Rapri, Uttar Pradesh: Carnivorous cows, millennia-old monuments and tall tales

Rapri tomb enclosure. (Photo by Syed Saad Ahmed)

Mughal emperor Babur offered prayers in this village, it finds a mention in the 16th-century text Ain-i-Akbari, and musicians came here all the way from the Deccan to court fame. Strategically situated along the Yamuna, it was once a military outpost and revenue centre. But now, those centuries of glory are as sunken as the potholes in the roads leading to Rapri. It is only 70 km from the Taj Mahal, but so obscure that even listicles touting hidden gems haven’t wanderlust-ed for it.

Hidden they may be, but Rapri’s gems nevertheless shine bright — with a little help from the Archaeological Survey of India’s (ASI's) restoration drives. However, the only reason people visit nowadays is to seek divine intervention in mortal affairs. Their pit stop is the first of the village’s gems: the tomb enclosure of Shaikh Fariduddin, endearingly known as Fiddu Miyan.

As you enter, two domed, latticed structures rising from a huddle of graves immediately grasp your attention, but the saint does not repose in either. It is the crowds to the back of the complex that take you to his modest burial — on a concrete platform with an unimpeded view of the heavens. Next to the grave is a mortar entrenched in the ground, where devotees place offerings of malida (a dessert made with leftover rotis) and halwa.

While the lattices and architecture are beguiling, it is the legends swirling around Fiddu Miyan that fascinate more. Everybody agrees he was a saintly man at whose command walls moved, but that’s that. Beyond is a cornucopia of tales, which each narrator spices and relishes differently.

According to Sanjay Chaturvedi, who lives close to Rapri, both Hindus and Muslims venerated him, which angered the 12th-century ruler Muhammad Ghori. The king once crashed a wedding and started massacring the guests, among whom was Fiddu Miyan. The saint mounted his horse, which jumped on a wall which refused to budge. “Will you now get me killed?” he said to the wall, which immediately began moving! Ghori realised Fiddu Miyan had supernatural powers and left him alone.

“This is a true story,” asserts Chaturvedi. “Now the government has renovated the structure, but earlier, you could see the tracks etched by the wall. The graves all around are of the bride, groom, and guests at the wedding.” The mortar next to the saint’s burial has a “capacity of 5.5 kilograms,” but if you try to make offerings out of vanity, he cautions, you will never be able to fill it.

Abdul Sattar, one of the caretakers of the dargah, has another explanation for the roving wall. Fiddu Miyan was performing wuzu, the Islamic cleaning ritual, when his brother arrived on a tiger with a snake that he used as a whip. The saint wanted to greet him without interrupting the ritual, so he commanded the wall he was perched on to go closer to his sibling. Of course, the wall obliged.

Abdul Sattar, one of the caretakers of the Rapri dargah. (Photo: Syed Saad Ahmed)

His brother then asked where he could keep his beasts. “The tiger can stay with my cow in the shed and you can hang your snake on this peg,” he said. “But you might lose your cow and have the venomous reptile loose in your house,” his brother warned. The next morning, he went to retrieve his tiger, but all he found was a cow double the size. As for the snake, the peg had swallowed it. He immediately realised the powers of Fiddu Miyan, who commanded the cow to spit out the tiger and the peg to unleash the snake.

Subsequent narrators add further flourishes to the tale. I seek out the man who seems to be in charge, in the hope of some historical insights. He is officiously guiding throngs of devotees, praying for them, and receiving offerings in the mortar. But he has no time for curiosity-seekers: pressing problems need the saint’s intercession. I wait for him to get free, but just as I step aside to explore the recesses of the complex, he vanishes (hopefully not like the tiger).

Rapri eidgah. (Photo: Syed Saad Ahmed)

I then head to the eidgah (prayer grounds). It is just a five-minute walk from the dargah, but is completely desolate. Here, the tomb’s cosy precincts give way to a stately façade lording above the flat landscape and nebulous legends surrender to concrete information. Malik Kafur, Allauddin Khilji’s slave-general, built the mosque in 1312 CE on his way back to Delhi.

Seven centuries later, the beaming winter sun still lends its brickwork a cheery glow. There is more to the monument, however, than just a pretty face. An architectural landmark, it is the oldest building in the subcontinent where blue-glazed tiles are extant in situ. However, I am unable to find the tiles and am not sure whether it’s my amateur eye or the ASI’s fondness for flattening out architectural embellishments that is responsible.

Kushti dangal in Rapri. (Photo: Syed Saad Ahmed)

My investigation is cut short when I hear a commotion. I walk towards the crowd coalescing on the horizon. Beyond it, I spot a man jumping on another and pinning him down. It is the first time I have seen a kushti dangal (wrestling match) in person. My vehement dislike for wrestling — thanks to my brother practising WWE stunts on me — vanishes. The wrestlers’ deft manoeuvres and cheering crowd keep me riveted. After an hour, a winner emerges, whom the village elders felicitate.

River Yamuna near Rapri. (Photo: Syed Saad Ahmed)

As the sun sets, I go to a bridge over the Yamuna. Sand bars and scraggly ravines garland the river on either side. I enjoy the sun frolicking in the currents until a cow suddenly materialises and begins chomping my shirt. It’s time to scoot, I guess. If the cattle in Rapri can swallow tigers at night, surely humans could be a quick bite at twilight.