‘Urs in Delhi
Khusraw! Deep into the night of union, I stayed awake with my love … My body, her heart: both of one color.
The venerable shrine singer Mi‘raj Ahmad Nizami wails melodiously through betel-stained teeth. The words are Amir Khusraw’s, the saint's dearest disciple, his “Turk of God.” Booming drumbeats and the blare of harmoniums drive the message home.
You are a lamp … Listen: Tonight is the tryst … Stay awake all night.
Here is Khusraw’s tomb, there is Princess Jahanara’s. Overshadowing both is the dome where the saint rests in a bed of white marble, breathing incense, festooned with rose petals. Khwaja Nizam al-Din, God’s Beloved, Sultan among God’s Friends.
Today is color … The color green … My Khwaja’s house, green … My beloved’s house, green … In this courtyard, our rendezvous … In my courtyard, our rendezvous.
Nights are still chilly in early February, but spring is fast approaching, promising vernal shoots as green as the sainted Khwaja’s turban. Soon comes Basant, the Hindu and Sufi festival of spring, when marigolds are gaily tossed and kites spangle the sky.
I have found my Pir … Nizam al-Din Awliya’, Farid al-Din Awliya’, Qutb al-Din Awliya’, Mu‘in al-Din Awliya’!
From Khorasan the Chishtis descended to the Gangetic plain in the 12th century, bearing a message of patient kindness, heartache, and ecstasy. Delhi became sacred Sufi ground, “Hazrat Dihli.” Pilgrims from across the globe, we are gathered here to pay homage to the chain of living hearts that binds us to the throne of Love.
Wherever I look, there is your green color … I searched from land to land and finally found your color … Mu‘in al-Din, I found your color! … Such color as I never saw.
Sayyid Ahmad Shah has come from Chisht Sharif (hail o root of the Chishti tree!), Sayyid Rashid al-Hasan from Hyderabad. Both pirs weep quietly as the qawwals sing. They have dard, the exquisite pain and rapture of the heart’s innermost emotion, a draught of God’s own sea-dark wine. Baba Farid bequeathed it to Nizam al-Din when he uttered, “God grant you the pain of love.”
Take my color into yours, Khwaja-ji! … Make my color the color of spring!
A golden sheet, emblazoned with heart-and-wings, is now unfurled and carried in procession down the Avenue of the Flower Sellers to another tomb, our long-sought destination, the resting place and bridal bed of Hazrat Inayat Khan. Murshid! In the shade of your repose our broken hearts are mended. Spare a glance for one whose only thought is of you!
Note: The Chishti tradition of service is put into methodical practice on an ongoing basis and sizable scale in the work of the Hope Project, India. To learn about the project and how you can help, please visit www.hopeprojectindia.org.
