May 4, 2003

In addition to being centres of religious and spiritual activity, the mazars of sufi saints are also used by the criminal element, and it happens right under the nose of the authorities

IT might be too scandalous to put it down in writing, but the unwholesome truth cannot be disregarded that the resting places of Sufis and saints in Lahore are being used as lairs of crime and corruption. The seepage from this darbar-culture has paralyzed part of the city’s population, making it cling to a peculiar way of life provided under the shelter of mystical indulgence.

Operating more systematically than the ancient cultural mores of the city itself, the strangeness of the darbar-culture is fast approaching the high-alert sign. Crime, addiction and a general tendency to wallow in escapism have become the lifeline of most of these sufis’ shrines. The Department of Auqaf’s pathetic approach towards the dodgy occurrences is completely overlaid with monetary considerations. It becomes even more questionable when looking the other way to the exploitation of religious belief develops into a convenience, which is partially responsible for corrupting the myriad shrines burgeoning Lahore’s over-populated zones. That is why the existence of one sufi shrine within a radius of, say, two kilometres should not be taken as a seismic discovery.

“Allah be praised! Meri sohni shezadi Ruqayya (my beautiful Princess Ruqayya) has never made me sleep on an empty stomach,” intones a robust self-employed mendicant, Fakhra, who comes thrice a week on a begging spree to the shrine of Bibian Pakdaaman here in Lahore. On every alternate day of the week, Fakhra gets out of the small Suzuki van and walks barefoot through the rutted lanes leading to the shrine of Bibian Pakdaaman. She’s been coming here for 10 years now and nobody knows that each Sunday she takes her two children to attend a mass in a church near the General Hospital. For her, begging is a profession which cuts across religious barriers. “I have to make a living and feed my two children because my husband does not work. I make more than Rs10,000 a month which is impossible if I take up a normal job,” explains Fakhra.

Sounds fair enough till a kiosk owner, selling religious tokens and symbols around the area, confides in a hush-hush tone to reveal the unfairness of Fakhra’s trade. He says that it is not all that naove as it sounds. She works for a mafia controlling all the shrines from Garhi Shahu to the Empress Road. “She is dropped off at Bibian Pakdaaman by three men, one of them happens to be her husband,” the man stops abruptly to weigh the impact of the sentence.

Of course, that piece of information is not as shocking as the kiosk owner’s next detonation when he accuses Fakhra of luring unsuspecting female devotees to set them up with men. “Do you get me Baji? Know what I mean?” he spits in the nearby open drain and shouts at a man sitting in the opposite kiosk. “It’s almost 5pm and she’s not come yet,” he bellows. The other man gives a slight nod to his head. “I’m not talking about Fakhra but another woman who comes here each Wednesday for Bagga. God knows why she comes. I’ve never seen the two so much as speak a word to each other,” says the first kiosk owner.

“Where were we? Oh yes! Fakhra! Please don’t take my name otherwise it’ll be the end for me. Everybody suspects Fakhra but we dare not say anything because we believe she and her men have the police on their side. Now, who would want to annoy them?” continues the kiosk owner who probably sells more gossip than the goods on display.

For decades now these shrines have been serving a multi-purpose. Their significance in a deprived society as places of gratifying human spirituality cannot be minimized. Even the generous distribution of food among devotees is a tradition not seen outside the subcontinent. What begins as humane generosity turns too alarming as the exploitative nature of this darbar-culture unfolds. Those devotees who pay their respects through different means, sometimes through money and at other times through food, have no idea that their devotion is causing a serious problem in the society.

Millions of people living in Lahore deliberately prefer to sit idly at the shrines than work for a living. These specimens of indignity are not bothered about living off charity neither are they much concerned about such words as respect and hardwork. “Why should I work when Data is looking after me? I’m sure if Allah wanted me to work He would have put me in different circumstances,” says the 29-year-old Younis.

It has almost been a year now that Younis has been sitting at the shrine of Data Ganj Baksh. After the birth of his sixth daughter, Younis could no longer bear the pressure of supporting a huge family. “I was a poor cobbler and was not making enough money. Then one day I saw Data’s shrine in my dream. I left everything to come here,” says a remorseless Younis. He has not quite severed his links with his family. His wife visits him once a day and takes home the food saved by Younis. “They are eating three meals a day which was not the case when I was working,” admits Younis. “Khair hovay Data di (bless Data), my two eldest daughters are going to school, the rest come here to play with the other children.”

Not bad. Not bad at all if the darbar-culture is feeding and educating a family. But not everybody living off the shrine of the 11th century sufi saint from Gazni, Afghanistan, has reached Younis’ level of complacency. The immediate area surrounding the shrine of Syed Ali bin Usman Hajvery, known as Data Ganj Baksh, has one of the highest rates of crime in the city. Reports of abduction, kidnapping, drug peddling and child molestation are usually gagged by the Department of Auqaf and kept under wraps from the prying eyes of the public.

Of course, the Auqaf denies these allegations, but the strange behaviour of some of the people seen regularly in the area is hard to ignore. The Iqbal case of 100 children who were picked up from around the area of Data Sahib, sodomised and dissolved in acid still lingers disturbingly to be erased from memory.

“It’s a very dangerous area. You wouldn’t know it unless you lived here,” claims a man working as a masseuse. In summer, he sleeps on the footpath opposite the shrine of Data Sahib and has seen too many untoward incidents to call it a safe place. “Girls are kidnapped, small boys are sold off and children are trained to pick pockets. Women should be very careful because they are easy targets of the racket controlling this area,” continues the masseuse. “I think you shouldn’t go around asking questions, it can put you in trouble. Please go now,” comes his warning.

Non-conformist as it is called, the darbar-culture suddenly loses its elasticity when it comes to women. The only strict rule laid down at these centres of simulated mystical transcendence is the forbidding of women from entering the vault of the tomb.

When Salma first visited the shrine of Hazrat Mian Mir, near Infantry Road, she had little idea of the reaction her presence would produce. Everybody stopped in the middle of their recitation of the Quran and all thoughts of communion with Allah were instantly forgotten. Bearded men dressed in starched white shalwar-kameez, encircling the grave, brusquely commanded her to get out of the room! She heard a voice say that the entire area would have to be purified again with rose water. Salma was barely six and it was beyond her to understand how she had turned the place impure. “Look bibi, don’t ask un-Islamic questions. Age does not matter. Women have strong forces of evil in them. We don’t want to be distracted in our prayers,” says Maulvi Karim. Non-conformist? Not quite so.

If these beautiful structures of architecture are to be devalued as institutions of crime and discrimination, it will be much better not to confuse mysticism with human depravity. We are already reaping the heavy harvest of integrating religion with politics. Let us show some respect for the Sufis.

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