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Bombs fail to spark strife in India

A Hindu woman goes into a trance at the Bahadur Shahid shrine in Varanasi, India, Hinduism's holiest city on Thursday. Like a great many Sufi shrines across India, the Bahadur Shahid shrine is considered holy by Hindus and Muslims alike. PHOTO: NY TIMES NEWS SERVICE

They came to banish ghosts, rid themselves of eczema, seek succor for a cheating husband or unruly child. Their feet bare, heads covered, the believers, both Hindu and Muslim, entered the shrine in droves, stopping only to kiss each stair.

That was the scene at the tomb of Hazarat Syed Baba Bahadur Shahid, a Muslim, two days after a pair of homemade bombs tore through a Hindu temple and a railway station here in Hinduism's holiest city, raising the specter of Hindu-Muslim violence.

But such violence did not come to pass. Indeed, the scene at the Bahadur Shahid shrine served as a reminder of a fact often obscured by the spasms of ruthless sectarian violence that strike India: that after living cheek by jowl here for so many centuries, Hindus and Muslims often find themselves quietly braided together in worship as in daily life.

Like a great many Sufi shrines across India, the Bahadur Shahid shrine is considered holy by Hindus and Muslims alike.

The Bahadur Shahid shrine is nothing as storied as others scattered across this country, from Anantnag on the Indian side of Kashmir Province to Ajmer in the Rajasthani desert, which draw Hindu, Muslim and Sikh pilgrims by the thousands every year. This is an unsung poor people's temple, sitting on a dirty field where cows loll and the smell of sewage rises up as the day unfolds.

Little is known about its origins, except that the man buried in the tomb was probably a soldier from the 11th century who came to conquer Varanasi, also known as Benares, and lost.

"It lies in the imagination of the folk," said Mohammed Toha, a professor of sociology at Benares Hindu University. "It is part of folklore of Benares. It symbolizes Hindu-Muslim integration, the syncretic culture of Benares."

The shrine is a symbol of a city in which Hindus and Muslims have lived in varying states of ease and unease for hundreds of years. Varanasi's famous Hindu temple, Kashi Viswanath, is pressed against its most famous mosque, called Gyanvapi, and guarded by heavily armed police.

Varanasi has long been a mecca for mystics and iconoclasts, including the 15th century poet Kabir, who rejected Hindu and Muslim strictures with equal vehemence. He was so revered that when he died, Hindus and Muslims sparred bitterly over his remains. According to legend, a deal was brokered to divide them up. But when his shroud was lifted, nothing was there.

Hindus and Muslims are also tied together in more commercial affairs. That, some Benarasis surmise, perhaps best explains why the temple bombing of March 7, which the police blamed on an Islamist militant group with ties to Pakistan, did not incite further violence.

Muslim weavers make the famous Benarasi silk saris for the weddings of wealthy Hindus. Muslim craftsmen also produce the crowns of Hindu temple deities.

Muslim musicians play concerts at Hindu temples. The city's most celebrated musician, the Muslim shehnai player Bismillah Khan, approaching 90, is famous for beginning his mornings with songs before the Hindu Shiva temple.

On a recent Thursday, as on every other, the Bahadur shrine brought together thousands of believers.

Hindu women with red vermillion powder smeared on their heads jostled for a glimpse of the tomb along with Muslim women in black burqas. Hindu men donned skullcaps in deference to Muslim custom.

Offerings that are ordinarily seen at Hindu temples -- flowers, incense, sugar candy -- were presented before the tomb.

It hardly mattered whether the believers prayed to Hanuman or to Allah the rest of the week. On Thursdays, they came to the tomb of Bahadur Shahid -- or Baba, as they called him -- and prayed for a miracle.
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