The fable of the naked faqir
The crowd was dumbstruck. The faqir’s headless body rose and clutched its severed head in its own two hands. Holding the head, the body started walking towards the emperor sat on his throne.
I had arrived in Delhi the day before. It was my first visit to the city – the fulfilment of a long-cherished dream. I had just spent a few hours in the sprawling Lal Qila complex, also known as the Red Fort of Delhi, and was now making my way towards the imperial Jama Masjid, fully cognisant of the risk of exposing myself to an overdose of Mughal creative accomplishments within a single day. Only the second day, I was yet to realise that India was a land of overdoses anyway.
The two grand architectural masterpieces of Mughal Delhi, Lal Qila and Jama Masjid have equivalent structures in the other erstwhile capital of the empire, Lahore. I had visited there before, and I was going to compare it to Delhi now.
The façade of Jama Masjid struck me with its awe-inspiring magnificence. I took off my shoes to enter the mosque’s courtyard. My bare feet burned on its white marble floor. Only later could I cool my eyes with views of the old city from its minaret. From the viewing gallery, I admired the perfection of its enormous, shapely domes. I spent a long time watching the bustle of visitors, worshippers, city dwellers through the lattice grille.
Climbing down, I entered the main prayer hall. People were praying, resting or reading the Quran, sitting cross-legged and rocking back and forth under the intricately decorated arches. Time to leave. I found myself exiting from a different gate of the mosque than the one I had entered. Right outside this gate, further down the steps, I noticed two small structures that looked like shrines, striking due to their bright paint, one red, one green. When I came closer, I read the signs inscribed in Urdu on each of them. The green one was the dargah, or shrine, of Khwaja Syed Abul Qasim Hare Bhare Shah (the Evergreen One) and the red one was the dargah of Sufi Sarmad Shaheed. The name struck me. I had heard this name many years ago. Sarmad Shaheed.
It took me back 28 years to when I was a little kid at school. My school teacher had told the class a story of one Shaheed. Was it the same Sarmad Shaheed whose tomb I was standing before? My teacher’s story was devoid of details of time and place, or perhaps I had forgotten them over time, but the account I could retrieve from my memory included the spectacle of an extraordinary miracle performed by Sarmad Shaheed. According to my teacher, he was a saint who had attained a status reserved for people bestowed with divine favour. Pohanche huay buzurg was the Urdu phrase she used, meaning a holy man who has arrived. Where? There, where only a select few can.
Historical accounts provide further details of the wondrous life of Hazrat Sarmad Shaheed. Originally a Jew from Iran, he wrote poetry and translated scriptures from Hebrew to Persian. Along with his scholarly pursuits, he also had a curious temperament, driven by wanderlust and a nonconformist spirit. He had converted to Islam but absorbed influences from other faiths along with the common message of love and humanity in them.
His wanderings brought him to India. Roaming around the streets of Thatta, the mediaeval capital of Sindh, one day, he met a Hindu boy called Abhay Chand. The two felt a strong attraction toward each other. The physical or spiritual nature of the attraction may be subject to debate, but it was not a novelty in Sufi tradition, in which love between two men can also symbolise divine love. The two of them started spending most of their time together, but the townsfolk spread rumours, calling their union illicit and unnatural. As a result, Abhay’s parents forbade him from meeting Sarmad.
Desperate to meet his beloved again, Sarmad would not leave the vicinity of Abhay’s home. He believed he had found the companion whose company was essential for him to continue his spiritual rambling. Eventually, Abhay’s father became convinced of the purity of Sarmad’s intentions and allowed his son to go with him on his travels.
Later in his travels, Sarmad found his way to the capital, Delhi, where he met the Sufi saint, Khawaja Syed Abul Qasim Hare Bhare and became his disciple. Sarmad started the unorthodox practice of roaming around naked in the streets of Delhi. Inclined towards spiritual syncretism as he was, he might have derived this spiritual practice from the banishment of all worldly possessions, as practised by Jain and Hindu ascetics. Regardless, it was frowned upon by the Islamic religious and conservative establishment of the time. When the fierce battle for the succession to the Mughal throne ended in favour of the devout prince, Aurangzeb, his court started to take a more hardline Islamic view of matters before it.
When cases of more pressing urgency had been dealt with, Aurangzeb’s court was alerted to the perverted ways of the naked faqir roaming the streets of Delhi. The court accused Sarmad of heresy. During his trial, he was asked by the court to recite the Islamic kalima-e-shahadah to prove his faith. Sarmad slowly began to recite the kalima, La ilaha… (‘There is no God…’). Instead of proceeding to complete the declaration, he stopped. His companions prodded him to complete the statement, but he remained quiet. When the qazi (judge) asked him to explain his refusal and to utter the complete kalima, Sarmad replied: ‘I am still at the stage of negation in pursuit of perfect faith. I have not reached the stage of affirmation yet. If I read the complete kalima in my current state, I would be lying.’
Even at the risk of forfeiting his life, Sarmad demonstrated absolute devotion to his inner truth. He did not want to save himself by indulging in what he believed to be an act of hypocrisy. The qazi declared Sarmad’s explanation unsatisfactory. His refusal to avow his faith by reciting the full kalima was declared an act of apostasy for which death was the punishment. A large crowd gathered in the open space by Delhi’s Jama Masjid to witness Sarmad’s execution. He was beheaded by the strike of a sword and his severed head fell to the ground.
What followed next was something that caused a commotion amongst the crowd. Sarmad’s headless body rose and clutched its severed head in its own two hands. Holding the head in its hands, the body started walking towards the spot where the emperor sat on his throne. The crowd was dumbstruck. From amongst them, a holy man with a white flowing beard came forward, raised his hand to stop Sarmad and said sternly, ‘Enough! You have made your point. Now let nature take its course.’
That holy man was Khawaja Hare Bhare, Sarmad’s spiritual guide. If Sarmad continued his miraculous march after death, a bigger calamity might have befallen the empire, causing much destruction. It was now obvious the Divine Being was not happy with the cruelty just committed in his name. Sarmad obeyed his teacher, gave up his life but became immortalised as a Shaheed (martyr).
Legend has it that Sarmad’s severed head completed the kalima by saying, … il Allah, Muhammad ur Rasool Ullah (‘… but Allah, and Muhammad is His messenger’). Thus, in death, he arrived at the culmination of his faith.
Thinking back to the memory of that story at school while standing before the dargah of Sarmad Shaheed, I realised I was standing on the steps of Jama Masjid where blood dripping from Sarmad’s severed head must have made a trail, as he carried it in his hands to enter the mosque’s courtyard. I did not remember all the details from the story my teacher narrated to the class of 9-year-old kids, but the message of that story had stayed with me despite the passage of close to three decades. The message was: Do not judge the piety of people based on their outward appearance, for they may be closer to God than those who condemn them. The state of hearts is known only to Allah, and He is the ultimate judge. It bore the simplicity and magic of a fable.
That same Sarmad, the rebel, the martyr, now lies buried in the shadow of Jama Masjid next to Khawaja Hare Bhare. His tomb is red and his teacher’s tomb is green, representing martyrdom and immortality. The red tomb of a mystic who gave up all outwardly displays of piety is now a pilgrimage site adorned with Quranic verses, where devotees come and pray and hope for their wishes to be fulfilled.
© Shueyb Gandapur
The two grand architectural masterpieces of Mughal Delhi, Lal Qila and Jama Masjid have equivalent structures in the other erstwhile capital of the empire, Lahore. I had visited there before, and I was going to compare it to Delhi now.
The façade of Jama Masjid struck me with its awe-inspiring magnificence. I took off my shoes to enter the mosque’s courtyard. My bare feet burned on its white marble floor. Only later could I cool my eyes with views of the old city from its minaret. From the viewing gallery, I admired the perfection of its enormous, shapely domes. I spent a long time watching the bustle of visitors, worshippers, city dwellers through the lattice grille.
Climbing down, I entered the main prayer hall. People were praying, resting or reading the Quran, sitting cross-legged and rocking back and forth under the intricately decorated arches. Time to leave. I found myself exiting from a different gate of the mosque than the one I had entered. Right outside this gate, further down the steps, I noticed two small structures that looked like shrines, striking due to their bright paint, one red, one green. When I came closer, I read the signs inscribed in Urdu on each of them. The green one was the dargah, or shrine, of Khwaja Syed Abul Qasim Hare Bhare Shah (the Evergreen One) and the red one was the dargah of Sufi Sarmad Shaheed. The name struck me. I had heard this name many years ago. Sarmad Shaheed.
It took me back 28 years to when I was a little kid at school. My school teacher had told the class a story of one Shaheed. Was it the same Sarmad Shaheed whose tomb I was standing before? My teacher’s story was devoid of details of time and place, or perhaps I had forgotten them over time, but the account I could retrieve from my memory included the spectacle of an extraordinary miracle performed by Sarmad Shaheed. According to my teacher, he was a saint who had attained a status reserved for people bestowed with divine favour. Pohanche huay buzurg was the Urdu phrase she used, meaning a holy man who has arrived. Where? There, where only a select few can.
Historical accounts provide further details of the wondrous life of Hazrat Sarmad Shaheed. Originally a Jew from Iran, he wrote poetry and translated scriptures from Hebrew to Persian. Along with his scholarly pursuits, he also had a curious temperament, driven by wanderlust and a nonconformist spirit. He had converted to Islam but absorbed influences from other faiths along with the common message of love and humanity in them.
His wanderings brought him to India. Roaming around the streets of Thatta, the mediaeval capital of Sindh, one day, he met a Hindu boy called Abhay Chand. The two felt a strong attraction toward each other. The physical or spiritual nature of the attraction may be subject to debate, but it was not a novelty in Sufi tradition, in which love between two men can also symbolise divine love. The two of them started spending most of their time together, but the townsfolk spread rumours, calling their union illicit and unnatural. As a result, Abhay’s parents forbade him from meeting Sarmad.
Desperate to meet his beloved again, Sarmad would not leave the vicinity of Abhay’s home. He believed he had found the companion whose company was essential for him to continue his spiritual rambling. Eventually, Abhay’s father became convinced of the purity of Sarmad’s intentions and allowed his son to go with him on his travels.
Later in his travels, Sarmad found his way to the capital, Delhi, where he met the Sufi saint, Khawaja Syed Abul Qasim Hare Bhare and became his disciple. Sarmad started the unorthodox practice of roaming around naked in the streets of Delhi. Inclined towards spiritual syncretism as he was, he might have derived this spiritual practice from the banishment of all worldly possessions, as practised by Jain and Hindu ascetics. Regardless, it was frowned upon by the Islamic religious and conservative establishment of the time. When the fierce battle for the succession to the Mughal throne ended in favour of the devout prince, Aurangzeb, his court started to take a more hardline Islamic view of matters before it.
When cases of more pressing urgency had been dealt with, Aurangzeb’s court was alerted to the perverted ways of the naked faqir roaming the streets of Delhi. The court accused Sarmad of heresy. During his trial, he was asked by the court to recite the Islamic kalima-e-shahadah to prove his faith. Sarmad slowly began to recite the kalima, La ilaha… (‘There is no God…’). Instead of proceeding to complete the declaration, he stopped. His companions prodded him to complete the statement, but he remained quiet. When the qazi (judge) asked him to explain his refusal and to utter the complete kalima, Sarmad replied: ‘I am still at the stage of negation in pursuit of perfect faith. I have not reached the stage of affirmation yet. If I read the complete kalima in my current state, I would be lying.’
Even at the risk of forfeiting his life, Sarmad demonstrated absolute devotion to his inner truth. He did not want to save himself by indulging in what he believed to be an act of hypocrisy. The qazi declared Sarmad’s explanation unsatisfactory. His refusal to avow his faith by reciting the full kalima was declared an act of apostasy for which death was the punishment. A large crowd gathered in the open space by Delhi’s Jama Masjid to witness Sarmad’s execution. He was beheaded by the strike of a sword and his severed head fell to the ground.
What followed next was something that caused a commotion amongst the crowd. Sarmad’s headless body rose and clutched its severed head in its own two hands. Holding the head in its hands, the body started walking towards the spot where the emperor sat on his throne. The crowd was dumbstruck. From amongst them, a holy man with a white flowing beard came forward, raised his hand to stop Sarmad and said sternly, ‘Enough! You have made your point. Now let nature take its course.’
That holy man was Khawaja Hare Bhare, Sarmad’s spiritual guide. If Sarmad continued his miraculous march after death, a bigger calamity might have befallen the empire, causing much destruction. It was now obvious the Divine Being was not happy with the cruelty just committed in his name. Sarmad obeyed his teacher, gave up his life but became immortalised as a Shaheed (martyr).
Legend has it that Sarmad’s severed head completed the kalima by saying, … il Allah, Muhammad ur Rasool Ullah (‘… but Allah, and Muhammad is His messenger’). Thus, in death, he arrived at the culmination of his faith.
Thinking back to the memory of that story at school while standing before the dargah of Sarmad Shaheed, I realised I was standing on the steps of Jama Masjid where blood dripping from Sarmad’s severed head must have made a trail, as he carried it in his hands to enter the mosque’s courtyard. I did not remember all the details from the story my teacher narrated to the class of 9-year-old kids, but the message of that story had stayed with me despite the passage of close to three decades. The message was: Do not judge the piety of people based on their outward appearance, for they may be closer to God than those who condemn them. The state of hearts is known only to Allah, and He is the ultimate judge. It bore the simplicity and magic of a fable.
That same Sarmad, the rebel, the martyr, now lies buried in the shadow of Jama Masjid next to Khawaja Hare Bhare. His tomb is red and his teacher’s tomb is green, representing martyrdom and immortality. The red tomb of a mystic who gave up all outwardly displays of piety is now a pilgrimage site adorned with Quranic verses, where devotees come and pray and hope for their wishes to be fulfilled.
Shueyb Gandapur
Shueyb Gandapur is a travel writer, painter and calligrapher. His articles on travel, literature and politics have been published by The News on Sunday, The Friday Times, Quint and The Aleph Review. His paintings have appeared on book covers and his calligraphies of Urdu poetry have been featured in the books of Mehr Afshan Farooqi, Aamer Hussein and The Aleph Review. He has travelled to 102 countries and his first travel book will be published by Beacon Books in 2024. It is about his travels in India. He divides his time between Dubai and London. By profession, he is a chartered accountant.© Shueyb Gandapur