The Story of Sufi Basant: A Celebration that South Asia Needs Today

Anshu Shah

 For centuries now, both India and Pakistan’s social fabric have been repeatedly torn by sectarian tensions, reactionary nationalisms, ethno-religious violence and hyper-masculine posturing. The story of Sufi Basant stands as a defiant, joyful reminder of what our homelands could be: a place where traditions are shared, grief is healed through community, and love transcends barriers of faith. It is a festival that offers us a crucial lesson in communal harmony, cultural exchange, and even a rejection of toxic masculinity — lessons that feel more urgent than ever. Sufi Basant illustrates the rich tapestry of cultural and religious exchange that South Asia boasts when it’s not polluted by colonialist and reactionary nationalist agendas. 

A Hindu Festival, A Sufi Story

Basant Panchami is a Hindu holiday marking the arrival of spring and honoring Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, music, and arts. The holiday is celebrated on the fifth day (Panchami) of the Hindu month of Magha. However, not many people know that for centuries, Sufi Muslims in India and Pakistan have also partaken in Basant celebrations — with their own unique story behind celebrating the holiday.

The origins of Sufi Basant lie in the 13th century, when the great Sufi saint Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya of the Chishti order was grieving the death of his beloved nephew, Taqiuddin Nooh. Deep in his sorrow, Hazrat Nizamuddin stopped smiling and became stagnant in his depression. His disciple, the legendary Sufi poet, musician, and saint Hazrat Amir Khusrow (who is also credited with creating the sitar, tabla, and qawwali music), was unable to bear the sorrow of his pir (spiritual teacher). One day, Hazrat Khusrow was walking outside and stumbled upon a parade of Hindu women dressed in yellow saris, singing songs, spreading yellow mustard flowers, and celebrating Basant Panchami.

Hazrat Khusrow asked the Hindu women what they were doing. They replied that they were celebrating Basant and bringing flowers to please the goddess. Hazrat Khusrow asked them if the flowers and celebrations brought joy to the goddess. The women said yes

So, inspired by their joy, Hazrat Khusrow dressed in a yellow sari, gathered mustard flowers, and came to Hazrat Nizamuddin while dancing and singing songs like “Phool Rahi Sarson Sakal Ban” (meaning “the mustard flowers are blooming in every field”). Seeing his disciple’s playful and loving gesture, the Mehboob-e-Ilahi (another name for Hazrat Nizamuddin, meaning “Beloved of God”) smiled again, bringing him out of his grief.

Ever since this joyful moment, Basant has been celebrated at the dargah (tomb, shrine) of Hazrat Nizamuddin in Delhi for centuries — not as a Hindu festival, not as a Muslim festival, but simply as an act of love.

A Soft Rebellion Against Rigid Masculinity

Beyond its message of communal unity, Sufi Basant also subverts the norms of masculinity. In a world where grief is often met with stoic silence, and where men are conditioned to suppress their emotions, Sufi Basant defies patriarchal norms. Hazrat Khusrow’s radical act of dressing in a yellow sari, singing, and dancing to heal his master’s heart rejects toxic masculinity’s fears of appearing feminine, too soft, or even regarding intimate bonds between men. Sufi Basant challenges the notion that strength lies in hardness. Instead, it suggests that masculinity can be tender, expressive, and even playful.

Today, we live in a time where male aggression and toxic masculinity is glorified, whether in politics, Bollywood movies, or even personal relationships. The idea that vulnerability is a weakness fuels everything from online trolling to the rise of violent vigilante groups. Sufi Basant tells us the opposite, rejecting homophobia and rigid gender norms. It says that the strongest among us are those who know how to grieve, how to heal, and how to bring joy to others.

Sufi Basant Today

Sufi Basant reminds us that the South Asian subcontinent’s cultural history is one of fluidity, not rigidity — of shared traditions and tolerance rather than competing dogmas. Yet, today, the forces of communalism seek to erase these exchanges, reducing vibrant traditions to narrow, exclusionary identities. 

Look at how Basant itself has been diminished. Once, the skies of Lahore, Delhi, Punjab, and beyond were filled with kites (kite-flying is another regional tradition associated with Basant), as both Hindus and Muslims took part in the revelry. Today, Basant's once-limitless skies have been grounded by kite-flying bans, the communal policing of shared joy, and the artificial “purifications” of our religious and cultural histories. These repressions seek to sever the shared roots of our traditions. Even in Pakistan, Basant has faced crackdowns, with authorities citing safety concerns but often revealing deeper anxieties about its perceived Hindu roots.

But Sufi Basant teaches us to resist this erasure. It defies the narrative that India and Pakistan’s religious communities exist in opposition to one another. Instead, it offers a vision of harmony — one where faith is not a boundary, but a medium for love — one that is not only about tolerance, but about true integration. Not the kind where minorities are expected to conform, but the kind where traditions organically merge, creating something new and beautiful.

Every Basant, the dargah of Hazrat Nizamuddin in Delhi is bedecked with decorations and mustard flowers. Adherents dress in yellow and sing qawwalis (Sufi spiritual music) with lyrics from Persian, Arabic, Turkic, Hindi-Urdu, and local influences. Muslims, Hindus, and adherents from many backgrounds come to see the celebrations and honor the life of the saints and the spirit of Basant.

India and Pakistan need Sufi Basant today … perhaps more than ever. Maybe something as simple as a mustard flower — playfully offered in defiance of grief, hatred, and division — holds the key to reclaiming the shared soul of our homelands.