Sometimes, in history, destinations lose their significance. So do roads to those destinations. For the Delhi of today, the roads that lead south—to Agra and Jaipur—are as important as those that head north to Chandigarh and beyond and those that take people eastwards, to Lucknow or to Uttarakhand. Perhaps of least importance is the highway heading west to Jhajjar, Meham, Hisar and beyond. But that wasn’t always so.
For centuries, the road leading westward from Delhi allowed travellers to navigate the edge of the desert on their journeys to Multan and, further, to Quetta or Kandahar. This route was also utilised by merchants and armies to reach the prosperous coast of Gujarat. Towns such as Jhajjar, Meham, Hansi, and Hisar have historically been contested; they have been attacked and rebuilt, witnessing significant demographic changes over time. Since Independence, these towns have been transformed by the hard work of Jat peasants, and they now form the heart of Haryana. However, they tend to make headlines only when an athlete from the region brings pride to India.
On a crisp winter morning, a friend and I decided to drive out and explore what remains of the medieval and the ancient on this highway west of Delhi. An hour out of Najafgarh, we reached our first pit stop, Jhajjar. Long before Manu Bhaker was born here, Jhajjar was a Mughal jagir handed to various administrators as a reward for their services. As per historian Yashpal Gulia, the first was a family called Kallals, minor officials during the reign of Jahangir, who held sway till 1718.
An exploration brought us to a large tomb complex called the Kallelon ka maqbara. The tombs were of various shapes and sizes, indicating they may belong to more than one dynasty. Most were on high stone platforms, had a mosque attached and were entered via ornate gateways. Some tombs were under small chhatris, while others lay under the open sky.
After the Kallals, the jagir passed through many hands, including several foreign mercenaries who earned their living in India by hiring out their military services to local potentates. These included an Irishman and a Frenchman. By 1803, ‘loyal’ services to the British earned the local ruler the title of Nawab. After three such loyal nawabs, a fourth turned against British in 1857, and that ended the Nawabi.
Outside Jhajjar, we arrived at an even more unusual place – a gurukul, which remains fully functional today. Established as part of the Arya Samaj movement in 1915, the gurukul gives a traditional education to young boys. In the process, it also keeps the Sanskrit language and Vedic traditions alive. An application written on the spot was approved, permitting us to take pictures within. There was a rider, though, for the application to be in chaste Hindi. The quick revision of school grammar lessons was worth the effort, for inside was a small museum with artifacts collected from various archaeological sites of the region. Seeing a section dedicated to military heroes from across India was heartwarming.
We sped past Dujana, whose medieval history and architectural heritage are similar to those of Jhajjar. Up ahead came Meham. In the 90s, its name was synonymous with an infamous political incident—‘Meham’s Mayhem’ made headlines. Centuries earlier, the town witnessed another kind of mayhem—it was ravaged by Ghaznavid attacks. Resettled in the medieval era, it witnessed yet another demographic churn with Partition. Today, the town is bustling, and its heritage structures are mere relics from the past.
Among these is the Shah Jahani baoli, also known as Choron ki Baoli. The latter name was attributed by a local to thieves hiding in the stepwell, taking advantage of its location outside the inhabited area. While that may be folklore, the baoli contains an inscription dating to 1658-59, with a Saidu Kala, an usher of emperor Shah Jahan, as the patron-builder. This is one of several medieval water bodies on this western road from Delhi, built not just for the towns on the road but also for the travellers who passed on it.
Meham also has its share of tombs and mosques, among them being the largely ruined Pirzada Masjid, built during the reign of Babur by a Shaikh Yusuf. Close by is the Jama Masjid. The invaders are long gone, and the town is perhaps at its liveliest during wrestling matches and elections.
Next up comes the market town of Hansi. Hansi was enclosed within a fortified wall in the Sultanate period, punctuated by five gateways. Only one of these still stands, the Barsi Gate, built by Ala-ud-din Khilji in 1303 and repaired more than two centuries later by Ibrahim Lodi. We drove through that and found ourselves in a busy marketplace. None here could care less about a forgotten sultanate and its sultans, but they pointed us to the location of Hansi’s fort.
The fort at Hansi stands on a high platform, almost a mound. Its name is Asigarh, and ‘Asi’ means swords. Swords did clash here in the past. It was once a Tomar fort, then a Chauhan enclave and post 1192, it fell to the Ghurid forces. A solitary temple pillar stands in one part of the fort, like a witness to what took place. A mosque with a plain façade completes the picture. The story goes that many more structures were inside the fort until 1857, after which much was demolished and the rubble auctioned. What is called a baradari within its precincts functioned as a gunpowder store.
Elsewhere in Hansi is the Char Qutub, tombs of four Sufi mystics. Around them lie other tombs, too. The town has several old houses, though time has seen them replaced with ugly modernity. Less than an hour from Hansi is Rakhi Garhi, home to one of the largest excavated sites of the Sindhu-Saraswati civilisation. But our destination lay further west.
Next came Hisar, a town whose strategic location made it a bone of contention for every army in centuries past. And some of those armies left behind their sign. On the old Hisar-Hansi road are a group of tombs, which belong to soldiers who served – and died – during emperor Humayun’s military campaign in Gujarat in the 1530s.
Long before Humayun’s army marched through it, Hisar was ‘Hisar-e-Feroza’ or the fort of Feroz Tughlak. Remains of an immense palace complex lie around. These include a Gujjari Mahal, which is linked to some folklore about a girl Tughlak took a fancy to and built a palace for her. The place also has an audience hall and a baradari, but the most important thing is a curious pillar. Some opine that this ‘Feroz-ki-Lat’ could have been part of a Mauryan column, which the emperor found on one of his hunts and brought here. The part of the complex where it stands firmly resembles Hauz Khas in Delhi, where his tomb was built, indicating the importance of Hisar in his time. A decade after Tughlak’s death, Timur invaded Hisar, and the old palace complex was set afire.
Much later came the British. Not to be left behind, they built a large bungalow here, which was later used as the headquarters for a cattle farm of immense proportions. Hisar also saw its share of fire and sword in 1857, with the local chaudharys and nambardars rising in revolt. Over three hundred were executed or transported for life.
Half an hour from Hisar is a site linked to the origin of the Aggarwal community, Agroha. Perhaps as old as Rakhi Garhi, this massive site has the remains of a fortress, a Buddhist stupa and much more. Some of the material was used to build parts of Hisar, but thankfully enough remained for the Archaeological Survey of India to piece together its past. Clambering around the site, we narrowly missed a snake as it slithered past.
Our last stop on this westward road was Fatehabad. Feroz Tughlak founded this town and named it after his son, Fateh Khan. Unsurprisingly, another pillar stands in a complex dated to Tughak’s time. This, too, might be Mauryan, but no one has been able to verify that. Humayun, the Mughal, added to the place in his time. In the 17th – 18th centuries, once Mughal authority had weakened, the Bhattis arrived from Rajasthan’s Marwar region and took control. In coming, they followed – in reverse – the same route that Humayun’s army had taken on their quest to Gujarat via Marwar.
On the drive back, there was enough time to reflect on how time had changed this road and its towns. A military road, fought for time and again, was home to a hardy people. With no more invasions, the people of this region have proved themselves in India’s armed forces. Over the last decade, that energy and fighting spirit has manifested in the Olympic arena.
