Peacetime Chandni Chowk.

[Text and photo by Mayank Austen Soofi]

We make wars. Battlefields pile up with dead bodies. After which the passing time lets the wild grass do its job of gradually covering up the bloodied fields.

This imagery, evoked by a famous American poem, straightaway connects to the vibes of a small market corridor in Old Delhi’s historic Chandni Chowk. With one difference—the bazar shops are doing the work of grass here. This extraordinary corridor looks ordinary, lined with Bagz Wala, New India Garments, and Kanpur Leather Store. But one morning, centuries, ago, exactly above where these shops stand today, a Persian invader oversaw the massacre of thousands of Delhiwale.

Shahi Sunehri Masjid is perched atop the aforementioned showrooms. In the book “The Sword of Persia: Nadir Shah, from Tribal Warrior to Conquering Tyrant,” author Michael Axworthy vividly describes the ruthless invader clambering to Sunehri Masjid’s roof, and lifting his sword to signal his soldiers to start the killings in Chandni Chowk.

Some 300 years later, this August evening, that horrid day appears too far removed in time. Indeed, if Nadir Shah were to be in Chandni Chowk this moment, he would be just another fellow jostling through a massive crowd of shoppers, vendors, labourers, tourists, beggars, idlers, influencers, etc.

Besides its three showrooms, the aforementioned market corridor has a narrow doorway opening into a steep flight of staircase. This is the only access to the mosque. The masjid upstairs is undergoing “maintenance,” informs a tatty banner. The sun is meanwhile starting to set, and the mellow strains of the devotional songs in the adjacent Sees Ganj Sahib Gurudwara are drifting into the sparseness of the mosque’s veranda (a man is asleep inside the prayer chamber). The veranda is flanked by a series of arched jaalis. The wide pores of the stone screens give a prying view of Chandni Chowk’s street bustle. It is like watching a plotless but fascinating movie: two rickshaw pullers are sharing a single beedi between themselves; a woman is sitting on a stone plank, combing her hair; a labourer is carrying an insane amount of boxes on his head; and a long rag of tongue is flapping out from the jaws of a brown dog, his greedy gaze looking up as if to figure out whom to bite and when.

An additional set of staircase links the mosque’s veranda with its roof, which is on level with the mosque’s three sunehra domes. The roof is deserted, except for young Ahmad, who is flying a black patang. The air-borne kite is reaching out to the sunehra domes of next-door Gurudwara Sis Ganj Sahib. The moment is permeated with utmost peace. See photo.