Reflections on Kakori’s Spiritual Journey
An Evening in Kakori
18/4/2026
Do not ask of my youth and old age,
Two turns of the dream of oblivion’s stage,
The thread of breath brought news of unease,
May Allah protect the heart of this ruined abode.
The shame of sin erases the form of torment,
O child of tears, wash away my records of account.
The enchanting evening of April 6, 2026, was not merely a fleeting moment for us; it was an experience that stirred the depths of the soul. As we four companions—myself, Zaid, Maulana Muhammad Wasiq Nadwi, and Maulana Saud Azmi—set out towards Kakori, it seemed a short journey, yet it was indeed a voyage of the heart and soul, acquainting us with new horizons within ourselves at every step. It felt as though, while walking on earth, we were traversing towards another realm, a realm where time slowed, and the intensity of feeling deepened.
The people of Nadwa can never forget Kakori; this town is the custodian of those sacred souls who illuminated the lamps of knowledge and virtue. It was here that Munshi Ihtisham Kakori resided, on whose land the grand buildings of Darul Uloom stand, and here too lived another benefactor of Nadwa, Munshi Athar Ali Kakori, after whom Athar Hostel is named. Thus, this town is not merely a collection of bricks and mortar but a continuous tradition of knowledge and benevolence passed down through generations.
Upon entering the boundaries of Kakori, a silent majesty and dignity enveloped us. It felt as though the atmosphere itself was engaged in poetry and remembrance, with memories of centuries floating on the wings of the wind. The ancient mansions, towering houses, and dimly lit alleys each narrated the tales of the past in their own language. Every door and wall seemed to bear the footprints of the learned and virtuous, and every corner was fragrant with the memory of those sacred souls who made this town a cradle of knowledge and literature.
This is the same Kakori where the luminaries of Urdu literature once shone, where the great poet Mohsin Kakori elevated devotional poetry to new heights, and his verses still illuminate hearts like lamps of devotion. This land also gave birth to other thinkers and writers who infused language with elegance and perpetuated the fragrance of Lucknow’s culture. It felt as though the echoes of poetry still lingered in these streets, as if every breeze carried a couplet of a ghazal, as if words themselves had dissolved into the air to become an eternal melody.
From the direction of Kashi, clouds moved towards Mathura,
The breeze brings the Ganges water on the shoulders of lightning,
In the home, the tall ones of Gokul bathe,
Yet bathing in the Yamuna remains a distant endeavor.
News has just arrived in Mahaban,
That clouds are coming to the pilgrimage on the wind.
The chosen manuscript of unity was on the day of eternity,
That there is no second to Ahmad nor a first to Ahad.
Even the dawn of the sun’s era will occur on the Day of Judgment,
For eternity, the era of Muhammad is the first day.
On the night of Isra, from the radiance of the blessed face,
A golden halo adorned the neck of Rafraf.
In prostration of gratitude is the forehead of the highest Throne,
The dust of the sacred feet adorned with sandalwood.
Your superiority is encompassed in works and books,
Your primacy is agreed upon by religions and nations.
We walked through these alleys, slowly, reverently, as one enters the gathering of an elder. A strange tenderness enveloped the heart; sometimes the eyes would moisten, sometimes a silent smile would grace the lips. It was as if, while turning the pages of an old book, one suddenly finds a forgotten memory, sweet yet filled with pain. At times, it felt as though we were not of this time, but people of another era temporarily visiting this one.
In this state, we arrived at the sanctuary of Khanqah Kazmiya Qalandariya. This khanqah is not merely a building but a living tradition, a breathing history. From its walls emanates a radiance that illuminates the heart more than the eyes, like a lamp suddenly lit in darkness, its light penetrating straight into the heart.
This is the place established by Shah Muhammad Kazim Qalandar—the man of God who kindled the lamp of humanity, love, and brotherhood, a lamp that has not dimmed even after centuries. His being was like a sun whose light illuminated not only this town but also distant regions, and his teachings still bring freshness to hearts like the first ray of dawn.
As we stepped into the courtyard of the khanqah, it felt as though the burdens of the heart were lifting, as if the soul had rediscovered a lost peace. There was a gentle whisper in the air—of remembrance, of prayer, and of that love which embraces everything. Even the silence there was a melody, a melody that only the heart could hear.
We had the honor of meeting a sheikh there. His conversation was devoid of pretense and artifice, possessing a simplicity that captivated the heart. His words felt like dewdrops falling on dry leaves, soft, silent, yet life-giving. We were all ears, and the soil of our hearts was being nourished by his words. One reason for our familiarity was his connection with Nadwa and its personalities. He mentioned that Maulana Abdullah Abbas Nadwi used to visit here, and that they had a deep relationship with Khanqah Majibiya Bhulwari Sharif. Hearing this, another layer of affection formed in our hearts, like finding a familiar face in a foreign land.
We visited various corners of the khanqah, seeing the places where once Shah Turab Ali Qalandar, Shah Haider Ali Qalandar, and Shah Ali Akbar Qalandar held gatherings of remembrance and reflection. Each corner held a secret, each wall told a tale. It felt as though time had stood still here, and each moment had transformed into eternal peace.
We stood in silence for a while. This silence too had a language, a language that transcends words. In that stillness, we began to hear our own voice, feel the echo of our own existence. It seemed as though we were meeting ourselves for the first time, as if a lamp had been lit in the depths of the heart.
We felt intensely that the true spirit of Kakori lies in its scholarly, literary, and spiritual history. This is the land where the pen and the rosary together displayed their influence, where knowledge and enlightenment combined to teach humanity the essence of being human.
As we rose to depart, an unfamiliar sadness filled our hearts. Our steps moved, but our hearts wished to remain. It felt as though we were awakening from a sacred dream, and the fragrance of that dream lingered with us, nestled in the recesses of our hearts.
Kakori was no longer just a place for us; it had become a state of being, a state that descends into the heart like a prayer, quietly illuminating the soul, like a lamp burning in the darkness, which not only shines itself but also bestows light upon its surroundings.
