Seraiki folklore sums up stories of centuries
Seraiki folklore, less to none in popularity in South Punjab and beyond, plays a vital role in preserving cultural identity and social values, strengthens communal bonds, educates younger generations and serves as a historical record of events and traditions.
"In societies with strong oral traditions, folklore acts as an unwritten history, carrying forward the knowledge and experiences of ancestors," remarked Dr Khalid Iqbal, a former radio station director.
"Folklore also serves as an inspiration for modern literature, music and even governance by reflecting the ethos of a region," added Dr Iqbal, the writer of famous book on Seraiki language and literature.
Various forms of folklore found in Seraiki literature include Wai, Kafi, Dohay, folktales, proverbs, idioms, folk songs and remedies.
"Wai is a form of devotional and mystical poetry often associated with Sufi saints. It carries themes of divine love, human suffering and spiritual enlightenment," Dr Iqbal said.
"Kafi is also a well-known poetic form in Seraiki and Sindhi literature that expresses deep philosophical thoughts and emotions. Works of Khawaja Ghulam Farid are prime examples of Seraiki Kafi," he said.
He highlighted that Dohay are couplets rich in wisdom and everyday philosophy, offering moral lessons and reflections on life. Besides this, folktales in Seraiki literature revolve around legendary figures, heroic deeds and morality. "Stories like Sassi-Punnu and Heer-Ranjha are widely narrated in South Punjab. These tales reflect the themes of love, sacrifice and destiny.
Similarly, he said, proverbs are an integral part of Seraiki folklore, encapsulating wisdom in short and impactful phrases. For example "Jihday hath aayan, unhay hathi bhal aay" (One who possesses something also bears its responsibility). "These expressions often contain centuries-old experiences and moral lessons," he said, as he also mentioned traditional songs, including Mahiya, Jhummar and Sufi poetry that are widely sung at cultural gatherings, weddings and shrines.
Jhummar is a rhythmic folk dance often performed during celebrations of festivals like Urs Khawaja Fareed, Mela Channan Peer and Sakhi Sarwar that are also deeply rooted in the folklore.
According to Dr Khalid Iqbal, the Seraiki folklore stands as a vibrant testament to the region's rich literary and cultural heritage.
He said women have played a significant yet often unrecognised role in shaping this poetic legacy. Due to societal constraints, many of them remained anonymous but their contributions continue to resonate through lullabies, folk songs and poetic expressions. One such mesmerising lullaby by Dai Phaphal Hafzani has been cherished as a soothing melody for infants.
Similarly, the heart-wrenching folk song Sammi, often attributed to a grieving mother, encapsulates the pain of separation.
These compositions are more than mere songs as they embody emotions, struggles and resilience of Seraiki people. Poetic tributes to trees of shesham and neem mention respite from scorching heat and depict women weaving on charkha, symbolising both the labour and artistry embedded in their daily lives.
Children's songs, in pursuit of birds and rhythmic 'Jhoola Lori' cradle songs for infants highlight a delicate blend of innocence and cultural values.
Another noteworthy contribution is Dhola songs, dedicated to beloved figures, often evoking emotions of longing and admiration. Among them, the most renowned are Qissa Gamon Suchhar, Sammi Rawal, Sakhi Badshah and Mai Budhri Tay Phhulay Da Qissa. These stories transcend generational divides, offering entertainment for children and philosophical insights for youth.
Literary scholars and poets have preserved these artistic expressions, with notable figures like Dr Mehar Abdul Haq, Ibn-e-Qaisar, Aslam Rasoolpuri, Sirajuddin Sanwal and Bushra Rehman contributing to the literary tapestry.
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Express Tribune
24-03-2025
- Express Tribune
Seraiki folklore sums up stories of centuries
Seraiki folklore, less to none in popularity in South Punjab and beyond, plays a vital role in preserving cultural identity and social values, strengthens communal bonds, educates younger generations and serves as a historical record of events and traditions. "In societies with strong oral traditions, folklore acts as an unwritten history, carrying forward the knowledge and experiences of ancestors," remarked Dr Khalid Iqbal, a former radio station director. "Folklore also serves as an inspiration for modern literature, music and even governance by reflecting the ethos of a region," added Dr Iqbal, the writer of famous book on Seraiki language and literature. Various forms of folklore found in Seraiki literature include Wai, Kafi, Dohay, folktales, proverbs, idioms, folk songs and remedies. "Wai is a form of devotional and mystical poetry often associated with Sufi saints. It carries themes of divine love, human suffering and spiritual enlightenment," Dr Iqbal said. "Kafi is also a well-known poetic form in Seraiki and Sindhi literature that expresses deep philosophical thoughts and emotions. Works of Khawaja Ghulam Farid are prime examples of Seraiki Kafi," he said. He highlighted that Dohay are couplets rich in wisdom and everyday philosophy, offering moral lessons and reflections on life. Besides this, folktales in Seraiki literature revolve around legendary figures, heroic deeds and morality. "Stories like Sassi-Punnu and Heer-Ranjha are widely narrated in South Punjab. These tales reflect the themes of love, sacrifice and destiny. Similarly, he said, proverbs are an integral part of Seraiki folklore, encapsulating wisdom in short and impactful phrases. For example "Jihday hath aayan, unhay hathi bhal aay" (One who possesses something also bears its responsibility). "These expressions often contain centuries-old experiences and moral lessons," he said, as he also mentioned traditional songs, including Mahiya, Jhummar and Sufi poetry that are widely sung at cultural gatherings, weddings and shrines. Jhummar is a rhythmic folk dance often performed during celebrations of festivals like Urs Khawaja Fareed, Mela Channan Peer and Sakhi Sarwar that are also deeply rooted in the folklore. According to Dr Khalid Iqbal, the Seraiki folklore stands as a vibrant testament to the region's rich literary and cultural heritage. He said women have played a significant yet often unrecognised role in shaping this poetic legacy. Due to societal constraints, many of them remained anonymous but their contributions continue to resonate through lullabies, folk songs and poetic expressions. One such mesmerising lullaby by Dai Phaphal Hafzani has been cherished as a soothing melody for infants. Similarly, the heart-wrenching folk song Sammi, often attributed to a grieving mother, encapsulates the pain of separation. These compositions are more than mere songs as they embody emotions, struggles and resilience of Seraiki people. Poetic tributes to trees of shesham and neem mention respite from scorching heat and depict women weaving on charkha, symbolising both the labour and artistry embedded in their daily lives. Children's songs, in pursuit of birds and rhythmic 'Jhoola Lori' cradle songs for infants highlight a delicate blend of innocence and cultural values. Another noteworthy contribution is Dhola songs, dedicated to beloved figures, often evoking emotions of longing and admiration. Among them, the most renowned are Qissa Gamon Suchhar, Sammi Rawal, Sakhi Badshah and Mai Budhri Tay Phhulay Da Qissa. These stories transcend generational divides, offering entertainment for children and philosophical insights for youth. Literary scholars and poets have preserved these artistic expressions, with notable figures like Dr Mehar Abdul Haq, Ibn-e-Qaisar, Aslam Rasoolpuri, Sirajuddin Sanwal and Bushra Rehman contributing to the literary tapestry.
Express Tribune
16-03-2025
- Express Tribune
The timeless treasures of Thar
To a Karachiite, Tharparkar likely conjures images of suffering farmers or malnourished children. While these hardships are real and often underreported, in many ways, it is urban centres like Karachi that are impoverished – not in monetary wealth, but in culture, tradition and gratitude. Thar, in contrast, seems blessed with infinite riches. Over the past decade, mainstream news has largely focused on the extreme drought that gripped Thar around 2014 and lasted nearly six years. Yet, beyond its struggles, there is much to learn from the region, its people, and their way of life in order to better what is truly at stake. Rather than being viewed solely as a charity case, Tharparkar deserves a central place in discussions on climate change and cultural preservation in the region. A desert brimming with life A desert region, locals term describe Thar as an 'abad registan' (inhabited desert) in Urdu, rather than a truly barren one. It is dotted with trees and bushes as far as the eye can see, and peacocks roaming in their natural habitat. Once a fertile land, it is believed that the now extinct Saraswati or Ghaggar-Hakra River flowed nearby. A model of interfaith harmony In Tharparkar, it feels a humble shepherd pays little mind to who the prime minister of Pakistan is. Here, politics and religion take a backseat to culture, which shapes public life. At its best, Thar and its people offer a model of interfaith harmony. 'There is no such thing as caste or creed here,' says Mukhi Lachmandas, a caretaker at the Sant Nenuram Ashram, home to the Shree Hinglaj Mata Mandir in Islamkot. He is seen chopping vegetables for a communal meal being prepared. The temple feeds countless people everyday regardless of their religion and caste, using support it receives from the entire community. Its atmosphere is calm, with devotional music playing constantly in the background, punctuated by the occasional ringing of bells by devotees. Bhagro Mal Nachez, a Hindu born in Tharparkar who has spent much of his life in Islamkot, is a frequent presence at the temple. Having come here to escape poverty, he now sings the verses of the giants of poetry in the Indian subcontinent's Sufi tradition — the likes of Kabir, Bulleh Shah, Bhitai, Ustad Bukhari, and Bhagat Pallaj, to name a few. 'They preach the message of humanism,' he says of these poets. Hindu-Muslim Sufism was once the dominant spiritual tradition of the Indian subcontinent, but over time, it has faded into the margins. In places like Tharparkar, however, remnants of this past still endure. Could this decline, in part, have caused the rise in intolerance and, consequently, cultural erasure? It could be the other way around – cultural erasure leads to further intolerance, and more intolerance in turn accelerates cultural erasure, creating a vicious cycle. Sounds and colours Maryam Naz is a folk singer and dholak player from Thar. The bright colours of her ghagra-kanjra — the traditional attire of Thari women, influenced by Gujarati, Punjabi, and Sindhi styles — are a large part what makes Tharparkar colourful and lively. Though she is one of many talented folk musicians in the region, she remains largely unrecognised outside of it, receiving little attention or support. With the right investment, Thari music could find a significant regional audience. Yet, like many artists here, Maryam's voice remains unheard despite its beauty, and her art goes undervalued. Lack of investment isn't the only challenge Thar's art and music face. 'Our youth does not pay attention to continuing our culture,' laments Bhagro, his words indicate the fleeting sense of responsibility among younger generations when it comes to preserving heritage. 'But still, our old culture persists.' The Jain legacy of Thar Tharparkar is home to many ancient Jain temples. One of the oldest known religions in the Indian subcontinent, it is now extinct in Pakistan, but continues to thrive in neighbouring India, particularly in Rajasthan and Gujarat. At the core of Jain philosophy is the principle of 'ahimsa' or non-violence, which serves as the moral foundation for devout followers of the faith. Strict Jains abstain from eating even certain vegetables like onions or garlic, which are harvested by uprooting the plant. Since they believe this act causes harm to living beings — something they strive to avoid at all costs — they deem such foods impermissible. Some of this may sound extreme, but even so, how much harm, as opposed to the good, could such a belief possibly do? Could it be that extinguishing such beliefs in our society has contributed to the exploitative subjugation of nature? Biodiversity at risk Hinglaj Mata is believed to be a version of the goddess Sati. The name 'Sati' means truthful and etymologists traces the Urdu word for truth 'sach' back to the Sanskrit 'sat'. Devotees of Sati revere her as the goddess of fertility and longevity. As it stands, both qualities are exactly what Tharparkar and Sindh need now more than ever. Haji Muhammad Kumbher, a wildlife photographer and resident of Mithi, sees the climate crisis, cultural loss and wildlife decline as deeply interconnected. 'In August, Thar is green,' he says – the season offers a glimpse into the region's once fertile ancient past. 'The bird that Shah Latif sang about, the Taro, is believed by locals to signal imminent rain with its chirp.' Having spent years photographing Thar's wildlife, Kumbher is acutely aware of species vanishing from the landscape. 'Near Rann of Kutch, there are still many plants. Khipp (Leptadenia pyrotechnica) is one example — you won't find it here anymore, but if you go towards the Rann of Kutch (at the border with Gujarat), you'll still see it there.' 'The tractor doesn't spare anything,' Haji Muhammad complains, referring to the disappearance of khipp. Once abundant in Thar, the plant is known among locals for its role in stabilising the soil. The herb is a natural carbon sequester as well. 'A person using a camel [for agriculture] is mindful of which plants should not be harmed,' he says. But the tractor, in its so-called efficiency, spares nothing — not even the herbs that have evolved as vital parts of the ecosystem. This raises a deeper question: how do we, as a society, define true efficiency? 'People used khipp a lot back when the when Sindhu composed the Vedas,' Haji Muhammad shares, delving into ancient history. Speaking of recent times, he adds, 'The milk used to bathe idols during the Shiv Mela is sometimes infused with khipp.' The Shiv Mela is an annual festival held in Mithi, drawing people from across the region, regardless of faith or creed. Investing in resilience Tharparkar can grow everything its people need to survive. The only challenge, as local food industry businessman Pyaro Shivani explains, is that the region can go years without rain. 'Food is mostly grown during the rainy season,' he tells us at his home in Mithi. The regional diet, he shares, revolves around locally grown mung daal, sesame, and bajra (pearl millet), along with honey and butter, among other staples. 'We eat them from July to November, and after that, we preserve them and store them in our homes,' he says. Pyaro emphasises that despite the recurring droughts in Tharparkar, investing in and promoting locally grown food could help mitigate the worst effects. 'Agriculture in Tharparkar is largely organic. If efforts were made to develop it, it wouldn't matter if it didn't rain for 10 years,' he claims. According to him, the income generated from this commerce could sustain locals through prolonged droughts. Standing at the crossroads Thar is a place few from Karachi will ever visit. Yet, standing at a crossroads in time and space, it symbolises not just the gradual extinction of species, but also of culture and compels us to question the connection between ecological and cultural loss. It is easy to overlook the most ordinary yet heartwarming aspect of local customs — the emphasis on hospitality. The welcoming nature of the residents serves as a reminder of the importance of gratitude. Moreover, one gets the sense that those deeply connected to their history and traditions, whether through poetry and song or inherited wisdom, understand the importance of intergenerational knowledge in helping them endure through thick and thin. In big cities like Karachi, one encounters countless people who have been given everything, yet often fall prey to greed and cynicism. In contrast, in places like Thar, where resources are scarce, people seem to possess an endless reserve of generosity, gratitude, and openness. This shared cultural wealth belongs to all who live on these lands and beyond. For some, it lies buried deep, waiting to be unearthed; for others, it remains close to the surface. The only question is: are we curious enough to seek it? Zain Haq is a freelance contributor All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the author
Express Tribune
14-02-2025
- Express Tribune
If love hurts, the Sufis say you're doing it right
From oral folktales to contemporary novels, from the narratives we inherit to the ones we craft anew, across cultures and beyond borders, we are all haunted by an eager desire to love and be loved. The question of our being - why and how we exist – can only be contemplated in light of the question of desire, and by extension, love. In Sufi thought, desire animates and shapes the soul. Interrogating what we desire, and how we desire it, is vital to transforming our relationship with ourselves, others in this world, and ultimately to the transcendent reality itself, that is, God. In Plato's seminal text on love, The Symposium , Socrates proposes that all humans love because love is the desire to live a happy life, and that beauty is the means to this happiness since 'what is good is the same as what is beautiful'. According to this logic, all human beings, animated by a desire to live well, are drawn to love what is 'Good' and 'Beautiful'. But abstractions aside, what is love? More importantly, what does love entail ? Love in the Sufi tradition, is not just a feeling or emotion, it is expansive, ecstatic, it pervades all beings and is the root of all creation; love is the primordial cosmic force that creates and sustains life. There is no single authority on the subject, but this is not for a lack of resources. In the Indo-Persian tradition alone – one luminous corner of a vast literary world – there are infinite, archival sources from which we draw our ideas about love. There is a lot to learn from the stories we inherit. Looking to the popular romances of Heer & Ranjha, Sassui & Punnu, Layla & Majnu, as well as all other folk tales like them, one thing is for certain: no love story is without its tragedies, and fulfillment of our desire to be with our beloved is not a promise true love keeps. Love is scarcely about fulfilling one's desires. When we commit to loving someone, we are pierced by a double edged sword, one that promises pleasure and suffering in one fell swoop. For Farid ud-Din Attar (1145–1221), risk is an unalterable part of the path toward true love, that is, toward union with the divine beloved - the ultimate source of all that is 'Good' and 'Beautiful'. In praise of the Persian Sufi poet, mystic, and philosopher, known for his epic poem The Conference of the Birds (Mantiq al-Tayr), Rumi writes: Attar has roamed through the seven cities of love while we have barely turned down the first street. When it comes to the question of love, who better to turn to than the poet who endlessly roams love's cities and valleys? The Conference of the Birds is an allegorical tale in which a group of birds, guided by their leader the hoopoe, embark on a journey to find their king, the Simurgh, who symbolises God. Along the way, they must cross seven valleys: the Valley of Quest, the Valley of Love, the Valley of Knowledge, the Valley of Detachment, the Valley of Unity, the Valley of Bewilderment, and the Valley of Annihilation. Many birds abandon the journey due to fear or attachment to their earthly stations, but those who persevere are rewarded with mystical union. Risk is a vital step to take in order to test the true nature of one's love. Attar writes: True lovers give up everything they own To steal one moment with the Friend alone – They make no vague, procrastinating vow, But risk their livelihood and risk it now. There are a variety of experiences of love, some of which may not involve the risks that he is talking about, but when it comes to true love, we must risk everything we own. The risk that comes with this journey is both physical and metaphysical. On one level, the risk is a material risk. The birds in Attar's tale are compelled to give up their material comforts which includes their natural habitats, their material possessions and their worldly stations or responsibilities. On a deeper level, this idea of dispossessions entails a renunciation of one's selfhood, that is, a perceived ownership over one's 'self'. True love blurs the boundaries between the self and the other. It tests everything one appears to own, even in the metaphysical terrain. Importantly, there is no promised reward at the end of this renunciation; the thought of a single moment with the beloved is enough cause to risk one's entire life. This is because the risk involved does not entail that something is gained or reimbursed in return but is instead a proclamation of one's devotion – love is an act of wilful submission. The lover's task is to submit, beyond reason and without hesitation. The birds in Attar's story are not afforded the time to make a vague promise or procrastinate on their decision; they must devote themselves to the path of love in one all-encompassing gesture: But you, unwilling both to love and tread The pilgrim's path, you might as well be dead! The lover chafes, impatient to depart, And longs to sacrifice his life and heart. The true lover is devoted with such intensity and vigor that it chafes the soles of their feet, even before they have set out on their journey. Anyone who is unwilling to express their devotion in this way may as well be dead. Attar makes it clear that suffering and misery are part and parcel of the path toward this genuine experience of love: Until their hearts are burnt, how can they flee From their desire's incessant misery? One must risk their livelihood and renounce everything they seem to have ownership over till their very hearts are burnt. And until this happens they have not known the true misery that is integral to desire. Suffering itself is a revelatory experience! To love in this sense is to experience a radical transformation, where the lover's will merges with the divine will, and the boundaries between the self and the divine dissolve. Any kind of love, whether that is between humans or of God, is marked by some form of misery because it is this misery that allows the full experience of its pair: ecstasy and joy. True life, living well, begins after this risk has been taken, and anything before is simply a half-life. Both God and the world are disclosed through our capacity to love. Without it, how meaningful is our time on this earth? In the Valley of Love, logic and reason become useless; the lover must willingly burn in love's fire. To live with this fire, to live in it, is undeniably demanding and requires total surrender. But it is this very fire that also illuminates our existence. As far as our mortal bodies allow it, aren't we all seeking illumination?
