Delhi’s bustling streets, ancient monuments, and urban villages hold countless layers of history. While grand landmarks often celebrate emperors and male patrons, many lesser-known localities—villages, sarais, gardens, and mohallas—quietly preserve the legacies of women whose stories have faded over time. These places, shaped by Mughal-era court figures, village founders, and noble patrons, reveal how women influenced the city’s social and cultural fabric, even as patriarchal narratives and rapid urbanization have obscured their contributions.
From Portuguese influencers in Mughal harems to Jat women who helped settle villages amid famines, these “lost women” echo through corrupted names and surviving oral traditions. Their stories remind us that Delhi was not built solely by rulers but also by women who provided governance, diplomacy, medical expertise, and community anchors.
Sarai Jullena: A Portuguese Woman in the Mughal Court
In South Delhi’s Okhla area, near Jamia Nagar, lies the densely populated neighborhood of Sarai Jullena (also spelled Sarai Julena). The name originates from Dona Juliana Dias da Costa (1658–1733), a woman of Portuguese descent born in Delhi (or Cochin, according to some accounts). Her father served as a physician at the Mughal court, and Juliana herself entered the harem, eventually becoming a trusted confidante of Prince Shah Alam (later Emperor Bahadur Shah I, son of Aurangzeb).
Juliana offered expertise in governance, medicine, and diplomacy. In recognition of her services, Bahadur Shah I granted her 97 bighas of land in the suburban village of Okhla. Around 1720, she built a sarai (caravanserai or rest house) there, primarily for European travelers. Over centuries, “Sarai Juliana” evolved phonetically into Sarai Jullena. Today, the area is filled with DDA flats and urban bustle, but a weathered signboard reading “Sarai Julena Gaon” still stands as a faint reminder. A modern biography, Juliana Nama, by Raghuraj Singh Chauhan and Madhukar Tewari, revives her remarkable life bridging Portuguese and Mughal worlds—yet she remains largely unknown to residents and the wider public.
Sanoth Village: Named After a Village Founder’s Wife
Farther north, in the Narela zone of Northwest Delhi, Sanoth (or Sannoth) village carries a humbler but equally poignant story. Approximately 300 years ago, amid recurring famines, a Jat settler named Kher migrated from Kathura-Rathara in Rohtak (present-day Haryana). He married Sanno Devi from the nearby village of Bawana and acquired agricultural land at the present site.
The settlement became known as “Sanno ka Than” or “Sanno ka Gaon” (Sanno’s place or village), gradually shortening to Sanoth. Detailed written records are scarce; the origin survives mainly through oral histories passed down in the community. The village, now dominated by the Jat community, maintains traditions of venerating local female deities such as Kanthi Devi (a form of Sheetla Mata associated with protection from smallpox), Lalita, and Kho-Kho Mata. These goddesses are invoked for family welfare, crop prosperity, and health—highlighting women’s enduring symbolic role in rural life even as the founding woman’s personal story risks being overshadowed by urbanization.
Rani Bagh, Rani Khera, and Hauz Rani: Echoes of Royal Women
Several areas around Hauz Khas and neighboring regions carry the prefix “Rani” (queen), pointing to royal or noble women whose specific identities have often blurred into generalized royal patronage.
- Hauz Rani is linked to a queen (or royal woman) from the era of Alauddin Khilji, associated with the creation or maintenance of the Hauz Khas reservoir.
- Rani Khera connects, in some community genealogies, to a Tomar princess married into the Dabas clan around 700 years ago.
- Rani Bagh similarly evokes female royal influence.
These names endure, yet histories frequently attribute the sites more prominently to male rulers than to the women themselves, illustrating how female contributions are often reframed or diminished.
Other Traces of Forgotten Patronage
Delhi is dotted with additional echoes of women’s patronage, many tied to the Mughal and Sultanate periods:
- Begumpur and the Begumpuri Masjid (a 14th-century Tughlaq-era structure) derive from “Begum,” referring to unnamed royal or noble ladies. Similar patterns appear across Mughal sites where begums funded architecture.
- Qudsia Bagh, near the Red Fort, honors Qudsia Begum (born Udham Bai), a consort of Muhammad Shah known for her garden and palace.
- Roshanara Garden in North Delhi is associated with Roshanara Begum, daughter of Shah Jahan and a politically influential figure; her tomb lies within the now somewhat neglected baradari.
- Masjid Mubarak Begum in Old Delhi was built in 1823 by Mubarak Begum, a courtesan who married the British Resident David Ochterlony. Once mockingly called “Rundi ki Masjid” by critics, it underscores how women’s public acts of patronage could invite stigma.
- The Dadi Poti Tombs near Begumpur consist of two structures of different sizes (folk tradition attributes them to a grandmother and granddaughter), though their exact origins remain unclear and span Lodhi and Tughlaq periods.
- The Yogmaya Temple in Mehrauli links to ancient female spiritual traditions, evoking Delhi’s old name Yoginipura (city of yoginis) and nearby medieval yogini sculptures.
Prominent Mughal women like Haji Begum (who oversaw Humayun’s Tomb), Jahanara Begum (who designed Chandni Chowk), and Maham Anaga (who built the Khayr al-Manazil Mosque) left more visible marks, yet even their fuller stories are often under-explored in popular narratives.
Why These Stories Deserve Rediscovery
Delhi’s urban villages and mohallas formed the bedrock of the city long before planned colonies and high-rises. Women acted as court influencers, village settlers, architectural patrons, and spiritual anchors. Yet gaps between oral memory and written records, combined with patriarchal historiography and relentless development, have marginalized many of these legacies. Vague “Begum” or “Rani” references persist, while specific identities sometimes vanish entirely.
In a modern context, even recent tragedies like the naming of Shreya Mishra Marg near Delhi University’s North Campus—after a student who lost her life in a road accident in the late 1990s—show how women’s stories can quickly fade amid daily urban life.
Visiting these sites today offers a quiet act of remembrance: strolling through Sarai Jullena’s streets, exploring Narela’s outskirts, or resting in Qudsia Bagh. These ordinary spaces outlast statues and grand memorials, whispering histories that challenge us to look beyond emperors and victors. By listening to local oral accounts, consulting Archaeological Survey of India records, or reading works like Juliana Nama, we can begin recovering the lost women of Delhi—one locality at a time. Their enduring presence in the city’s geography reminds us that history is richer, more inclusive, and far more layered than official chronicles often suggest.
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