In the women’s section of the Shah Ali
shrine, popularly known as the Mirpur
mazaar, the atmosphere was calm. It’s
a space large enough for supplicants
to sprawl in, albeit their chief purpose
remains invocations and prayers. There
is no limit to how much time one can
spend there, so some make it a quick
jaunt – hasty prayers, a nod to the tomb,
exit – while others linger in deeper con-
templation – longer prayers, Qur’an
recitations, quiet meditations, hushed
conversations with their fellow visitors.
Among the serene visitors, a caretaker
of sorts played a much more vocal role
as one-part enforcer, two-parts host. She
made sure nobody hogged time at the
narrow look-through to the main hall
with the sarcophagus (which only men
are allowed to enter) and asked for dona-
tions (duly deposited in the assigned box)
and tips (given directly to her). This was
all done in a manner of polite cajoling:
‘You want something from Baba, give
something in return...?’ Baba is Baba Shah
Ali, at whose proverbial feet the devotees
prostrate themselves, yearn and suppli-
cate in the hope that their wishes will be
granted. Does Baba heed these requests?
‘Of course,’ the caretaker answers confi-
dently, clarifying, ‘depends on what kind
of wish. You have to be sincere.’
Shrines are both common and con-
tested in Bangladesh. Salafists and other
literalists condemn them as heretical and
fraudulent. Who rests at the shrine that
consoles? Like most shrines of a similar
nature here, it is who you believe to be
entombed there rather than any defini-
tive answer. There are a few, like the
Shah Jalal mazaar in Sylhet in northeast
Bangladesh, where confirmations have
a degree of authentication. But does it
matter? Sacred spaces function as much
as social spaces, offering not only spirit-
ual solace but also opportunities to bond
that are firmly of this world.By the steps just outside the women’s
section were a guard and two women
discussing, without agreement, the rela-
tionships of those lying in the few other
graves at Baba Shah Ali’s shrine. Opin-
ions varied from the mazaar’s landlord
to Ali’s favoured followers. They were
just enjoying a languid Saturday after-
noon. In the open, main square of the
shrine complex, there was a more bois-
terous energy in evidence, with numbers
of devotees moving in and out, and the
bustle of the market stalls just outside, all
named after Shah Ali. This place is one of
the mainstays of social life in the Mirpur
area of Dhaka, a city with increasingly
curtailed and policed public spaces. On
the question of faith, evidence was never
the point.
But if for the general passerby,
devotee, or those seeking repose, the
mazaar is a gathering place, it is also a
profitable venture. The market stalls, also
on mazaar property, bring in rent for
the mazaar committee, positions whichresult from influence jockeying and polit-
ical bartering. Then somebody reminds
you that this is simply how things work:
how else would they survive, pay salaries
and maintenance costs? Yet those who are
paid salaries would likely tell you their
wages are meagre and have to be sup-
plemented by all the baksheesh they can
get from devotees. A woman whose job
was to hand out leaflets for upcoming
mehfils (organized spiritual gatherings)
made that clear, as did the shoe-check
attendant and another worker at the gate,
and I obliged. It is customary to donate at
shrines, anyway.
‘See you again. May your wish be ful-
filled,’ the shoe-check lady cheered, ‘and
then return to offer your thanks.’ Not that
I don’t believe in miracles and wishes
granted, but I hadn’t prayed for anything
in particular at the shrine; mine had been
prayer without a goal. OPARSA SANJANA SAJID IS A WRITER, EDITOR AND
ARTIST LIVING IN DHAKA, BANGLADESH.WISH FULFILMENT
Parsa Sanjana Sajid visits a
popular shrine and witnesses
the everyday mingling of the
social and the spiritual.LETTER FROM DHAKANOVEMBER-DECEMBER 2019 7ILLUSTRATION: SARAH JOHN