The Cambridge History of India, Vol. III: Turks and Afghans v3.c30.s1.16

Language: English

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With the accession of Mahmūd Begarha, the architecture of Gujarāt entered upon its most magnificent stage. In the course of his long reign, which lasted for more than half a century (1459–1511), this powerful Sultan founded the new cities of Mustafābād at Junāgadh, of Mahmūdābād near Khedā and of Muhammadābād at Chāmpānīr. Ahmadābād, his capital, he enclosed with additional lines of fortification and beautified with broad streets and a multitude of splendid edifices. For Chāmpānīr, which he captured in 1484, the Sultan seems to have conceived an especial fondness; for on the spot where his camp had stood he afterwards caused a city and a palace citadel to be built, and up to the time of his death this remained his favourite place of residence. Of the outer city, which once reached almost to Halol, 3½ miles away, little is now left; but the strong walls of the citadel with their bastions and happily proportioned gateways (Pl. XXV), the fine custom house, the imposing mosques and richly carved tombs—all bear eloquent witness to the grandeur of Mahmūd Begarha’s new capital, which at one time threatened almost to rival Ahmadābād itself. Outstanding amid these monuments of Chāmpānīr is the great *Jāmi‘ Masjid* (completed only two years before the death of the Sultan).

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It has been described as second to none of the mosques of Gujarāt, and undoubtedly it is a most striking edifice, a particularly fine effect being produced in the interior of the prayer chamber by three tiers of columns rising one above the other and supporting the dome, with richly carved balconies between the tiers and an equally rich frieze beneath the ribbed soffit of the ceiling. But, considered as an organic whole, it will not bear comparison with its older namesake in Ahmadābād. Its parts are neither so well proportioned nor so successfully co-ordinated. The elevation of the prayer chamber is too cramped; the minarets flanking the main archway overpoweringly heavy; and the transition from the side wings to the central hall altogether too abrupt. The truth is that by the end of the fifteenth century the faculty for composition on a grand scale which distinguished the architecture of Ahmad Shāh and which had come down as a legacy from Khaljī times had all but exhausted itself. For constructional purposes, it is true, the arch and dome were now playing an increasingly important part; but though the architects of Mahmūd Begarha and his successors made free use of these features, and could handle them, on occasion, with consummate skill and taste, still they were never so much at home with them as they were with their own traditional pillar and lintel system;

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nor could they bring themselves, as their predecessors had done, to design in the broader and bolder manner that the arch and dome rendered possible. For perfection of detail and sheer decorative beauty the *Jāmi‘ Masjid* and other mosques at Chāmpānīr can challenge comparison with almost any Muhammadan building in the East, but they fail conspicuously in point of synthetic unity. The same phenomenon is equally observable among the contemporary monuments at Ahmadābād as well as at Dholka, Mahmūdābād, and other less known centres; for though Chāmpānīr had become the favourite residence of Mahmūd Begarha, and though its population must have been largely recruited from Ahmadābād, its growing popularity does not seem to have greatly diminished the importance of the older capital, which at this period was reckoned among the foremost and wealthiest cities in Asia. If we consider, for example, the remains of the palace (it is but a skeleton now) which Mahmūd erected for himself on the banks of his great reservoir at Sarkhej, with its stepped *ghāts* and terraces, its pillared verandahs and balconied windows, we cannot but be struck by its uniform excellence. It is less pure in style, less elegant in its proportions than the earlier buildings of Muhammad Shāh II, but its parts nevertheless are entirely appropriate and in keeping with their fellows, and the whole is not only pleasing to look upon but admirably adapted to its purpose as a cool and refreshing dwelling house.

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It is the same also with the exquisitely carved sluice heads that emptied their waters into the lakes at Sarkhej and Kankariyā, insignificant structures in themselves but finished with that perfection of taste which can make the commonest things beautiful; and it is the same also with the impressive step-wells or *wāvs* such as that built in 1499–1500 by Bāī Harīr, the Superintendent of the royal haram, or the still more magnificent example in the village of Adālaj. Though larger and more elaborate, these step-wells are designed on essentially the same lines as the older step-wells of the Hindus, of which the finest extant specimen is that of Mātā Bhavanī, dating from about the eleventh century. They consist, that is to say, of a circular or octagonal well-shaft approached on one side by a broad stairway which descends flight upon flight to the water's edge; on the landings between the flights are pillared galleries, whose tiers are multiplied as the depth increases and which serve at once as supports to counteract the inward thrust of the long side walls and as cool resting-places in the heat of summer. There are no other wells in the world that, structurally and decoratively, can compare with these step-wells of Western India, and it was because their builders were content to keep to the established traditions of the country that they were able to attain such perfection. So long as the Muslims could do this, the ground was safe and their success assured.

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Their difficulties began when the customs of Islam or other considerations necessitated the introduction of alien and incongruous elements—a contingency which inevitably happened over their tombs and mosques. To the Muslim a tomb was indissolubly associated with the idea of dome and arch construction, but in Gujarāt the old trabeate system was much too deeply rooted in the soil to make way for the arcuate, and hence the builders generally insisted on following their own principles of design, modified by little more than the use of structural domes in place of the older corbelled roofs. Were it not for these domes and the increased spaciousness which they facilitated the tomb, for example, of Mahmūd Begarha at Sarkhej, of Sayyid ‘Usmān in Ahmadābād (1460), or of Bībī Achut Kūkī (1472) would show relatively little trace of Islamic influence. On the other hand, there are a few tombs in which greater size and dignity were achieved by adopting the arch and vault. Such are the tombs of Shāh ‘Ālam and of Mubārak Sayyid at Mahmūdābād; but even in these cases it is manifest that the architects were still working under the spell of their ancient tradition and still thinking more in terms of trabeate than of arcuate construction, with the result that their creations never attained the same sublimity and grandeur as the great tombs of Northern India and the Deccan.