Society

Sweet Smell Of Home

Namrata Joshi accompanies the Gilanis from Pakistan on their homecoming to Masanian

Advertisement

Sweet Smell Of Home
info_icon
S

Dilshad, along with other members of the extended Gilani family (who formed the entire Muslim population of Masanian), was compelled to leave their homes and fields, and the resting place of this beloved uncle, to make a new home in a new country. In 1947, it could not have been any other way.

Early in December 2008, when Dilshad made the journey back from Lahore to Indian Punjab across the Wagah border, for the first time since he moved to Pakistan, he knew that not much would be left of his fields and home. But he did hope his uncle’s grave would still be there. It was not to be—Dilshad couldn’t find that hallowed spot in the once familiar, now changed setting. "It makes me feel empty, incomplete," he said, disappointment writ all over his craggy face.

Advertisement

info_icon

Partition had meant another cruel blow for Dilshad’s family—the enforced severance from Masanian Sharif, the holy mazar of their forefather, the saint Shah Badr Diwan, and a compelling symbol of their proud lineage. Diwan was born in Baghdad, moved to Lahore during the reign of Akbar and eventually settled down in Masanian. It was here that he married, had four sons and a daughter. It was here that Diwan died, was buried and came to be revered. And it was here that his descendants—the Gilanis—grew and prospered. For Dilshad and the accompanying 11 members of the Gilani family, it was also a momentous journey into an ancestry and heritage they had been separated from for the last 60 years.

Advertisement

We first meet the Gilanis in Amritsar over a hearty meal at Kundan Dhaba, followed by a quick prayer at the Golden Temple, and unending conversations on how similar India and Pakistan were—the lingo and the food, the narrow streets, the shops spilling over on to the pavements; how popular Indian Idol was in Pakistan...

The sense of anticipation is palpable as the bus veers into the narrow road leading to the village, the minarets and domes of the mazar visible in the distance. Quick, excited cellphone calls inform family members back in Pakistan of this. Before Partition, crowds of people used to visit the mazar every Thursday of the new moon. "Do you know it’s the Thursday of the new moon today as well?" Dilshad’s nephew Sikandar Gilani asks with a smile.

The journey to Masanian had been a personal quest for Sikandar who at 48 is the youngest member in the group. For years the Saudi Arabia-based petroleum engineer had been trawling the internet, gathering data about his ancestors and charting their shajrah or family tree. "An American friend who was tracing his lineage could not go beyond the Civil War. I realised that in comparison I could go back 1,400 years," says Sikandar.

He painstakingly collected official and personal documents—the last photo of the village taken by his father, the letter of condolence sent by Punjab’s Inspector General of Police on October 8, 1930, to Sikandar’s father on the death of his grandfather who was an inspector in the force. Sikandar had been keeping close track of the dargah’s fate as well. He got lucky in September 2000, when he spotted a write-up on the internet on a qawwali programme by the Wadali Brothers organised at the dargah to mark the conservation work that the Cultural Resource Conservation Initiative (CRCI) was to undertake there with UNESCO funding. The project got stalled, but Sikandar established contact with conservation architect and CRCI director Gurmeet Rai. "They are passionate about the shrine; it has been a steady, continuous endeavour for them," says Rai. For Rai, the conservation effort is just as precious. "I don’t like brick-and-mortar structures except those that have people milling around them. The Masanian dargah is very alive, and respected by all the communities," she says.

Advertisement

info_icon


Memory lane: The Gilanis roam the galis of Masanian, soaking in the feel

The conservation work has been revived now with support from the state department of tourism, as part of their development of the religious circuit. The terror attack on Mumbai and the subsequent anti-Pakistan sentiment in India briefly put a question mark over the Gilanis’ trip to India, but the pull of Shah Badr Diwan proved far stronger.

The first step the Gilanis take into the shrine, the first silent prayers, the spreading of chadars, is an intensely moving moment. Steady tears fall from their eyes, washing away the sorrow of separation. The mazar, they say happily, looks just like the pictures pulled out of the internet. Diyas and incense have been lit, and locals gather to watch, as parrots and pigeons chirp in the vast courtyard and kids play cricket in the surrounding fields. "We can’t believe it’s true. It’s like a dream. We never imagined we could ever visit this place again in our lifetime," says Sikandar’s mother Jamila Khatoon, who was just 15 when they moved. "Ours was the last kafila to leave for Pakistan. It was a time of extreme violence, but every single member of our family left unscathed. It was Baba Badr’s will, he has always looked after us," says Sikandar’s sister, Najma.

Advertisement

The migrating Gilani family had left the shrine in the hands of a Christian family in Masanian, hoping they would maintain the structure and its dignity. The surviving member of that family, Yunus Masih, has faithfully kept the promise made 60 years ago. And it’s the income from the daily offerings at the dargah and at its annual fairs that have supported his family. A group of Muslim Gujjars from Kashmir, who have set up dera in Masanian, want to claim the rights for the dargah’s upkeep but the Gilanis stand by Masih. "Itni shiddat se rakhwali ki hai (they have guarded it with such passion)," says Syed Riaz Ahmed, Sikandar and Najma’s uncle.

Advertisement

He climbs one of the minarets to soak in the view. The village bazaar, the vast cremation ground, are no longer visible, no kabaddi games and bullfights take place here now, and there are many new houses, with kitschy sculptures of aircraft, footballs and huge eagles on their terraces. "I can’t recognise it any more," says Riaz.

But even so, the Gilanis experience a powerful sense of homecoming, even those members of the family who were born much after Partition, in Pakistan. "This is where the story of our family begins, it gives them a place in history," says Jamila Khatoon. "Buzurgon ki zameen mein hi sukh milta hai (you find peace only in the land of your ancestors)." The Gilani clan is now spread around the globe. It’s the Masanian dargah that binds them together. It’s as though on arriving at the dargah they have finally found themselves.

They walk the streets, stopping by at the tiled grave of Baba Badr’s daughter which stands a distance away, lonely and sad. They spot the place from where their father took the last photo before migrating to Pakistan. "Some things never change," says Dilshad. "The weather here was always very lovely, and the water sweet."

Village sarpanch Amrik Singh offers them tea and invites them to examine his house. It was once home to their relatives, and allotted to the sarpanch’s family when it moved over from Pakistan. Across the border, his family too would have left a home that he can no longer call his own, which would have become the home of a stranger.

Advertisement

Soon, it is time to leave. Will Dilshad return disappointed, his wish to see uncle Abrar’s final resting place unfulfilled? The hospitable, open-hearted villagers won’t let that happen. They have finally figured out the spot, hidden in a cluster of trees, where Abrar’s grave lies. Dilshad rushes to the grove, removes the pile of mud to reveal the burial place.

He clings to it tightly for a long while and weeps copiously, as though it was his uncle’s shoulder, his private dargah, then lovingly places the chadar on it and applies itr, his mission finally accomplished. He would have slept peacefully on the night of December 5 in Batala’s humble Abhi Hotel.

Advertisement

Tags

    Advertisement

    Advertisement

    Advertisement

    Advertisement

    Advertisement

    Advertisement