Ordinary people’s heritage: How small towns fail to figure in narratives of history
Yogesh Snehi
INDIA’s monumental heritage is a complex articulation of its imperial past. These monuments range from palaces, forts, serais, temples, mosques, gurdwaras and memorials. In an attempt to rethink these imperial legacies and decolonise our contemporary narratives of the past after 1947, the state of Punjab went on to construct a large number of war memorials from the medieval to modern eras to re-tell Punjab’s persecution by the Mughals, the British colonial state and subsequently, Pakistan. The most recent example is the Punjab State War Heroes Memorial and Museum inaugurated in 2016. The only alternative voice is the Partition Museum (2017) at Amritsar.
UNESCO also recognises built heritages associated with imperial pasts of modern nation-states. Thus, notions of heritage in both global and national contexts continue to be tied with national and imperial pasts, giving little space to conversations on what may constitute ordinary people’s heritage.
A large chunk of Punjab’s population lives in its small towns, which emerged as a result of massive engineering of canal irrigation systems since the late 19th century. These towns and their people do not figure in the large canvas of national and regional history. They have been ripped off from the narratives of heritage and history, despite the fact that these towns play a critical role in shaping the history of Punjab, as a crucial link between villages and large urban centres.
On October 15, 2021, a grand Gopal Temple was inaugurated at the historic gaushala in Abohar. The temple was constructed after demolishing a more than a century-old well (johar) on the premises. The demolition of the gateway and the well didn’t make any news. Designed in a minimalist style, the well carried a Shekhawati oeuvre. Its construction was supervised by Master Mahipal Shakya, the manager of the gaushala committee in early 20th century.
The well was approached through a beautiful gateway made in red sandstone and white marble. The gaushala had a separate gateway. The well must have catered to the needs of the public and also ritual purposes. The city had several wells, but only a few had water fit for drinking purposes. The gateway that approached the gaushala well was adorned on the top by two lions made in red sandstone and two cherubs in white marble playing stringed musical instruments. Two cupolas stood on either side and the middle part had the names of donors.
The lower exterior of the gateway was adorned by two turbaned sepoys (like yakshas) who wore dhotis, held a spear in one hand and a charkha-bearing flag in another. The well complex was constructed under the supervision of Mistri Abdulrahim of Dholpur state in Rajasthan. This well came to less use after 1929, when piped water supply became functional through waterworks fed by canal irrigation systems. This monument is a testimony to pre-Partition memory when employing a Muslim mason to construct a gaushala wasn’t a taboo. The charkha had emerged as an important symbol of swaraj and swadeshi.
At a small distance, close to the Abohar railway station, stands another large gateway of Kaisar Ganj grain mandi. It was established in 1895 as a market for wheat and cotton, crucial products of the canal colonisation project of the British.
The British had already started settling zamindars in the surrounding areas of Sukhera Basti since 1857, and needed an urban community and a trading centre to facilitate marketing of agricultural produce. The gateway was erected to commemorate the 60-year reign of Queen Victoria in 1897. The establishment of the mandi led to the migration of enterprising traders and entrepreneurs from Rajasthan and Haryana, who brought with them a variety of languages and cultures, transforming the city into a cosmopolitan centre.
With a circular arch and foliated arc, projected as standing on thin pilasters, this blending attempted to naturalise the colonial presence in India. Bereft of emotions, it is a monument nobody notices. Yet, it stands as a testament to history. The gateway has survived due to repairs done by the Municipal Committee.
These two gateways should force us to think about ideas of heritage and belonging in a small town. Both symbolised different stages of memory of colonisation. Yet, one survives and the other doesn’t.
Abohar still has several surviving monumental legacies. When one imagines the preservation of tangible heritage of India, consciousness of these local heritages should become part of policy-making. In absence of these interventions, small towns will die and these deaths will be a testimony to the loss of heritage, loss of history.
A lot of ancient and medieval small towns of Europe survived the historical upheavals and radical refashioning because they could claim a heritage, their place in history.
— The writer teaches history at Dr BR Ambedkar University, Delhi
