‘Jali’ as a symbol of syncretic India | New book by Navina Najat Haidar traces the evolution of this intricate lattice work

Haidar is curator-in-charge of the Department of Islamic Art at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art

In a famous passage in the Koran, as the Prophet Muhammad flees to Medina to escape his enemies, he takes refuge in a cave in Jabal Thawr. As his captors close in, Allah sends one of His “invisible soldiers”, a spider, to protect the future leader of Islam. Blessed by the divine hand, the humble creature, within moments, weaves a thick web to cover the entrance of the hideout, misleading the pursuers into believing it is empty, thereby saving the Prophet’s life.

American art collector and scholar Stuart Cary Welch used to cite this incident as the origin story of the jali, the intricate lattice work decor commonly associated with mosques, palaces and cenotaphs. While it is impossible to ascertain the deific provenance of this architectural marvel, the jali remains ubiquitous across Asia. If you live in a city like Delhi, Ahmedabad, Jaipur or Hyderabad, jalis are everywhere. In fact, simply look around, and you’ll see grilles and meshes, lesser forms of jalis but jalis nonetheless.

It is from an essay by Mitchell Abdul Karim Crites, another American art historian who has spent over 50 years working with Indian artisans, that we learn about Welch and art collectors like Doris Duke, who played a major role in popularising the jali in the West. Crites’ piece is part of a beautifully designed and richly informative book Jali: Lattice of Divine Light in Mughal Architecture (Mapin Publishing) by Navina Najat Haidar, curator-in-charge of the Department of Islamic Art at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. The piece is one among several tracing the evolution of the jali through time and geographies.

Embellished with vivid photographs by Abhinav Goswami, the book is as much a scholarly work as a vivid reminder of the living traditions that we take for granted or fail to notice. It traces the Roman and Persian origins of the jali, its flourishing as temple art in Gujarat and Vrindavan, restless evolution through the Sultanate era, and eventual apotheosis in the hands of the Mughals. Haidar takes us right up to modern times, where the form gets appropriated and reimagined by artists and architects as distinct as Edwin Lutyens and Mona Hatoum.

“Each of the patterns in this jali,” Haidar says pointing at the image from Neminath temple in Gujarat, “has a symbolic function.” To my untrained eyes, the squares resemble a code, a cipher to a language we don’t understand any more. In some instances, with jalis in Ibrahim Adil Shah’s tomb in Bijapur, Karnataka, for example, there is indeed a literal calligraphic focus. In some of the arches, Koranic passages are inscribed on jalis, difficult to read unless you are trained, but quite a sight to behold.

Historically, jalis have been put to myriad uses. From acting as a veil between the women of elite families and the outside world, to helping modulate the temperature inside chambers, to directing sunlight at a specific angle on tombs, their functions have evolved depending on the context in which they appeared. Each pattern in the jali repertoire has meanings that are immutable. “The stars and hexagon shapes point to a celestially inspired language,” Haidar says, “while repeating patterns create an illusion of infinity, which, in turn, acts as an allusion to the divine.”

In a striking departure, flowery trellises woven in the style of jalis, which adorn the Krishna temple in Vrindavan, convey a different kind of cosmic message as compared to a jali by a tribal artist in Chhattisgarh. This fluid life of the jali in India’s history and public domain is testament to the syncretic spirit that runs through this country.