It was at the height of a blazing afternoon in Dholpur when I first caught sight of the Tomb of Bībī Zarrīna, known in local lore as “the Lady of Gold”, sitting forlornly on a raised sandstone platform, partially engulfed by wild grasses and halfhearted whitewash. Even before stepping inside, one could sense the bygone opulence behind the time-ravaged arches and intricately carved latticework: a regal serenity struggling to break free of dust and neglect. Unlike Rajasthan’s “celebrity” forts or the Mughal showpieces, few travellers – and even fewer conservation efforts – come to this tomb. Yet, this understated structure preserves the story of a daring woman – the mother of Sultan Sikandar Lodī (r. 1489–1517) whose behind-the-curtain resolve shaped the Delhi throne at a pivotal historical juncture.Mosque of Bibi Zarrina in Dholpur, Rajasthan. Photo: Mehrdad ShokoohyA hidden historical gem in the heart of DholpurDholpur, a small town in Rajasthan, roughly halfway between Agra and Gwalior, remains overshadowed by these tourist giants. A constant trickle of vehicles speeds through its sun-scorched roads, rarely braking to acknowledge the heritage treasures on either side. Among these treasures is the Tomb of Bībī Zarrīna, historically identified as the resting place of Sikandar Lodī’s mother. Local inhabitants have long passed down an oral tradition that Bībī Zarrīna died here in Dholpur, apparently while residing with her son in the final years of his reign. In an 1885 account, the eminent archaeologist Alexander Cunningham wrote that the original epitaph clearly spelled out her name “Zarrīna”, indicating a date of death in 922 AH (1516 CE). Over the centuries, that inscription has been all but eroded, replaced by cryptic traces, layers of white plaster, and the occasional graffiti scrawl.Photographic copy of a paper impression of the inscription on Bibi Zarrina’s tomb, taken by Joseph David Beglar in 1875. Photo: Mehrdad Shokoohy via British LibraryEven so, enough remains to suggest that this was a royal tomb of remarkable ambition. Modern scholarship, particularly the meticulous fieldwork by Mehrdad and Natalie Shokoohy (published in the Bulletin of SOAS), reaffirms that the grand design and ornamentation point unequivocally to the high status of its occupant. At the same time, the tomb’s precarious state – crumbling corners, chipped lattice-screens, an interior dulled by repeated whitewashing – signals how an extraordinary piece of Indo-Islamic architecture can all too easily slip into disrepair when overshadowed by more famous sites.‘The Lady of Gold’Legends of Bībī Zarrīna swirl with the romance befitting medieval courts. She was said to have been born Hīmā (or “Hema”), meaning “gold” in Sanskrit – apt for a goldsmith’s daughter. Later chroniclers reported that upon marrying Bahlūl Lodī (founder of the Lodī dynasty, who reigned over Delhi from 1451 to 1489), she acquired the title “Zarrīna,” Persian for “golden.” One historical account (the early seventeenth-century Tārīkh-i Shāhī) narrates how Bahlūl first noticed her in Sirhind, was smitten by her beauty and eventually brought her into the royal fold. Indeed, other sources note that her name is occasionally spelled as “Zībā,” implying “beautiful” or “ornamental”. Whichever variant is correct, all point to an extraordinary woman who transcended her non-royal origins to become the mother of a future sultan.This same woman would later orchestrate events from behind the purdah to ensure her son, Sikandar, ascended the throne when his father died in 1489. Accounts differ, but one recurring theme is that the Lodī nobility was divided. Some favored other claimants. Others dismissed Sikandar precisely because he was “the son of a goldsmith’s daughter.” None of it dissuaded Bībī Zarrīna. She is portrayed as intercepting letters, persuading key generals, and ensuring that her son’s elder siblings did not seize control upon the monarch’s death. Owing to her resolve and timely political maneuvering, Sikandar Lodī was enthroned outside Itāwa at a place called the Kūshk-i Sulṭān Fīrūz.Red sandstone walls at the site of Bibi Zarrina’s tomb in Dholpur, Rajasthan. Photo: Special arrangementHow did she end up in Dholpur?By the early 1500s, Sikandar Lodī repeatedly stayed in Dholpur due to its strategic proximity to Gwalior – a region of constant military tension. He supposedly built gardens, palaces and roads along the route from Agra to Dholpur, spending long intervals in this quieter outpost. As the most senior royal lady, Bībī Zarrīna accompanied him on his extended stays. That would explain why, near the end of her life in 922 AH (1516 CE), she was buried at Dholpur rather than in Delhi’s well-known Lodī-era necropolises. The article in Bulletin of SOAS underscores that no other major pre-Mughal monument in Dholpur bears this level of craftsmanship; only someone of high rank – almost certainly the Sultan’s mother – would have merited such an ambitious tomb-mosque complex.An architectural gem in decayWalking around the tomb today, one sees a deliberate interplay of light and shadow through the jaali (lattice) screens and slender stone columns. Once you pass the open courtyard, the mausoleum stands on a slightly elevated plinth, each side featuring carved parapets, chatrīs (domed kiosks) on the roof, and graceful pierced stone panels with geometric and floral motifs. Scholars note the tomb’s “trabeated structure” – beams and lintels, rather than arches – is characteristic of late Sultanate and Bayana-region architecture. Inside, a cluster of cenotaphs surrounds the central block, presumably Bībī Zarrīna’s own tombstone with an elaborate stepped sarcophagus.Decades of neglect have taken their toll. The once-delicate carvings are worn smooth or embedded beneath thick whitewash. Structural cracks blemish the parapet corners. The adjacent mosque, also part of her funerary complex, shows multiple collapsed stones, especially along the qibla wall. Even the decorative crenellations on the roof have lost many of their original carved panels. This disrepair is further intensified by haphazard usage: local worshippers occasionally hold prayers here, painting over centuries-old inscriptions with bright enamel paint. Plastic litter piles up in corners. No official signage or caretaker’s presence can be observed. All of it testifies to a pattern of benign indifference that is heartbreakingly common among lesser-known heritage sites in India.The dissonance is striking: a woman who influenced the destiny of the Lodī throne now rests in near anonymity. The site is frequently mislabeled or simply omitted in tourist maps, overshadowed by the more imposing Shergarh Fort or modern attractions along the Chambal river. Even academically, Bībī Zarrīna’s story remains a footnote in the grander narratives of Mughal and Sultanate history. Yet, her life – from being a goldsmith’s daughter to becoming the kingmaker – underscores how powerful women could shape dynastic politics in an era that rarely mentioned them by name.Inscriptions partially deciphered on her cenotaph once included Āyat al-Kursī (Quran 2:255) and a probable mention of the year 922 AH. This pointed alignment with typical Indo-Islamic epigraphic traditions (scripture plus a date) affirms both her revered status and the impetus to honor her properly in death. The inscribed surfaces have now, ironically, eroded to the point where only someone thoroughly familiar with epigraphic forms can identify the original script. That quiet fading of names and verses stands in symbolic contrast to how she, in life, so fiercely made herself heard at court.Tomb of Bibi Zarrina, view from the courtyard looking east. Photo: Mehrdad ShokoohyA larger crisis of neglectDholpur’s oversight is hardly unique. Across Rajasthan, lesser-publicised monuments slip from official attention amid the relentless promotion of marquee sites like Jaipur’s Amber Fort or Jodhpur’s Mehrangarh. In the broader national context, the Archeological Survey of India (ASI) and state departments are stretched thin, prioritising monuments with higher tourist footfall. The result: structures of deep cultural significance, especially in smaller districts, languish. While local communities often hold these sites with a mix of reverence and apathy – questions surface like, “nobody comes, so why repair it?” – government bodies lament minimal funding or confusion over property rights.In Bībī Zarrīna’s case, if one compares the refined architecture of this tomb-mosque with the neglected environment around it, the lack of conservation is painfully obvious. Achieving “protected monument” status or forging public-private partnerships could channel funds to preserve the tomb’s carvings, restore the stone screens, and set up interpretive panels. Without those steps, time and weather will continue to degrade the structure, relegating it to a near-forgotten anecdote in local memory.Toward a renewed understandingFrom an academic viewpoint, Tomb of Bībī Zarrīna presents a fascinating architectural continuity between the late Sultanate style and the earliest Mughal influences. It also offers a lens into how royal women in medieval India navigated power, forging behind-the-scenes alliances to influence dynastic successions. If local bodies and heritage activists seize upon this nuance, they could reposition the site as a “hidden gem” – part of a broader narrative that includes Machkund Temple, Shergarh Fort and National Chambal Sanctuary.Tourists and history enthusiasts might then find it irresistible to experience the ‘Lady of Gold’s’ final resting place, if only they knew it existed and had the infrastructure to access it comfortably. Even a simple plaque at the entrance, detailing Bībī Zarrīna’s story and her pivotal role in Sikandar Lodī’s ascension, might spark an emotional connection for visitors. At present, however, any sense of living heritage is compromised by crumbling masonry and the hum of traffic from the highway that cuts through Dholpur.In many ways, Bībī Zarrīna’s tomb stands not just for her personal story but for the precarious fate of smaller heritage sites in India. The ‘Lady of Gold’ now rests unremarked in a monument quietly deteriorating beneath the unrelenting Rajasthan sun. That dichotomy speaks to the ambivalence with which we treat the layered complexity of our past. Within those silent red sandstone screens, one can almost imagine the formidable woman whose voice once resonated beyond the curtains of the royal tent, urging powerful nobles to accept her son’s right to rule.Unless some concerted effort is made to restore, promote, and preserve the tomb, we risk allowing a singular chapter of Indo-Islamic history to vanish from public consciousness. And so Bībī Zarrīna’s story remains perched precariously between obscurity and potential rediscovery – a silent testament to the interplay of maternal love, political cunning, and the ephemeral nature of mortal glory. The next time a traveller sees the sign ‘Dholpur’ on their route, perhaps they will remember there is more to see than scorching heat or dusty roads. There is a tomb – and a tale behind it – that deserves its moment in the sun.Deeksha Tyagi is a second year student of History at Miranda House, Delhi.
