Cultural survival via Mian Mir…Haniya Rehman
My history professor once referred to a theory that says the developmental telos of modernity loves to claim that the human self is autonomous and rational.
Despite and behind these claims, there is a polytheism of practices that have survived colonial modernity. Lahores shrines, such as Mian Mir, Data Darbar and Bibi Pak Daman make remarkable case studies of cultural resistance. There is an entire microcosm in their annual rituals and the regular crowd of devotees. While Mian Mir does not receive as many daily visitors as the other two, it stands out for its inter-faith significance.
There are many ways to tell the story of Mian Mir. The beautiful part is that the term exists in a pocket of time that combines history and memory; it alludes to both the saint and his tomb. The name is also shared by a hospital and a graveyard located side by side in what was formerly known as Dharampura, Lahore.
Hazrat Mian Mir, the Qadri saint, was born in Sindh in 1550 AD. He travelled to Lahore for a short visit after he turned 25, but the city decided to keep him for the rest of his life. His biographies depict him as a humble man who said his prayers and loved his music.
Guru Arjan Dev is also an important character in this story. Mian Mir and Guru Arjan had a close bond and shared many spiritual beliefs. Many believe that Guru Sahib requested Mian Mir to lay the foundation for the Golden Temple or the Harmandir Sahir Gurdwara. Devotees at the shrine proudly share, Sarkar ne sikhon k darbar di neev rakhi si.
After their deaths, this friendship was turned into a metaphor for harmony between the two principal faiths of Punjab. Even today, the shrine has a signboard marking an Inter-faith dialogue desk although the desk is usually vacant. Earlier this year, you could find banners advertising a Bain-ul-Mazahib Hum Ahangi (Interfaith harmony) Conference. Members of the Sikh community often visit the site to pay their respects. In some ways, the shrine remains one of the few spaces where two faiths intersect.
As it goes, transformation is the price we pay for survival. While the shrine has survived over the years, it has also materially and symbolically changed. Conversations with devotees reveal that the site was originally made of red bricks surrounded by empty fields. Fast forward to today, some ancient trees are still there but the floor has been redone with white marble. The shrine now houses a mosque, a library and reserved areas for ablution, prayers and Qawwali. Every Thursday night, the air is ripe with melodies of Qawwals, and the audience gathers around, humming in unison. Two times a day, langar is distributed to devotees and workers. One of the Auqaf guards reported that the organisation happily responsible for distributing langar is a private news channel.
Shifts in culture and cultural institutions are rarely spontaneous. Similarly, the political and spiritual economy of the Mian Mir shrine has evolved under institutional influence. For context, in 1959, Ayub Khans government created the Ministry of Religious Endowments (Auqaf), leading to the nationalisation of shrines. Many believe that the post-colonial state wished to delegitimise Sufism.
Alix Philippon, a French sociologist specialising in Sufi Islam, traces that Sufi mysticism was perceived as an archaic remnant of the past, which could not reserve space in a city rapidly moving towards colonial modernity. However, the state’s reform efforts did not unfold as planned. Instead of delegitimising shrines, many governments developed a political dependency on Sufi shrines, recognising them as a credible source of conventional authority.
This enduring significance can be felt in the daily life of the shrine itself. As you walk into the cool marbled shrine, a flock of pigeons greets you. Their gentle cooing often echoes in the courtyards, carrying an air of devotion many recognise as zikr, a collective remembrance of the divine. The diyas near graves within the shrine emerge as another captivating marker of devotion. They glow brighter as the sun sets, wisps of smoke rising like prayers whispered into the night.
Curious to learn more about the saint’s miracles, I had an interesting conversation with a vendor running a stall near the saint’s tomb. He shared that he grew up playing in the shrine’s courtyards. When asked if he had witnessed any miracles, he paused and proclaimed his existence a miracle. After an awkward pause, he shared that some 30 years ago, he had entered into a fight and ended up killing someone right at the entrance of the shrine.
Of all the things I expected before visiting the site, a crime story was not one of them. It turned out that the man was forgiven by the victim’s heirs and recalls it as his personal miracle occasioned by the saint he serves. The legal repercussions of this miracle demand a different discussion altogether. Yet, beyond crime and punishment, his story remains a striking reminder of the shrines lasting presence in the lives of those who serve it.
However, one aspect that generates unease is the gendered segregation among those who visit the shrine. Outside Mian Mirs personal tomb, a board announces that women cannot go inside. I have experienced the same at Madho Lals shrine at Baghbanpura. It is curious to reflect that Sufi shrines, generally perceived as free from societal hierarchies, can exist as gendered spaces. Devotees shared different rationales for this. Some thought it was because Hazrat Mian Mir never married in his lifetime and the presence of women would be disturbing to his soul. Others said this rule is there because female visitors regularly pickpocketed or created disturbances by openly changing the diapers of their infants. None of the explanations were satisfactory; children and their fathers could still enter the tomb, but the women could only look in and pray from the outside. On all the occasions that Ive visited the shrine, there was no diaper-changing in sight, either.
Essentially, beyond regarding the shrine as a place of worship, it helps to think of the shrine as a palimpsest. Centuries ago, Ovid the Roman Poet wrote Omnia mutantur, nihil interit or everything changes, nothing is truly lost. The Mian Mir shrine, preserving its history yet reshaped by social realities, exists as a quiet reminder of the same.
Courtesy The News