India’s last water men fight tide of history

Shakeel Ahmad is one of last Bhishtis, a community of water carriers fading into history after generations of quenching thirsts in the Indian capital.

Shakeel Ahmad, one of Old Delhi’s last Bhishtis fills up his goat hide canteen from a well. Dominique Faget / AFP Photo

NEW DELHI // Shakeel Ahmad wanders through the cramped alleyways of Old Delhi offering water from a goat hide canteen slung over his shoulder.

It’s a centuries-old service welcomed by thirsty vendors toiling under the baking sun.

Mr Ahmad is one of last Bhishtis, a community of water carriers fading into history after generations of quenching thirsts in the Indian capital.

Bhishtis have been supplying businesses, pilgrims and passers-by with swigs from their swollen canteens since the Mughals ruled India, an era before piped water sounded the death knell for their trade.

“I spent my childhood doing this. My ancestors too spent theirs,” Mr Ahmad said at the footsteps of Jama Masjid, the towering mosque built at the height of the Mughal empire.

“Now I am the last. I’m not sure if my children, if the next generation, will do this or not.”

For centuries, Bhishtis have sourced water from an underground basin deep beneath the warrens and monuments of Old Delhi — a bustling quarter hidden away from the modern Indian capital that grew up around it.

Inside a small Sufi shrine, Mr Ahmad draws water from a deep well, filling his large goat skin canteen known as a mashaq to the brim.

“The water in this well has not stopped since it was dug,” said Mr Ahmad, gesturing to the murky depths of the pit below.

“It dried up just once when construction began on the Delhi metro ... but then it just came back on its own.”

It is back-breaking work hauling a full mashaq around the crowded, cobbled streets in the blistering summer, where daytime temperatures regularly exceed 40°C.

A full canteen carries about 30 litres. Its contents is enough to earn a Bhishti a mere 30 rupees (Dh1.8).

“My children will find it difficult to do this job. I am the last,” Mr Ahmad said.

Piped and bottled water has all but destroyed business, but there’s still a handful of people calling out for Mr Ahmad as he treads through the lanes.

Old shopkeepers, parched in the midday sun, cup their hands for a mouthful of water, while street vendors have him fill cooling units and drink buckets to ward off the worst of the heat.

Problems with the piped water supply — not an unusual occurrence in the creaky old neighbourhood — is a fillip for Mr Ahmad, even if a nuisance for everyone else.

“When they have their regular supply, no one bothers to call,” Mr Ahmad said.

Business may not be booming but tourists and pilgrims still double take when they see the elderly Bhishti in his white tunic and prayer cap carting his water skin, a flashback to a bygone era.

“Many people are amazed to see that this profession still exists ... that something from the time of the kings still exists. They are surprised and happy to see us,” he said.

* Agence France-Press