"Ka'apRee kan-i pha'aR-a, aayal-a acJ-u langhay vayaa,
Mast-u karay vayaa man-a khay, murliyun-a saaN maRnyar-a,
Tan-i joGiaRN-i jee jaaR-a, mooN khaaN muay na visray."
.....Sachal

Sindh...click is a land of Sufis...click - the mystics, the wanderers - who have spent their entire life in the quest for the truth...click. What is truth? Who is our Creator? What is His purpose of Creating us? Who am I? Why am I here? These are some of the questions that has troubled and bothered the seekers of truth, the sufis. Sufism...click, in its different ramifications, has been firmly established in every part of Sindh.

Sachal Sarmast was such a sufi - a seeker of truth - born and died in a village called Daraza, in Khairpur District of Sindh. Over the past 300 years, Sind has been blessed with many poet-saints, both Hindus and Muslims, subscribing to Sufi faith. Most prominent of these are Shah Bhitai, Sachal Sarmast and Saami.

The real name of Saeen Sachal was Abdul Wahab. He was born in the village of Darraza of Khairpur Mir's District in upper Sind in 1739 A. D. He adopted the name Sachal which means one living in truth. He is popularly known as Sachal Sarmast because his kalam or spiritual poetry is filled with abandon and joy. Sarmast means a leader of the intoxicated one's. Intoxicated one's are those who spent their entire life in search of the truth.

Saeen Sachal lost his father when he was very young. He was raised by his uncle who was also his spiritual master. He married his cousin who died two years later and Sachal did not marry again.

Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai, perhaps the greatest poet in the world, met Sachal as a small boy and prophesied that he will complete his mission.

Sachal was a great lover of music, particularly the Sindhi instrumental Samah. Touched by music, he would often cry profusely. Kalam would pour out from his lips which his followers or fellow fakirs and darvishes would immediately inscribe. Sachal is well known for his kalam as well as kafis conveying his spiritual message in haunting melodies. Sachal liked solitude and silence. He never traveled out from his village Darraza. He was very simple in his dress, lifestyle and eating habits. Daal (lentil soup) and dahi (yoghurt) were his favorites. He slept on a bare wooden sandal or divan. He was a humble man with long soft flowing hair, penetrating eyes and a melancholy countenance.

Three days before his death, he retreated in a small enclave where he finally became one with truth on the 14th day of Ramzan in 1829 A. D. at the age of 90. A beautiful mausoleum was later built at this place decorated in Sindhi kashi tiles. His walking stick and tamboora (Sindhi musical instrument) are still preserved there. Every year a melo (fair) is held in Darraza in Sachal's memory and respect.

His beautiful mystic poetry transcends all boundaries of this mortal world. It goes beyond the space and matter - goes where soul dwells in the abode of love and immortality. Whoever has listened, in a Sindhi village, to mystical folksongs, in a moonlit night, will have heard the singers repeat time and again the refrain:
"If you want to know what love is,
Ask it from those that are like Mansur...."

The strong spiritual wine, which was poured out by Mansur al-Hallaj, the great mystic who is credited with the formula, ana'l Haqq meaning "I am the Creative Truth," and who was executed in Baghdad in 922, and reached Sindh in 905, has inspired poets and musicians in every part of our motherland Sindh.

Sachal Sarmast has planted the seed of Divine love and suffering into the hearts of not only learned but also the simplest and humblest of villagers of Sindh. Sachal and Shah Inayat Shahid, the mystical leader of village Jhok, Sindh, and executed in 1718, were compared to the martyred Mansur.

Sachal saaeen's poetry, after that of Shah Latif Bhittai, was most remembered by the people. These were the two people's poets, close to everyone's heart, and these were the two poets also revered by the 'live hearted' (zindah dil) Hindus. Thousands of Hindus were followers at his shrine, and thus it was that Sachal was also worshiped. The only misfortune is that Sachal, unlike Bhittai, did not get a [compiler like] Gurbaxani.

There were groups (ttolaa) of Sufi fakirs who sang Sachal's poetry, travelling the length and breadth of Sindh. They wore saffron clothes, their shirts (chola) extended [almost] to their feet, and below they wore lungis ("ggodda" - a loin cloth like dhoti), their heads were uncovered, on their arms and neck ornaments of beads, with kisto, a begging bowl, and a yaktaro (single stringed musical instrument). Holding a yaktaro, wooden plates (chaprriyuun) in hand, bands with bells (chheriyuun) on their legs, when they put a hand on one ear and hailed "alo miiyaan", one's spirit was enchanted. They danced, and they were in a trance, and they sang:
"Ggaliia ggaliia thii ggolihiyaan, jhaatiyuun payaan,
Vaatt-a vindurR-u ko ddise, vaatt-a vinduru ko ddise;
Pahinjii zaat-i likaae, kiian bbiia zaata saddaayaan!
Bbiyo ko jaarnarn-u mahaz-u gunaah, hara kenhen surat aapu allaahu."

"I search in the streets, I cast my sights,
The path of joy may someone behold,
The path of joy may someone behold,
How can I hide my nature, and show myself as another!
To know another is sin, every form is God Himself.
...........Sachal Sarmast

Pir Hisamuddin Rashdi in his epic "Huu Ddothi, Huu Ddihan" says that those times are over, those days are gone; those singers, and if truth be told, those listeners, have all abandoned their abodes leaving behind ruins. In the village squares, the day and the night was festive. The beautiful moonlit nights of the Spring! Alas! Alas! Sorrows melted away, the trees looked as though they came to life, their branches swinging as if intoxicated, as if rich little girls were swinging in their cradles, their leafs mingling, branches shaking, whistling and crackling melodiously (thaaliyuun and tabalaa vajjae) in the wind; the fakirs brought the small universe of the village to the heavens, and at that moment, not only the spirits of poor and downtrodden were uplifted by the tunes, but even the callous hearts of the selfish landlords were momentarily shaken into consciousness, and open interchange (kachehrii) reached their domain.

I remember vividly the late Fakir Ghafuuru in his saffron clothes, perhaps one of the last remnants of that bygone era. His teeth had fallen out, his hair had grayed. But his voice was as powerful as ever, yaktaro and chaprriyuun in hand, chheriyuun on his legs, matching Rashdi's vivid description to the 't', he sang with great passion Sachal Saaiin's kaafi striking a high note, in a tune that to this day resonates in my ear as when I heard it decades earlier:
"Hika ddihare murshidu menuun, sitta pirita dii paarrhii,
'Sachuu' ishku bbuddha na thive, torre chitti thivaii ddarrhii."

"One day my guru, taught me a fact about longing,
Oh Sachal, Love does not grow old, though your beard turns gray! Bhalo miyaan! Bhalo miyan!"

Gems from the poetry of this great mystic poet are given below:

"Neither did I roll rosary, nor did I ponder and pray,
I went to no mosque or temple, nor bow in adoration any,
Sachal is lucky everyday, love is all around him.

"Ja'aDay purab-u pandh-u,
TaaDay aaoN na vaNjRNo;
Heeo hinan-u jo handhu,
Muhinjo handh-u hinglaaj-a meN."

"Purab-a kha'aN paray, na'aNgan-i nazara a'ahay taa;
Nigh-a vijhani naatha tay, pirbhooN payr-a bharay;
ManjhaooN zoka zaray, gura gaDiyaa vaNjee godRiyaa!"

"Pa'aRna pahinjo pa'aRheeN, surat-a manjhi sunJaaRN!
Allah-a allah-a chho chaveeN? paRNa-ee allah-a JaaRN!
TooN ee budhanDaRu, tooN ee DisandaRu, shahid-o aa kura'an-u,
Na'ahay shak-u gumaan-u, `sachoo' saaeeN haykRo!"

"Va'alee varee tooN, vatana tay vasa kareeN;
MeeNhaN-a vasanday mooN, saJaRNu saariyumu supureeN!

"AseeN ahiyooN, chhaa aseeN ahiyooN?
Belee nathaa jaaRNooN, chhaa aseeN ahiyooN!
Zaray bara'aN barsatooN layooN,
Zaray baraN-i thiyooN vaDiyooN bahiyooN,
Zaray paRhooN thaa namaazooN, rozaa,
Zaray loch-a mathay ton-a lahiyooN,
Zaray chaooN thaa `aahiyooN aseeN ee',
Zaray chaooN thaa `asal-u nahiyooN'
Zaray araam-u a'ahay hin-a dil-i khey,
Zaray vaha'ayooN nayRNooN va'ahiyooN,
Zaray chaooN thaa `asaaN paRN-a suNjato'
Zaray chaooN thaa `aseeN chhaayooN'
`sachoo' asalaooN so ee ahiyooN!
Tha'ah-u hitay Biyo kayho ThahiyooN?

We are, what are we?
We know not, what we are!
For a moment we are blessed
For a moment we are accursed
Some moment we pray and fast
Some moment we are free spirits
Now we declare, `Only we exist'
Now we declare, 'We don't exist'
For a bit, our heart is calm
In a bit, we weep rivers
Now we say, 'We are self-realized'
Now we ask, 'Who are we?'
'Sachal' we are only That eternally
What other contracts can we make here?

Ma'aTh-i karya'aN
Ta mushrik-u thiya'aN
Kucha'aN ta ka'afir-u

To remain silent
Is to be an accomplice
To speak out is to be an infidel

Kalimay keen-a kayo, mooN khay morooN musalman
Na kee ahmad-a mokiliyo arab-a eemaan-u
"Sachoo" paRn-a subhano, jay aadam-u laykhe aadmee

The kalma did not, make me a Muslim
Nor did the prophet send faith from Arabia
Sachoo*, is himself divine, if humans think him human.

(*Sachal Sarmast called himself as Sachoo, which in Sindhi, means the "Truthful One")

EeaeN hak-u haasil-u na thindaee miyaaN "sachoo"
Jo vekhaRn-u naal-u kitaabooN.

Truth this way you will attain not, Oh Sachoo!
By just reading and studying the Books.

Ko keeaN chavey, ko keeaN chavey,
AaooN joee ahiyaaN, so ee ahiyaaN.
Ko kaafir-u chavey, ko momin-u chavey,
AaooN joee ahiyaaN, so ee ahiyaaN

Some say one thing, some say another,
I am, who I am.
Some say I am an infidel, some say I am a believer,
I am, who I am.

Kishtee Ditham-i vich-i darya'a de,
TahaN vich-i meer-u malaha'aN,
Cha'atiya'aN marin-i machiya'aN kooN.
NaheeN kooee gharaz-i unaha'anooN;
Kam-a inhaaN da eeaa jeha,
Ma'ar-i ghutan-i badsha'ahaaN.
Hind sindh tay aRiNi na falak,
`Sachal-a' marin mulka sipahaN.

Middle of the river a boat I saw,
In which was the Captain sailor,
Darting and spearing fish.
By what right? He cares not;
His doing was like,
The shameful act of a tyrant.
Let not the heavenly wrath fall on Hind and Sindh,
O Sachal, let the punishment fall on martial nations.

[Sachal shows universal compassion for all sentient life.]

Ka'apRee kan-i pha'aR-a, a'ayal-a acJu langhay vaya'a,
Mast-u karay vaya'a man-a khay, murliyun-a sa'aN maRnya'ar-a,
Tan-i joGiRN-i jee ja'aR-a, mooN khaaN muay na visray.

Yogis assemble here, they came and they passed by,
They roused our hearts, they played their merry flutes,
The company of those yogis, I will not forget though I die.

Ja'aDay purab-u pandh-u,
Ta'aDay a'aoN na vaNjRNo;
Heeo hinan-u jo handhu,
Muhinjo handh-u hinglaaj-a meN.

Where westward is the journey,
There I have no desire to travel;
For some that is their abode,
Mine is in hingla'aj!

Hingla'aj-u dayvee-a jo mandir-u a,ahay jitay fake'era aeen darvesh-a ziyarata kanda'a ahin-i. Puraba dDay mulla'aN haj-u karaRn-a farz-u laykheen-i, and munhun karey nima'azoon parRhan-i. Hingla'aj fakiran jee manzil-a piRn ahay.

Hinglaj is a place where there is a beautiful temple of a holy goddess. Here the mystics, the saints, the wandering ascetics congregate, to sing and dance and meditate for their inner contentment and peace. Those with little knowledge of God and His Creation understand this not. They only go Westward to perform pilgrimage in Mecca and face Westward to pray. Little do they know that God lives within them - He is everywhere, and all around! To attain Nirvana, to attain peace, to find God, look into yourself. This is the belief of the sufis, like Sachal and Shah Bhitai, like most of the children of that Devi, that Goddess Sindh. Oh children of Sindh! Hingla'aj is your beloved motherland Sindh - where the Mosque of your Creator and the temple of your Goddess, the Devi, stands. Go there, and nowhere! That is your Ka'aba, that is your pilgrimage.

Pa'aRNa pahinjo pa'aRNheeN, surat-a manjhi suNJa'aRNu!
Allah-a allah-a chho chaveeN? paRNa-ee allah-a JaaRNu!
TooN-ee budhandaR-u, tooN-ee DisandaR-u, shahid-u aa kura'an-u,
Na'ahay shak-u guma'an-u, `sachoo' saaeeN haykRo!

You by yourself, know what is in your form!
Why chant 'Allah Allah'? Find Allah within you.
You listen, you see, Allah's word is witness,
There is no doubt, O Sachal! that the Lord is One!

[Sufis hold that the God's words in Holy Qur'an, 'vahdahoo la shareeka lahoo', really mean that nothing exists but God, for nothing could share that unique existence.]

Va'alee varee tooN, vatana tay vasa kareeN;
MeeNhaN-a vasanday mooN, saJaRNu sa'ariyumu supureeN!

My lord! Again and again may you bless my nation,
You rain your blessings, I recognize my Beloved.

Sachal On Many Forms Humanity Takes

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