by Mehru Jaffer
Bibi was overjoyed at the sound of these new songs of worship, so full of protest against the archaic definitions of the divine which had frustrated devotees. Their tone of intense defiance against philosophies designed by powerful priests made her aware of the social injustices of the day and the soulful yearning of poets churned her emotions into frequent storms.
Bibi was particularly full of admiration for the increasing number of women who were defying tradition to express an almost anarchic longing for a ‘divine husband’. The female poets, like many others of this period, belonged mostly to majority communities marginalized by high-caste priests and warrior kings. These women expressed their love and desire in simple language that was easily understood by all, raising their reputation among the masses in contrast to the existing ideal of the woman as a chaste and dutiful slave in a patriarchal set-up.
Bibi asked Muinuddin if he had heard of Mahadevi. He said he had not and requested her to tell him more. Bibi told him that Mahadevi was a beautiful princess from south India who had left the king, her husband, to search for Shiva, her real love, poetically described by her as the Lord who was white as jasmine. With the heavens as witness to her union with Shiva, Mahadevi had accepted the lingam as her groom and had no use for another man of this world.
‘Take these husbands who die, decay, and feed them to your kitchen fires!’ she sang heartily.2
Along with everything else that she had given up, Mahadevi discarded her clothes as well, roaming the forests and enjoying a life of freedom of both body and spirit. Her husband Kaushik, who was also the king, was furious at first but when nursing his pride brought him no relief he had gone in search of Mahadevi and become her disciple.
Bibi had been impressed by such tales of daring and romance about people and places far and near from a very young age. While other girls of the family spent time discussing gold and garments, Bibi would wait for yet another opportunity to sneak into the outer quarter of her parents’ mansion where travellers passing through Ajmer were allowed to rest. Disguised as a boy, she would zigzag between adventurers, eavesdropping on different kinds of talk from trade to the political tactic of the hour. She stopped only after she got the first whiff of the heat and dust trapped in the sweaty dreadlocks of mendicants and then followed the scent to the circle formed by several figures in orange robes that blazed brighter than the sun at dusk, crowned by a cloud of dancing smoke. It was here, in the midst of hashish-puffing masters who roamed the length and breadth of the subcontinent and often beyond, that Bibi had first heard the poetry of Mahadevi.3
To her story Muinuddin added a verse of his own:
Whose face is reflected in the mirror? What beauty is this drawn on the canvas of my spirit, who is it? Every dot perfectly spaced, who grooms the galaxy, is mirrored in molecule, who is it? Rays of the sun light up the face in each grain of sand, who is it? It is flesh I see but who is it in the marrow, who is it? Humming to the soul, songs of solace, softening hearts, who is it? Able to see itself, to love itself, who is it? How often will you Muin force yourself between us? That is the goal of me and of you, that one before you, there. Who is it?4
The modest home of Bibi and Muinuddin made of mud soon became a refuge for all those without roof, shelter or food, and for those seeking solace and peace. His generosity and amazing acts of selflessness earned Muinuddin the title of Gharib Nawaz, or friend of the poor.
Muinuddin’s usual meal remained barley bread soaked in water, which he ate every other day. However, for the homeless a large langarkhana, or open kitchen, was supervised by Bibi. Here every human being irrespective of religion or status was welcomed and fed. The two of them spoke kindly to each other and to others, they were generous with their time and the goods they possessed. Their greatest joy was to provide what they could to those with needs greater than their own. This was the only religion both Bibi and Muinuddin thought was worthy of practice.
Day after day they appealed to the emotion of love in one and all and calmed the frustrations of the masses ruined by war, trying their best to redirect the precious energy of human beings away from destruction to the highest pursuit of realizing the creative in themselves. Once the chores of the day were over, Muinuddin would sit amongst master and slave, beggar and bard, men, women and children, encouraging them to speak their minds, to sing from their souls and to dance till dawn if that is what their hearts desired.
Music was soon to become a part of mystical devotion and the dervish already familiar with pre-Islamic ecstatic dances joined this informal celebration of life in all its diversity, paving the way later for the more organized sama or evening concert. The Chishti order is the only Sufi order to have popularized zikr, the rhythmic repetition of all the ninety-nine names of God, by a chorus of vocalists who sing the qawwal, keeping beat with a hectic, hypnotic clapping of hands. This was easy to do in India where music has always been valued not merely as a source of pleasure but also of spiritual rapture. It is said that a yogi had first suggested to Muinuddin that music be played at his retreat every day.
While the Hindus had access to great knowledge, their rigid caste structure was lacking in love. The Chishtis had love. They brought to Hindustan an incredible explosion of love and joy. This explosion often expressed itself through the use of music and dance. The Chishtis opened the doors of ecstasy, and hungry hearts swarmed to taste its delights.5
Muinuddin sang,
O Lord it is me: blanked out in divine light
and become a horizon of rays flashing from the
Essence.
My every atom yearned for vision
till I fell drunk
on the manifestations of lordship.
Love polished the rust from my heart’s mirror
till I began to see the mysteries;
I emerged from the darkness of my existence
and became what I am (you know me) from the
Light of Being:
blackened like charcoal dark soul’s smoke
but mixed with love fires and illumined.
Some say the path is difficult;
God forgive them! I went so easily:
The Holy Spirit breathes his every breath into
Mo’in—
who knows? Maybe I’m the second Jesus.6
And those who heard Muinuddin praised both his voice and his words, so sweet was the mood that he evoked in listeners.
A visitor told Muinuddin about Allama Prabhu, a spiritual companion of Basavanna and Mahadevi. Formerly a temple drummer, Allama composed devotional poetry, in which he hailed Shiva as the Lord of Caves.
Allama had once been in love with a girl whom he subsequently lost to a grave illness. Allama’s grief at his loss was infinite. He felt paralysed and sat in a vast field crying his heart out. In between his sobs he noticed that an area of the field was sparkling as if it were gold. He wiped his tears and walked closer to the glitter to discover that it was the cupola of a temple. Allama dug night and day till he reached a door. He walked through it and the darkness inside sucked him further into the temple where a yogi sat in deep meditation. When the yogi noticed Allama, he stood up and gave him a lingam, the symbol of Shiva. Then he dropped dead. At the same instant Allama experienced an incomparable sense of weightlessness and freedom. He expressed the feeling eloquently in his poetry:
Looking for your light, I went out:
It was like the sudden dawn of a million suns,
A ganglion of lightnings for my wonder.
O Lord of caves if you are light,
there can be no metaphor.7
Songs of deep devotion such as these were sung at the gatherings at Muinuddin’s home. Some devotees would be so overcome with emotion on listening to such heartfelt devotion that they would forget their own immediate surroundings and fall into a trance. Others would pluck at strings of their musical instrument so lovingly that for many hours nothing else could be heard in the dark and silent night of the desert except the throb of the rhythm and the in
vocation of names of a beloved deity in different languages. This energetic, tolerant, incredible way of worship changed the spiritual life of ordinary people, providing them with an inner strength to seek solutions to obstacles that were coming in the way of their happiness and security.
The number of people wanting to be near Muinuddin rapidly increased. Muinuddin was loved and respected merely for making everyone feel wanted and welcome. His humble home soon blossomed into a haven for the masses who, up to Muinuddin’s arrival in their midst, had been both spiritually and socially lost.
Muinuddin watched ascetics perform yoga and added the practice of breath control as part of his meditations. He realized how much he had in common with the wandering mystics of the land who, like him, were unafraid to express their utter devotion to their creator as the ultimate means of achieving spiritual perfection. In his conversation with them, Muinuddin realized that the yogis regarded religious rituals imposed by orthodox clergymen as a further burden upon the already shrinking spirit of simple people. He agreed with their view that servility to another human being was not necessary for salvation.
He listened in silence to the sermon Krishna had given to Arjuna, as enacted from the Gita by two people in the crowd.
‘Tell me, master, by what force does man go to his ill unwilling, as if pushed on the evil path?’ questions Arjuna.
And Krishna replies, ‘It is passion born of darkness that pushes him. Mighty of appetite, sinful and strong is man’s enemy. As smoke blots the white fire, as rust mars the bright mirror, as the womb surrounds the babe unborn, so is the world of things. Foiled, soiled, enclosed in the desire of flesh. The wise fall, caught in it, the resting foe of wisdom, wearing countless forms fair but deceitful, subtle as a flame. Sense, mind and reason, these are booty for it, in its play with these it maddens man, beguiling, blinding him. Therefore, noblest child of Bharata, govern the heart and constrain the entangled sense. Resist the false, soft sinfulness that saps knowledge and judgement.’
Despite his admiration for the people, the poetry of the devotees and the wisdom of the sages, Muinuddin remained a practising Muslim throughout his life, strictly observing all rituals as dictated by Islam. But neither in his teachings nor in his company did he ever demand the conversion of non-Muslim admirers who visited him.
Muinuddin had studied the Quran and was familiar with the legal, theological and mystical contents of the Holy Book, and he acknowledged the Prophet as the best example of a saint. Muinuddin visited Mecca for the annual pilgrimage. According to a popular legend Muhammad appeared before Muinuddin as he meditated at his grave in Medina to suggest that Muinuddin should travel to India.
In a letter to Qutubuddin Bakhtiyar Kaki, his disciple in Delhi, Muinuddin wrote:
The basic foundation of these instructive letters is, of course, Islamic, for they conform to the teachings of the Quran and the sacred traditions of the Prophet. But despite their Islamic fabric these teachings … conform to similar teachings imparted to the world from time to time by various other religious founders and sages for the salvation of mankind.8
To this day Islamic mystics observe all acts of piety as mentioned in the Quran, including regular prayers and fasting. The singular qualities of an Indo-Muslim Sufi saint include descent from the Prophet Muhammad, his companions, or other noble families of seventh-century Arabia.
He must be connected with a Sufi silsila (order) … He must enjoy a reputation for strict orthodoxy. He must perform his Islamic duties meticulously. He must also perform austerities of a more and sometimes of a less orthodox character. At the same time, he must have a mastery of Islamic doctrinal and Sufi texts or an abundance of literary compositions, and while he must be able to work miracles (karamat), he should be careful to avoid their vulgar display. Enjoying a reputation for inaccessibility and disliking human society, he should nevertheless care for disciples and accepted hangers-on. Finally he should experience visible ecstasy, but it should be linked with a refined sensibility to poetry and music.9
In the midst of this extended family, which included every human being who chose to walk in through the door of their humble but happy home, three children—two sons and a daughter—were born to Bibi and Muinuddin.
The first child born to Bibi and Muinuddin was named Fakhruddin and he grew up to be a respected dervish.
He spent most of his time in spiritual development … He adopted agriculture as his profession and lived in a village (Mandal) near Ajmer. He is reported to have died in 1265 and is buried at Sarwar, 37 miles from Ajmer, on the Ajmer–Kekri Road, attracting hundreds of pilgrims every year on his urs, or death anniversary …10
Hisammuddin, their second son, disappeared from the family while he was still quite young and not much is known about him. Bibi Hafiza Jamal was the only daughter of Bibi and Muinuddin and, like her father, was inclined to spiritual thought. She married Raziuddin, son of Hamiduddin Nagauri, a follower of Muinuddin best known for introducing the Chishti way of life to villagers. Hafiza is buried south of her father’s grave in Ajmer along with her mother and Bibi Asmat, her stepmother.
Muinuddin’s marriage to Bibi Ummatullah had taken place in the early 1190s. Some three decades later Syed Wajihuddin Mashadi, the commissioner of Ajmer, sent a proposal of marriage to Muinuddin for Bibi Asmat, his daughter. The commissioner added that this was a wish of the Prophet Muhammad who had suggested the match to him in a dream.
‘Although I am now too old to marry, the commandment of the Holy Prophet must be obeyed. I accept this relation,’ Muinuddin is said to have responded.11 And so he married a second time.
Muinuddin’s son from his second marriage was named Ziauddin Abu Saeed but not much is known about him. It is well known that Sufis often feel closer to their spiritual heirs, who may not be related to them by blood, than to their own children. That is perhaps one reason why more is known of the friendship between Muinuddin and Bakhtiar Kaki, his principle disciple, and his love for Fariduddin, Kaki’s successor, than about his immediate family or his children.
Fariduddin, known today as Baba Farid, was the disciple of Bakhtiar Kaki and Muinuddin was pleased at the inclusion of the good-natured mystic into the family of the now expanding Chishti order. He immediately gave him the name of Ganj Shakr, a treasure of sweetness. Born in Multan, Fariduddin initially spent time with his master in Delhi but soon moved out of the distracting environs of the capital city into the deep countryside of the Punjab. Fariduddin fasted constantly and lived in poverty. He was fond of hanging himself for forty days in a dark room for purposes of meditation.
Muinuddin Chishti died in 1236. He was buried in his home according to Sufi tradition. The original grave was covered with bricks. In the fifteenth century, Sultan Hushang of Malwa erected a marble cenotaph over the tomb that has been expanded several times since then. The main door to the dargah, known as the Buland Darwaza, was installed during the reign of the same sultan.
It appears that soon after Muinuddin Chishti’s death, the activities of the Chishtis moved to Delhi under the guidance of Qutubuddin Bakhtiar Kaki, Muinuddin Chishti’s beloved disciple. Kaki kept a distance from authorities and refused all gifts and money from those in power.
Fariduddin succeeded Qutubuddin Bakhtiar Kaki. What is not clear is whether Fariduddin ever spoke to Nizamuddin Auliya, one of the most towering Chishti saints, about Muinuddin Chishti. There is also no record of Nizamuddin or his successor Nasiruddin Chirag Dilli having travelled to Ajmer to visit Muinuddin Chishti’s shrine.
No information is available regarding pilgrimage to Ajmer in the thirteenth century, but after a hundred years the role of the Chishti fraternity in Indian society had increased to such an extent that performing ziyarat (pilgrimage) to the mazar (tomb) of the founder of the fraternity became obligatory for representatives of the ruling dynasty and the aristocrats.12
It is most unfortunate that no record of Nizamuddin Auliya’s impressions of Muinuddin Chishti exists. Even in Morals for the Heart (the Engli
sh translation of Fawaid al-Fuad), the most authentic work on Nizamuddin, there is no mention of Muinuddin Chishti. The book is a record of the conversations between Amir Hasan, Nizamuddin’s poet disciple, and the saint and captures the spirit of Nizamuddin and his absolute loyalty to his spiritual master, Fariduddin.
Sufi Thought
Muslim Central Asia was the fountain from which an array of activities—from commerce to cultural exchange—spread to nearby regions. Many residents from this part of the world entered India both to rule and as refugees, as did founders of Sufi orders, like Muinuddin Chishti, who came here with a simple idea and nurtured it into a fresh and seductive world view.
During this period numerous open houses or khanqahs mushroomed all over the land to shelter weary wanderers unable to pay for food or room. The travellers would all sleep and work in one jamatkhana, or large community hall, and their activities here revolved around a spiritual master.
In No God but God Reza Aslan writes, ‘These Sufi masters were themselves the disciples of legendary wise masters whose unsystematic teachings they had collected so as to pass them on to a new generation of disciples. As each disciple reached a level of spiritual maturity, he would then be charged with transmitting his mater’s words to his own pupils, and so on.’
In Notes from a Distant Flute Bruce B. Lawrence, a self-confessed medievalist, extols the role of a medieval master, which is, he says, to transmit stories and recite poetry that reflect the correct outlook and behaviour, or sometimes merely provide relief from the tedium of spiritual discipline.