The British make a case that Wajid was effeminate, childlike, and emasculated by spending his time with women and eunuchs. This the British considered inappropriate, believing that he was easily controlled by them. Wajid, however, employed people of all identities without qualms. Khwajasaras, for example, were given positions of power equal to those of the aristocracy. The way Wajid attributed value to people was based not on their origin but rather on their accomplishments, especially in terms of the arts. These individuals are described in colonial texts – such as that of Sidney Hay – as “low caste,” “lewd entertainers,” and “low friends,” and the act of keeping their company as “disgusting debauchery”. That did not align with the British idea of political behaviour (astuteness) and they were quick to attribute Wajid as incapable to rule because of these reasons.
The text also clearly highlights the disdain in the writer’s voice for not just the important positions but also the “enormous fortunes” the khwajasaras and other people of lower rank and privilege under the employ of the nawab were making. Vanita’s work gives us a more nuanced understanding of gender roles in Awadh. She cites Khalil Ahmed Siddiqi’s use of the term auratparasti, which translates to “women-adoring,” to describe the nawabs of Lucknow and the urban style that emerged due to this adoration. She argues that “the political and cultural prominence of women in Awadh’s court culture, which has been seen as symptomatic of its effeminacy,” can be read as indicative of the “culture’s strength rather than weakness”. The nawabs advanced a feminised culture that did not remain contained within the private realm of the palace. It spilled out into the public realm on certain occasions, where men would imitate the nawabs. Such feminised cultural proliferation was a shock to the colonial writers who used the word “effeminate” as a derogatory term to describe the inhabitants of Lucknow.
Wajid valued art and artists and gave highly accomplished artists the reward of his proximity. The “poets, fiddlers, eunuchs, and profligate women” – whom Sleeman criticises for holding “some court or other, fiscal, criminal, or civil, through which to fleece the people” – are all Wajid’s close associates whom he trusts and from whom he expects utmost loyalty. In conferring his proximity, Wajid allocates responsibilities to these individuals that have to be undertaken like a lover would. That way, Wajid would control his lovers and not be controlled as, Sleeman writes, a part of his political strategy.
Di Pietrantonio calls it the erotics of sovereignty – visible in the tone and content of Ishqnamah – which intends to mask issues of consent and forced labour, and instead emphasizes love and desire as the motivating factors behind Wajid’s relationships. The relationship between Wajid and his lovers was a form of slavery, which was reciprocal by contract and not a forced servitude. Wajid played out his politics in a non-normative manner, bringing in the possibility of his amorous and sexual partners aspiring to rising the ranks of the harem and court. Parikhana and Ishqnamah, both written by Wajid, the latter also meticulously illustrated, form a rich resource for this section of the book.
Parikhana was written in 1848–49, and it was later translated as Ishqnamah. Wajid’s Ishqnamah (1849–1850) carries 103 paintings which have immensely contributed to our project of reconstructing the Qaiserbagh. The Ishqnamah was looted from Qaiserbagh, and hence it was written and illustrated during the times that were contemporary to Qaiserbagh’s use as a royal precinct. Therefore, even if there is very little direct reference to specific buildings of Qaiserbagh, the paintings provide an architectural aesthetic that Wajid endorsed and hence we use it to extrapolate the aesthetic in Qaiserbagh. It is difficult to ascertain the various structures that the painter might have been referring to create these paintings. It is possible that the painter referenced the buildings in the Huzur Bagh and Qaiserbagh, which were either already built or in the process of construction.
Wajid took over as king in 1847, and soon after he began the construction of Qaiserbagh. He had already engaged in improving and expanding the Huzur Bagh and the residential precinct prior to his ascension. They paint a vivid picture of the day-to-day life at the palace, providing illustrations of Wajid, his court, the women in his zenana, and the architectural settings of the paintings. These paintings also provide us with visual evidence of the possible qualities of the landscape and built form of the Qaiserbagh. In the Ishqnamah paintings, Wajid almost always appears looking away from the viewer, either longingly at his lovers; or in conversation with them, his friends, or subjects. These paintings have been commissioned by Wajid and hence are instruments to access his intentionality. He evades the gaze of the viewer, and yet is aware of it.
Wajid was invested in ensuring adequate representation at his court, paying special attention to employing people from less privileged backgrounds – based on gender, race, ethnicity, and social status. He writes about the intent and agency he exercised once he ascended the throne in his book Parikhana. In his pursuit to include many voices in his kingdom, Wajid also created a system to collect feedback from citizens. A silver chest was given to sawaars (horse riders who accompanied Wajid during his processional ride through the city), and any person could put their opinions and petitions in it. Wajid would then personally go through them as soon as possible. Wajid was cognisant of the voice of people and created an opportunity for them to express it.
In his mind, this was his strategy to earn popularity among his citizens. Many of Wajid’s paintings show his shoes and those shoes are ornate and royal and are part of how Wajid wishes to present himself. Following a requirement of the EIC that Wajid should wear formal black English shoes for all public occasions, Wajid instructed his painters to not show his feet in paintings. It was his way to exercise his power in controlling his representation to his people and the rest of the world where his powerlessness is not objectified. This was his way of disobeying, his way of circumventing the requirement by ensuring he was not painted that way, even though he might not have been able to avoid wearing the shoes. Such paintings then become a representation of his political desire.
Excerpted with permission from A Queer Reading of Nawabi Architecture and the Colonial Archive, by Arul Paul and Sonal Mithal, Routledge.
