A ‘qabr’ by the chowk

The shrine by a Walled City crossing

In this city of many tombs and gravecentric pilgrimages, it is probably the only chowk, or intersection, to be named after a qabr, or grave.

And yet this very grave is the most ignored aspect of Chitli Qabar Chowk. The Old Delhi intersection is forever teeming with various street sounds—people hawking, squabbling, abusing, singing, shouting, laughing, begging... Like New York City, the chowk never sleeps. A fish seller parks his cart right at its centre every morning, and from then on the activity doesn’t stop until far beyond midnight, bustling around the flower sellers and groceries, the bakeries and tea shacks, the biryani stalls, and more. The qabr (grave) that gives its name to the chowk lies right at its heart, inside a small room recently painted pale pink that looks like a Sufi shrine. Its solo window remains closed, with an artificial jewellery stall installed right in front on the pavement.

Everybody can go in, but you rarely see anybody going in.

This evening the tiny chamber is bustling with rows of ants, busily running about the tiled grave covered in the offerings of green chadars, or sacred fabric, and some fistfuls of rose petals. A few flower baskets are piled up on one corner, probably belonging to one of the florists outside. Despite the organised clutter, the smallness, and the proximity to so much chaos, the grave chamber is dappled in serenity. A wall clock is ticking on loudly though. There’s also a hole in the facing wall that reveals a view of the adjacent street—it gives the feeling of a secret opening in a prisoner’s cell, doomed to an eternity of captivity. Pendant lighting hangs from the ceiling but is covered in transparent plastic, perhaps to keep it dust-proof.

Nobody in the surroundings could confidently enlighten on Chitli saint’s life and times. The general consensus assumes him to be a long-ago Sufi mystic.

At about midnight the jewellery stall owner shuts down his street-side stall and keeps his stuff inside Chitli’s shrine. He locks the door, which he opens the next day around noon, on coming back. Until then Chitli’s qabr stays undisturbed.

These days, due to the pandemic-triggered lockdown, the shops are closed, the noisy pedestrians have disappeared, the jewellery seller hasn’t surfaced for weeks, the shrine’s door is locked and the chowk is lying as still as a grave.

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