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DOWN MEMORY LANE

The timeless world of pirs

Delhi has always had its own share of ‘pirs’, and people continue to pray at their shrines, says R.V. SMITH


Those passing by the narrow, congested street of Kamra Bangash, in the backyard of Daryaganj are more often than not startled by a shrine situated in a house. It’s the grave of Dada pir and shading it is a huge peepul tree. A saint who rests be neath such a hoary tree must have been a strange divine, for nobody inhabits the house except perhaps the spirit of the pir. Now pirs are of different kinds. There was the pir in Mian Mir who made the furniture creek by his astral presence. The pir of Shahjehanpur who made his takia (abode) ring with cries of “Mar, shaitanon ko mar” (beat the rascals). Jaipur boasted of a pir who could foretell things with uncanny precision and in Agra once existed a pir with a pendant who had the knack of plucking sweets like barfi and gulab jamun from just thin air, or so they say.

Delhi too abounds in pirs, both living and dead, notwithstanding the pir which is the first day of the week (Monday).The pirs are sufis who have renounced the world and made their abode in some vacant or out of the way spot. But mureeds (devotees) do get wind of any such ascetic and many others follow them to seek favours or just to satisfy their curiosity. Sometimes quacks masquerade as pirs and pretend to exorcise evil spirits. But such characters are found out sooner or later. But not so the genuine pir, who is lost in prayer and meditation and good works and after his death he achieves sainthood and is credited with miracles.

Miraculous saint

Dada pir was one such divine who attained sainthood long ago. Nobody seems to remember exactly when. It could have been in the 16th Century or even earlier. Most affirm that he is a miraculous saint who helped one fulfil vows but was averse to his surroundings being polluted in any way. The prefix Dada denotes that he preceded several generation of pirs to be revered as such. People generally come on Thursdays to seek favours at his shrine. They light joss sticks and candles or diyas (earthenware lamps) and distribute a sweet called batasha. An old woman who has been praying at the shrine for over 30 years thinks that not a leaf can stir in Daryaganj without the saint’s permission. She has reason to say so because most of her wishes have been fulfilled over the decades. Her son, who was lost, returned, her husband recovered from a dangerous illness, her daughter who was barren gave birth to twins and her possessed daughter-in-law came back to her senses – all allegedly through the intercession of Dada Pir. There are many others who have similar tales to tell. It is on the strength of the devotion of such people that the saint’s reputation rests, and the green cloth that always covers his grave under the swaying peepul is proof of this.

The shrine of Baba Turkman Bayabani near Turkman Gate, Delhi, is an unattractive little place with the grave of the saint in the middle and a tree standing outside. Passers-by sometimes leave their offerings at the door, make a vow or whisper a prayer in the hope that their wishes would be fulfilled.

The Baba came to Delhi perhaps in the wake of the invasion of Mohammad Ghori after the second battle of Terai (1193). But he did not live in Mehrauli where the invaders had taken up abode. He belonged to a sect of sufis who like to dwell in the wilderness and meditate. In those days this area was a jungle where roamed many wild beasts, but the man of God did not have anything to fear. His needs were simple and he ate wild fruits and drank water from the pond that occupied the place where the Ramlila ground is now situated.

Though he dwelt far from human habitation his fame spread and people did come to visit him and seek his blessings. He did not encourage them but still they came. The Baba died in 1206, the same year that Mohammad Ghori was murdered.

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