Wisdom is not in abandoning culture and traditions but in adhering to them. Behind our culture and tradition lies the thought process of our ancestors, who, despite being less-read, were men of illuminated and sublime thoughts. Their outlook about religion was characterised by firm conviction, unwavering faith, and a philanthropic spirit. Their way of worshipping, observing fasts, and celebrating important events had a distinct element that represented ethos, sentiments, and a deep message.
Zeeshan Rasool Khan
Wisdom is not in abandoning culture and traditions but in adhering to them. Behind our culture and tradition lies the thought process of our ancestors, who, despite being less-read, were men of illuminated and sublime thoughts. Their outlook about religion was characterised by firm conviction, unwavering faith, and a philanthropic spirit. Their opinions about different aspects of Islam were, therefore, more precise than ours. Their way of worshipping, observing fasts, and celebrating important events had a distinct element that represented ethos, sentiments, and a deep message. For them, every Islamic month had certain meanings and spiritual significance. Muharram belonged to Ahle-Bayt (AS), Safar and Rabi-ul-awwal to the Prophet (SAW). Rabi-ul-thani was associated with Shaykh Abdul Qadir Jilani (RA). Likewise, Ramadan was meant to purify the self, and so on.
As we are in the month of Muharram, reminiscences of the past flashed in my mind. Muharram was not just a month for our family elders; it was rather an emotion. It connected us to the period of 61 AH, when the family of the Prophet (SAW) was brutally massacred in the battle of Karbala — the sacrifices that preserved Islam to this day. Right from the beginning of the month, the elders, particularly my grandfathers, would place their knowledge at the disposal of others. They would share whatever understanding they had about Karbala, and their comprehension was undoubtedly authentic and immaculate. My maternal grandfather, being more inclined towards religious literature, would literally launch a door-to-door campaign in the neighbourhood and apprise others about the martyrdom of Imam-e-Hussain and his companions.
It was not limited to talks only but included a practical dimension as well. They would ask us to refrain from expressing unnecessary exuberance. They instructed us to pray more and send salutations upon the Prophet (pbuh) and his progeny. Traditional Darood-Hazoor would be replaced by Darood-e-Aal. A special cuisine, “Doud Wegra” — a kind of salty kheer — would be cooked in every house of the neighbourhood, turn-wise. Every morning, a big platter of this cuisine would be served to the children of the mohalla seminary, and small platters would be shared with neighbours. This process was religiously followed for the first ten days of Muharram. At midday, installation of juice, water, and sharbat points at different spots in town was another daily activity aimed to offer water to bystanders and people passing by.
We, as children, quietly observed all this happening. It pushed us to reflect and simultaneously prompted questions in our heads. Many of my peers would murmur about it, and finally, our elders learned about our queries. They answered, and eventually we reached the heart of the matter.
We were told that in the month of Muharram, in the arid battlefield of Karbala, kith and kin of the Prophet Muhammad (SAW), the custodians of Al-Kausar, were deprived of even a few droplets of water. As generosity was their trait, they themselves didn’t cut off water to anyone, even when they were in power. They lost family members, including infants, but never thought to wreak havoc on anyone. They belonged to a creed that showered petals over those spreading thorns in their way. They lit the routes for those who promoted darkness. Their sole purpose was to restore justice, equality, and righteousness, and to return humans to the place they belonged.
An understanding was rooted in our minds that we belong to them and should act like them. In other words, let no one suffer from thirst after Karbala, and let the world drink through us, whose predecessors and heroes died thirsty. They believed we need to be flowing rivers, quenching the needs of all.
The special cuisine “Doud Wegra” had a heart-wrenching idea behind it. It was of Hazrat Ali Asghar (AS), who was struck in the throat as his parched tongue protruded for water droplets. He wasn’t on solid food but an infant dependent on his mother’s milk that had dried out due to thirst. He thus relied on water that was not provided by Yazid’s army. Besides water, our predecessors made it a custom to prepare something with a fusion of taste and aroma that could even be relished by an infant, and that was Kashmiri Doud Wegra.
Through these minute acts, not only were they able to promote harmony and build strong relationships with relatives, neighbours, and others, but they also paid tribute to the martyrs of Karbala, who fought against tyranny to protect Islam. These acts were not only potent to quench thirst or satisfy one’s taste buds, but also effective means of transmitting the information and timeless message of Ahle-Bayt (AS).
In order to inspire the younger generation and keep them aware of our glorious past and rich heritage, reviving these traditions is the need of the hour. Let us live Karbala in every moment through our character and by performing valuable and meaningful deeds. Let us pledge to preserve the legacy of strength, sacrifice, and selflessness that those great souls displayed even in the combat zone.
The writer is a columnist
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