the colonial powers.

While describing the delicacies, he clarifies that tandoori mutton leg and tandoori chicken were not from Lucknow or its environs; they came from what is now known as Khyber Pakhtunkhwa in Pakistan. He gives interesting — or shall we say mouthwatering — descriptions of different kababs: Dumpukht kabab, Shami kabab, sheesh kabab, shahpasand kabab and the king of all, the Gulawati kabab that melts in one’s mouth, all come alive on the page. The high priest of Gulawati kabab, a one-armed man known as Tunday Kababi, had one dhaaba in Lucknow, but as his children and grandchildren grew up to run the show they opened several more outlets as well as leased out franchises in cities such as Delhi.

Awadh Symphony: Notes on a Cultural Interlude introduces many practitioners of art, literature, writers and even courtesans from Lucknow in relevant chapters. But more than anything else, it shows that refinement was the touchstone of all aspects of life in Awadh. Readers, whether with or without a keen interest in fine arts, will certainly be compelled to take more than a second look at the reproductions of the Awadhi paintings appearing between the covers.

The reviewer is a senior journalist and author of four books, including Tales of Two Cities

Awadh Symphony:
Notes on a Cultural
Interlude
By Aslam Mahmud
Rupa Publications, India
ISBN 978-8129146502
325pp.

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, February 11th, 2018