A red flag flutters over the shrine of Lal Shahbaz Qalandar at Sehwan Sharif, all through the year, as a symbol of blood, of love, and of passion. It represents the melody of naubat in the otherwise chaotic chatter of life. It is the visual depiction of that unspoken oath that each gathered fakeer has made to the Qalandar, and alongside the Qalandar, to the progeny of the Prophet (P.B.U.H.). This red flag, the Alam, at least at Qalandar’s shrine, is celebrated with poetry, music, and dancing. Poetry that is a testament to Banda-e-Murtaza-Ali-Hastam. Music that is the naubat of Ahl-e-bayt. And dancing that is the ritualistic walk of aseeri, from Karbala to Shaam.
This microcosm of love, devotion, and incurable sadness, is celebrated at Qalandar’s shrine, under the shadow of the red flag each day, except during, what Annemarie Schimmel calls, “the days of inconsolability”.
On the night preceding the first of Muharram, which is the New Year’s eve in Islamic calendar, the red flag at Qalandar’s shrine, is replaced with a black one, in recognition of the days of mourning. This practice, emulated all across the world, most importantly, in Karbala, at the darbaar of Maula Hussain (A.S.), has become the very symbol of association with Ahl-e-bayt. Despite the controversial connotations that modern day Islamic societies attribute with this black flag, its meaning and color is patently simplistic: raised above any house, or place of reverence, the black flag itself is not the object of worship. It is merely a physical reminder and testimony that the said household shares in the grief of the tragedy that manifested in Karbala, fourteen hundred years ago.
It is an expression of bearing witness to the greatest sacrifice in our religious history. It is the symbol of being Shahid to the Shaheed.
Discussing the history and ideology of Karbala, at least in the stifled religious culture of Pakistan, is wrought with controversy, which can easily turn violent. In fact, there are political parties and religious groups that have made Shia-Sunni differences the very basis of their ideological existence. Even a cursory glance at the past thirty years of Pakistan’s history – starting with the first time, in mid-1980’s, when ‘Shia-Kaafir hai’ was graffitied on a wall in Jhang – would reveal the extent of bloodshed that has resulted from the sectarian differences between the Shias and Sunnis.
Members of the Sunni as well as Shia community are to be equally blamed for the ongoing violence. And for this reason, above all, the purpose of this article is neither to advocate, nor justify, any particular ideological viewpoint. However, during these first ten days of Muharram, as black flags, the Alams of mourning, are raised across the Muslim world, including Pakistan, it is only natural that each one of us pauses the chaos of life for a moment (may be longer), to pontificate the manner in which we view history, our religious differences, and most importantly the people who differ with us on account of history and contours of faith.
Viewed through the prism of Shia-Sunni split, we live on the cusp of extremes. We live in a time when association with a particular ideology of faith is demonstrated most palpably through ridiculing the venerations and beliefs of those who differ with us. And this is true on all sides of the religious isle.
It is commonplace for Sunni ‘molvies’ to undermine and chastise the Shia beliefs on Imamat. On the other hand, it is equally commonplace to witness the Shia ‘aalims’ debasing historical events and personalities that “deprived” the Ahl-e-bayt of their acceptability of Imamat. Among orthodox Sunni circles, questioning the conduct of some of the companions of the Prophet (PBUH), equates to blasphemy (as evident in the registration of blasphemy FIRs, in Lahore, against a bookseller who sold Nahj-Al-Balaghah). Among the fanatic Shia households, it is equally blasphemous to venerate the conduct and memory of other Khulfa-e-Rashideen (R.A.). And caught somewhere between these extremes of religious love and hatred, exist majority of Pakistanis, who are awed by, and resentful of (in equal measures) the two disparate accounts of Islamic history.
Living in this divided religious paradigm, the putting up of a black flag, equates to picking a side in the historical and ideological narrative of Islam. And just as picking any side, on any issue, results in inheriting enemies (along with friends), the putting up of the Alam is no different. Suddenly, yet palpably, association with the Alam – even purely as a symbol of love, reverence and mourning – has the ability to ostracize friends and family. Almost instantaneously, in a majority Sunni society, one is viewed through suspicion, even animosity. And gradually, this suspicion, among even the closest of individuals, translates into muted whispers of disapproval, resentment, and disassociation.
Sadly, over time, through this silent yet deliberate process, we have drawn a line across the very core of our Islamic faith. We have divided society, and its members, into “us” and “them”. Between the “mullas” and the “momins”. Between the “Ahl-e-Sunnat” and the “Ahl-e-Bait”. Between the “green chaddars” and the “black flags”. And, in turn, we have deprecated into a society that judges people through the color of their clothes, and the practice of their rituals, as opposed to the sanctity of their faith.
Somewhere along the line, we, as a people, have lost both Ishq-e-Rasool (PBUH), and gham-e-Hussain (A.S.). In holding on to our prejudices, and the disdain that we have for those who differ in the rituals of faith, we have let go of the devotion that these symbols encapsulate. The dance of Qalander is no longer a symbol of the limping walk from Karbala to Shaam. The Azaan-e-Mulla no longer echoes the servitude and passion of Hazrat Bilal (R.A.). And, in the process, we have simply become a collection of people, some of whom live under the shadow of black flags, while others under the shade of green turbans.
What will we do next? Form two lines and throw stones at one another? Or maybe, just maybe, can we join our hands to form a circle. In recognition of the fact that we believe in the finality of the same Prophet (PBUH), in the perfection of the same Book, and the certainty of, one day, having to appear before that one true God!
In the words of Iqbal:
Munfait ek hai is qaum ki, nuqsaan bhi ek,
Ek hi sab ka nabi, din bhi, imaan bhi ek,
Harm-e-paak bhi, Allah bhi, Quran bhi ek,
Kuchh bari baat thi hote jo musalmaan bhi ek!
The writer is a lawyer based in Lahore. He has a Masters in Constitutional Law from Harvard Law School.
@Ch_SaadRasool
