It was the early 1980s, still initial days for me at an Air Force Station on the western sector. One chilly afternoon, an endless stream of villagers — women in their colourful winter clothes, children clinging on the back of bicycles and the elderly with grandchildren acting as crutches — trooped into the camp.
They left their bicycles, tongas and bullock carts outside the camp, and patiently waited for security checks. They had come to pray at the mazar of Peer Baba inside the station.
The third Thursday of every month was Peer Baba ka din . It was intriguing to see the authorities letting the villagers not only inside the outer domestic area but also miles inside the high-security technical area, as the tomb was almost in the middle of the airbase. Probably, it was part of the land acquired for the base and from the beginning, the villagers were allowed to pray.
Air Force policemen and Defence Security Corps personnel had a tough time screening the monthly congregation. I wondered why the authorities were taking such a high risk, especially when insurgency was at its peak in Punjab.
Ways of worship
One such evening, I, along with a friend, decided to visit the tomb. The little shrine was crowded and some were praying with folded hands, others prostrating, and some others circumambulating it holding chadars , burning incense sticks, coconuts and flowers. There was no prescribed order as the devotees belonged to different religions and followed their own practices of worship. But pray they all did, for the blessings of the holy Sufi.
A few months later, a series of fatal air crashes rocked the base, a couple of them within a fortnight. Inquiries were ordered and preventive measures taken. A special station puja at the tomb was announced and the personnel, except those on essential duties, were asked to participate. From the Air Officer Commanding to non-combatants, all gathered.
Officers and airmen in uniform assembled in columns, as if in a parade, and stood in pin-drop silence. The Air Force has no religious preachers. So tradesmen of different faiths who knew a bit about the rituals donned the robes of pandit, Imam, Granthi and pastor.
The tomb was adjacent to a taxi track and a fighter aircraft was towed to the site. The stand-in priests recited prayers in turns, and the front wheel of the flying machine crushed a few lemons on the tarmac to conclude the ceremony. For soldiers, faith is an extension of their professionalism and work is worship. Prayers do not substitute or replace it, but just act as a supplement. The purpose of including a variety of religious practices was not for displaying exaggerated secularism or feigned parity; rather, it marked another occasion of teamwork, when a bit of contribution from everyone, invocations in this case, could add to greater results.
And, it worked! For the next two years, till I moved out, there was no flying accident at the base. It could be the result of either divine help or hard work; most likely, a combination of both, as the saying goes “God helps those who help themselves”.
Who was Peer Baba? A local miracle man who lived around the base long ago? A Sufi who preached brotherhood?
Or was the Baba just a concept of inclusiveness, flexibility and liberalism, which certainly outlives narrow allegiances? And the tomb, with its universal appeal, just a symbol to disseminate positivity, optimism and confidence in times of uncertainty?
harichitrakootam@yahoo.com
