Mela Chiraghan: Let there be light
Shah Hussain’s death anniversary commemorations mark a spirit of love, peace and tolerance.
The devotees make their mannats (wishes) by offering candles and oil to feed the fire that gives Mela Chiraghan its name. PHOTOS: ZEHRA HASHMI
The heart of Shalimar town, Lahore, beats in sync with the dhol, its arteries clogged with thousands of people, shoving each other in a hurry to reach the alao (huge fire) at the center. The flames light up the shrine of the Sufi saint and poet, Shah Hussain, on Mela Chiraghan or the festival of lights, the three-day urs marking his 426th death anniversary.
Thousands of devotees from all over the country flock to the shrine in the last few days of March, to pay their respects and honour the memory of the beloved saint. The festival is a pre-Partition legacy and continued in the Shalimar Gardens even after Independence, until president Ayub Khan banned the location from being used in 1958. The celebrations then relocated to the winding streets and sloping terraces of the shrine.
The shrine is beautifully lit up over the course of three days. The path leading up to the shrine is choked with devotees holding up chadars that they have carried for several kilometres on foot. People throw their offerings in the chadars and dance to renditions of Shah Hussain’s timeless kaafis (short poems) and the beat of the dhol. Malangs robed in saffron and red, bellow out deep sorrowful notes with their horns. “Wearing varying shades of yellow and red is a tradition here. We wear it as an expression of love,” says Rashid Munir, a regular visitor to the shrine, who has a dupatta of the same colours wrapped around his neck.
The alao at the center is the main attraction of the festival. Hundreds gather around it, throwing packets of oil and candles into the flames as chants of Naraa-i-Haideri followed by Ya Ali, Ya Ali (RA) resound through the packed arena. The alao is ringed with tiny oil lamps and candles. Every now and then a person approaches the fire, dips a finger in an oil lamp and anoints himself with it. “It’s a sign of respect,” explains a bystander. “This oil is holy. The lamps represent the light that kills the darkness within.”
There is a throng of wide-eyed children, young men in jeans and older male devotees as far as the eye can see. Few women make an appearance until the third day which is reserved especially for them.
“I’ve been visiting the urs since I was a child. I was a visitor then, now I am visited by hundreds seeking blessings,” says Saeein Hussain who is there to pay his teacher Nana Saeein’s respects in his absence. Like many other pirs, he has also set up a small tent on the right side of the shrine, where tea is offered generously along with tales of spiritual genealogy.
At the opposite end of the compound is an enclosure reserved for those revelling in heated conversations and hashish joints. Their reason for attendance is simple. “To forget our sorrows. Don’t you read the papers? We are a sorrowful nation,” says Muhammad Naveed. He has been visiting the shrine for years, only to find the audience shrinking each time. “It’s terrorism. It has ruined the essence of our country.” He stresses following Hussain’s teachings of loving God by loving fellow beings. “Once Lahore used to celebrate Mela Chiraghan with as much fervour as any other religious festival, but everything has changed now,” adds another visitor Ali Iqbal.
Now security plays a huge role in determining the success of the festival. Strict measures are taken every year to safeguard the area where every visitor is required to pass the walk-through gates at the entrance and be checked thoroughly by the Auqaf staff. However, a lot more effort is needed to manage such a huge crowd. “There are just so many people. They trampled over the barbed wire, broke the barriers and walk-through gates on the first day of the urs,” complains one of the security personnel.
But for Bala Pir Mir Saeein who claims to have attended the last 45 festivals, the serenity of the event ended eight years ago. “The mela now is a shadow of what it once was,” he says. As the crowd thins out in the early morning hours and the streets fill up with young men dancing in groups, it is clear that the festival is still an overwhelmingly engaging experience for many.
Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, April 13th, 2014.
Thousands of devotees from all over the country flock to the shrine in the last few days of March, to pay their respects and honour the memory of the beloved saint. The festival is a pre-Partition legacy and continued in the Shalimar Gardens even after Independence, until president Ayub Khan banned the location from being used in 1958. The celebrations then relocated to the winding streets and sloping terraces of the shrine.
The shrine is decorated beautifully with paper and plastic flowers and fairy lights. Devotees line up to pay their respects and present chadar
and offerings to the saints.
The shrine is beautifully lit up over the course of three days. The path leading up to the shrine is choked with devotees holding up chadars that they have carried for several kilometres on foot. People throw their offerings in the chadars and dance to renditions of Shah Hussain’s timeless kaafis (short poems) and the beat of the dhol. Malangs robed in saffron and red, bellow out deep sorrowful notes with their horns. “Wearing varying shades of yellow and red is a tradition here. We wear it as an expression of love,” says Rashid Munir, a regular visitor to the shrine, who has a dupatta of the same colours wrapped around his neck.
The alao at the center is the main attraction of the festival. Hundreds gather around it, throwing packets of oil and candles into the flames as chants of Naraa-i-Haideri followed by Ya Ali, Ya Ali (RA) resound through the packed arena. The alao is ringed with tiny oil lamps and candles. Every now and then a person approaches the fire, dips a finger in an oil lamp and anoints himself with it. “It’s a sign of respect,” explains a bystander. “This oil is holy. The lamps represent the light that kills the darkness within.”
There is a throng of wide-eyed children, young men in jeans and older male devotees as far as the eye can see. Few women make an appearance until the third day which is reserved especially for them.
Saaein Ashiq Hussain is one of the several pirs who have travelled long distances with their mureeds
(disciple) to pay their respects at the shrine.
“I’ve been visiting the urs since I was a child. I was a visitor then, now I am visited by hundreds seeking blessings,” says Saeein Hussain who is there to pay his teacher Nana Saeein’s respects in his absence. Like many other pirs, he has also set up a small tent on the right side of the shrine, where tea is offered generously along with tales of spiritual genealogy.
“Langar is distributed at the shrine all day and night but inflation has robbed many of the ability to be so generous, taking away the spirit of the urs,” says a devotee sitting next to a decorated diya which will be lit throughout the festival.
At the opposite end of the compound is an enclosure reserved for those revelling in heated conversations and hashish joints. Their reason for attendance is simple. “To forget our sorrows. Don’t you read the papers? We are a sorrowful nation,” says Muhammad Naveed. He has been visiting the shrine for years, only to find the audience shrinking each time. “It’s terrorism. It has ruined the essence of our country.” He stresses following Hussain’s teachings of loving God by loving fellow beings. “Once Lahore used to celebrate Mela Chiraghan with as much fervour as any other religious festival, but everything has changed now,” adds another visitor Ali Iqbal.
“I carry around photos of my murshid, and my spiritual genealogy, wherever I go,” says Bala Pir.
Now security plays a huge role in determining the success of the festival. Strict measures are taken every year to safeguard the area where every visitor is required to pass the walk-through gates at the entrance and be checked thoroughly by the Auqaf staff. However, a lot more effort is needed to manage such a huge crowd. “There are just so many people. They trampled over the barbed wire, broke the barriers and walk-through gates on the first day of the urs,” complains one of the security personnel.
One of the many malangs who sits in the middle of the shrine reciting Hussain’s kafis.
But for Bala Pir Mir Saeein who claims to have attended the last 45 festivals, the serenity of the event ended eight years ago. “The mela now is a shadow of what it once was,” he says. As the crowd thins out in the early morning hours and the streets fill up with young men dancing in groups, it is clear that the festival is still an overwhelmingly engaging experience for many.
Published in The Express Tribune, Sunday Magazine, April 13th, 2014.