Manchar’s is an enchanted ecology - dozens of shrines along and within the peripheries of the lake. Shrines emerge from and vanish into its tides and the flows. The air is dense with spirits and saints. This song is in praise of one such saint.
Look Jilani,
How he brings drowning boats to shore.
Praise Jilani,
Who raises drowned boats from the sea.
Beloved saint,
Don't forget me.
Bring my loved ones’ boats home.
Look Jilani,
How he brings drowning boats to shore.
Praise Jilani,
Who raises drowned boats from the sea.
Beloved saint,
Don't forget me.
Bring my loved ones’ boats home.
Manchar Lake, March 2023.
The recording is from an afternoon spent in one of the last remaining boat homes of Manchar. Communities that once spent all their days and nights in boats and in the lake have now mostly moved to land. This last floating village is a village of mostly women. As the waters become increasingly polluted, the men leave to find work on land, to find livelihoods on other shores. And the women stay. The women are for the waters. The waters are for the women. The waters are full of poison.
16th century mystic Meerabai was a wanderer. The urdu word for wanderer is awaara: Awaara means feral, wild, wandering, abandoned, exiled, ruined. It is the worst thing that a woman could be. A wanderer.Like most mystics there was a turning point when Meerabai came ecstatically undone, lost herself in self annihilation, embraced ruin, went full awaara. Meerabai’s madness brings disgrace to her family. Her reckless abandon threatens the social fabric of her community, and is intolerable for the status quo. Meerabai is free, and so she is always in close proximity to death. She is adept - and so she keeps evading attempts at her death.
When a basket of venomous snakes is sent to kill her, she wraps the snakes around her neck like a garland of flowers. When they try to drown her, she miraculously floats. And when they send her a glass of poison. She drinks it and laughs. She drinks it and she dances. Meerabai is like Shiva dancing on the back of the demon. This is the mystical craft. The demon has always been there in some form or another. A poisoned chalice or a poisoned lake. And so have you.
Laughter echoes across the lake. And we remember an ancient song:
The recording is from an afternoon spent in one of the last remaining boat homes of Manchar. Communities that once spent all their days and nights in boats and in the lake have now mostly moved to land. This last floating village is a village of mostly women. As the waters become increasingly polluted, the men leave to find work on land, to find livelihoods on other shores. And the women stay. The women are for the waters. The waters are for the women. The waters are full of poison.
16th century mystic Meerabai was a wanderer. The urdu word for wanderer is awaara: Awaara means feral, wild, wandering, abandoned, exiled, ruined. It is the worst thing that a woman could be. A wanderer.Like most mystics there was a turning point when Meerabai came ecstatically undone, lost herself in self annihilation, embraced ruin, went full awaara. Meerabai’s madness brings disgrace to her family. Her reckless abandon threatens the social fabric of her community, and is intolerable for the status quo. Meerabai is free, and so she is always in close proximity to death. She is adept - and so she keeps evading attempts at her death.
When a basket of venomous snakes is sent to kill her, she wraps the snakes around her neck like a garland of flowers. When they try to drown her, she miraculously floats. And when they send her a glass of poison. She drinks it and laughs. She drinks it and she dances. Meerabai is like Shiva dancing on the back of the demon. This is the mystical craft. The demon has always been there in some form or another. A poisoned chalice or a poisoned lake. And so have you.
Laughter echoes across the lake. And we remember an ancient song:
Sindh is named after Sindhu, the ancient river that flows, expands, contracts across its surface. It is a profoundly sacred and deeply revered river. The Rig Vedas were written at the banks of this river, and they mention Sindhu over 150 times: ‘Waters, the worshipper addresses to you excellent praise… the rivers flow by sevens through the three worlds; but the Sindhu surpasses all the other streams in strength.’ This river predates the Himalayas. Through the massive geological shifts that birthed the highest mountains on the planet, the Sindhu endured and softly shored a path.River worship is an ancient and ongoing tradition here. Devotees are known as Daryapanthi: those who walk the path of the river. Another name for Sindhu, and for Sindh, is Mehran. A name connected etymologically to Mehr/Mitra - the Indo-Persian diety of water and friendship.
Mitr. Friend.
Mitr. Friend.