Gone are the days when Sufi shrines were spaces where people from different sectarian and ethnic backgrounds could unite and celebrate life.
Consider what I have seen.
I grew up in Ziarat Kaka Sahib, a small village 10 kilometres south of the Nowshera cantonment, named after a 15th-century saint Kasteer Gul. Every year, the devotees of the saint would get together to pay tribute to the saint on his anniversary. The event, as is common in Pakistan, was called ‘Cheraghan’ (Festival of Lights). A month before the actual anniversary the locals used to arrange a Mela – complete with entertainment that one associates with circuses, and rides which brought great joy to children and young people.
On the eve of the Cheraghan festival, women from the nearby villages would light the lamps in the shrine. The devotees from the Barelvi school of thought would arrange Naat Khwaani. Deobandis would arrange Khatm-e-Quran. Shia scholars would pay tribute to the greatness of the saint. Sufis and humanists would organise musical events with a local taste – especially the playing of the Rabab.
The shrine was attacked by militants, resulting in the deaths of 12 devotees. Thereafter, women were stopped from participating in the urs. The rides and circus-style entertainment were banned
Seventeen years back, my father had taken my younger brother and me to this mela (fair) for the first time. I could see the pluralism. I could experience the celebration of life. Above all, I could feel that this event was a spiritual and cultural melting-pot – bringing together people from very different schools of thought. No one felt like an outsider. The festival, you see, was all about love.
A traditional mela perhaps has the most to offer to children. As a kid, I too was excited to see all the various animals in the makeshift zoo. There was a Mawt Ka Kunwa (Well of Death) with death-defying antics to entertain young and old alike. There were rides for children – especially swings and merry-go-rounds. Also part of the mela were a cultural show, a puppet show and a magic show. Stalls selling traditional foods ensured that you didn’t go hungry.
The aftermath of the deadly terrorist attack on Ziarat Kaka Sahib, Nowshera
Every year, without fail, on the 24th of Rajab (the seventh month of the lunar Islamic Calendar) people celebrated a saint who was known as “the kindest” – a man who was known for setting free slaves, showing mercy to orphans and helping the poor. The late Bahadar Shah Zafar Kakakhel, in his book Rahmkaar Kaka Sahib, writes of the saint: “He once saw to the release of more than 2,000 slaves after having paid money to their masters in the Mughal era. He used to arrange langar [free food for devotees] for thousands of his pilgrims and devotes regularly and extended financial assistance to destitute families.”
Tales abound of his generosity and kindness to humans.
During the festival to commemorate him, at night when the children would return to their homes, the youth of the area would continue the celebration with folk singing, cooking and dancing under the open sky, in the time-honoured way.
Qawali, Naat recitals and mushaira (poetry sessions) were a constant attraction for devotees.
Usually, girls would buy bangles in the shops situated in the street. At the entrance, stalls of bangles, tappa (stamps) and food set their wares on display and jugglers entertained the visitors. Everyone could be seen enjoying themselves according to their financial capacity.
Before the sunset, women would come to light up earthen lamps while praying for a peaceful, prosperous and healthy future.
All of this, however, was to change as a wave of religious extremism and associated terrorism hit the country, shaking our region to its very foundations.
After 2009, when a bloody tide of terrorism engulfed the whole country, this shrine – like so many others – was not spared. The shrine was attacked by militants, resulting in the deaths of 12 devotees. Thereafter, women were stopped from participating in the urs (commemoration) of the saint. The rides and circus-style entertainment were banned. Public expressions of joy were now frowned upon.
A view of the Ziarat Kaka Sahib shrine
And in this environment, along with everything else that was worthwhile, the religious harmony of my childhood days also died. After all, how long could it resist the storm of religious fundamentalism and hatred?
The urs is not a pluralistic event anymore. Music is no more well-received during the proceedings. The popular perception of it is now as an event for one particular school of religious thought.
I do not know how we would convince coming generations of our area of the harmony that we have once seen. The children who were born after 2009, especially, will grow up seeing the shrine and its associated commemorations in a very different way than I did as a child.
