magic, women and sufi practices
an essay on witches
In the heart of Sufi culture which is rooted in the Pakistani consciousness, lies storytelling-- the most integral part of its practice. No one narrates these celebrated cultural fables more poignantly, and vivaciously than the esteemed Sufi Mystic Abida Parveen. Her magic stems from the way she delivers these performances and the context in which they are sung. Therefore, this essay will examine her oeuvre in close relation to these Sufi stories (Sufiana Kalam) she intertwines with her own values of resistance against the orthodox state. It will briefly brush up on the history of Sufism which shines through the mass of conservatives who reject its message and practices. It will delve into its continued culture and its accompanying rituals, which along with establishing a sense of community are said to heal, bless and protect all those who seek its guidance. All of this intertwines with key ideas that led to the persecution of the witch, or the Heretic, presented in “The Caliban and the Witch.”
The Sufiana Kalam-- a brew of stories of tragically fated star-crossed lovers blended into a critique of orthodox religious practices, which translate into ultimate love for The Divine, has been given a haven, to be performed at designated shrines, throughout the country. It has been a frequent target of terrorist attacks that oppose its message and practice. In 2019, Data Darbar-- a shrine devoted to the Sufi Saint Abdul Hassan Ali Hajveri was bombed and resulting in the death of nine people. Even its inception, was a reaction against the Islamic orthodoxy where in 922 ad, Sufi poets like Mansur Hallaj, Sana’i and Attar were “martyred for their free thinking beliefs.” (Abbas, 2003, 7). Despite opposition from traditional zealots of Islam, Sufi culture, the more metaphysical strain of Islam, has persevered throughout the years. The Sufiana Kalam forms much of its grassroots culture and is “associated with mobile, indigenous mystical traditions, sung amongst roving minstrels (mostly women) in shrines” and serves to “interpret and present Islam to the average unreal individual in simple terms.” It came to the Subcontinent in 708 AD, when Muhammad Bin Qasim conquered the region. It paved the way for “syncretism and reconciling differing belief systems'', blending together “Aryans, Hindus, Davidians and all native creeds.” Thus, providing shelter and legitimising the beliefs of the disenfranchised who in India, under the Mughal rule, “would convert to Islam, just to offer relief from caste oppression.” (Abbas, 19)
Venerated Sufi poets, who assumed the responsibility for the dissemination of Islam, would centre morals and myths around the female body and weave stories of totemic figures “from centuries-old pre-Islamic myths of the region and blend them into the Islamic mystical framework.” (Abbas,16) Through this method, they would help construct the language needed to understand imperative societal concerns that have persisted throughout time and continued to plague their day-to-day lives. Their dexterity lay in their reconfiguration of these cultural fables in the local vernacular within which they were to be understood. By using consecrated cultural tropes of star-crossed lovers-- all thematically linked by their tragic fates, they would implicitly highlight the state’s cruelty towards the common man, in order to inculcate ideas of resistance. The morals that are to be learned in these famous and timeless examples become an anthem for the oppressed, the songs of resistance, and the struggle for love in a heartless world, which is Sufism’s core practice. Female protagonists of these stories, like Heer, Sohni and Sassi, would pay the price of their love by sacrificing their lives, embodying the struggle which resonates with women who read their own selves in these figures. It is interesting to note, that in a culture that restricts female mobility and chains them to their domestic roles, all these stories, narrated by Sufi Poets, celebrate female resilience in the face of injustice. Works by renowned Sufi Poet Amir Khusrau would centre these experiences of women to develop the language needed for them to understand their circumstances. The poem “Babul'' which was written by him to highlight the injustice of child marriages voices the heart of the girl who is getting wedded into a family she doesn’t know. The dialogue oscillates between a daughter who asks her father innocent childlike questions that can not be addressed without exposing their cruelty. Thus, these stories were born from oppressive practices, and provided necessary “oral literary criticism” (Narayaan, 2005) and cultural critique, establishing a framework for women to understand the injustices done against them. Although traditions have changed and child marriages are now banned (not strictly enforced)-- Pakistan, according to UNICEF 2016 database, ranks sixth in the world for the highest cases of child marriages. His poetry has been canonised and ritualised in wedding ceremonies, all across the country.
Kahe Ko Biyahi Bides Diye Sun Babul Meray
Why hast thou married me in a foreign soil, listen O my father
Bhaio Ko Dene Mahal Do Mahal-e, Mujh Ko Dia Pardes
You gave my brothers castles, and gave me foreign soil
The aesthetic of the female voice is pervasive in Sufi mystical poetry, Sufi Poets like Amir Khusrao, in their poems would embrace female alter-egos “to celebrate the intensity of love for their spiritual mentors.” (Abbas, 115). Male singers of the Kalam, “also adopt the female voice, both texturally and timbrely, while singing the myths of the heroines” in their performances by “playing with semantic and syntactic structures of the language, as well as with the vocal register, speaking as though they were women and singing in falsetto voices.” (Maciszewski,2004). This emphasises the vitality of the female presence in Sufi culture, where women are given the status of being emblems of truth and embodying divine love. Thus the Sufiana Kalam, along with the Sufi practices, provides the “archetypes of Sufi devotional ideas.” It is through the service of women, “who were major consumers of shrine activity, that the linguistic medium had to be in the voices, that were meaningful to women and their networks.” (Abbas, 115). It was their commitment to create for themselves, bonds of communal solidarity, and their indomitable faith in God, that Sufi culture preservers.
Cultural critique, in its many layers, is provided by the celebrated Sufi Mystic Abida Parveen. In Pakistan, as the author, Kamila Shamsie eloquently phrases it, “that the Sufi music Parveen sings, entire neighbourhoods, possibly towns, would be delighted to be kept up until dawn to the sound of Abida Parveen.” (2005) She delivers the Sufiana Kalam, through an embodied performance-- the power her words hold, how she - in sharing her devotion to singing the Sufiana Kalam, paves the way for cultural understanding of Sufism to develop through the cracks of religious conservatism. She wields her words in ways that openly reject orthodox Islam. By staging the claim “Religion is made by man, love is made by God” (Parveen, 2020) in many of her performances, she becomes a beacon of resistance. The power she harnesses stems from “the bond with women and the word” which has been “seen in speech, heard, smelled, tasted and touched.” It is this commitment that “produces (in the case of the Sufiana Kalam) their full effect, chanted rhythmically, in cadences, off cadences.” (Minh-ha, 1989, 5) She induces in her audience, “a state of altered consciousness” which is called “Kehfiat”, which she achieves through “Zikr”, meaning “spiritual incantation” and the remembering of God. The ebb and flow of her voice’s devotion and intensity instil in the audience a sense of heightened elevation or otherworldliness or “Sama.” Since she performs in a community of like-minded people or devotees depending on her context, it is easy to reach a state of collective wonder and devotion “Adab”. All of this “succeeds in creating a spiritual ambience through language and music.” (Abbas, 14) The sheer strength of her voice, has the physical power to create a space within the hearts of the audience to feel the power of love (to God) which is her central message, that shines through while preaching the Sufiana Kalam.
The relationship she develops with her audience in her performances gives her the necessary cues for her improvisations. It is this power of her words, this commitment to her philosophy, that leads her to set the stage to discuss class politics, patriarchal abuse and other important issues plaguing the impoverished community in concert halls full of men who make the country’s legislation. In a country where the clerical order upholds religious hegemony, to let the words of the Sufiana Kalam reverberate across shrines, bodies, borders and institutions-- To hear words sung by a woman, who uses her voice to centralise stories of marginal female figures to call out state’s bigotry, by “creating sociopolitical awareness through myths,” (Abaas, 104)-- To channel their grief and allow them to have power over the national consciousness, is an act of deliberate resistance and nothing short of Magical. To tap into the spirituality of her audience, to burn and light them with her words, and enchant them with the message of the Sufiana Kalam, being an intermediary in transferring the true message of God, makes her a “diseuse, Thought-Woman, Spider-Woman, griotte, storytalker, fortune-teller, witch” in the fullest sense of these words. (Minh-ha, 1989)
Masjid dha de,
Mandar dha de,
Dha de jo kuch dhenda.
Par kisi ka dil na dheind,
Rab dilay wich rehna,
Destroy the Mosques,
Destroy the Temples,
Destroy everything in sight.
But, do not destroy anyone's heart
For God lives there.
Abida Parveen’s musical trajectory is an exception. Her father, who was also a Sufi Mystic and performer, discovered in her the passion needed to sustain the Sufi ethos and helped her build a career in singing instead of prioritising his sons. The training she received was traditional and is considered masculine in the Qawwali style--a more esoteric and elite strand of the poetry, performed in the languages of the court which are Urdu and Persian, which the Sufiana Kalam subverts. She harnesses these skills and circumvents them, with the knowledge of various regional languages and vernaculars, she weaves together a style of storytelling that is uniquely her own concoction. She tailors the Qawaali form to her interpretation of Sufiana Kalaam, which lure her audience, through the space she creates, into being more receptive to her message. As the writer and critic Aamer Hussein succinctly summarises, “She is able to cut across barriers—she appeals equally to people who like dancing, to those who listen for the pleasures of sound and to those who understand the demands of qawwali.”
It is the dedicated effort of this subculture, which is committed to upholding its sacred traditions, that the Sufiana Kalam achieves its status. In a country where resources aren’t distributed fairly, it's important to ask why Sufism is predominantly practised by roving minstrel communities. It is through this bond with the sacred word, that life for these mendicants is made tolerable. When the state turns a blind eye to the suffering of the marginalised, it is God that they look towards, who they seek, who they trust, and to who they can devote themselves. Thus, in underdeveloped provinces roving mendicant women are known to go from shrine to shrine, singing the Sufiana Kalam and praising God. Not only does that ensure their mobility - their performances become their source of income, which is a step in the direction of financial emancipation and relative freedom. Women sing the Sufiana Kalam, in shrines on every “urs” or every Thursday. Not only does this elevate their status in society by becoming integral members of the shrines, giving them legitimacy, but through their words, they feel the “ruh-e-ishq” (the spirit of love). Alongside, they participate in devotional rituals and practices also include the dance or “dhammal” which is said to have healing properties. Shrines, unlike mosques, welcome women to come with their issues which are dealt with by collective prayer. Devotes, feeling physical and mental ailments are made to participate in these dances and with the rhythmic chanting, in the remembrance of god, through the magic of the word, they feel heard, healed, and protected.
Magic, which “has been defined by authorities who are either opposed to or at least condescending towards the practices and beliefs they see entailing,” in this context, becomes the power to practice this devotion, feel the power of the security of love in God alongside like-minded devotees (Bailey, 2006). As aforementioned, the role of a woman in a country like Pakistan is largely shaped by societal convention. The roving minstrel tradition, which Sufism encourages, becomes an alternative way to live one’s life relatively freely. A very famous example of this is the Rajistani princess and devout of the Hindu Deity Lord Krishna, Mira Bai, who after being married against her will to a man who passed away before her, left her conventional life of luxury to wander all of Rajasthan, writing devotional poetry to her Lord. “She sang about the oppression of women, issues of race and caste prejudice and religious bigotry.” (Abbas, 103) In her poems, she alludes to attempts that were made on her life like a poisonous snake sent to her in a basket of flowers and being given a cup of poison to drink. However, it is said she drank it without any harm because of her faith in her Lord. Maybe, devotion becomes the only path to live an unencumbered life and women use it to break the chains of the convention that cage them. Maybe, the roving minstrel women soulfully sing these stories to reinforce their faith and bask in the power which accompanies their claims. Then the figure of the Witch understood through Silvia Federici’s work “as peasants who resisted the impoverishing developments arising from capitalist domination” in the context of Sufi culture, clearly becomes that of the common woman resisting theocracy by following non-normative practices which guides her to complete liberation, that being antithetical to traditional Islamic doctrines. It is the same women, who are demonised for not adhering to the status quo, that become targets for societal ridicule. They also frequently have to pay, like Sassi, Heer, and Sohni, with their lives. These mythicised women carry within them the reality of life so known to many. Maybe then, it can be understood why these myths prevail, and why they are necessary for the sustenance of the Sufi community. It also becomes clear why getting killed for not conforming to the laws of the land, or in Sufi terms, the transition from “Ishq-e-Mazaji” (worldly love) to “Ishq-e-Haqiqi” (divine love), is perceived through a more optimistic lens -The Sufi philosophy being, these women suffered in this life, to be with their lovers or God, in the next. For these women, it is vital to believe in a higher power, an afterlife, a haven, where complete body autonomy and freedom to love, therefore to be, is not a grim reality.
Examples of movements stemming from religious persecution, in histories all over the world have shown “those who make conscious attempts to create a new society” from their “resistance to the growing money economy” are met with opposition which almost always becomes barbaric and bloody. Just in the case of the Heretics, as discussed in The Caliban and the Witch, the Church “spared no effort to erase their doctrines”, Islamic Fundamentalists have also targeted these spaces of worship, since Sufism threatens dominant modes of interpretation. Sufism, like the Heretic’s movement, provided “a frame to peoples’ demands for spiritual renewal and social justice, challenging both the Church and secular authority by appeal to higher truth. It denounced social hierarchies, private property, and the accumulation of wealth, and it disseminated among the people a new, revolutionary concept of society.” Both these movements built themselves through societal engagement which “provided an alternative community structure, enabling the members of the sects to lead a more autonomous life...the links they had established among themselves with the help of commercial fairs, pilgrimage and constant border-crossing of refugees generated by the persecution.” (Federici, 33). In drawing these parallels, it brings to light the fear felt by those networks of power that sustain themselves through the subjugation of women, since they are seen as threats to disrupting the social order.
It is in this breath that storytelling forms the fabric of our society. Taking a lesson from a famous Middle Eastern folktale, One Thousand and One Nights-- The protagonist, Shehrzade, whose father was the vizier to the king, who would marry and then kill women every day, in his vitriolic hatred for women, developed upon learning about his wife's infidelity. Shehrzade, gets married to the king and every night, keeps telling him stories, leaving them incomplete and promising to finish the next day. The king gets so absorbed in her words that ultimately he keeps putting off her execution and abandons his plan to kill her. Storytelling becomes sustenance. The power channelled by women through their connection with the word has been felt throughout cultures. With this magic, they derive from words of God, of Sufi Poets, of their own works, irresolute strength. Abida Parveen is merely one powerful example. Her words of love, of resistance, of her unyielding connection to god, leave communities of people spellbound. When she sings, she embodies the pain and grief felt by those women who had to die for their love. She resurrects them through her performances, by “firing the desire to emulate the heroines of whom she told.” (Minh-ha, 1989). In ways, they become in this world, what they could not become in their own. By retaining this matri-mythical connection to the past, through her own incantations, she makes sure their voices, carrying the radical messages of love and divine protection, are never silenced again. Is this not magic?
Kar Door Kufar Dian Baaban Nu
Don’t Punish Yourself With The Pain of Death and Hell
Kar Door Dile Doan Khwaban Nu
Get Rid of These Imaginary Fears
Gal Ese Ghar Wich Dhukdi E
Only In Such a Heart, The Truth is Going to Enter