PAKISTAN, as those who live here know, is a land of tremendous contrasts. Whether we are talking about its physical extremes, or its cultural diversity, its complexities have the power to generate wonder and confusion in equal measure. Jürgen Wasim Frembgen’s At the Shrine of the Red Sufi accordingly enlightens, but also challenges, those readers who may have black and white impressions about what Islam ‘means’ in the context of today’s Pakistan.

Frembgen’s five days and nights spent at the Sehwan shrine of Lal Shahbaz Qalandar during the time of its annual urs is “full of spiritual rapture, ecstasy, trance, magic and [above all] devotion”. It highlights the place that Sufism occupies in the religious make-up of many Pakistanis, who like countless fellow Muslims elsewhere in the world, possess a longstanding emotional relationship with the so-called mystical dimensions of Islam. In particular, their dedication to the spiritual legacies of those holy men who very often were the human conduits along which Islam travelled to the subcontinent, remains clearly visible, and is highlighted by the personal stories that make up this vividly-written narrative.

Frembgen, as befits his academic credentials (he is Chief Curator of the Oriental Department of the Museum of Ethnography in Munich as well as Professor of Islamic Studies at Munich University, and has published extensively on the role and image of Sufi saints in both Pakistan and other Muslim societies), combines anthropological insights with a specialised knowledge of lived Islam, but this delightfully translated study (by Jane Ripken) is no dry account of an ethnographer at work. Instead, it pulsates with the insights that only someone firmly committed to understanding why Sufism exerts such an enduring pull on the religious heartstrings of many Pakistanis can provide.

Frembgen accordingly takes us from his starting point drinking chai at the Three Star Hotel in Lahore, where he encounters others about to undertake the same ritual journey — to the tented camps of Sehwan, accompanied along the way, it would seem, by family parties, itinerant malangs, gaudily made-up hijras, occasional bleating sheep and goats, and the trumpets, trombones and tubas of a brass band!

Sehwan’s population, which usually hovers around the 50,000 mark, explodes to well over half a million during the urs, “a huge mark-up on the 30,000 or so visitors whom the festival could claim a century ago”. Such is the extent of the pilgrimage’s present-day popularity, which is repeated to varying degrees at scores of other such dargahs around the country.

This account is a very human one. Indeed, there is a refreshingly open honesty about the stories that pilgrims tell Frembgen. It is very evident that the urs, together with its accompanying rituals, plays a central role in terms of how these visitors understand themselves as Muslims. Achieving an ecstatic union with God, albeit sometimes (as highlighted here) with the help of various intoxicating substances, is the aim of large numbers of them, mostly male but in some cases female too. The whirling devotional dance or dhamaal, described here taking place on many occasions, is one well-known way that devotees tune themselves into the Almighty’s wavelength, emulating the great Qalandar himself who is said to have declared:

“I am burning with divine love every moment. Sometimes I roll in the dust, And sometimes I dance on thorns. I have become notorious in your love. I beseech you to come to me. I am not afraid of the disrepute, To dance in every bazaar.”

Throughout the book, it is clear that Frembgen appreciates the depth of religious passion on display at such gatherings. In his words, a “spirit of harmony and tolerance marks the devotional religious spirit at saints’ shrines today. This is where the essence of Sufi Islam is put into practice — for humanity to unite not divide. I have found some festivals very contemplative, devoted to prayer and thoughts about God; the Sehwan mela, however, is a seething kettle of passionate and enraptured love”.

In his view, narrow-minded theologians are very much out of place in this setting. For all the contemporary emphasis on reformist “monochrome” Islam, with its criticism (both implicit and explicit) of the kinds of devotional practice that take place at Sufi shrines, the fact remains that Sufism encompasses a myriad colourful beliefs that inform the daily lives of many Pakistanis at the beginning of the 21st century.

Like the writings of Anne-Marie Schimmel, another German scholar and good friend of Pakistan, this study of Sufism throws fresh light on what has been described by some as the “gentler face” of Islam. As Frembgen reflects once back in Lahore: “The mela in Sehwan was a spectacular, huge event, embedded in the cyclical calendar of festivities of the rural population in the Punjab and Sindh, a joyful world diametrically opposed to the austerity of ultra-conservative Muslims — a timeless, other-worldly experience. To this celebration, people bring their hopes and longings and seek consolation… They enjoy the cheerful opening to the world, the carefreeness, the light-heartedness, and the carnival atmosphere. Many seek to cross boundaries in ecstasy… the mela is first of all fun, joy, amusement, and relaxation in the community of friends, amidst a sea of red.”

While the urs at Sehwan may not be every Pakistani’s religious ‘cup of tea’, it represents one particularly enduring alternative, which shows little sign of its appeal diminishing for the hundreds of thousands of ardent subscribers who return, year after year, to experience what it offers them by way of spiritual comfort and enjoyment.

The reviewer is the head of the History department at Royal Holloway, University of London

At the Shrine of the Red Sufi: Five Days and Nights on Pilgrimage in Pakistan (TRAVELOGUE) By Jürgen Wasim Frembgen Oxford University Press, Karachi ISBN 9780199063079 181pp. Rs695