Bara, in Hindustani, means large. Chhota is the opposite--small. The Chhota Imambara is not exactly tiny, but it’s pretty modest compared to the sprawling Bara Imambara. It’s also a lot less exotic, a lot less intriguing, and (fortunately for visitors), much better maintained. The building of the Chhota Imambara can’t be seen from the road; it’s hidden by a solid gateway. We walked through this, onto a wide, paved pathway flanked by lawns and gardens, leading to the Imambara. All along the centre of the path runs a watercourse with fountains (none of which were playing at the time we visited). As we walked toward the one-story building that comprises the Chhota Imambara, we discovered that the banana trees on our left sheltered dozens of tiny saplings, each neatly embedded in its own little case, ready to be planted into the ground when the time came. It was a nice, shady nursery in a somewhat unlikely location. And further left, past the nursery, was another discovery waiting to be made--the Shahi Hamams, the Royal Baths. We were carrying our entry tickets to the Bara Imambara (which included entry to the Shahi Hamams), so we walked in happily, eager for another slice of history. The Hamams, even as we stood on the threshold, showed themselves for what they were--a disappointment from beginning to end. I, for one, don’t count newly whitewashed walls and a spanking new floor as a piece of history.
The Chhota Imambara, a minute’s walk down the main path, was a deal better. It’s not very large, but it has a truly striking façade--Quranic verses inlaid in white on a black background. We wandered around outside for a few minutes, admiring the stunning decoration, then entered the large main hall. Like the Persian Hall at the Bara Imambara, the main hall of the Chhota Imambara too houses a collection of tazias and chandeliers--but in this case, there’s plenty of light and very little dust, so it’s actually quite nice. The chandeliers are particularly fine--there are pieces from across India and from Japan, Germany, and Belgium. In addition, there’s a miniscule, but interesting collection of Islamic art, including a superb example of calligraphy in which the first verse of the Quran, Bismillah-ir-rahman-ir-rahim, is worked in the shape of a dove--worth seeing. There’s also a very painstakingly written version of the Holy Quran, in letters so tiny that the entire Quran fits onto a piece of paper that’s about a foot square in size.
All in all, this is not a really fantastic place, but it's decent enough--especially as there’s not very much else to see in Lucknow anyway. Entry to the Chhota Imambara is free; you’ll have to pay a rupee to leave your shoes at the door, and whoever takes you around and tells you about the place will expect about Rs50 or so and may prompt you (diplomatically enough--this, after all, is Lucknow) to drop a donation into the poor box.