Please pray and stop my son,' she says, 'he wants to be a militant'

Please pray and stop my son,' she says, 'he wants to be a militant'
MUZAMIL JALEEL

SRINAGAR, JUNE 27: It is a Thursday, and the shrine of Kashmir's famous Sufi saint Makhdoom Sahib is full of women devotees. They come for solace, and tears roll down their cheeks as they pray with hands raised. Some climb to the shrine in the urban foothills of Hari Parbat every morning to give vent to their emotions and pray for the safety of their husbands, children, parents or siblings.

Although the onslaught of radical Islam in Kashmir is fast turning Sufi shrines into religious anachronisms, they still draw the women of the Valley to their soothing sanctuaries. From Srinagar to Bandipore to Anantnag, they have become places of healing and reconciliation for Kashmiri women - the most helpless victims of 11 years of violence.

''When I come here, I bow my head and feel that God will help me overcome all,'' said Raja Begum, 55, who was visiting a shrine at village Gundpora in Bandipore. Her son had been killed by the security forces, and this was the only place she felt safe to exorcise her pain.

Each time she visits, she takes home a container of water from the shrine's spring, and a clump of earth from the corner. She carries it home, sprinkles it on the soil around her house and the water in her cooking pots. For a while, at least, her home will be protected.

The trauma of living in the Valley has created a hidden tragedy, veiled behind the daily drama of death and destruction. Though psychological disorders have shot up ten times during these years, faith in God and deep-rooted Sufi traditions have kept the population going. Even Kashmir's leading psychiatrist, Dr. Mushtaq Margoob, calls himself more a faith-healer than a psychiatrist. He sees up to 100 out-patients a day, mostly cases of depression and hysteria. ``The people have absolute faith that whatever tragedy strikes them is will of God, so they don't give up,'' he said.

``Their faith is a support system, and it helps me treat them too.'' Without it, he added, psychiatric disorders in Kashmir would have turned into an ``unmanageable problem.''

Most people approach faith-healers instead of seeking psychiatric help. First, they believe in their curative touch; second, there is still a cultural taboo attached to visiting a psychiatrist. Instead of tranquilisers, faith-healers hand out sweets called shereen and salt crystals. Instead of writing prescriptions, they write talismans to be hung around the neck. Another doctor who treats psychological problems said that even though belief in faith-healers may be considered superstition, it can help people attain emotional relief. ``Where medicine cannot work, these traditions do,'' he said. At a subconscious level, he explained, a person's belief in spiritual healing can be much more powerful than scientific cures.

Rehman Sahib is one faith-healer in whom thousands of locals, especially women, believe. He lives in a mud house at Aalistang in the outskirts of Srinagar, where his sitting room is always full of mureeds (devotees).

One after another, they come close and whisper their problems in his ear. ``Please pray and stop my son. He wants to be a militant,'' a mother from nearby Waheedpora village in Ganderbal requested the peer sahib (saint) one recent morning. Another woman sought help for an end to nocturnal raids by the security forces on her house. ``I have two grown-up unmarried daughters. It is dangerous. Please help,'' she begged, and started crying.

Rehman Sahib listens patiently to the devotees and recites a few couplets from Kashmir's two great Sufi poets, Nund Reshi and Laladed. Then he writes a talisman for each visitor, or offers them shereen. ``Most people who visit me these days have problems related to the (political) circumstances,'' he said. ``I listen to them. They feel relieved as they give vent to their feelings. I pray and thank God. He comes to our rescue.''

In the north Kashmir town of Sopore, a beeline of women streams in to visit Ahad Sahib, a fana-fillah or mystic who has shunned the routines and possessions of normal life. ``Whenever I have a problem, I come to him,'' said 55-year-old Tajja Bano of Kupwara. ``My two sons became militants. They are alive only because Ahad Sahib was there to save them,'' she said.