On the 16th day of Safar, the second month of the Islamic calendar, the dusty hamlet of Jhok Sharif in district Thatta suddenly rises from its slumber as hordes of devotees arrive for the annual urs of Sufi Shah Inayat Shaheed, the saint who went to war for landless peasants and embraced martyrdom for them.

Unlike other Sufi shrines, where dhamaal typically marks the beginning of an urs, Shah Inayat’s urs begins with sama — a melodious session of poetry recital sans the accompaniment of any musical instrument, ending on the collective calls of “Allah, Allah, Allah”. This preference of sama over dhamaal has its roots in the saint’s struggle: Shah Inayat had not died a natural death, but was killed with thousands of his followers in a conflict that lasted about a month.

This background lends an air of solemnity to Shah Inayat’s urs or “mela,” as it is popularly known. Two decades ago, when the dome and walls of the mausoleum were not covered with marble, a visit to the shrine gave the impression that time had stood still and the Jhok War has just ended. Unlike most other shrines, devotees in Jhok Sharif are not found smoking hashish or consuming cannabis. Nor does one witness any dancing girls or boys.

Devoid of any fun and frolic, the annual urs of Sufi Shah Inayat Shaheed in Jhok Sharif has nothing to offer to common people. It’s purely a Sufi event

Instead, what pervades the air at Shah Inayat’s shrine is music: faqirs singing Sufi verses on Yaktara (a one-stringed instrument) and Khartal (couple of wooden clappers with ghungroos attached to it), or playing the harmonium, dholak or tabla. From the faqirs of Fatehpur (Balochistan) to the bhagats of lower Sindh and professional singers from Hyderabad, Thar and upper Sindh, the mela offers a wide variety of Sindhi music.

But the sama sessions held at the veranda of the mausoleum has a unique milieu. Every morning at 10am, a man plays drums outside a small, ancient room. The rhythm sounds like a call to warriors to join the battlefield. Soon enough, the custodian of the shrine (sajjada nasheen) heads to the mausoleum — usually attired in a typical kurta, wearing a conical cap on his head, and holding an antique stick (assaa) covered with engraved metal in his hand. The sajjada nasheen’s disciples (fuqra) follow their master in.

At Qasr-i-Qalandar, prominent singers who have arrived from different areas are given a chance to perform. Last year, Vijay Kumar, a young man from Quetta in his late twenties, stole the show by skilfully rendering a khayal, a ghazal and a Sufi kalaam.

Sajjada Nasheen Sufi Attaulah Sattari, reverently called Sahab Kareem by the devotees, sits cross-legged on a straw seat, a symbolic remnant of the peasant commune established by his great grandfather. In front of him sits a group of singers, both facing a large audience. Then begins the sama.

Like the rag sung at the shrine of Shah Abdul Lateef Bhitai in Bhit Shah, the sama performed at Jhok Shareef is a tradition initiated by the master — Shah Inayat in this case — and kept alive through centuries. It has a very mellow and soulful elegiac tone, which offers solace to the sorrowful and makes an otherwise happy listener fall into a nostalgic trance.

In the evening, Sahab Kareem sits under a canopy facing the mausoleum and a larger crowd assembles around him, with a separate area designated for women. A popular vocalist, it was Shafee Mohammad of Thar last year, sings a couple of Sufi songs, to be followed by a similar performance by the official singers of the shrine of Fatehpur, an offshoot of the dargah of Jhok Sharif.

At night, a concert is held at Qasr-i-Qalandar (the Palace of Qalandar), with a large number of common people thronging the spacious hall and lawn outside it. Apart from the locals, devotees come from different parts of Pakistan, but mostly from Sindh and Balochistan. Then there are those who arrive from countries such as the United States and Ghana.

At Qasr-i-Qalandar, prominent singers who have arrived from different areas are given a chance to perform. Last year, Vijay Kumar, a young man from Quetta in his late twenties, stole the show by skilfully rendering a khayal, a ghazal and a Sufi kalaam.

Usually an urs or mela of a Sufi saint concludes on its third day, after offering collective prayers (dua). On this day, the fuqra cook sweet dishes and distribute them among friends and acquaintances or anyone present near them. This ritual is called tehayee.

At the end of the rite, fuqra hug each other and start leaving the place with the promise of meeting each other next year, if they live. The urs of Shah Inayat, however, extends to a fourth day, when the fuqra, except a few, are asked by Sahab Kareem to stay for an extra day or two since overnight desolation of a very lively place would sadden him.

Pilgrims coming to Jhok Sharif form an interesting mosaic of devotion across social strata. Some come in four-wheelers and luxury cars, others in public transport, and some wearing their worn-out and tattered clothes. Then there are a large number of womenfolk. At the entrance of the shrine, spread over several acres, devotees are to cover their head with caps and cloth, and take off their shoes — not to be worn for the next four days, even during chilly nights, when stone pathways and the dew-soaked lawns send a shiver to the spine.

On most days of the year, however, the shrine is a sparsely populated place, with Sikandar Faqeer, the key-holder of the shrine, and some other fuqra welcoming a casual visitor or two. But on the 17th day of every month of the Islamic calendar, a select lot of devotees gather at the shrine to commemorate the martyrdom of Sufi Shah Inayat and his followers.

Soon, every guest leaves the Jhok and the hamlet falls asleep again.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, July 20th, 2014