Remembrances & Mourning in Old Lahore

 

A string of overhead lights are being stretched across the narrow alleyway and men dressed in full black stand outside their homes watching the process with some interest. The yellow lights have illuminated the otherwise dark lanes and the place which is usually full of life, seems even more awake tonight.

From a distance, metrical dirges, or ‘nauhas’ can be heard playing in shops and homes, with chest-beating for percussion. Allams, or the black commemorative flags have been pulled up on many rooftops, the silver palm of the ‘Punjtan’ gleaming when it catches light. A scent of burning frankincense wafts through the air. 

The ‘old city’ is ready for Muharram.

The green grill of the Syeda Mubarak Begum Imambargah is padlocked. Inside there is a buzzing of voices as people are working indoors, cleaning hard for the evening and making other arrangements. The closed gate does not stop devotees from gathering outside and praying, their fingers interlacing with the grill, their lips moving quickly as they murmur prayers for their loved ones.
This Imambargah is named after the wife of Syed Maratib Ali, a renowned supplier for the British Army and the Indian Railways before partition. Mubarak Begum’s own ancestors include the three Faqir brothers, Azizuddin, Imamuddin and Nooruddin Faqir, who once served as emissaries of Maharaja Ranjit
Singh. The Imambargah was once a Sikh haveli. Today till at least the first 10 days of Ashura, the haveli is used as a place of devotion.

On the first day, a zuljinah procession arrives here, in this spacious place tucked away at the end of one of the lanes called Koocha-e-Faqir Khana, in the Hakeemi Bazaar (Bhaati Gate).

In the ‘Said’ (Syed) Mitha Bazaar, inner Lohari area, Zulfiqar Ali has opened up the doors of his special one room Imambargah ‘Qaafla-e-Sham’– named after
Hazrat Imam Hussain’s entourage that went to Syria. A magnificent Taazia made of pure silver is hidden under a black velvet cloth. Its brilliant craftsmanship and beauty is what attracts many people here to see it all around the year – Thursdays only - but in Muharram it is open all the time, and the taazia is taken out for a long procession.

“We have a license for this since before partition, under the All India Act 1935, and now under newer laws,” says Zulfiqar Ali, whose father Ikhlaq Hussain
used to lead the procession with this taazia. The license ensures the safety of the procession, while also making it legal and marking the exact same route
every year.

It is in this Imambargah that the mehindi of Hazrat Imam Hussain’s nephew Qasim that is observed each seventh of Moharram, a tradition where henna is
smeared on the palms – even by men.

“The seventh marks Hazrat Qasim’s wedding as he was ready to be married when he was attacked and martyred. So we do observe the auspiciousness of the mehindi, but with tears in our eyes,” says Zulfiqar whose family originally belongs to Patiala. In the subcontinent the event is known as the Mehindi of Hazrat Qasim, he says.

Zulfiqar’s taazia procession originated from Patiala and would travel to Lahore. Today it is limited to the old city.
There are about 365 imambargahs that the old city area is marked with.

In Mochi Gate alone there are countless, both large and small. Mochi Gate is the hub of the Shia community, but in other places like Taxali everyone respects
Muharram traditions, whether they are from the Shia community themselves or not.
In the past when the Taxali area was the flourishing red light district, with its culture of tawaifs, song and dance – even then, the 30 days of Muharram would see the bazaars completely closed. Even today the tradition remains although the dancing girls and their families no longer live there. Scattered families of
musicians who live here and at Bhaati Gate, and even the transgender community that lives here and often do dress up with gaudy garments and make up are seen in sedate black their faces bare.

Bare footed children with steel anklets are seen walking to and from majlises.

Even Tibbi Gali, the seediest underbelly of the area where sex workers from the lowest rungs rent out rooms as a regular feature, close down their
businesses as a form of respect but only for the first ten days.

Musicians follow the same practice. Bilal who is a backing vocalist and dhol player, and has musical notes tattooed across his arm, says that they simply shut shop until Ashura even though
strictly speaking they must not play till the 9th of Rabiulawal, well after the Chehlum. But they have to continue because of practical life.

Shehzad Ali who is in the process of making a brand new dhol says that he is looking forward to listening to an address by zakir Gulfam Hussain Hashmi from Sialkot.

“Because he describes the scene of Karbala the best and also because he never says anything without
evidence,” he says.

It is said that in Sehwan, in fact anywhere in the shrines of Sindh, the beating of the dhol in Muharram, symbolizes a battle ahead. But in Lahore’s old city, despite its many instrument makers, musicians and singers, there must be no indulgence in even this form of ‘music’. When it comes to Muharram, the people who live here, take it very seriously indeed.

And while they push away music for this month, especially Ashura, and there is a general atmosphere of mourning, one thing that Lahoris simply cannot push away is food!

The food is important especially when it comes to poor people, who receive blessed food called ‘niaz’.

Babar’s face lights up a little as he lists the types of food cooked here during Muharram.
“We have saag ki biryani, daal and naan or daal and rice, there’s qorma….,” he says.

In the Bhaati Gate area an elderly woman Parveen sits with her daughter Beena in the courtyard of her old, decrepit haveli to beat the intense heat. The night is heavy with moisture and there is no electricity in their neighbourhood. The faint glimmer of dim yellow lights from a nearby lane makes their faces glow a little.
“Tomorrow we will cook meethay chawal (sweetened rice) and distribute it among the poor,” she says. They do this every year. Across their house is another huge Imambargah called the Kaali Baari.

Meanwhile businesses are thriving.
Ashfaq Hussain and his sons are busy sharpening knives and daggers. They claim to already have an order of a thousand and it is only the eve of first Muharram.
Milk will also be sold by the gallon to make icy cold sweet drinks found at stalls called sabeels. While water remains the theme, no Muharram is complete without these milk sharbats – milk with rooh afza and mixed with sliced almonds.
Flowers are also bought throughout Muharram, not just for Imambargahs, but for many of those who visit the graveyards of their loved ones. After all, it is also a time to dwell upon one’s losses and value life, while remembering the story of Imam Hussain and his battle for freedom.
There are many for whom the pain of loss becomes personal in Muharram.

An entire family – a husband and wife and their children were completely wiped out when three blasts rocked the Mochi Gate area a few years back. It was because an 11 storied illegal building blew
up because of gas cylinders. Today the family’s home is part of an abandoned haveli, dark and lonely to look at from outside. Only a couple of other families have continued to live in the other houses around the courtyard but that one has been left as it was – as if in memory of them. In the blast, several people had been killed too.
Veteran guitarist Asad Ali, made famous by the Sachal Orchestra, remembers many friends and  acquaintances who had died at the time.

“It is important to find context in the painful stories of the Battle of Karbala, because in pain we become one nation, one community,” he says. “That is why
during the first 10 days we are lost in misery, not bothering about anything worldly.”

His friend interjects, “Every era has a new Yazid. Our maatam (mourning) today is against this ‘yazidiat’ (tyranny), because Yazid has now become a symbol of oppression, tyranny and injustice.”