Pakistan's most prominent Sufi musician falls silent

One of Pakistan's most prominent singers--and a true pioneer of the Sufi music in Pakistan--Amjad Sabri was recently shot dead in what is now known to be a ruthless act of target killing.

Sabri was shot dead when two assailants, equipped with heavy firearm, opened fire on the singer's car while he was en-route a live Ramadan transmission. This news disseminated like wildfire in the country and across the globe, rendering many speechless and in utter shock. However, a few days after the hubbub had settled down, the TTP--better known as the Pakistani Taliban--claimed responsibility for the attack, citing Sabri's apparent "blasphemy" as its rationale.

Although the TTP's claim of blasphemy is now widely being quoted as the breeding ground for Sabri's assassination, there exists some dissonance between this claim and Pakistan's recent history of target killings aimed toward certain religious minorities. For instance, Sabri's assassination is only one loop in a whole, rich chain of assassinations that Pakistan has recently seen; from a recent Ahmadi doctor's assassination to the abduction of Pakistan's supreme court judge's son, there is a clear pattern in all these incidences. These events in sight, it is obvious that all of the attacks aimed towards either prominent figures, such as Sabri, or towards religious minorities, such as the Ahmadi sect, are all caveats that are being employed by a violent group of dissenters to destabilise Pakistan as a nation.

With that being said, there is a question that still begs to be answered: why was it Sabri, of all the prominent people, who was made the victim of such a brutal attack? The answer to this question is exceedingly simple: Sabri was both a prominent figure and an advocate of the Sufi culture in Pakistan, which is dwindling by the day, thanks to our obliviously intolerant religious committees that decide what punishments must be inflicted upon non-Muslims. Sabri played a crucial role in the advancement of Sufism, devising and beautifully singing Qawwalis, which are a conduit for experiencing the divine in Sufism. Sufism--and in turn Sufis--accentuate the need for establishing a personal connection with the divine, which is widely and discretely disconnected from our day-to-day world of Apple products, fibre optics and conflict. And to say the least, Amjad Sabri's rich baritone, rooted within history as a cry for peace, was the representation of the deteriorating Sufi culture in Pakistan.

Any given Qawwali, as a matter of fact and coherence, commences slowly and then swells up to an acme of ecstatic heights. Listeners are bathed in the potent, lyrical experience, clapping, dancing and rejuvenating their spirits. Qawwali is, in all essence, a personal and communal experience that underlines the importance of introspection, brooding and perusal as means of one's connection with the divine; it is a truly magical and a most unique way of identifying with our nature through the means of pitches and frequencies that we do not come across in our modern day world of rock and country music. And this cause is what Sabri devoted his life to, bringing out his internal voice, which was a representation of his beautiful connection with God.

Sabri was a born martyr--Pakistan has accepted that. His death, instead of enervating Pakistan as a nation, has imparted a profound clarity to his people--a unique perspective on life. Sabri has died, but my heart sings to his tones everyday. Sabri's voice, his unique lyrics, burning in their veraciousness, echo everyday, no less, in each and every household in Pakistan, uniting us under their immensely powerful aurora and messages of peace, unity and perseverance.

Amjad Sabri: thanks for being our source of light and our source of hope in these times of darkness. Thank you for being our most honest guide in when we needed you the most; we will always, always remember you and your message.