Picture: Ajmer Sharif Shrine in India
New York Times, March 17, 2006
Varanasi Journal: Braids of Faith at Baba's Temple: A Hindu-Muslim Idyll
By SOMINI SENGUPTA
VARANASI, India — They came to banish ghosts, find a cure for eczema, seek succor for a cheating husband or an unruly child. Their feet bare, their heads covered, the believers, both Hindu and Muslim, entered the shrine in droves, stopping only to kiss each stair.
That was the scene March 9 at the tomb of Hazarat Syed Baba Bahadur Shahid, a Muslim, two days after homemade bombs tore through a Hindu temple and a railway station here in Hinduism's holiest city, raising the specter of Hindu-Muslim violence.
But such violence did not come to pass. Indeed, the scene at the Bahadur Shahid shrine served as a reminder of a fact often obscured by the spasms of ruthless sectarian violence that strike India: that after living cheek by jowl here for so many centuries, Hindus and Muslims often find themselves quietly braided together in worship as in daily life.
Like a great many Sufi shrines across India, the Bahadur Shahid shrine is considered holy by Hindus and Muslims alike. The Bahadur Shahid shrine is not nearly as storied as others scattered across this country — from Anantnag on the Indian side of Kashmir to Ajmer in the Rajasthani desert — that draw Hindu, Muslim and Sikh pilgrims by the thousands every year. This is an unsung poor people's temple, in a dirty field where cows loll and the smell of sewage rises up as the day unfolds.
Little is known about its origins, except that the man buried in the tomb was probably a soldier from the 11th century who came to conquer Varanasi, also known as Benares, and lost.
"It lies in the imagination of the folk," said Mohammad Toha, a professor of sociology at Benares Hindu University. "It is part of folklore of Benares. It symbolizes Hindu-Muslim integration, the syncretic culture of Benares."
The shrine is a symbol of a city in which Hindus and Muslims have lived in varying states of ease and unease for hundreds of years. Varanasi's famous Hindu temple, Kashi Viswanath, is pressed against its most famous mosque, called Gyanvapi, and guarded by heavily armed policemen.
Varanasi has long been a mecca for mystics and iconoclasts, including the 15th-century poet Kabir, who rejected Hindu and Muslim strictures with equal vehemence. He was so revered that when he died, Hindus and Muslims sparred bitterly over his remains. According to legend, a deal was brokered to divide them up. But when his shroud was lifted, nothing was there.
Hindus and Muslims are also tied together in more commercial affairs. That, some Benarasis surmise, perhaps best explains why the temple bombing of March 7, which the police attributed to an Islamist militant group with ties to Pakistan, did not incite further violence.
Muslim weavers make the famous Benarasi silk saris for the weddings of wealthy Hindus. Muslim craftsmen also produce the crowns of Hindu temple deities.
Muslims play concerts at Hindu temples. The city's most celebrated musician, the Muslim shehnai player Bismillah Khan, now approaching 90, is famous for having begun his mornings with devotional songs before the Hindu temple of Shiva.
On a recent Thursday, as on every other, the Bahadur shrine brought together thousands of believers.
Hindu women with red vermillion powder smeared on their heads jostled for a glimpse of the tomb along with Muslim women shielded in black burqas. Hindu men donned skullcaps in deference to Muslim custom. Offerings that are ordinarily seen at Hindu temples — flowers, incense, sugar candy — were presented before the tomb.
It hardly mattered whether the believers invoked Hanuman or Allah the rest of the week. On Thursdays, they came to the tomb of Bahadur Shahid — or Baba, as they called him — and prayed for a miracle.
On the stoop of the sanctum sanctorum sat a chronicler of troubles, Ramsaran Prasad, with a Muslim skullcap bearing the green, white and orange colors of the Indian flag.
An unshaven man in a blue shirt came to explain his condition.
"There is trouble in mind and heart," the man told Mr. Prasad. "Can't sleep. Every morning, I am tired. Always I am anxious."
Mr. Prasad jotted it all down on a slip of white paper. The man's name was Ram Kumar, and he was a Hindu. He had come from 20 miles away.
Mr. Prasad sold the man an amulet, containing verses from the Koran. That day's verse was chosen for its power to banish bad spirits. It cost 11 rupees, roughly 25 cents.
Chandrakara Devi, also a Hindu, came next and squatted on the ground before Mr. Prasad. She told him of a tooth problem. "Write it very carefully," she said, "so I can get better quickly."
But a toothache was not her only trouble. Her husband has a mistress, she whispered to Mr. Prasad. She gave both their names. All was recorded on the little slip of paper, to be placed at the end of the day at the head of Bahadur Shahid's tomb. She too bought an amulet.
The scene in and around the shrine was part revival church of the American South, part chaotic Indian country bazaar. A man on a crackling microphone hectored the believers to donate. Women sat in rows on the floor, muttering, swaying, throwing their heads from side to side. Every inch of the courtyard was occupied.
A few holy men offered to banish evil spirits with the wave of a peacock feather duster. Beyond the shrine's fence, a lively market had sprung up, offering not only flowers and prayer cloths for the shrine, but also a great assortment of terrestrial necessities: underwear, salted peanuts, plastic buckets, glass bangles, vegetable fritters, pumpkin candy.
Raj Kumari, a widow, came from 10 miles away to seek a cure for her son, Ajay Kumar, the family's sole breadwinner. The boy suffered from eczema on his hands. He was 12 years old.
Sagir Ahmed, a sari weaver from Varanasi, came to make an offering on behalf of his 4-month-old daughter, who suffered from fits.
Ishaq Khan said he traveled six miles from his village, because he suspected that his wife was possessed by ghosts. He would have brought her here this day, were it not for the bombs earlier in the week. He did not know if the city would be safe.
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