Nap Time in early Modern South Asia
Curator's note: In the process of exploring numerous paintings from early modern South Asia, the sensorial details revealed abundant scents and flavours, but significantly, this world dedicated a language to the sublime concept of leisure!
Across courtyards, camp sites and forests, are depictions of figures resting under the open sky on finely crafted beds on their moonlit terraces, or within the security of ornately embroidered tents, or under the cool shade of banana trees in gardens. Such visual delights made me consider my foundational intent for building Bagh-e Hind and inspired an offshoot that springs from my own pursuit of leisure and aimless "time-pass". More on my reasoning for this offshoot can be read in Newsletter 14: Nap Time in Mughal India.
In the following galleries, three scholars select their favourite paintings depicting deep slumber, rest and leisure and offer insightful nap-time stories.
September 2022
Canopies & Courtyards
Take a leisurely stroll through a painted landscape of deep sleep
The King of Hind, Landhaur bin Sa‘dān, lay sleeping on a bed of marble in the shade of a tree on a hot day. He wore an orange jama and a green-green pair of pajamas, his light-white-turbanned head resting on a pillow. There came a white demon (de'o) wearing a floral mini-skirt. Their horns were crooked, their beard was the bee's knees. With dirty yet shapely hands they heaved the slumbering Landhaur's bedstead above their head, carrying it away across the rugged pinkish wilderness pocked with tufts and ornamented with rocks surmounted by plants with yellow-bordered leaves.
Unawakened by the alarm bells hanging from the demon's horns, the jingle bells on their wrists and shins and around their neck, the prince clutched his blankie, blue like the sea, or like the tiny flowers beneath the demon's legs. He wasn't bothered. He turned over in his sleep.
The Tale of Amīr Hamza (Qissa-i Amīr Hamza or Hamza-nāma) and his sidekicks including the trickster ‘Amar ‘Ayyār, the archer Muqbil, and princes such as Landhaur, was told by storytellers from the Safavid to the Mughal domains (Khan, 23-24). The Mughal Emperor Akbar had a sumptuous illustrated text produced around the 1560s CE, whose folios are now scattered across the world, like this one in the Austrian Museum of Applied Arts/Contemporary Arts (MAK B.I. 8770/19), which was painted by Dasavanta, the floral patterns and other flourishes added by Shravana (Seyller 94-95).
Other illustrations from the imperial Hamza-nāma are matched with pages of writing. But, as Zahra Faridany-Akhavan's 1989 dissertation pointed out, this image in the collection of the MAK is a recto (VIENNA 5r) that is backed by nothing but plain brown paper, possibly indicating the end of a volume (Faridany-Akhavan 53). Glück, Faridany-Akhavan, and Seyller all seem to be unaware, therefore, of the story of Landhaur and the demon, which does not appear in the published Persian Hamza-nāma.
Some variation of it appears, however, in the relatively short Urdu versions that were produced by the storyteller Khalīl ‘Alī Khān Ashk, and then by Ghālib Lakhnawī.
In the midst of a great war that Landhaur was fighting on behalf of Amīr Hamzah, a storm blew, and an enormous claw descended from the heavens and carried the King of Hind into the Land of Qāf. It was the parī Princess Rāshida Parī, who sought Landhaur's aid against White Demon, who was besotted with her, and who had kidnapped her father Rāshid Jinn when she rejected his suit. She also thought Landhaur was cute. Landhaur rescued Rāshid, imprisoned White Demon in a cave, and married Rāshida. But the wily Pillowhead Demon saw their chance one day while Landhaur was asleep beneath a tree's shade. Picking up the Prince they cast him into the cave and freed White Demon (Ghālib Lakhnawī 583-584).
It is possible that in the Persian version with which Akbar was familiar, the White Demon themself was the jailor of the slumberous King of Hind. Note that this image is very similar to the many depictions of the Shāhnāmah hero Rustam being carried by his foe the Akvān Demon to be cast into the sea (Firdausī 299-302).
Works Cited:
Ashk, Khalīl ‘Alī Khān. Dāstān-i Amīr Hamzah. 4 vols. [Originally published 1801]. Bombay: Matba‘-i Haidarī, 1863.
Faridany-Akhavan, Zahra. ‘The Problems of the Mughal Manuscript of the Hamza-Nama: 1562-1577: A Reconstruction’. PhD diss., Harvard University, 1989.
Firdausī, Abū'l-Qāsim. The Shahnameh: The Persian Book of Kings. Translated by Dick Davis. New York: Penguin Classics, 2007.
Ghālib Lakhnawī, Mirzā Amān Allāh, and ‘Abdullāh Husain Bilgrāmī. The Adventures of Amir Hamza: Lord of the Auspicious Planetary Conjunction. [Original published 1855]. Translated by Musharraf Ali Farooqi. 1st ed. New York: Modern Library, 2007.
Khan, Pasha M. The Broken Spell: Indian Storytelling and the Romance Genre in Persian and Urdu. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2019.
Seyller, John William, and W. M Thackston. The Adventures of Hamza: Painting and Storytelling in Mughal India. Washington, DC: Freer Gallery of Art, 2002.
The King of Hind, Landhaur bin Sa‘dān, lay sleeping on a bed of marble in the shade of a tree on a hot day. He wore an orange jama and a green-green pair of pajamas, his light-white-turbanned head resting on a pillow. There came a white demon (de'o) wearing a floral mini-skirt. Their horns were crooked, their beard was the bee's knees. With dirty yet shapely hands they heaved the slumbering Landhaur's bedstead above their head, carrying it away across the rugged pinkish wilderness pocked with tufts and ornamented with rocks surmounted by plants with yellow-bordered leaves.
Unawakened by the alarm bells hanging from the demon's horns, the jingle bells on their wrists and shins and around their neck, the prince clutched his blankie, blue like the sea, or like the tiny flowers beneath the demon's legs. He wasn't bothered. He turned over in his sleep.
The Tale of Amīr Hamza (Qissa-i Amīr Hamza or Hamza-nāma) and his sidekicks including the trickster ‘Amar ‘Ayyār, the archer Muqbil, and princes such as Landhaur, was told by storytellers from the Safavid to the Mughal domains (Khan, 23-24). The Mughal Emperor Akbar had a sumptuous illustrated text produced around the 1560s CE, whose folios are now scattered across the world, like this one in the Austrian Museum of Applied Arts/Contemporary Arts (MAK B.I. 8770/19), which was painted by Dasavanta, the floral patterns and other flourishes added by Shravana (Seyller 94-95).
Other illustrations from the imperial Hamza-nāma are matched with pages of writing. But, as Zahra Faridany-Akhavan's 1989 dissertation pointed out, this image in the collection of the MAK is a recto (VIENNA 5r) that is backed by nothing but plain brown paper, possibly indicating the end of a volume (Faridany-Akhavan 53). Glück, Faridany-Akhavan, and Seyller all seem to be unaware, therefore, of the story of Landhaur and the demon, which does not appear in the published Persian Hamza-nāma.
Some variation of it appears, however, in the relatively short Urdu versions that were produced by the storyteller Khalīl ‘Alī Khān Ashk, and then by Ghālib Lakhnawī.
In the midst of a great war that Landhaur was fighting on behalf of Amīr Hamzah, a storm blew, and an enormous claw descended from the heavens and carried the King of Hind into the Land of Qāf. It was the parī Princess Rāshida Parī, who sought Landhaur's aid against White Demon, who was besotted with her, and who had kidnapped her father Rāshid Jinn when she rejected his suit. She also thought Landhaur was cute. Landhaur rescued Rāshid, imprisoned White Demon in a cave, and married Rāshida. But the wily Pillowhead Demon saw their chance one day while Landhaur was asleep beneath a tree's shade. Picking up the Prince they cast him into the cave and freed White Demon (Ghālib Lakhnawī 583-584).
It is possible that in the Persian version with which Akbar was familiar, the White Demon themself was the jailor of the slumberous King of Hind. Note that this image is very similar to the many depictions of the Shāhnāmah hero Rustam being carried by his foe the Akvān Demon to be cast into the sea (Firdausī 299-302).
Works Cited:
Ashk, Khalīl ‘Alī Khān. Dāstān-i Amīr Hamzah. 4 vols. [Originally published 1801]. Bombay: Matba‘-i Haidarī, 1863.
Faridany-Akhavan, Zahra. ‘The Problems of the Mughal Manuscript of the Hamza-Nama: 1562-1577: A Reconstruction’. PhD diss., Harvard University, 1989.
Firdausī, Abū'l-Qāsim. The Shahnameh: The Persian Book of Kings. Translated by Dick Davis. New York: Penguin Classics, 2007.
Ghālib Lakhnawī, Mirzā Amān Allāh, and ‘Abdullāh Husain Bilgrāmī. The Adventures of Amir Hamza: Lord of the Auspicious Planetary Conjunction. [Original published 1855]. Translated by Musharraf Ali Farooqi. 1st ed. New York: Modern Library, 2007.
Khan, Pasha M. The Broken Spell: Indian Storytelling and the Romance Genre in Persian and Urdu. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2019.
Seyller, John William, and W. M Thackston. The Adventures of Hamza: Painting and Storytelling in Mughal India. Washington, DC: Freer Gallery of Art, 2002.
The King of Hind, Landhaur bin Sa‘dān, lay sleeping on a bed of marble in the shade of a tree on a hot day. He wore an orange jama and a green-green pair of pajamas, his light-white-turbanned head resting on a pillow. There came a white demon (de'o) wearing a floral mini-skirt. Their horns were crooked, their beard was the bee's knees. With dirty yet shapely hands they heaved the slumbering Landhaur's bedstead above their head, carrying it away across the rugged pinkish wilderness pocked with tufts and ornamented with rocks surmounted by plants with yellow-bordered leaves.
Unawakened by the alarm bells hanging from the demon's horns, the jingle bells on their wrists and shins and around their neck, the prince clutched his blankie, blue like the sea, or like the tiny flowers beneath the demon's legs. He wasn't bothered. He turned over in his sleep.
The Tale of Amīr Hamza (Qissa-i Amīr Hamza or Hamza-nāma) and his sidekicks including the trickster ‘Amar ‘Ayyār, the archer Muqbil, and princes such as Landhaur, was told by storytellers from the Safavid to the Mughal domains (Khan, 23-24). The Mughal Emperor Akbar had a sumptuous illustrated text produced around the 1560s CE, whose folios are now scattered across the world, like this one in the Austrian Museum of Applied Arts/Contemporary Arts (MAK B.I. 8770/19), which was painted by Dasavanta, the floral patterns and other flourishes added by Shravana (Seyller 94-95).
Other illustrations from the imperial Hamza-nāma are matched with pages of writing. But, as Zahra Faridany-Akhavan's 1989 dissertation pointed out, this image in the collection of the MAK is a recto (VIENNA 5r) that is backed by nothing but plain brown paper, possibly indicating the end of a volume (Faridany-Akhavan 53). Glück, Faridany-Akhavan, and Seyller all seem to be unaware, therefore, of the story of Landhaur and the demon, which does not appear in the published Persian Hamza-nāma.
Some variation of it appears, however, in the relatively short Urdu versions that were produced by the storyteller Khalīl ‘Alī Khān Ashk, and then by Ghālib Lakhnawī.
In the midst of a great war that Landhaur was fighting on behalf of Amīr Hamzah, a storm blew, and an enormous claw descended from the heavens and carried the King of Hind into the Land of Qāf. It was the parī Princess Rāshida Parī, who sought Landhaur's aid against White Demon, who was besotted with her, and who had kidnapped her father Rāshid Jinn when she rejected his suit. She also thought Landhaur was cute. Landhaur rescued Rāshid, imprisoned White Demon in a cave, and married Rāshida. But the wily Pillowhead Demon saw their chance one day while Landhaur was asleep beneath a tree's shade. Picking up the Prince they cast him into the cave and freed White Demon (Ghālib Lakhnawī 583-584).
It is possible that in the Persian version with which Akbar was familiar, the White Demon themself was the jailor of the slumberous King of Hind. Note that this image is very similar to the many depictions of the Shāhnāmah hero Rustam being carried by his foe the Akvān Demon to be cast into the sea (Firdausī 299-302).
Works Cited:
Ashk, Khalīl ‘Alī Khān. Dāstān-i Amīr Hamzah. 4 vols. [Originally published 1801]. Bombay: Matba‘-i Haidarī, 1863.
Faridany-Akhavan, Zahra. ‘The Problems of the Mughal Manuscript of the Hamza-Nama: 1562-1577: A Reconstruction’. PhD diss., Harvard University, 1989.
Firdausī, Abū'l-Qāsim. The Shahnameh: The Persian Book of Kings. Translated by Dick Davis. New York: Penguin Classics, 2007.
Ghālib Lakhnawī, Mirzā Amān Allāh, and ‘Abdullāh Husain Bilgrāmī. The Adventures of Amir Hamza: Lord of the Auspicious Planetary Conjunction. [Original published 1855]. Translated by Musharraf Ali Farooqi. 1st ed. New York: Modern Library, 2007.
Khan, Pasha M. The Broken Spell: Indian Storytelling and the Romance Genre in Persian and Urdu. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2019.
Seyller, John William, and W. M Thackston. The Adventures of Hamza: Painting and Storytelling in Mughal India. Washington, DC: Freer Gallery of Art, 2002.
"The slumberous king of Hind"
Pasha M. Khan selects a folio from
Hamza-nama
"The dream of Zulaykha"
Nicolas Roth selects a Mughal folio
from the Amber Album
A king suspects his wife, a Rumi (Byzantine) princess. of being unfaithful, not knowing that her supposed young lover is actually her son from a previous marriage. She has been too modest to tell her husband the truth about her relationship. An old woman who is an interpreter of dreams steps in to help sort out this misunderstanding. According to her plan, the queen must feign sleep; the king, believing that she is in deep slumber, must place on her chest a Syriac Solomonic talisman with jinni writing, which will make her confess the truth. When the king hears his wife reveal the actual circumstances and thus prove her marital fidelity, he is overjoyed, and the couple are reconciled. Thankfully, the young man whom the king had ordered to be beheaded was saved by his clever vizier, providing a truly happy ending to the story.
The key takeaway from this story is that truthful communication is inhibited by being in a wakeful state, whereas somnolence facilitates a favourable state for it to come about.
This is the fiftieth story out of fifty-two from the Tutinama (Tales of a Parrot), which is a free “translation” of the Sanskrit Sukasaptati since little apart from the frame tale is the same, including the number of tales. The stories are told by a wise parrot to keep Khujasta, wife of the merchant Maimun, at home when she is tempted to commit adultery while her husband is away on business.
This Perso-Islamic version of the work by Ziauddin Nakhshabi, one of two from the fourteenth century, is replete with ethical and moral lessons. Nakhshabi’s work was popular in the Mughal period and a sumptuous manuscript copy with over two hundred illustrations was produced early on in Akbar’s workshops. Most of the folios of this Mughal manuscript are in the Cleveland Museum of Art and the paintings have been studied by Pramod Chandra, Sherman Lee and John Seyller, while a translation of the text was published by Muhammed A. Simsar.
Many paintings from this manuscript have intricate floral and botanical imagery. This scene, however, is set indoors. The queen’s bed is placed on a hexagonal brick platform with two steps. Over it there is an elaborate canopy with four posts along with a floral border and gold crenellations. She rests with one hand behind her head in a serene napping pose.
In the following plates, Nicolas Roth selects a different illustration from the Tuti-nama that apparently references the rose and depicts jasmine vines. Photographs of those flowers are from his garden (Spring 2023).
A king suspects his wife, a Rumi (Byzantine) princess. of being unfaithful, not knowing that her supposed young lover is actually her son from a previous marriage. She has been too modest to tell her husband the truth about her relationship. An old woman who is an interpreter of dreams steps in to help sort out this misunderstanding. According to her plan, the queen must feign sleep; the king, believing that she is in deep slumber, must place on her chest a Syriac Solomonic talisman with jinni writing, which will make her confess the truth. When the king hears his wife reveal the actual circumstances and thus prove her marital fidelity, he is overjoyed, and the couple are reconciled. Thankfully, the young man whom the king had ordered to be beheaded was saved by his clever vizier, providing a truly happy ending to the story.
The key takeaway from this story is that truthful communication is inhibited by being in a wakeful state, whereas somnolence facilitates a favourable state for it to come about.
This is the fiftieth story out of fifty-two from the Tutinama (Tales of a Parrot), which is a free “translation” of the Sanskrit Sukasaptati since little apart from the frame tale is the same, including the number of tales. The stories are told by a wise parrot to keep Khujasta, wife of the merchant Maimun, at home when she is tempted to commit adultery while her husband is away on business.
This Perso-Islamic version of the work by Ziauddin Nakhshabi, one of two from the fourteenth century, is replete with ethical and moral lessons. Nakhshabi’s work was popular in the Mughal period and a sumptuous manuscript copy with over two hundred illustrations was produced early on in Akbar’s workshops. Most of the folios of this Mughal manuscript are in the Cleveland Museum of Art and the paintings have been studied by Pramod Chandra, Sherman Lee and John Seyller, while a translation of the text was published by Muhammed A. Simsar.
Many paintings from this manuscript have intricate floral and botanical imagery. This scene, however, is set indoors. The queen’s bed is placed on a hexagonal brick platform with two steps. Over it there is an elaborate canopy with four posts along with a floral border and gold crenellations. She rests with one hand behind her head in a serene napping pose.
In the following plates, Nicolas Roth selects a different illustration from the Tuti-nama that apparently references the rose and depicts jasmine vines. Photographs of those flowers are from his garden (Spring 2023).
A king suspects his wife, a Rumi (Byzantine) princess. of being unfaithful, not knowing that her supposed young lover is actually her son from a previous marriage. She has been too modest to tell her husband the truth about her relationship. An old woman who is an interpreter of dreams steps in to help sort out this misunderstanding. According to her plan, the queen must feign sleep; the king, believing that she is in deep slumber, must place on her chest a Syriac Solomonic talisman with jinni writing, which will make her confess the truth. When the king hears his wife reveal the actual circumstances and thus prove her marital fidelity, he is overjoyed, and the couple are reconciled. Thankfully, the young man whom the king had ordered to be beheaded was saved by his clever vizier, providing a truly happy ending to the story.
The key takeaway from this story is that truthful communication is inhibited by being in a wakeful state, whereas somnolence facilitates a favourable state for it to come about.
This is the fiftieth story out of fifty-two from the Tutinama (Tales of a Parrot), which is a free “translation” of the Sanskrit Sukasaptati since little apart from the frame tale is the same, including the number of tales. The stories are told by a wise parrot to keep Khujasta, wife of the merchant Maimun, at home when she is tempted to commit adultery while her husband is away on business.
This Perso-Islamic version of the work by Ziauddin Nakhshabi, one of two from the fourteenth century, is replete with ethical and moral lessons. Nakhshabi’s work was popular in the Mughal period and a sumptuous manuscript copy with over two hundred illustrations was produced early on in Akbar’s workshops. Most of the folios of this Mughal manuscript are in the Cleveland Museum of Art and the paintings have been studied by Pramod Chandra, Sherman Lee and John Seyller, while a translation of the text was published by Muhammed A. Simsar.
Many paintings from this manuscript have intricate floral and botanical imagery. This scene, however, is set indoors. The queen’s bed is placed on a hexagonal brick platform with two steps. Over it there is an elaborate canopy with four posts along with a floral border and gold crenellations. She rests with one hand behind her head in a serene napping pose.
In the following plates, Nicolas Roth selects a different illustration from the Tuti-nama that apparently references the rose and depicts jasmine vines. Photographs of those flowers are from his garden (Spring 2023).
"The king places the talisman on his sleeping wife"
Sunil Sharma selects a Mughal folio
from the Tuti-nama (Tales of a Parrot)
Play Time in Mughal India
Curator's note: I have an unwavering love for optimism, retro sci-fi, and for my colleague Nicolas Roth’s Massachusetts-based gardening practice that merges his expertise in Mughal era horticulture with a contemporary understanding of plants, flowers and perfumery. As I have pulled so much from his various published texts and metaphorically “plucked his flowers”, I made him a unique edition Nic in the Bagh Playset in return. This 17 piece set of hand painted pop-ups also comes with synesthesia elements such as the perfumes Outer Space, Banana Leaf, Castoreum & Grapes, and Champaca. And a special tea titled “Emperor Jahangir’s vacations in Kashmir, c.1600”.
Here, in this playset, we have some fun. For instance, I have reproduced specific banana trees so prominently painted in 17th and 18th century Rajput paintings and mixed them up with paintings of the same trees currently growing in his garden. Now he has to guess which is which!
The pop-ups of the two rose bushes: are they from his garden or are they from the 18th century Udaipur painting in our exhibition? And what about the glorious clusters of narcissi and iris?
There’s also chaos and danger. As an ever present symbol of mischief, I painted a cute little bunny — but is that bunny a real menace eating up all his flowers and beans or is that a bunny visiting from one 19th century Udaipur painting?
Then there are the turkeys. Are they the ones that visit his garden regularly or are they Emperor Jahangir’s prized pets exploring the present timeline?
Is that a space ship from 1960s Star Trek emerging from a cobalt blue cumulus circa 1650? Or is that me scanning and beaming up all of Nicolas’ plants?
September 2023
