Over the course of my life, whenever I visited Pakistan, it was always to visit family in Karachi. For whatever reason, be it safety, time or – lets be real – weddings, my experience (or lack thereof) in the country had always been defined by dependence. Dependence on family, cousins and old friends to take me around and give me cues on how I must behave. But on my most recent trip, things were different (see #PakistanVapsi photoseries); I was coming out of six months of working in Dhaka during which time I traveled through parts of Bangladesh, India, and Myanmar. I had found my groove; I wanted to revive my passion for history through my interests in architecture and music, so I was quick to leave Karachi (within 24 hours of arriving) so that I could finally visit Lahore.
My vapistani (Pakistani diaspora who has returned and resides in Pakistan) friends from Canada took me in and I wasted no time in enlisting them to show me around the city. I only had a few days so I had to be very selective with the places I could visit, but the Walled City and in particular, the Mughal monuments, ranked high since I had been following the footsteps of the Mughals. There was one mosque that especially captivated me; incessant Instagram searches meant that my expectations of the Wazir Khan Mosque had ballooned up, and I wanted to spend enough time there to see if they would be met. I had an idea as to why this mosque was special but I knew it could only be confirmed upon visiting.
Wazir Khan Mosque
If you’ve ever visited the Wazir Khan Mosque in Lahore, you’ll have seen the beautiful, complex and colourful frescoes all over the walls and ceilings of the mosque. At first glance, it all seems overwhelming, but the closer you look, you begin to see deliberate spiritual design intentions.
The Mosque was built by Hakim Ilamuddin Ansari who was the wazir (minister/governor) appointed by the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan for the region of Punjab; he became widely known as Wazir Khan. He commissioned the mosque to be built to enclose the site of the tomb of a 14th century sufi saint, Syed Muhammad Ishaq Gazruni or as he’s more commonly known, Miran Badshah. The construction began in 1634 and was completed over the course of seven years.
This was the extent of my knowledge as I made my way through Chitta Gate inside the Walled City toward the Wazir Khan Mosque.
Rang (colour) was the first word that entered my mind as I walked through the entrance into the courtyard and gazed upon the main archway. I had been fortunate in my life up until that point that I had visited numerous mosques, including those of the harams of Makkah, Madinah and Jerusalem, and others in the Subcontinent itself, but I instantly knew there was no visual reference point in my memory to compare against the Wazir Khan. The colours- so many colours.
Walking barefoot on the red stone of the courtyard towards the main prayer hall, my feet immediately felt the grooves between the stones but with the vibrant colours all over the walls I almost missed the black geometric patterns on the floor. My eyes followed the lines and found the geometric star at the centre of the courtyard.
Floral imagery is commonplace in many mosques, and Wazir Khan is no exception with the guldasta (bouquet) imagery adorning the tilework with a unique grace.
Modern additions like ceiling fans and chandeliers fortunately fail to detract from the colorful frescoes as you meander through the arches inside the prayer hall.
Fusion of Sound and Architecture
One of Pakistan’s most famous architects, Kamil Khan Mumtaz analyzed how sound and architecture are fused in mosques and sufi shrines in Pakistan. He argues that architecture is an exercise of dhikr (Remembrance) in pursuit of the Presence of God:
“the stage at which all distinctions between subject and object are dissolved, where the music is not ‘seen’ in visible form and architecture is not ‘heard’ as frozen music; rather hearing and seeing are transcended in the presence of absolute Beauty itself. This is the state of ‘wasal’ (union), the stage at which God says, ‘I am his hearing with which he hears, his sight with which he sees, his tongue with which he speaks, his hand with which he grasps, and his feet with which he walks’ (Hadith Qudsi).”
Kamil Mumtaz applies this to the design of the Wazir Khan Mosque. Essentially, the mosque serves to compel its visitor to remember the Love (Wadud), Majesty (Jalal) and Beauty (Jamal) of God. For example, the intertwined cypress trees and vines remind visitors of the relationship between the Lover and Beloved. The Salawat on the dome reminds you of the Mercy (SAW) of this world sent by God, reciting the Salawat for the Prophet (SAW) serving to bring you into his embrace.
I want to be clear that the reflections I share now were not real time observations; I wasn’t walking around the mosque instantly connecting the dots between the design and architecture with the spiritual purpose they were meant to serve. These are reflections that have developed over time with further reading and obsessively looking back at my photos.
When I began this piece I mentioned deliberate spiritual design intentions; as architect, Kamil Mumtaz has provided a base- the rest is up to us. The geometric patterns highlight the Perfection of God but the repetition of these patterns demonstrate the virtue of striving towards perfection. Why the selection of the colors? Why the curvatures of the muqarnas (ornamental vaulting)? We know that God loves beauty, and just as you’ve feasted your eyes over the majesty of it all, as you’re about to leave the mosque and you look up one last time, the Persian inscription atop the exit reads:
“Muhammad the Arab is the honor of this world and the Hereafter. Dust upon the head which is not the dust of his threshold (shame on those who don’t respect him).”
I am excited to look back and reflect on other mosques I’ve visited and apply Mumtaz’s analysis on spiritual design intentions. If, through the dhikr of God is how hearts find rest, then I hope to look back on those photos as a form of Remembrance, as I look for those spiritual intentions in architecture and design.
The rest of my time in Lahore was spent visiting other quintessential Mughal monuments; the Badhshahi Mosque, the Tomb of Jahangir, the Tomb of Nur Jehan. But in spite of their beauty, they failed to match the tune hummed by the Wazir Khan, whose colours were imprinted in my vision. Though grand majesty of the Badhshahi envelopes you -as intended by Aurangzeb (dude was obsessed with one-upping his father’s Jama Masjid in Delhi) – it dwarfs in comparison to the humble and unceremonious invite extended by Wazir Khan.
The word vaapsi (return) alludes to more than just the act of returning; it alludes to a longing of familiarity. It poses questions: return to what and where? When you visit the Wazir Khan Mosque, it answers with a warm embrace; return to Us, everywhere.
