Hazrat's Sandals - Delhi Karavan Chronicles

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I heard somewhere that there are three thumb rules to good storytelling... unfortunately, no one knows them.

I'm an anti-format person since childhood. Be it a coloring book or my monthly budget, I've always missed the boundaries. There is no harm in coloring an elephant's eyes little grey, in case you miss that little boundary of its oval-shaped eyes.

I may not know the thumb rules of storytelling, but I can tell you the kind of stories I enjoy. 

Firstly, they should be long enough to be in that zone for a while.

They should carry expressions.

And yes, they should not carry a particular format - A storyteller should not stick to the beginning, middle, or end, or anything hard and fast. He or she must feel free to tell a story, a story within a story, or a story within a story within a story... or maybe crossovers. Ahh! I'm listening to all of that.

Asif Sahab told this story to us on many walks - Sometimes individually - Sometimes as a story within a story (or within within, you got that)

And this story is too close to my heart.

So take a bellyful of breath, hold it to the count of five, and release it.

Shall we begin?

It was a foggy winter morning when a middle-aged man came to the khanqah of Hazrat Nizamuddin Aulia. Just like many other fariyadi and devotees, he was expecting something from Hazrat. The khanqah was filled with too many people that day. He was worried as the days were approaching and a lot of arrangements need to be made. His only daughter is about to get married. And like every responsible father, he had to take care of everything. His family was going through a major financial crisis at that time. He heard a lot about Hazrat and that he never send anyone empty-handed. 

He waited calmly in the queue, trying hard to control his shivering, partly from the spine-chilling weather, and partly from worries on his head.

When he entered the room, Hazrat smiled at him. The man offered him his respectful salam and sat near him. Hazrat's aura was such that he couldn't utter a word. He kept staring at his feet for a while. He had faith that Hazrat will understand his situation without him saying anything.

As other people were waiting outside, he stood up and went out of the room. He planned to stay at the khanqah that night, expecting that Hazrat may call him and offer some help for his daughter's marriage.

The night passed. Without any such luck, he decided to leave for his village early so that he could reach there before dusk. He went to Hazrat to ask for his permission. Hazrat gave his blessings, looking directly into his eyes as if he is reading something. The man tried to look somewhere else but couldn't. When he turned to leave Hazrat told him to stop.

"There is pair of sandals kept right next to the door. Keep them with yourself. May the Almighty be with you."

The man obeyed, though doubted his decision of coming to the Khanqah in the first place. 

Heavy rainfall greeted him in the afternoon and he couldn't cross even the city when the Sun started to set. He decided to spend the night in a Sarai (motel kind of structure).

He changed his clothes, made his bed, and kept Hazrat's sandals near his head. 

It was around midnight when he felt someone's presence near his head. It was too dark. He woke up with a thud. A man in his mid-forties was squatting near his head and weeping. He was wearing an embroidered angarakha, just like someone from the royal family wears.

'What happened sir, have I committed some horrifying mistake?' He asked.

'From where have you got these sandals, my dear friend?' The man who was weeping countered his question.

'I got this from Khanqah of Mehboob -E - Ilahi, Hazrat Nizamuddin Aulia. He gifted this to me himself.

'

'Can you give me these? I'm ready to pay any amount you want.' He stood up in a hurry and took out two moderate size cloth bags filled with gold coins. He handed over both bags to him, spilling a few coins on the ground. 

The man was numb. He felt like he is still in his deep slumber. That coins were enough even if he had to make arrangements for the marriage of ten more daughters. He watched that man keeping his head on the sandals, wiping them with his sleeves, keeping them on his head, and marching out of the Sarai.

He was still in a state of shock when he heard two young men talking.

"Wasn't he Amir Khusrow, The court poet in the darbar of the Sultan?"

"Call him Tooti -e-Hind Amir Khusrow."

The next morning when Hazrat woke up, he felt like a celebrated baarat, a musical procession heading towards his Khanqah. He saw that Khusrow is walking towards the Khanqah with Hazrat's sandals on his head. Hundreds of people were following him, singing praises of the Almighty. Some were dancing in all trance, some were weeping, and some were just filled with joy.

Khusrow bowed slowly towards Hazrat, one by one he slipped both his sandals on his holy feet and stood back up.

'Oh Turk, how much gold coins you bartered for my sandals?' Hazrat used to call Khusrow Turk lovingly.

'I just gave what all I had. If he asked for my life, I would have gladly given that too' He said with moist eyes, still looking at Hazrat's feet.

'Ahh! you got them at an extremely cheap price.'

Whenever this story ends, I try to notice other people's smiles. It's like a universal way of responding to that story - Reason? I'm not sure but the story might give the listeners a sense of bliss and contentment.

See, I just catch you smiling too. What a lovely smile you have.

Love, Laughter, and Peace

HRN

ps - I tried to recite this story a couple of months back. Though It's nothing like Asif Sahab tells us this story. He is just mind-blowing. If you still wish to listen you can click here. Thank You.

Dissection of Storytelling - A walk with Asif Sahab

This is an entry from my journal I wrote after one of my initial walks with Asif Sahab. After filling a dozen of pages in my journal, I tried to analyze certain value points, which may benefit a storyteller. I can update the entry and add many more points,.but it will make things complicated and you will scroll down. So, I will stick to the basics and I will try to give some rest to your thumbs (those little creatures, genuinely expecting some mercy from you). But, I will not spare you with my bracket commentary. I love doing that. (You can imagine me showcasing my devil smile).

Let's get started.

27/10/2021- 23.15 hours - Wednesday - New Delhi

Storytelling

What I learned in my last walk with Asif Sahab, comprises certain elements of storytelling.

The first and most crucial element is Gestures (to make your listener/ audience imagine). When Asif Sahab said " Abhi hum Babar ko Kabul mai rakhte hai" he used his left hand, rotated his wrist, and gestured to take a pause from a story and jumped to the other story, which probably running parallelly somewhere else. And then he started explaining about Ibrahim Lodhi, his uncle Daulat Khan Lodhi. Now, these gestures help the audience to bifurcate one story from another. Without these gestures, your words will fall flat and your story will disappear in thin air.

As a listener, it was easier for me to imagine that time and era - All the happenings and mishappenings - I could see everything happening in front of me.

(Imagine, Babur, coming with his troop, family, and kin - all the way from Uzbekistan to India. And just with rotation of a wrist, Babur froze in Kabul - not physically though - and, Ibrahim Lodhi was preparing his army of over one lakh men. That's the power of appropriate gestures in storytelling. It strongly induces imagination in the listener's mind.)

The other element is the Language of the storyteller. The words he or she uses adds beauty to the story. There should be an intrinsic value to every word he or she uses. The words should not be everyday words that we use casually. They must tickle the listener's mind so that he or she demands more such words. And yes, It must induce some visual imagination into the listener's mind. The Hindustani language contains innumerable such words which can help you imagine. If I talk about Asif Sahab, Tassavur is my favorite. And using Beharhal often helps my mind to stick to the core of the story, after wandering in different directions. By the way, Tassavur itself means to imagine. (Don't disturb my dear friend google for this).

The last one is an element with which I personally share a bitter-sweet relationship. Bitter, because sometimes it wants to become the main lead instead of providing assistance. Sweet - good storytelling itself makes it sweet. I'm talking about the third and last element I discovered - Facts.

You are roaming in a monument that carries a historical value, and you are telling stories related to a particular period. The facts will undoubtedly add charm to your storytelling - But (ahem!) emotions should always overlap the facts - and the facts should gladly allow emotions to come forward. When facts come forward, the soul of your story is lost. 

(The first battle of Panipat happened back in 1526 AD - The soul is lost. 

Babur, who came from the lineage of Taimur Lang, was all set with canons, trained soldiers, and yes, charming tactics. The ground of Panipat was all red with blood, as the Babur's army of twenty thousand men defeated over one lakh men of the Lodhi army. The price was not only the decapitated head of Ibrahim Lodhi - Dilli was now in Babur's hands. - I hope it finds the soul again?)

(That's what a twenty-eight-year-old me discovered about storytelling. The twenty-nine-year-old me has discovered a few more things. I will discuss that some other time. 

For me, imagination is the key. You can't imagine blank facts. You need a base of gestures, pitch, voice modulation, and whatnot. Just like you can't imagine my devil smile - because you don't have a base. Either you haven't seen me physically, or you might have not given much attention to me. Even if you know me personally... I don't smile devilishly.

Oh Please! )

#Statutarywarning - Storytelling can't be concluded in an article, a single book, or a documentary. It's a stream of cool and refreshing water - flowing and will keep on flowing till eternity... and maybe beyond.

Gratitude, Love, and lots of Happiness Asif Sahab and Delhi Karavan. A lot has been left to listen, observe, and feel. So let's keep on flowing :-)

Love, Laughter, and Peace

Himanshu R Nagpal

Picture credits

Praveen Sir

Aaliya