Today Mr. Guru invited me to visit a highly respected local Sufi, Rahman Sahib, a descendant of a major Sufi saint who heals people from illnesses, advises them on all sorts of decisions (including the highest people in Srinagar), and happens to be blind. Despite that, he can apparently read people like a book. I was a little nervous about meeting him and didn’t know what my “question” would be, if anything, or if he would even have time for me.
We drove to the outskirts of Srinagar along a windy country road to his house. Inside his room on the second floor there were four or five men visiting or consulting with him. I shook his hand briefly, then Mr. Guru shook his hand and greeted him with two bags of oranges and bananas, and we both sat down. The Sufi wanted me to sit right next to him though, so I did, and he held my hand for a long time as we got acquainted with each other. Mr. Guru explained that I was an American photographer friend of Ami’s who’s been living in Ladakh and that I’d visited the Sufi shrine Pir Dastgir several times in the last few days. Mr. Guru and another man began massaging his legs, which are fine but I guess he likes it. And then he suddenly became incredibly excited and happy — laughing, hugging me close, patting my head and back — and he told the men in the room that I was a “clean hearted woman.” (Maybe he saw that I’m a live one too!) Mr. Guru took our photo together and the other men just sat looking on. It was quite the spectacle…
As we sat together holding hands, I tried to stay as relaxed and open to him as possible. He took a reading of my hand for a long time, one finger after another gently pressing into me. I closed my eyes and suddenly became very aware of the sounds outside, crystal clear — the birds singing, people talking, kids playing, dogs barking, bicycles riding by, and the occasional moments of silence. Then I remembered that we (and life) are all about energy or vibrations. I know this from photography and from my relations with other humans (and animals). And as I listened to the sounds, it felt like my body disappeared and I somehow became a reflection or mirror of the life and energy surrounding us at that moment. It felt so good and I stayed with it for awhile. Then he took my head in his hands, turned it towards him, and began touching the “third eye” spot on my brow, which like many people is where I hold a lot of mental tension. He moved his fingers across my brow and seemed to find these “openings”, and then he blew on them strongly, like he was blowing the dust out, clearing my mind perhaps. It reminded me of when you get your eyes examined and they move that light beam across your eye and then “bang” it hits the spot. It felt strong and intense even though I know he was touching me lightly. He took three phone calls during all of this too, and then abruptly it was over. He took three small, rock-like pieces of sugar candy, rubbed them on his belly, put them in my mouth and said good-bye. He wanted me to spend the night (?!) so we could talk (although he doesn’t speak English), but I’m leaving Srinagar tomorrow morning and so it was decided that I should come back to see him again before I return to Ladakh. He has something to tell me about my work/life and will be holding me in his heart until then. I don’t think I’ll soon forget him either.
Afterwards I felt good, free of something that’s been upsetting me lately. I hope it stays this way. On the drive back to the city Mr. Guru said there was nothing to worry about spending the night there, that he’s an honorable man and would never do anything improper, and that the lack of a common language wasn’t really an issue. OK. I believe him. We took a shakira back to the houseboat and the cushions on the boat were covered with the word “HEART.” I’ve suspected that this is what this photo/India/life work is all about for me, and there it was. Now I just need to deal with it.
Julie Hall is a cultural documentary
photographer and Web designer
based in California. She's recently
returned from a year in India.
More at juliehall.net
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