I Am Selim (Mai Selim Hun)

I came across a Muslim person at the nook of Panch Mahal of Fatehpur Sikri on Friday. While visiting the amazing architecture of Fatehpur Sikri, crossing one after the other of Jama Masjid, Palace of Jodhabai, etc, I stopped in front of Anup Talao. It is said Tansen, an eminent musician, one among nine jewels of Akbar’s courters, used to create here various musical modes & inundate heaven & earth with a cadence of classical notes. Stepping forward I approached Panch Mahal. A wave of “Shayery” was emanating in the air. Targeting at the source of the verse, I came to a dead stop in the vicinity of an unknown stranger sitting at the corner of the ground floor of Panch Mahal. He was in a colored ‘Zobba’, a red ‘Faze’ on the head, Mehendi’ smeared red beard, ‘Surma’ painted on eyes, ‘Nagra’ shoes on his feet. The fragrance of ‘Atar’ was emanating from his body. Closing his eyes, he was reciting ‘Shayery’.

“Duniyame hun duniyaka talabgar nehi hun

Bazarse gujra hun kharidwar nehi hun,

Woh o gul hun, khiza jese barbad kiya hai

Uljhu kisi damanse mai woh khar nehi hun.”

I was overwhelmed with wonder listening to the verse. I could not resist my feeling, “Wah Wah, Keya khub, keya khub.” My voice broke his concentration. Opening his eyes, he stared at me.

“You are an excellent ‘Shayer’. Please recite once more.”

His eyes flashed shortly & said in a grave voice, “Take your seat”.

As I sat, the person said in a stentorian voice, “I am not ‘Shayer’. Mai Selim Hun.”

I said in equal enthusiasm, “Oh Selim Sahab, that’s only my intention. I am very much interested in listening to ‘Shayery’.”

“Again you misunderstood. I am not a ‘Shayer’. Mai Selim Hun. I was Jehangir, son of ‘Badshah’ Akbar. I am that Selim,”

Because of his strange dialect, I thought him a mental patient. Else, how a person considered himself as ‘Selim’ of past years? Selim Sahab presumably could read the skeptical language of my eyes.

“Can you not believe it? I think you are guessing me as an insane person. Oh, noh! Really ‘Mai Selim Hun’”

Even then, I said in hum & haw, “Nevertheless that was a very ancient anecdote. After so many years of interval............”

Discontinuing my discourse, Selim Sahab burst into laughter, “That’s true. That was much ancient anecdote. It was 1569 when I was born. My ‘Abbajan’ Akbar shifted his capital from Agra to Fatehpur Sikri, when I was only two years old.”

Still, the cloud of disbelieving didn’t disperse. I thought most probably that person had good knowledge of the Mughal Empire.

“Well Selim Sahab, after a lapse of so many years, how can you claim to be Selim of Mughal era?”

“Do you want to listen to my anecdote? Can you believe that?”

“Please narrate that story. I will listen to & believe it.”

Now he had a deep sigh, glanced at the sky up, and closed his eyes.

He started delivering his miraculous unbelievable anecdote.

“My name of present birth is Muhammad Saifuddin, a resident of Shalimar Township of Lahore. That is the place of my birth & education. I was an English teacher at St. Anthony High School on Mall Road, after my Master’s Degree in English. Once I had been on an education tour with my school students at historical places of Lahore.”

Saifuddin began describing his past anecdote.

“After visiting historical places while returning with the students, some invisible attraction was pulling me towards ‘Anarkali Bazar’. It was evening, hence after dropping the students at School, I returned to ‘Anarkali Bazar’. I arrived at ‘Anarkali’s tomb. It stood on an octagonal platform & each corner had a domed octagonal tower, in the center a large dome on a high cylindrical neck. That sarcophagus made of pure marble. I entered with other tourists & came near the central part of the tomb. With a topsy-turvy heart, I stood silently there. Anarkali was lying five feet below the marble floor! As soon as the tourists exited, the lights went off suddenly. In that pitchy darkness, a fragrance of fresh Jessamine flower began floating in the air. At that moment, I perceived a piteous female voice.”

“My dear Selim, at last, you have come. I am feeling suffocated here. Save me, save me.” Saifuddin tumbles down on the marble tomb, shouting, “Anarkali, my love, where do you wish me to go?” Female voice sounds, “My dearest Selim, you go to our old place at Fatehpur Sikri palace. We will meet there at each ‘Jumma Bar’.”

Suddenly, all the lights were put on. The curator of the tomb forcefully pulls up Saifuddin from the floor, shouting, “Hey, what are you doing here? Madcap, get out.” Caretaker pushed him outside the tomb.)

Saifuddin started narrating his story.

“I came back to my residence. Obtaining a passport & arranging a tourist visa I arrived at Fatehpur Sikri of India.

Now, in every ‘Jumma Bar,’ I come here. The daylight recedes at the advent of the darkness of night. ‘Maifil’ begins around ‘Anup Talao’.”

The sweet laughter of ‘Bandis’ (Maids) reverberates on the walls of ‘Gosal Khana’. The sound of ‘Shahnahi’ is being played. Sounds of ‘Satranjee’ players are heard from ‘Pachisi Court’. The neighing of horses floats in the air from stables. Within this gloomy night of ‘Jumma Bar’, the entire Fatehpur Sikri becomes alive. Saifuddin found waiting at ‘Panch Mahal’ for his love ‘Anarkali’. Bell of a clock declares midnight. Saifuddin sniffs some fragrance of ‘Jessamine’ flower begins floating in the air. The disheveled wind blows in the surrounding atmosphere. Saifuddin found to be anxiously waiting for her. An eerie sensation of the sound of jingling anklet is heard. A thin mist envelops the area. She comes, covering her face with transparent white ‘Urnee’, putting on white ‘Ghagra’, with rhythmical prosody of jingle anklet & sits by his side. She fondles him. Closing eyes, Saifuddin lie down on the soft sweet lap of my lady love.”)

Saifuddin continues his story.

“She comes at every Friday to me. Today also she will come.”

Selim Sahab got up abruptly after narrating an unbelievable anecdote. I set out towards ‘Buland Darwaja’ for going out of Fatehpur Sikri. A voice was heard from my behind, “Mai Selim, Mai Selim, Mai Selim Hun.”