In Pakistan - and for that matter in every society around the world - one sees a seamless mixing of religion and folklore, cultural traditions and myths. Some times it is hard to tease out the proverbial chaff from the wheat. In practical terms, however, it is neither necessary nor advisable to draw airtight lines around various components of what makes a religious culture.
In my youth it was common for the women in our neighbourhood to bring their sick infants and children to the corner mosque and wait for the congregants to emerge after sunset (maghrib) prayers. One by one, the men would blow on the faces of hapless sick children. Whether the blessings were more powerful than the germs they were blowing on tiny faces, I can’t know. Most of them, however, got better.
I was born into a Syed family in the walled city of Peshawar. Syeds are considered descendants of the family of the Prophet (PBUH) and thus are held in high esteem by the general public. Over the millennia, some have branched off into spiritual panhandling whereas others hold dear the religious traditions and use them to guide and advise people seeking religious remedies to their everyday problems - including chronic illnesses, marital issues, childlessness and mental health problems. Still others, including myself, do not think being Syed gives us special privilege.
My three aunts, elder sisters of my father, were spiritual ladies. While they did not give away taaviz (talismans), they readily advised women in crises by listening to them and then prescribing certain verses from the Quran. Most women were advised to read those verses after early morning fajr prayers. Occasionally the youngest of my three aunts would also narrate a story to a woman seeking advice. All my aunts emphasized that the revealed word of God would ease the difficulties if listened to with attention and pure intentions. The stories varied in content but all of them were tailored to specific problems.
Women from the neighbourhood and also from other parts of the old city would come to our home with questions about their complicated family problems and after talking to my aunts, they would go back to their problems - but with a renewed hope and an improved outlook.
Some of the women would come to report a theft in their household. It was always about valuables such as money or jewelry. They sought spiritual guidance to identify the thief. Now my aunts were not sleuths and were not in the business of solving crimes. They would find the culprit through a curious method using Quranic verses. The ritual was called “fall” and was carried out with purpose and seriousness.
The names of various suspects were written on small slips of paper and, one at a time, one of the slips was folded and inserted in the spout of an earthenware pitcher called kuza. Two women would lift the pitcher with their index fingers around the neck of the pitcher. They then recited Surah YaSeen (36: 1-83) as they held the pitcher. If the name on the slip of paper was indeed of the thief, the pitcher would move clockwise. The pitcher would not move when name of an innocent person was in the spout.
Another way to find the thief was to use two sticks of annar (pomegranate) tree placed on the palms and forearms of two women facing each other. The name of a suspect was mumbled and then some verses were recited. If the sticks moved towards each other, the person was guilty. I don’t know if there was an effort on the part of the operators to move the pitcher or sticks onto a particular name. But people swear that the movement was spontaneous and not engineered.
The stick act was reminiscent of dowsing in which underground water was detected using a forked stick in America and other countries.
There was another religious practice that our family looked forward to. This involved uttering a short prayer on behalf of a family member, a close relative or a neighbour with serious illness. It was also performed in anticipation of a blessed event such as a wedding or the expected birth of a baby. This used to be a family affair where close relatives and sometimes neighbours would join in the ritual. The idea was to invoke the name of God and say a short prayer 125,000 times. Now the reason for the precise number 125,000 (sawa lakh, or, one lakh and a quarter) was not known. I think sometimes in centuries past the tradition started without questioning the precise number and it continued with the passage of time and is still in practice.
It is literally impossible to keep track of 125,000 prayers being whispered by a group of people. So a unique system was devised. Each prayer was whispered over a fruit pit, the prayers numbering 125,000.
The particular passage is from Surah Al Anbiya (21: 81-88).
Sacks of washed and dried pits of date or tamarind fruit were poured over a large bedsheet spread in the middle of a carpeted floor. Generally there would be 10,000 pits that would be prayed upon multiple times to tally a total of 125,000. Everyone participating would perform ritual ablution as if preparing for prayers. The group would sit around the sheet. Each member would pick a handful of pits, whisper the prayer on a pit and then place the pit in a separate pile. This usually went on for the better part of the day. There were, of course, food and other breaks. When all the pits had been prayed upon, the pits would be placed back into the sacks and stored. The idea was to repeat the prayer 125,000 times and the fruit pits were merely tools to keep count. Food, more like a feast, was served at the end of the ritual.
Some people would substitute fruit pits for cowrie shells or any other suitable items that were easy to store.
No one kept accurate account of the efficacy of the prayer ritual. There were, however, plenty of anecdotal stories - such as someone miraculously recovering from a terminal illness within days of the prayers. If a sick person got better it was attributed to the power of prayers. If the person didn’t get better and died, it was the will of God. It was, in a way, a win-win situation.
While skeptics can question if prayers ever work, the power of prayer can’t be denied. It probably does not alter the course of a serious illness but it does give the people the satisfaction of having done something. A Pashto saying sums it up rather well: “Da Pekhe na Tekhta Nishta” (There is no escape from the inevitable).
The ritual of Sawa Lakhia Khatam is still practiced in Peshawar and perhaps in other parts of the country as well. It is an endearing ritual where a group of family, friends and neighbours collectively send their fervent prayers to help am ailing member of the community or to invoke the blessings of Almighty God upon a forthcoming marriage or a childbirth.
Blowing blessings on an infant’s face outside the mosque, counseling women in distress, saying blessings on fruit pits to invoke God’s mercy – these are some of the enduring and endearing religio-cultural traditions that bring comfort and solace to vulnerable people in distress.
Dr. Sayed Amjad Hussain holds emeritus professorships in humanities and Cardiovascular Surgery at the University of Toledo, USA. He is also an op-ed columnist for the Toledo Blade and Daily Aaj, Peshawar. Contact him: aghaji@bex.net
In my youth it was common for the women in our neighbourhood to bring their sick infants and children to the corner mosque and wait for the congregants to emerge after sunset (maghrib) prayers. One by one, the men would blow on the faces of hapless sick children. Whether the blessings were more powerful than the germs they were blowing on tiny faces, I can’t know. Most of them, however, got better.
I was born into a Syed family in the walled city of Peshawar. Syeds are considered descendants of the family of the Prophet (PBUH) and thus are held in high esteem by the general public. Over the millennia, some have branched off into spiritual panhandling whereas others hold dear the religious traditions and use them to guide and advise people seeking religious remedies to their everyday problems - including chronic illnesses, marital issues, childlessness and mental health problems. Still others, including myself, do not think being Syed gives us special privilege.
My three aunts, elder sisters of my father, were spiritual ladies. While they did not give away taaviz (talismans), they readily advised women in crises by listening to them and then prescribing certain verses from the Quran. Most women were advised to read those verses after early morning fajr prayers. Occasionally the youngest of my three aunts would also narrate a story to a woman seeking advice. All my aunts emphasized that the revealed word of God would ease the difficulties if listened to with attention and pure intentions. The stories varied in content but all of them were tailored to specific problems.
Women from the neighbourhood and also from other parts of the old city would come to our home with questions about their complicated family problems and after talking to my aunts, they would go back to their problems - but with a renewed hope and an improved outlook.
Some of the women would come to report a theft in their household. It was always about valuables such as money or jewelry. They sought spiritual guidance to identify the thief. Now my aunts were not sleuths and were not in the business of solving crimes. They would find the culprit through a curious method using Quranic verses. The ritual was called “fall” and was carried out with purpose and seriousness.
Another way to find a thief was to use two sticks of a pomegranate tree placed on the palms and forearms of two women facing each other
The names of various suspects were written on small slips of paper and, one at a time, one of the slips was folded and inserted in the spout of an earthenware pitcher called kuza. Two women would lift the pitcher with their index fingers around the neck of the pitcher. They then recited Surah YaSeen (36: 1-83) as they held the pitcher. If the name on the slip of paper was indeed of the thief, the pitcher would move clockwise. The pitcher would not move when name of an innocent person was in the spout.
Another way to find the thief was to use two sticks of annar (pomegranate) tree placed on the palms and forearms of two women facing each other. The name of a suspect was mumbled and then some verses were recited. If the sticks moved towards each other, the person was guilty. I don’t know if there was an effort on the part of the operators to move the pitcher or sticks onto a particular name. But people swear that the movement was spontaneous and not engineered.
The stick act was reminiscent of dowsing in which underground water was detected using a forked stick in America and other countries.
There was another religious practice that our family looked forward to. This involved uttering a short prayer on behalf of a family member, a close relative or a neighbour with serious illness. It was also performed in anticipation of a blessed event such as a wedding or the expected birth of a baby. This used to be a family affair where close relatives and sometimes neighbours would join in the ritual. The idea was to invoke the name of God and say a short prayer 125,000 times. Now the reason for the precise number 125,000 (sawa lakh, or, one lakh and a quarter) was not known. I think sometimes in centuries past the tradition started without questioning the precise number and it continued with the passage of time and is still in practice.
It is literally impossible to keep track of 125,000 prayers being whispered by a group of people. So a unique system was devised. Each prayer was whispered over a fruit pit, the prayers numbering 125,000.
The particular passage is from Surah Al Anbiya (21: 81-88).
Sacks of washed and dried pits of date or tamarind fruit were poured over a large bedsheet spread in the middle of a carpeted floor. Generally there would be 10,000 pits that would be prayed upon multiple times to tally a total of 125,000. Everyone participating would perform ritual ablution as if preparing for prayers. The group would sit around the sheet. Each member would pick a handful of pits, whisper the prayer on a pit and then place the pit in a separate pile. This usually went on for the better part of the day. There were, of course, food and other breaks. When all the pits had been prayed upon, the pits would be placed back into the sacks and stored. The idea was to repeat the prayer 125,000 times and the fruit pits were merely tools to keep count. Food, more like a feast, was served at the end of the ritual.
Some people would substitute fruit pits for cowrie shells or any other suitable items that were easy to store.
No one kept accurate account of the efficacy of the prayer ritual. There were, however, plenty of anecdotal stories - such as someone miraculously recovering from a terminal illness within days of the prayers. If a sick person got better it was attributed to the power of prayers. If the person didn’t get better and died, it was the will of God. It was, in a way, a win-win situation.
While skeptics can question if prayers ever work, the power of prayer can’t be denied. It probably does not alter the course of a serious illness but it does give the people the satisfaction of having done something. A Pashto saying sums it up rather well: “Da Pekhe na Tekhta Nishta” (There is no escape from the inevitable).
The ritual of Sawa Lakhia Khatam is still practiced in Peshawar and perhaps in other parts of the country as well. It is an endearing ritual where a group of family, friends and neighbours collectively send their fervent prayers to help am ailing member of the community or to invoke the blessings of Almighty God upon a forthcoming marriage or a childbirth.
Blowing blessings on an infant’s face outside the mosque, counseling women in distress, saying blessings on fruit pits to invoke God’s mercy – these are some of the enduring and endearing religio-cultural traditions that bring comfort and solace to vulnerable people in distress.
Dr. Sayed Amjad Hussain holds emeritus professorships in humanities and Cardiovascular Surgery at the University of Toledo, USA. He is also an op-ed columnist for the Toledo Blade and Daily Aaj, Peshawar. Contact him: aghaji@bex.net