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FRONT SEAT: Whirling into ecstasy
Mevlavia Sufi tarikah, or order, is one of the oldest in the world, one that predates even the Chistiyah and Qadriyah orders that are prevalent in the subcontinent. Centred in the Anatolian city of Konya at the final resting place of Maulana Jalaluddin Rumi, the most visible manifestation of this sublime order’s work for the uninitiated are the whirling dervishes that have come to symbolize Sufism itself for many laypersons. Recently, the city of Karachi was treated to an enchanting evening of Sema and Zhikr or remembrance topped off with the famed Raqs-i-Bismil that the dervishes are famous for, in the lawns of a local hotel.
Despite the secularist efforts to finish off this esoteric practice during the dark time that was the Kemalist period, when draconian measures were even unleashed upon the Azan, this celebration of the spirit has survived. For centuries, people have been amazed at the devotion and dedication of these men of God as they imbibe in the spirit of self-annihilation, spinning in concentric circles as if to mirror the orbit of the heavenly bodies around the sun. Hence they dance, twirl and stagger towards ecstasy.
Before the dervishes took the stage, a lengthy Zhikr or remembrance of God was chanted, accompanied by haunting string and percussion centred music. As the audience settled into the performance, the cosmic communion was punctuated with sirens, horns and idle chatter – cluttered noise that was part and parcel of the deal. This was no Sema khana – not in the least, it was an attempt to appease the senses of jaded urbanites with what is in their eyes, a novel ‘performance.’ It was interesting to note how the dervishes were going to perform on what seemed like a relatively small stage. But as the musicians played on and the cantors continued to sing the heavenly praises, some in the crowd were visibly moved by the cosmic rhythm. It was hard to understand what was being chanted, and the sudden tempo shifts in the chanting made is difficult to understand little more than Subhan Allah.
The dervishes were led onto the stage by their ‘Sheikh’ or spiritual teacher. They started off with what sounded like a ‘Mankabut’ — a devotional poem to a spiritual teacher or elder. Before long, they were a swirling mass of obtuse, spiritually intoxicated forms bathed in the most soothing shade of white
Finally, the moment of truth had arrived. The dervishes, in all their penitent glory, were led out onto the stage by their Sheikh or spiritual teacher. They started off with what sounded like a Mankabut – a devotional poem to a spiritual teacher or elder. It was without any instruments and the name of Hazrat Shams Tabrez, one of Maulana Rumi’s contemporaries, was mentioned. The flashing lights and smoke machine made things a little annoying. After all, it was an exercise in solemnity, not a disco dance. And plus, it didn’t do much to add to authenticity.
Soon after the initial chant they started forming a circle, again led by the Sheikh, bowing to each other in turn. Just before they launched into the heavenly dance, they kissed the right shoulder of the Sheikh and sought his permission to begin the ritual. Before long, they were a swirling mass of obtuse, spiritually intoxicated forms bathed in the most soothing shade of white – the eye of a galactic storm as it were. They were calm, yet in constant motion. They were like unfettered supernovae – intense yet silent; imploding with energy and emotion yet outwardly cold and distant.
At an anointed time, the Sheikh entered the circle and took his place at the centre of it. At first he seemed just to be observing, and soon enough, he himself was spinning as the whole cluster of dervishes danced in silent fury as the serene music played on.
The end of the ritual was equally rich in metaphysical symbols. At the conclusion of the dance at the PC, they returned to their places and picked up their capes, which they had taken off just before the ritual. They kissed the garments, as it is supposed to represent the shroud, as verses from the Holy Quran were read out. As the qari recited the pure words in his chaste Arabic, the Sheikh instructed for the recitation of Fateha. After the Fateha, the Sheikh passed his disciples, saying Salaam twice, each time receiving a resounding response, as the seekers walked out in the footsteps of their teacher.
It was a soul-cleansing experience to say the least. It is such an intricate ritual, such a sublime art, that one begged that an explanation could have accompanied the performance so as to inform those in the crowd who were non-initiates about the rich symbolism the dervishes employed in their communion. For instance, the long, brown conical hats the men wear are supposed to be symbols of the gravestone, and the black cloaks they wear before launching into the dance are supposed to represent shrouds, for after all, the goal of every Sufi is to destroy the ego, overpower the nafs and seek communion with the immortal Beloved. Still, for many in the crowd, these lofty goals were certainly not within reach, and indeed not many were trying to achieve them. For them it was a spectacle. Simple entertainment. Some were even overheard whispering that it was very confusing and others even found it a tad boring. That was easy enough to understand as in the words of Maulana Rumi himself, ‘Tomaye hur murgh ra injeer naist,’ (The fig is not the food of every bird).
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