It was a starlit night. Flickering light from dozens of oil lamps cast long shadows. Abdul Ghani sat with eyes firmly shut. His focus, on the words he was uttering, and on the steady beat set by a duo of tambourines. As his serene voice filled the air another joined in, that of Haja Maideen. Bathed by the light from the oil lamps, they swayed as if in a trance. My brain could barely decipher the mix of chaste Tamil and Urdu they used in their praise — their pugazh maalai — of Allah and that of Sufi saint Hazrat Syed Shahul Hameed of Nagore. But in that moment, it seemed irrelevant. It felt sufficient to sit still and listen. Meditative even.
A poem by Tirunāvukkarasar, the 7th century Tamil saint, written in praise of Shiva was painted on the wall behind them. Its mere presence added a layer of cultural complexity to the scene. Sufi meets Shiva meets bhakti. The effect was simply electric. So much so, that the thought of it gives goosebumps.
