The attack on the mausoleum and dargah of Karachi’s Abdullah Shah Ghazi in Clifton was no less shocking than the attack on Data Darbar a couple of months earlier. Ghazi is believed to be the mythical figure whose saving hand has kept Karachi from being submerged. Tsunamis and cyclones come here or there but Karachi stays safe, all thanks to the saint that stands a little above the sea. Therefore, it is difficult to see the October bombing of the Abdullah Shah Ghazi shrine that killed eight people and injured 65 as an event that should unnerve people flocking to the famous shrine. The gradual thinning of the crowd visiting the shrine was already in motion long before the blasts. The cautious approach subconsciously adopted by the public to guard against the wave of terrorism unleashed upon the country is a grim reminder of how freedom of movement has become hostage to fear and insecurity.

If it weren’t for the starkly deserted street across the shrine thanks to the stringent security measures, one would have never realized the importance of the nagging beggars, men and women selling accessories for the mazaar, and the famous dholwallahs for the hustle and bustle that marked the shrine back in ‘normal days’. The new security order prohibits any space to these. It is their absence that explains the silence on the street more than the stream of devotees whose visit is subject to personal convenience anyway.

Following the October blasts, the security beef up is as evident as it is unusual. The boundary wall of the shrine compound has been raised to a ten-foot level, there is a sizeable presence of police and rangers guarding the road, and the entrance and exit points are now strictly regulated through separate security scanners for men and women. The policemen on duty are eager to emphasize that the CCTV cameras have been installed and are functioning properly. This amusing assurance makes sense in the backdrop of the controversy regarding the absence of CCTV cameras at the time of the blasts.

While passing through the security post, the marks of the bomb shrapnel sprayed across the wall remind that the explosions took place right at the gate of the shrine. Two women security guards posted at the gate are eager to share their account of the fateful day as one suffered injuries while the sister of the other was hit by the blast. Both survived and are proud to be back to work at the same spot. When asked why return to the same job after such a close brush with death, their reply is the famous "zindagi aur maut toh Allah kay haath mein hai" (life and death is in God’s hands) line. While this reflects a strong belief in God, one wonders if it also demonstrates a sense of complacency that ordains resignation to fate even when death stares in the eye.

Inside the compound of the shrine, it is hard to ignore the sense of urgency on the part of the people who are anxious to rush through the rituals to make a safe exit. It could be described as fear as much as it could be a result of the vigilant security measures that do not allow the use of the shrine space for lounging around purpose any longer. Interacting with two visitors waiting for somebody in the compound, it is easy to identify common man’s eagerness to express political opinions and frustration with the current state of affairs at any given opportunity. Quick to trace Pakistan’s national dilemmas to "the US-backed policies being pursued by the government", army’s war against "our own people" and the military’s reluctance to establish regional peace for fear of losing its dominance, both appeared convinced that suicide attacks are a permanent part of Pakistan’s reality. "How can you stop a person so committed to his cause that he is determined take his own life?"

The Abdullah Shah Ghazi shrine for its high profile status will continue to be the focus of stringent cover for sometime. However, it wouldn’t be too long before the famous compound and the street regains its lively status. In times of financial crunch, economic and political instability and social marginalisation, people would rather believe in the powers of the miracles associated with the Sufi Saint, than in a weak state that neither offers any solution to their woes nor does it promise any protection from a determined suicide attacker.

It was hard to believe that the last resort of the 11th-century Sufi saint Abul Hassan Ali Hajveri, "saviour" to a lot of the faithful, could be bombed and that too on a Thursday, traditionally considered to be a holy day. But it was true.

The twin bombs at Data Darbar exploded at around 8 in the night. The death toll was rising and so were the tempers of the devotees who, however, took only a few hours to get their act together and pledge their allegiance, again. By the crack of dawn, they had gathered inside the Darbar complex to say their Fajr prayers, sending a sharp and clear message to the terrorists. That was July 1, this year. The devotees haven’t stopped frequenting the shrine since.

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Everything that meets a random visitor’s eye in and around Data Darbar, Lahore’s most prominent Sufi shrine, has a certain eerieness about it — from hordes of roadside bawarchis who will hound a ‘potential customer’ the moment they spot one and won’t let him go without committing to some nyaz (charity) deal with their shop, to the numerous beggars who emerge stealthily from all corners of the Darbar looking like ghosts that will haunt you, and silent onlookers lined in different parts of the mausoleum compound. Of course, there are now a plenty of security guards to be seen prowling about, and there’s no way that you can cross the walk-through without a sense of being constantly under watch (not exactly referring to the myriad notices of secret cameras watching you that are tacked to the Darbar walls!).

The place is never short on razakaars (security volunteers) as well as common people who offer langars (sponsored free food stalls) to the poor, and they often do so anonymously. All this is for the sake of ‘charity’, a word that becomes almost a cliche by the time you are done with your visit. Everyone in and outside of the Darbar would have you do something or the other ‘in the name of daata saheb’. The place is littered with green (the colour most easily associated with Muslims and their rituals) boxes that collect funds. There are at least 34 of them lying around. They are locked in chains and beckon you to slip in whatever amount of cash — or even cheques — you can give "apnay haath se" (with your own hands) as alms. The joota man at the entrance gate whispers something in your ear the moment you lean down to buckle your shoes; it is obvious that he is not going to settle for a two-rupee-per-pair-of-shoes which is the actual, officially stated rate.

One bawarchi, named Asim, has successfully followed you inside the Darbar and is literally beseeching you to give his shop outside a chance. He is ready to come down on his menu rates even. His desperation is all too evident from the way he pulls out his business card to every visitor he deems important. A young man, in his mid-20s, Asim also has a tale of woe to tell: he lost a dear friend who was working with him at the shop, in the July 1 bomb blasts at the Darbar. "Life has to go on," he says, quickly changing his tune. "Those who dared to explode darbar sharif will not be spared by God!"

But Asim, like many other devotees at the Darbar, says he wasn’t deterred by the unfortunate bombing incident. In fact, he claims that the number of visitors has only increased since. "Those who must come to the place for prayers will come to the place, no matter what," he declares.

No matter the people have to go through an increased number of security posts, layers of barricades, a series of scanners and multiple, armed cops who will frisk you (albeit hastily). According to official figures, as provided by Auqaf, as many as 350 policemen were employed in the wake of the bombing. They included a DSP and three inspectors, in addition to 100 security guards. The number of security cameras was also raised, to 80 (from the previous 64!).

Besides, the formerly 18 entry points to Darbar have now been limited to just four gates, including the one for the VVIPs.

The Darbar is not without its share of grandeur. At night time, the place is flooded with lights, all through the week. The langars are prepared on the spot, but the exercise usually goes on around the clock.

The Darbar is enveloped by a street that is dotted with deg (wholesale food) shops (a vendor puts down the number to "almost a hundred!"), sellers of highly embellished nyaz shawls, both Shahalami-made and imported itrs (alcohol-free perfumes), and books on religious and mystical philosophy.

A centuries-old shrine that has attracted the faithful, both Hindus and Muslims, seeking the blessings of the great Sufi saint Abul Hassan Ali Hajveri, Darbar still stands magnificently in the heart of interior Lahore, in the face of all imminent threats of terrorist attacks that dog the public 24/7.

It was a near curfew-like situation in and around the shrine of the 12th century saint, Baba Farid, also known as Ganj Shakkar, whose death anniversary four-day commemorations begin on the 5th of Moharram every year, with the opening of the ‘Bahishti Darwaza’ — a door considered to be a symbolic representation of the Islamic concept of Heaven with the assumption that whosoever crosses it is Blessed.

Thousands of devotees from across Pakistan and abroad come to Pakpattan, a city where Baba Farid rests. The anniversary this year is preceded by a terrorist attack which took place outside the shrine two months back. The blast, which killed four, including a woman, is the latest militant attack in Punjab. Reportedly, two men riding a motorbike left a milk container near the old gate of the shrine, which exploded a few minutes later. The blast destroyed a boundary wall, damaged several shops and stalls in Dargaahi Bazaar and a small market adjacent to the rear gate.

The Pakpattan site is the second most popular Sufi shrine after the Data Darbar shrine in Punjab, where two suicide bombers blew themselves up among crowds of worshippers in early July, killing 42 people.

Every year, the devotees want to cross this door, which is connected to the room where the saint rests. This creates a security problem since the process requires discipline and long lines of the faithful. This has led to a curfew after 3pm till the morning prayers, in and around the shrine. All markets are closed, all entries are blocked with green gates supported with temporary brick walls on every route that leads to the shrine.

"The attendance is thin as compared to the previous years," says Muhammad Siddique, a vendor in the bazaar which leads to the shrine, adding, "This is mainly because of terror threats, attacks, security, and also because of the price hike as people cannot afford travel and living expenses for such events."

"The level of security is not good during day time as it is in the night when the ‘Bahishti Darwaza’ is opened," says Khalid Mahmood, a shopkeeper in the same bazaar. "The security is for the door in the evening and not the people, actually. The attendance is also thin as compared to what it used to be in the past. It is at least 50 percent less now," he estimates.

The terror attacks have also cost bread and butter to hundreds of families based around the shrines where the markets are barricaded or closed and routes blocked in the name of security. Darghaai Bazaar is one example of a market where the business of around 200 shops and stalls has suffered a serious blow. The market, set in a narrow street going to the top of the hill where the shrine is located, connects to the old main gate (now rear) of the shrine. The gate was constructed in early 1900s by the British government with still clearly visible carved instructions at the top of the gate that state: "smoking, shoes, boots are not allowed inside".

According to the local residents, the rear gate of the shrine was closed due to threats in July this year, following the twin suicide blasts at Data Darbar in Lahore. Although the government has taken some apparent measures for security, leniency is observed at daytime when a number of routes are opened for the public without any proper check and scanning process.

"The government has not improved the security but closed the rear gate. After this the business has gone 80 percent down as devotees do not come to this route," Munawwar Ahmad, 52, a stall owner tells The News on Sunday. "We are not earning much since the last six months. We requested the administration to put the gate at the entrance of the street and depute a security official but they did not respond and the attack occurred. Now they have installed a gate and taken some security measures but the damage has been done," he says. He adds that the attendance of devotees this year is quite thin. "Many people used to come from Karachi but this time we don’t see such pilgrimage."

According to the owners of the shops damaged in the blast, the Government has not compensated them yet. "The chief minister of the province also visited and promised help but not a single penny has been given to us," says Muhammad Ali, an eyewitness to the blast who repaired his stall privately, and in preparing sketches of the attackers. He adds that the business in the bazaar is almost dead after the blast and we are having very bad times. "It is hard to survive actually."

"We have also presented a summary to the district administration giving a compensation plan and rebuilding plans of the street but there is no progress yet," says Nadeem Ahmad, another stall owner who suffered in that attack.

Sufi devotees follow the mystical string of Islam, have increasingly been the target of bloody attacks by militants in Pakistan. "The attackers do not believe in shrines and negate the thoughts of saints; that is why, they are systematically targeting our sacred places across the country and the government is doing nothing," says Omar Kamran, another devotee who was paying homage to the saint.

"It seems they have launched a campaign to impose their ideology on other people but this is not going to happen," he says, adding, "Though the attendance is less as compared to the past but the spirit is high. Nothing can stop us…"

Six years are nearing since the bomb blast (May 27, 2005) that will remain entrenched in the memory of not only the Bari Imam faithfuls but all locals who were till then nestled in the fabled comforts of stringent security measures in the federal capital. Lost was the spiritual flavour, the religious fervour; pockmarked instead by the brutal aftermath of Pakistan pledging its allegiance to the US-led war on terror. Islamabad was no longer safe. And, as memory will testify, this brutal attack was a mere prelude. The assassination of the ‘Daughter of the East’, the Lal Masjid bombing of 2007, the International Islamic University bombing — where suddenly, even students were under siege — the attack on a Rawalpindi mosque (Dec 2009); a heavy, heavy price to pay. And, from the sleepy city of green, Islamabad malformed to Guantanamo Bay; the almost-perpetual red zone.

Six years since the silver-mirrored shrine was victim to religious violence. 2009 and 2010 saw the urs of Bari Imam — Sufi saint Shah Abdul Latif Kazmi — cancelled. The Mughal emperor Aurangzeb Alamgir built dargah was instead bare. Muted were the fervent qawwalis, the restless echoes of malangs. The reasons, however, differed — in 2009, it was security concerns (the shrine is, after all, adjacent to the Diplomatic Enclave — a phrase to be spoken in only a hushed, reverent whisper); whereas this year, it was because of the renovation work still pending — a renovation that began on June 3, 2008, as a local contractor claims.

It took three check-posts to penetrate Bari Imam, an almost-deserted road accessorised on both sides by both traffic and local police. There was the familiar hounding by pretend-dervishes and langar-wallahs. The shrine itself was crowded; kiosks with their religious (and other!) merchandise were open for business; ‘Ek vari tak le’ from the 2000 Bollywood movie, Bichhoo (thank you for that trip down memory lane, Mr White Corolla), played in odd contrast to the qawwali from the loudspeakers. And then — once you make your way through the metal detector and rudimentary body check — there is the shrine itself, still encaged in concrete framework.

Though the structure itself indicates that upon completion, this cultural landmark will be a sight to behold, the pace seems rather languorous. When this scribe asked about the delay in construction from security personnel present at the shrine, they responded, rather sardonically, "Government ka khaata hai jee – government ka toh aap ko pata hai" (This is the government’s responsibility — and you know how our government is.)

A representative of the contractors working on the renovation said that the date of completion had been extended till December 2011 and that the shrine falling under the red zone (there’s that phrase again) was one of the major reasons for the extension and the delay. Judging by the scope of work — it’s not just the shrine area and the minaret that are being renovated, but the arcade and courtyard surrounding the shrine, Auqaf offices and a library, the Langar-khaana and cooking area, prayer and sammah halls, the boundary walls and the gate, as well as designated places for naat-khwaani, majaalis and colloquiums in the area spanning an overall 100 kanals — one can understand how constant security checks can hamper progress. The conundrum, though, is this: bureaucratic red tape or an unfortunate necessity?

A local worker stated that the security procedures had further increased in the past five months, following the attacks on Data Darbar in Lahore (in July this year) and the shrine of Baba Farid Ganj Shakar in Pakpattan (this October). However, he ended with a rather interesting observation: "Jidhar security nahi hogi wahan khatra nahi hoga – jahan security zyada hogi, wahan khatra bhi zyada hoga" (Where there is added security, there is added threat.)

As this scribe left the shrine, a man was ardently reciting verses from the Holy Book. Near him, several people were offering Zohr prayers; a mad poet, his left arm stretched to the skies, was quoting Ghalib, as others raised their hands offering silent prayers, their eyes fixated at the green-and-gold dome; and I reflected upon that vivid imagery whilst reading an ominous comment in an online journal narrating the Baba Farid blast — the writer quoted famed Pakistani author and anti-war activist Eqbal Ahmad: "We live in scoundrel times. This is the dark age of Muslim history, the age of surrender and collaboration, punctuated by madness". I whispered a silent prayer of my own. Of protection, preservation. And peace.