Twenty households prosper
As a million people suffer
President Ayub live forever6
In 1962 when Ayub Khan introduced his Constitution, Jalib was one of the few to criticize it openly. One of his best remembered poems, ‘Dastoor’, rejected the dictator’s Constitution.
This constitution
This dawn without light
I refuse to acknowledge
I refuse to accept7
Even today Jalib’s ‘Dastoor’ is recited both by rebels and members of the political establishment. One of the most memorable moments in recent years was Shehbaz Sharif reciting it at one of his political rallies.8
Jalib, during his long career, particularly aligned himself with women on political issues. His first foray into feminist politics was in 1965, when he wrote a poem in honour of an actress, Neelo, who refused to be pressurized to perform for a state guest, the Shah of Iran. During the Pakistani presidential elections of 1965, when Ayub Khan was pitted against Fatima Jinnah in a battle rigged before it even began, Jalib supported the latter, calling her the mother of the nation.9
In 1971, as Pakistan headed towards the darkest chapter since its creation, Jalib’s was one of the only voices from West Pakistan, dominated as it was by Punjabi hegemony, to speak out against atrocities committed by the army in East Pakistan under the guise of Operation Searchlight. Flooded with state propaganda interspersed with legends of the gallant and chivalrous Pakistani soldier, West Pakistan supported the operation that was meant to silence Bengali nationalist sentiment.
With the arrival of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and his slogan of Islamist socialism, there was hope in the country’s leftist circles. Jalib maintained an ambivalent relationship with the new prime minister. There were moments of warmth, but also of persecution. He was put behind bars for his opposition to the dismissal of the provincial government of the North-West Frontier Province (NWFP), now called Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, and high-handedness in dealing with the separatist movement in Baluchistan by Bhutto.
Despite a bittersweet relationship with Bhutto, on the occasion of his death at the hands of Zia, Jalib wrote:
His magic has not been broken
His blood has become a slogan10
The years to follow were to shape the nature of Pakistani society for generations to come. Today, as religious extremism raises its head not just in Lahore but every other city of the country, its roots can be traced to the hateful years of Zia, who actively mixed religion with politics, leading to an unprecedented Islamization of state institutions. Infused with righteous piety, Zia was on a self-appointed crusade to ‘rectify’ the country’s moral issues. His Islamization of the state and its institutions was meant to further ‘purify’ the land of the pure. Petty criminals, but mostly political opponents belonging to Bhutto’s PPP, were flogged in public. Under the pretence of a religious system, Pakistan was ushered into one of its darkest periods. For Zia and his cronies, Pakistan was finally on the right path, heading towards enlightenment. Zia, the messiah, through Islamization of state institutions, thought he had rectified all of Pakistan’s problems. It is in this context that Jalib made a few objections in his poem, ‘Zulmat ko Zia’. He said he could not call this cruelty kindness, this dark night dawn, this desert a rose garden, nor a human being God.11
In another poem that mocked Zia’s referendum of 1984, an attempt by the dictator to legitimize his position, Jalib wrote the following:
The city was desolated
Was it a jinn or was it a referendum?12
Jalib’s role during the Woman Action Forum’s (WAF) protest on 12 February 1983 against the recently passed Law of Evidence, which reduced the weight of the testimony of a woman to half of a man’s, resulted in one of his most iconic photographs of the times. Surrounded by a sea of women, Jalib was the only man invited to join the protest and recite his poetry of rebellion. The police descended upon the protestors to drag them to jail. In one photograph, young policemen are pulling an aged Jalib from both sides. In another, Jalib receives a blow to his head.
Even today, when the old guard of the WAF gathers every year on 12 February to commemorate that event, Jalib’s poem is recited like an anthem. Set up in Karachi in 1981, the WAF had a strong presence in Lahore, led by some of the most prominent feminists of its time. The organization was originally initiated to oppose the Hudood Ordinance, which was part of Zia’s programme of Islamization. The ordinance prescribed punishments for adultery and fornication, suggested public whipping, deprived women of their property rights, prohibited alcohol and reduced the value of women’s testimony. While some of these laws were later revised, others continue to be a part of Pakistan’s penal code.
The WAF’s struggles against Zia are shining examples of brave opposition to a ruthless dictator. At a time when political activists were being tortured, whipped in public and even killed, a few hundred women walked the streets of Lahore, raising their voices for their rights. While most of them came from liberal education and upper-middle-class backgrounds, their class privilege did not stand in the way of their street protests. Harassed and ‘manhandled’ by the police of the state, they continued to march and created an example of a heroic feminist political movement.
The movement has a special significance in the history of Lahore and Punjab. It publicly protested against a dictator at a time when the rest of the city and the province had passively accepted its fate. While anti-Zia movements, under the banner of the Movement for the Restoration of Democracy (MRD) raged in other parts of the country, particularly in Sindh, the Punjabi middle class, traders and businessmen reaped the benefits of Zia’s liberal economic policies. After Bhutto’s haphazard nationalization, which had a serious economic impact on Punjabi businessmen, most of them were relieved by the dictator’s economic policies.
While Sindh burned, Punjab basked in the glow of economic prosperity. Its position as the hegemonic centre was further solidified. Soon, the MRD emerged as a Sindhi nationalist struggle. In this docile and passive environment, the voices of the WAF and Habib Jalib rang even louder. Jalib could not help but resent Punjab’s apathy. He felt it was Punjab’s support of the establishment that had led to the country’s dismemberment in 1971. He could see history repeating itself in Sindh, where the MRD had turned into a full-blown civil war between Sindhi nationalists and the Punjabi establishment. Jalib knew Punjab had to realize the situation before further damage could be wrought to the country. His poem ‘Jaag Mere Punjab’ is a plea for such an awakening.
Awake O Punjab, Pakistan is in danger13
On 12 March 1993, this rebel poet of Lahore, who had been at the forefront of protests against two military dictators, breathed his last at Lahore’s iconic Ganga Ram Hospital. He was buried at Sabzazar graveyard, where he had spent the last few years of his life. While during his lifetime his activism and poetry were seen as a threat by the political establishment, after his death he was appropriated by everyone. His poetry is now recited by politicians of all ideologies. Once incarcerated by the state for his opinions, in 2009 Jalib was awarded the highest civil award in the country,14 which was received from the President of Pakistan by Jalib’s daughter, who is now buried next to her rebel father.
Scattered in the courtyard of Data Darbar are the sins of the city of Lahore. For a thousand years, people of all religions, castes, sects and creeds have found refuge here. The shrine has provided food and shelter to anyone seeking them. At the centre of a mammoth courtyard is the actual shrine, containing the grave of the eleventh-century Sufi scholar Ali Hujwiri, also known as Data Ganj Bakhsh. Covered by a small building with latticed windows looking into the shrine, not everyone is allowed into this sacred space. To these windows, devotees tie their supplications in the form of a thread, beseeching the saint to intercede on their behalf. The threads are removed when there is no room for any more, only to be replaced once again with new ones.
Tradition dictates that one enters the abode of a Sufi saint with an offe
ring. There are dozens of shops outside this highly guarded complex to ensure this tradition is not discontinued. Chadars with Quranic verses hang from the roofs of these shops, mostly in green—a colour associated the most with Islam. The dome of the shrine is green. The bigger dome of an imposing mosque behind the shrine is also green. Offerings at the shrine include overpriced flower petals and incense sticks. After passing through the police picket and its metal detector, a devotee is stopped once again at the entrance, where a group of boys asks for his or her shoes. Irrespective of the weather, a devotee needs to walk barefoot on the shrine’s white marble, whether it is burning in the heat or freezing in the cold. A coupon is handed to a devotee for his or her shoes and an amount charged on return.
Inside, the administrators watchfully monitor the arrival of devotees. Not everyone’s chadar is important enough to adorn the saint’s grave. Not everyone’s incense stick can spread its fragrance in this holy space.
Perhaps there was a time when devotees would bow before the grave, as they still do in some of the other Sufi shrines. This is a major bone of contention between different sects of Islam. Puritans believe ‘shrine-worshipping’ is an act of shirk, a serious sin of worshipping someone other than Allah. They assert one should only bow before God. I remember my grandmother reiterating the fact to me many years ago, when I first visited the shrine with her. With the rising influence of the puritanical school of thought and the increasing significance of the shrine in the political and social landscape of the city, such ‘heretical’ traditions have been abandoned. There are signs at the shrine warning pilgrims against such practices. Guardians rebuke ‘ill-informed’ devotees who attempt to bow before the saint.
Even within the puritanical streams of thought, there are variations. There are those who believe all forms of ‘grave-devotion’ are un-Islamic. The Sufi saints were highly learned men, they assert, who need to be respected, but no form of devotion can be shown towards them. Everyone is equal in the eyes of Allah. Others believe that while it is ‘un-Islamic’ to bow in front of a grave, one can pray to the Sufi saint to intercede on a devotee’s behalf because of their closer association with God. According to them, praying to the saint for intercession is not equivalent to worshipping the grave.
For centuries these debates have existed in Muslim societies. Sometimes, patronized by the state, certain traditions have overshadowed others; however, never before in the history of the religion have they faced the kind of existential threat that they do today. There has been an unprecedented increase in the number of attacks on Sufi shrines all across the country, with ‘un-Islamic’ practices being cited as justification. In March 2009, the popular shrine of Rahman Baba was attacked in Peshawar.15 In the same year, the iconic shrine of Abdullah Shah Ghazi located on top of a cliff facing the sea in Karachi was attacked.16 In 2017, the shrine of Lal Shahbaz Qalandar in Sehwan Sharif, a symbol of religious syncretism in the country, was bombed.
Data Darbar’s fate has been no better. On 1 July 2010, it was attacked by two suicide bombers. One blew himself up in the courtyard, the other in the basement. The attack took place on a Thursday evening, the busiest day of the week, when hundreds of devotees gather to listen to qawwali. A musical rendition of the spiritual experience, qawwali is also regarded as ‘un-Islamic’ by puritans. The blasts at Data Darbar resulted in the deaths of at least forty-five people, injuring many more.17
Lahore was in a state of shock. Never before in its millennium-long history had this sanctuary ever been desecrated. It was respected when the Mughals established authority over Punjab. It was treated with care during the bloody raids of Nadir Shah and Ahmad Shah Abdali. Even during the period of the Sikh warlords, when the entire city was in chaos, the shrine stood as it is, providing comfort to all its devotees. Under Ranjit Singh, even as the neighbouring Badshahi Mosque was converted into a stable, the shrine of Data Darbar continued to be regarded as sacred and treated accordingly. The British too always upheld its sanctity. For the first time in the history of this ancient city, it seemed that the shrine was up against an enemy unlike any in the past.
The attack on the shrine was an attack on the soul of Lahore. For contemporary Lahore, Data Darbar is not just a shrine but also a vibrant symbol of the city—of its prosperity, wealth, power, beauty, austerity and religiosity. It has been appropriated and manipulated by all the major political leaders of the country at different times.
Born at the end of the tenth century in Ghazni, Afghanistan, Ali Hujwiri moved to Lahore after the conquest of Punjab by Mahmud of Ghazni. Instead of settling inside the walled city, he found a place for himself a little distance away, in the wilderness. From here, he is popularly believed to have preached the new religion, converting many. Unlike some of the other Sufi saints, like Mansur al-Hallaj, Lal Shahbaz Qalandar and Bulleh Shah, Ali Hujwiri upheld the supremacy of the Shariah and the religious rituals associated with it.18 It is perhaps the orthodox Islam preached by the saint that allowed for easy appropriation of him and the shrine by contemporary politicians looking for religious validation.
Contrary to its present state—a vast complex divided into male and female sections, with a gigantic mosque in the background, an open courtyard, a large hall in the basement for qawwali, a madrasa and a library—Ali Hujwiri’s shrine has been a modest structure for the longer part of its life. Situated opposite the Bhatti Gate of the walled city, the shrine was first constructed in the eleventh century as a single building with a grave at its centre, a form it retained for centuries. The simple building at the centre of the courtyard is reminiscent of the original shrine. Even during the Mughal reign, the shrine failed to attract imperial funding.
Defying popular historical narratives in Pakistan, it was rather during the reign of Maharaja Ranjit Singh that the shrine rose in significance and began to rival other popular Sufi shrines like Mian Mir and Shah Hussain. A library containing the imperial collections of handwritten copies of the Quran donated by Maharani Jind Kaur, the youngest wife of the Maharaja, was constructed on her orders.19 This was the first such public collection of copies of the Quran in the city and raised the status of the shrine. Its social and political significance only increased thereafter. Under the colonial regime, as a new sort of urban religious identity developed, the shrine acquired centre stage. Particularly after the creation of Pakistan, all governments have viewed the patronage of the shrine as an important act in terms of acquiring political legitimacy.
During his years in power, Bhutto donated the shrine’s fabled silver gate with gold decorations.20 Bhutto’s successor, Zia, too donated generously, and was responsible for the construction of the giant mosque that overshadows the modest structure containing the grave.21 Patronage of Data Darbar was an important political move in his quest for legitimization of his illegal rule and his Islamization programme.
It was at the shrine’s doorstep, outside the Bhatti Gate, that the scene of PPP loyalists, jayalas, protesting against the military regime and immolating themselves to save their leader’s life had unfolded in 1978.22 With Karachi and Sindh erupting, Pakistan seemed on the brink of another civil war. The dictator understood the political significance of Punjab and Lahore. He knew he could not afford to lose Lahore as he was losing Karachi. Religious patronage became his primary propaganda tool and it worked. Islamization in conjunction with economic liberalization earned the dictator support among the trading class of the city, its economic backbone. Patronage to the shrine of Data Darbar, the benefactor of Lahore, patron saint of the city, thus served a crucial political purpose.
It was a moment replete with symbolism when Benazir turned towards the shrine before heading down to Iqbal Park to address her mammoth jalsa, still believed by many to be the largest political gathering in the city, counter to what Imran Khan claims. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto had done the same when he reached Lahore to challenge the authority of Ayub Khan. Now Benazir was up against another dictator, a more brutal version of the former, and she was at the shrine of Da
ta Darbar to seek his blessings in her political mission.
This act acquired even greater significance in the background of almost a decade of malicious propaganda against the Bhutto family. Ever since snatching power, Zia had unleashed the state propaganda machinery against Bhutto, his family and the PPP. They were called a threat to Islam and Pakistan, atheists, libertines and Westernized elites. There was a strong religious and moralistic undertone in his political opposition to Bhutto and Benazir.
The education system and the media (completely owned by the state) had undergone years of Islamization by now. There was a new generation of Pakistanis who knew no other reality. With public executions, caning and other religious laws, Pakistan under Zia had increasingly aligned itself with the Saudi state, as opposed to the liberal Islamic democratic country that Bhutto had promised in the 1970s.
In conjunction with the US, Zia had funded several Wahabi madrasas all over the country to support the Afghan Jihad. The nature of religion in the country underwent a fundamental change during his decade-long rule, the ripples of which can still be felt in the country. A literal and puritanical interpretation of Islam, espoused by the Wahabi ideology, slowly seeped into the social fabric of the country, which had earlier been dominated by an inclusive Sufi interpretation. Religious clerics amassed immense power under Zia. Supported by the state and with a cadre of young, passionate followers, religious leaders acquired unprecedented street power. Along with looking after the law and order situation, the police force was given the added responsibility of moral policing, such as asking young couples sitting together in public for marriage certificates and punishing them if they failed to produce one.
Imagining Lahore Page 5