In The Holy Precincts
WHEN FRAGRANT MILD WINDS WERE KNOCKING THE DOORS OF SHRINE AND TEARS FROM WOUNDED HEART SCATTERED ON THE LAWNS LIKE SHINING PEARLS, NARRATES F.RENZUSHAH
While ascending on compact stairs made of devri stones to enter the shrine of Hazrat Sheikh Hamza Makhdoom located dominantly in midst of Kohi-Maran hillock, my eyes were focused on the summit of Hari Parbat encircled with centuries old stony Kalai (wall) - the minuscule replica of Great wall of China. The burden of all the heavy rocks of the Kalai will not be so agonizing as the day to day situations, calamities, accidents, incidents blasting each nerve and each vein of my mind into pieces getting stuck deep in my soul.
The balm of injured souls is available at these sacred places where great self-sacrificing personalities have always fluttered the triumphant banners of humanity. These hillocks of Kohi-Maran and Hari Parbat are also living symbols of all such great sacrifices which is engraved on each stone and each rock since thousands of years.
On each step of the stair, all kinds of thoughts were storming my conscience and sub conscience. No doubt villains of humanity ripping, piercing, and slashing tender human flesh to glorify their pseudo edifies of snotty ego’s but history is witness of the facts that avalanching power of pure and honest human perceptions and ideologies have crumbled down all such castles.
When there is no one to comprehend human feelings or wipe the tears of weeping Jehlum, Holy Dargah’s like Shrine of Hazrat Makhdoom becomes epitome of love and blessing. At present when human cries make clouds burst into river of blood, typhoons to orchestrate macabre dance of death, torrents to cause havoc, ice rocky glaciers to flow down the ocean like boiling oil, bottom shaking Tsunami of oceans to devour the young cities and streams of mud to flush out humans, one has to peep through rocky curtains and find out frozen drop of tear concealed inside some wounded heart like mini nuclear granule.
The Shrine of Harzat Makhdoom is itself surrounded by such mysterious environment, that each changing situation around the hillock was answering my crude question eloquently. Each rock was reminder of my childhood days, when I used to avoid the stony stairs and prefer to climb over these rocks swiftly to reach the Shrine ahead of all. I recalled one glorious and miraculous incident when thousands of devotees of Makhdoom Sahib disturbed as a result of long dry spell, broke thousands of earthen water pots on these rocks at the threshold of the Shrine and instantly blue sky started to sprinkle pearl shaped rain drops all around us. The scenes of devotees and echoes of their Daroods were still reverberating in Kohi-Maran hills.
Today no doubt because of forbidden movement of people huge gathering of enthusiastic devotees was missing, as I was the lonely one ascending with frail legs on each stony step but I could vividly see the reflection of such glorious past on magnetic tomb of the shrine positioned in a commanding manner overlooking keenly all the affairs of charred Paradise, particularly surrounding Shehr-i-Khas. No doubt I was keen to reach quickly to Shrine but I could not resist my urge to stop for a while to look towards my Shehr-i-Khas positioned in such a manner down the gorge as if it had extended both folded hands towards Makhdoom Sahib like an empty bowl, waiting for celestial treasure which Shrine would put into it at any particular and destined time. The fragrant winds emerging from Shehr-i-Khas were mildly knocking wood carved dexterous doors and windows of the Shrine whispering some secrets and communicating miseries of human souls. The surrounding air fully dominated by scent content of century old chinar, willow, almond and multi coloured flower trees, was enhancing celestial atmosphere of the Shrine.
Suddenly entire hillock echoed with painful cry, flying birds abruptly halted and sat meekly on rocky stones around. I saw one crippled woman wearing ragged Phiran fast approaching towards the devri stony stairs of the Shrine. In the process my eyes struck on the huge area of Malkha graveyard just below the foot hills of the hillock, but today the Malkha seemed stretching inexorably its dimension towards all its directions. Not a single soul was visible there to resist its snowballing extension. In such circumstances venturing of an old crippled woman to come to Shrine was unusual, similar to my desire to pay obeisance at the Shrine after surmounting all hindrances.
Whether I look down towards ravine below hillock or quench the thirst of eyes by looking towards captivating Shrine tomb, in all its reflections, the remarkable features of my valley and my Shehr-i-Khas were evident. Who will dare to belie the historical fact that my valley was bedrock and symbol of inextricable human relationship since times immemorial ? Who would deny that when thirsty bird would fall on street, lane or bye lane of my valley hundreds would assemble to pour drop of water in its thirsty beak?
But today like an injured bird whose wings have been slashed, the crippled woman was not being helped by anyone. She was fast crawling over the stony layers of stairs and passed by my side without looking towards me, probably disappointed with all human beings or obsessed with her strong faith in Allah and Hazrat Sultan.
I saw on my left side an abandoned sarai which has been built by Dara-a-Shukuh, great grandson of Shahanshah Akbar, fifty one stair steps down the Shrine lawn. Flock of pigeons with their tiny beaks were still squeaking and scratching the roofs of dilapidated structure with such a venom that I could not even dare to fathom the guilt which King Akbar could feel, if he would have dared to come to the Shrine bare-footed, passing through such stony barriers.
Hazrat Sheikh Makdoom who had attained the spiritual heights only at the age of fourteen years, was not only given spiritual sway over the territory from Kashmir to Kashger, but his close spiritual companion Hazrat Mushkawati writes that Hazrat Makdoom deliberately selected hillock of Kohi-Maran to be his abode for spiritual meditation as he also saved people of Kashmir from Mars, Snakes and Dragons abundantly present inside rocks at that time. It is Hazrat Sultan who is still protecting all of us from great harms and evils.
While faintly trying to overpower my fatigue and frailness I re-energized myself and reached near the Shrine. The scene was inexplicable, when I saw the crippled woman tossing her head at threshold of the Shrine, the tears were rolling down as if river Jehlum was flowing with its full ferocity or entire population had again broken their metallic pots this time in the lawns of the shrine on brown spherical rocks.
“Yah Hazrat Makhdoom_” humanity is bleeding, calamities are devouring lives, families are being shattered, human flesh is sinking in ocean of tyranny and callousness, one catastrophe is being taken over by other. Yah Hazrat, help us to pray to Almighty to save humanity; Yah Hazrat scatter pearls of blessing to fill ever waiting empty bowl of valley, so that no space remains even for a drop of blood inside bowl.
While praying I flicked my eyes again and saw the old woman again wailing and crying.
Yah Hazrat whole universe can’t suffer the pain which I see in the eyes of old woman.
My befuddled thoughts were yet confined inside my heart and mind, I saw the crippled woman catching the Linen Chadar of the Rosa Sharief of the shrine and started standing upon her crippled legs as if Hazrat Sultan had given her full strength. She looked towards me, there was strange strength on her face. Her eyes which were earlier full of tears were looking as rocky as the peaks of Kohi-Maran and as shining as jewel of Kohi-Noor.
Entire room reverberated with a cry. She brought out five year old child from inside her long ragged Phiran and handed over granules of Shireeni to me: “Mubarak our child who was dumb can talk now. I continuously prayed to Allah in Darbar of Hazrat Sultan for last one hundred and ten days so that my dumb grandchild could speak”, she said victoriously.
I looked towards wet threshold the cry of the child had made all drops of tears to evaporate. The smile on the face of woman was victory of her strong faith.
I took the child in my lap and started escorting the victorious woman, down towards the valley, with same childhood energy when I used to swiftly run over the rocks of hillock.
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Lastupdate on : Wed, 19 Jan 2011 21:30:00 Makkah time
Lastupdate on : Wed, 19 Jan 2011 18:30:00 GMT
Lastupdate on : Thu, 20 Jan 2011 00:00:00 IST
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