A regal collection

Small administrative anomalies have managed to cast a shadow on the peerless Nizam jewels, now on display in New Delhi. GAYATRI SINHA writes about the show which can make jewellery collections the world over appear like small change....

IN THE National Museum's jewellery gallery below the audible gasps and murmurs of appreciation you can almost sense what must be a collective sense of gratitude for L. P. Sihare's determination to keep this fabulous cache in India. For sheer splendour and size, these jewels are in a class of their own. Before them, Kuwait's Al-Sabah family's fabled collection of Moghul jewels pales into insignificance. Arguably, the taste of the Deccan Nizams ran to size in preference to delicacy, ceremonial splendour, rather than the minutae of detail seen in South Indian court and temple jewellery. Nevertheless, if the classic image of the Oriental potentate evoked the image of extraordinary wealth, then this collection is perhaps its finest contemporary example.

The events leading up to the exhibition have their own story to tell. As a fledgling reporter in 1978, one of the first stories I covered was in a tense Supreme Court chamber when before the representatives of Stravos Niarchos and Galadhari, the Charan Singh Government stayed the auction of the Nizam's jewels. After a bitter legal tussle, the Government acquired the cache of 323 jewels in 1995. The architect of this particularly protracted game of attrition, Dr. L. P. Sihare, had passed away in 1993. Yet these jewels, when presented before the public, were hastily mounted in just 20 days - with an obvious lack of adequate preparation.

The crowds that queue up for this glittering exhibit would be surprised to learn that approximately Rs. 2.8 crores have been spent on preparing the exhibit. However, the display cases used belong to the original jewellery gallery of the museum, and bear marks of age and use.

The Hyderabad jewels, symbolic as they are of a petrified piece of history, offer a glimpse into the passion for gems at the court of the Asaf Jah dynasty from 1724 to 1948. Established by Nizam-ul-Mulk, Asaf Jah, the dynasty took its lead in culture and values from the Moghuls.

Much of the jewellery on display is the male court ornament, obviously meant to impress through its sheer size and opulence. There were jewels for every part of the body from the `kalgi' or `sarpech' on the royal turban to raised highly-embellished toe rings. The essential combination of rubies, emeralds and diamonds prevails, while diamonds and more diamonds of every conceivable cut and colour bedazzle the vision.

The jewels, many of which have been acquired without any documented history, have fabulous antecedents. Thus there is the bazu band apparently worn by Tipu when he died in 1799 and which the Nizam got in his share of the booty, as a loyal feudatory of the British. A `sarpech', received as a gift from a Moghul Emperor, the Nizam's diamond belt with 1400 diamonds that weigh over 700 carats and the Jacob's diamond that appeared in the Kimberly mines in 1884, weighing 184.5 carats have a sense of history. Most of the pieces however, are `read' in terms of their design, which ranges from Moghul to Deccan to European inspiration. Thus the reverse meenakari of the Moghul style, or the silver setting of the Deccan style gradually come to be replaced by jewels obviously inspired by Victorian England. The royal belts worn by the ruler exemplify this, as does the women's jewellery, which graduates in time from the heavy-tiered anklets in caubuchon rubies, emeralds and diamonds to cut stones made not by jeweller families in the Deccan but British firms like Cooke and Kelvey, in Calcutta.

Despite the discomfort of the long queues, the brief half an hour viewing and the general disorganisation at the National Museum, this cache of jewels must be seen. Mir Osman Ali Khan, once considered the richest man in the world whose personal estate yielded Rs. 25,000,00 a year, is already an anachronism in modern India.

The fabulous wealth of the jewels inspires awe perhaps, but little sentiment for a bygone era of fabled wealth and oriental grandeur. After all, emeralds the size of mango kernels are only good behind the glass facade of a high security museum.

Peerless jewels on display.

GAYATRI SINHA

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