Data Darbar

Start with your feet. You will have left your shoes at the entrance, and now the marble under your soles is cool in the shade and warm where the sun has reached it. Around you, there is a steady murmur. Prayers are spoken under the breath, rose petals rustle in paper cones, and somewhere a vendor calls out. The air smells of incense, rosewater and cooking. This is Data Darbar, and it is rarely still.

This complex holds the tomb of Ali Hujwiri, a Sufi scholar of the eleventh century. Sufism is the mystical tradition within Islam, a path focused on the inner life, on love of God and on the guidance of spiritual teachers. Hujwiri came from the region of Ghazni, in present-day Afghanistan. He travelled widely before settling in Lahore, and he lived out his final years here. His grave became a place of pilgrimage, and that has continued for nearly a thousand years.

Most people in Lahore do not call him by his formal name. They call him Data Sahib, or Data Ganj Bakhsh. The word data means giver. Ganj Bakhsh means the one who bestows treasure. The treasure is understood as spiritual, not material, but many visitors come with very practical hopes. They pray for a child, a job, a recovered parent or a passed exam. To Lahoris, he is something like the guardian of the city.

Here is a surprise for many visitors. Hujwiri is remembered not only as a saint, but as an author. He wrote a book in Persian called Kashf al-Mahjub, which translates roughly as the unveiling of the hidden. It is considered one of the earliest major works on Sufism written in Persian. Scholars still study it today. So the man buried under this dome was, among other things, a careful writer who tried to explain mystical ideas in plain terms.

There is a well-known tradition connected to this tomb. According to popular accounts, the great Sufi teacher Moinuddin Chishti, later buried in Ajmer in India, spent a period of devotion at this grave. Tradition says that when he left, he recited a short Persian couplet praising Hujwiri as a bestower of treasure and a guide for the perfect and the imperfect alike. Historians treat the story with some caution, but the couplet is widely quoted here, and it helped fix the name Ganj Bakhsh.

Now look at the buildings around you. What you see is largely modern. The shrine has been rebuilt and expanded many times, and the large white marble courtyards date mainly from the later twentieth century. The complex grew because the crowds grew. Today it includes a mosque, wide open courtyards, and facilities to serve food to huge numbers of people. The scale is deliberate. A shrine that welcomes the whole city needs room for the whole city.

At the heart of the complex is the tomb chamber itself. Pilgrims approach slowly. Some touch the screens or the doorframes and then touch their own faces. Others lay down a chadar, a decorated cloth placed over the grave as an offering. Many bring rose petals or garlands. You may see people simply standing, eyes closed, lips moving. Watch for a moment before you move closer. Nobody will rush you, but the space belongs first to those who come to pray.

One of the most important things here is food. The shrine is known for langar, which means free communal meals. Food is given to anyone who comes, without asking who they are or where they are from. Devotees often sponsor large pots of rice or lentils to fulfil a vow. Many also donate milk, which is then shared out. For poorer families in Lahore, this generosity matters every single day. It is the saint's name, data, the giver, made practical.

If you are here on a Thursday evening, listen carefully. Thursday night is traditionally a special time at Sufi shrines in South Asia, and here you may hear qawwali. Qawwali is devotional music with strong vocals, harmonium and clapping hands, building slowly in rhythm and intensity. The lyrics praise God, the Prophet and the saints. Listeners sway, raise their hands, or sit very still. Even if you do not understand the words, the music carries the feeling clearly.

The biggest gathering of the year is the Urs, the anniversary of the saint's death. Sufi tradition sees this day not as a sad occasion but as a union with the divine, almost like a wedding. During the Urs, crowds fill the courtyards and spill into the surrounding streets. Pilgrims arrive from across Pakistan. Food, music and prayer continue late into the night, and the whole neighbourhood feels the change in rhythm.

The shrine also carries a painful memory. In 2010, the complex was hit by a deadly bombing attack, and many worshippers were killed. It was a shock to the country, because this place is shared by so many kinds of people. The pilgrims came back very quickly. Today, you will notice security checks at the entrances. They are a quiet reminder that openness, here, is something people choose to protect.

Step outside afterwards and you are close to the edge of the old Walled City, near Bhati Gate. The streets are dense with shops selling flowers, prayer caps, sweets and religious books. Rickshaws weave through the traffic, and the sound of horns mixes with calls from stalls. Shrine and city have grown up together here. The saint's presence spreads past the marble into the markets that serve his visitors.

Before you leave, pause in the courtyard once more. Look at the mix of people around you. A labourer in dusty clothes beside a family in their best outfits. Students, elderly couples, children chasing pigeons across the marble. Notice the petals scattered underfoot and the steady flow of people toward the tomb. Nearly a thousand years after a travelling scholar settled here, Lahore still comes to his door... and the giver is still giving.