I went for an evening walk with Delhi’s djinns
Delhi is full of cemeteries, tombs and mahals where even non-believers concede they’ve had eerie encounters
"The spot you are standing on is where many people say they’ve felt a presence," my tour guide, Ilma Saifi, says softly. Without waiting to hear what she says next, I dash towards a large group of cheerful tourists, standing a few metres away, admiring the 16th century Mughal complex we are in.
I don’t believe in ghosts, but if you are in a location that’s been on several Most Haunted Places of Delhi lists, it’s easy to get a little creeped out. Tucked away in a quiet corner of the sprawling 200-acre Mehrauli Archaeological Park, the red sandstone complex houses the Jamali Kamali mosque and mausoleum, named for Jamali, a Sufi saint and poet, who is interred beside what many believe is his male lover. It is the starting point of my “Mehrauli Haunted Walk", put together by a city-based heritage group.
Jamali, or Shaikh Fazlu’llah, lived during the Lodi and early Mughal period and was believed to possess supernatural powers. There’s no information available on Kamali. Some say he’s an angel, some a ghost, others a djinn. Most agree Jamali and Kamali were close, since they lie next to each other in marble graves locked inside a chamber. Visitors and residents claim to have experienced sudden chills, heard whispers or felt someone standing close to them inside the mosque, inscribed with Jamali’s poems.
“Some people have heard whispers of Quranic verses in Turkish (Jamali is said to have had Turkish roots) at the mosque entrance, where you were standing earlier. Most residents who stay in Mehrauli and know the history of this complex don’t come here in the evening," says Saifi, who’s completed her master’s degree in history from Jamia Millia Islamia in Delhi. “History claims Jamali used to regularly interact with djinns, which explains why people associate this complex with djinns."
Delhi, also known as the “city of djinns", abounds with stories of supernatural beings, which pre-date Mughal times. People still come with faith, hoping the benevolent djinns will grant their wishes. Every Thursday, at Feroz Shah Kotla, once a fortified 14th-century palace complex, you will find people praying, lighting candles, and writing letters to djinns.
If pleased, the djinns can grant wishes, but if angered, these beings, believed to be created from smokeless fire, can ruin a person’s life.
In a 2013 article, “Jinnealog: Everyday life and Islamic theology in post-Partition Delhi", published in the HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory, Anand Vivek Taneja of Vanderbilt University in the US talks about the popularity of djinn-saints in a city full of human saints, using Feroz Shah Kotla as a reference point.
“In the stories told about djinn in contemporary Delhi, long-lived djinn act as transmitters of authority and blessings, connecting human beings centuries and millennia apart in time," he writes, explaining how people have long been looking towards djinns for calm and peace, especially after Partition and Emergency. “In traditional theological understandings, human saints were rooted to their graves, embedded in a landscape that their presence made sacred. The violence of Partition and the policies of the post-colonial state uprooted both the living and the dead, disrupting the intricate tapestry of sacrality and memory that connected the communities to the local landscape. The stories told about the djinn-saints at Feroz Shah Kotla emphasise mobility rather than rootedness. In a city increasingly defined by mobility, perhaps mobile djinn seem more relatable than the rooted human saints."
As we step out of the Jamali Kamali complex, crossing two neem trees in its large courtyard, the air feels lighter.
A winding path, dotted with trees, leads us to Rajon ki Baoli, a four-tiered stepwell built in the 1500s during the Lodi period. It was recently opened to the public after over two years of renovation. Besides being a source of water for cooking, bathing and irrigation, the baoli was a place for people to rest and relax during the 16th century. “Since it lay unused after the Lodi period, it became a ‘playground’ for djinns, especially since it’s so close to Jamali Kamali," says Saifi.
I asked a passerby, on an evening walk with his dog, if the claims of residents not visiting certain areas after dark were true. “We don’t come at all," said the doctor. “If you will notice, this entire area of the park is filled with graves."
Saifi has counted over 50 graves to date. Each time she visits, which happens at least once a week, she notices a new grave.
“A friend who’s also a paranormal investigator spent a night here with this team. Three of his team members fell ill the next day; they felt ‘someone’ had come home with them," she says. “I personally don’t like coming here. You can say that it’s because of the stories I hear and tell, but you can feel a negative energy throughout."
That’s perhaps because nameless graves are all around us, I tell myself, to calm my nerves. They are out in the open where children are playing cricket. Two lovers are sitting on a bench, behind which are 10 small graves, probably of children. Five graves of different sizes, likely belonging to one family, are metres away from where youngsters are rolling their cigarettes. It seems the dead and the living are co-existing.
Light bulbs go on. As Diwali fireworks become visible in the sky, we cross a bridge to enter the “Dil Khush" (“Delight of the Heart") area of the park, which feels oddly positive. Perhaps it’s the presence of a small lake or the sight of the shining, towering Qutb Minar. The “Dil Khush" area, once the 16th-century Mughal tomb of Quli Khan, was turned into an English-style weekend retreat by Thomas Metcalfe, a civil servant of the East India Company. He also rented a guesthouse, complete with a small swimming pool (or a jacuzzi, as some believe) located a few metres from the tomb, to honeymooning couples. “There are no scary stories here," Saifi says, with a smile. “But it’s interesting to see how different places within the same area carry a different energy."
By the time our walk comes to an end, the park is quiet and pitch dark. I ask Saifi, who leads heritage walks across Delhi, which place she considers the most spooky in the city.
“Jamali Kamali," she says. “Malcha Mahal is actually the spookiest but we are not allowed to conduct walks there; the place has become too fragile. But next time you’re in the mood for a heritage walk, go there. Don’t go alone, take two-three friends along. That place has seen many deaths and decades of sadness, but it tells a lot about Delhi’s history which you won’t find in books."
As I cross the Jamali Kamali complex to reach the car park, a guard tells me to leave the premises as quickly as possible. Why, I ask. He responds: “What do you think?
SPOOKY WALKS
Some heritage walks with a mix of ghostly tales
Mumbai
Khaki Tours organises a two-hour walk across Girgaon, where, during the 18th and 19th centuries, various communities used to bury or cremate their dead.
Chennai
5 Senses Tours offers various heritage walks, which can be customised to include supposedly haunted locations like the Broken Bridge, Demonte Colony, and Theosophical Society.
Goa
Steve and Noelle take groups across Old Goa, from the Viceroy’s Arch to the Basilica of Bom Jesus, telling the story of how Goa became what it is today with spooky stories thrown into the mix.
Bhangarh, Rajasthan
Considered one of the most haunted places in the country, Bhangarh Fort’s many on-site guides can take you through the 17th-century ruins and explain why residents deserted the village three centuries ago.
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