Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

This is the fourth in the series on devotional practices of ‘Āshūra.

Among the practices that distinguish the Shīʿī commemoration of ʿĀshūrā from that of many other Muslim communities is the observance of fāqa shikanī, which means abstaining from food and drink without the intention of ritual fasting, rather than observing a voluntary fast on the tenth of Muḥarram. While many Muslims regard this day as recommended for voluntary fasting, Twelver Shīʿa refrain from observing it as a ritual fast, which is known as ṣawm. Instead, they abstain from food and drink for part of the day without intending a religious fast, and then break their hunger during the late afternoon in remembrance of the martyrdom of Imām Ḥusain and his companions at Karbala. This distinction is neither incidental nor merely ritualistic. It rests upon the teachings of the Imams of the Ahl al-Bayt, the historical memory of Karbala, and a profound theology of mourning.

The Qurʾān prescribes fasting primarily during the month of Ramaḍān, as set out in verses 2:183 to 187, while voluntary fasting on other days is recommended in various Prophetic traditions. There is, however, no Qurʾānic injunction specifically prescribing fasting on the tenth of Muḥarram. The recommendation derives from traditions preserved in Sunni collections such as Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī and Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, where the Prophet is reported to have fasted on this day after observing the Jews of Madīnah commemorating the deliverance of Prophet Mūsā from Pharaoh. He is also reported to have expressed the intention of fasting both the ninth and the tenth in subsequent years. Shīʿī scholars have never denied the existence of these narrations. Rather, they argue that the martyrdom of Imām Ḥusain in 61 AH, which corresponds to 680 CE, fundamentally transformed the religious significance of the day. Whatever earlier associations ʿĀshūrā may have possessed, the massacre of the Prophet’s grandson permanently changed its moral and spiritual meaning. The day became one of the greatest tragedies in Islamic history, rendering celebration or the observance of a meritorious fast incompatible with its solemn character.

The principal evidence for the Shīʿī practice comes from the teachings of the Imams themselves. Imām Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is reported in Tahdhīb al-Aḥkām and Wasāʾil al-Shīʿa to have instructed that people should not fast on the day of ʿĀshūrā, and that if they wish, they may abstain from food and drink without intending it as a fast, then eat after the afternoon prayer, for at that time Ḥusayn ibn ʿAlī was martyred hungry and thirsty. Similarly, Imām Muḥammad al-Bāqir advised believers to refrain from eating and drinking until the afternoon and thereafter to break their hunger with water and simple food while remembering Imām Ḥusain. These narrations establish an important legal and theological distinction. The abstention is not ṣawm but imsāk, which means that it is not a ritual fast undertaken as an act of worship, but an expression of grief and solidarity with the suffering endured by the martyrs of Karbala. The intention, known as niyyah, is therefore decisive. One does not seek the reward associated with voluntary fasting. Rather, one symbolically participates in the hunger and thirst that afflicted Imām Ḥusain, his family, and his companions on the banks of the Euphrates.

The prescribed timing of fāqa shikanī itself illustrates this distinction. The traditions do not instruct believers to abstain until sunset, as is the case with a canonical fast. Instead, they specifically state that the abstention should continue until after the afternoon, which is expressed as baʿd al-ʿaṣr, corresponding to the time when Imām Ḥusain was martyred. Classical Shīʿī jurists understood this to mean the latter part of the afternoon, after the ʿAṣr prayer or approximately the time traditionally associated with his martyrdom, which is generally identified as the early afternoon, around midday to mid-afternoon, though some traditions specify the exact hour. Consequently, in Shīʿī communities across Iraq, Iran, the Indian subcontinent, and elsewhere, mourners generally refrain from eating and drinking from dawn until the conclusion of the principal ʿĀshūrā commemorations in the late afternoon. They then perform fāqa shikanī by breaking their hunger with a simple meal, often consisting of water, milk, bread, rice, or other modest food distributed as tabarruk, which means blessed charity. Importantly, this occurs before sunset, thereby distinguishing the practice from a ritual fast. Waiting until Maghrib would make the abstention resemble a formal ṣawm, something the Imams explicitly sought to avoid.

The terminology itself is revealing. The expression fāqa shikanī is Persian and literally means breaking one’s hunger rather than breaking one’s fast, which would be ifṭār. Likewise, the meal taken afterwards is not regarded as an ifṭār in the legal sense, but as the conclusion of an act of mourning. The simplicity of the food recalls the deprivation endured by the people of Karbala rather than celebrating the completion of an act of worship. In Arabic contexts, the practice is sometimes referred to as al-imsāk, meaning abstention, or al-taʿziya bi-al-jūʿ, which means mourning through hunger, though fāqa shikanī remains the most commonly used term in Persian and South Asian Shīʿī communities. Numerous narrations also criticise those who transformed ʿĀshūrā into a day of blessing or rejoicing. Traditions preserved in Al-Kāfī and later compilations attribute to Imām Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq strong criticism of those who regarded ʿĀshūrā as a festival, known as ʿīd. Shīʿī scholars interpreted this as a reference to Umayyad policies which encouraged fasting, feasting, applying kohl, wearing new clothes, and expanding household expenditure in order to commemorate the military victory over Imām Ḥusain while diverting public sympathy away from the Prophet’s family. This political dimension is significant because the fast was not merely a religious recommendation but a tool of statecraft employed by the Umayyads to reframe the tragedy as a triumph.

Classical authorities such as Shaykh al-Mufīd, who died in 413 AH, and Shaykh al-Ṭūsī, who died in 460 AH, therefore maintained that ʿĀshūrā should be observed through mourning, lamentation, recitation of the martyrdom narrative, charity, and remembrance rather than through voluntary fasting. Muḥammad Bāqir al-Majlisī, who died in 1110 AH, in Biḥār al-Anwār, gathered numerous traditions encouraging believers to spend the day in grief, weeping for Imām Ḥusain, reciting Ziyārat ʿĀshūrā, and remembering the unparalleled sacrifices made at Karbala. Contemporary Shīʿī jurists continue this understanding. Grand Ayatollah ʿAlī al-Sīstānī and Ayatollah ʿAlī Khameneʾi both discourage observing ʿĀshūrā as a recommended fast. They instead advise that if believers abstain from food and drink, they should do so without intending a ritual fast and should end their abstention in the late afternoon, before sunset, thereby preserving the distinction between mourning and worship. Many jurists also note that the day is so profoundly marked by grief that treating it as a day of fasting, a practice often associated with joy or gratitude, would be spiritually discordant.

In recent decades, however, a development has emerged in some communities that has drawn criticism from religious authorities. It has become increasingly common for some mourners to break their fāqa even before the Tazias, which are the symbolic replicas of the martyrs’ shrines carried in processions, have been buried at the end of the ʿĀshūrā commemorations. This practice effectively means that participants are eating at the very moment when the final mourning rituals are still underway, and in some cases, exactly at or around the time of the Imām’s martyrdom. The late Allama Saiyid Sibtul Hasan, a distinguished Shīʿī scholar of the Indian subcontinent, was particularly critical of this development. He used to argue strongly against such people, questioning the logic and sincerity of their observance. His criticism rested on a simple but powerful point: if you are observing fāqa as an act of mourning, what type of mourning is it that you are eating exactly before or at the time of the Imām’s martyrdom? For Allama Sibtul Hasan, the very purpose of fāqa shikanī was to share, however symbolically, in the hunger and thirst of Imām Ḥusain at the moment of his supreme sacrifice. To break that abstention precisely when the tragedy reached its climax was, in his view, to drain the practice of its meaning and to reduce it to an empty formality. He maintained that the fāqa should be maintained until the appropriate time after the afternoon, and that eating before the Tazias had been buried, particularly if that fell before or exactly at the time of martyrdom, contradicted the spirit of mourning that the Imams had sought to instil. His criticism reflected a broader concern that ritual observances, when divorced from their intended meaning and timing, risk becoming mere custom rather than genuine expressions of grief and solidarity.

This distinction reflects a deeper theological principle. In Sunni tradition, ʿĀshūrā fasting commemorates divine deliverance granted to earlier prophets, particularly Mūsā. In Shīʿī thought, while those earlier traditions are acknowledged, Karbala has forever transformed the meaning of the day. The tenth of Muḥarram is above all the day on which the grandson of the Prophet, together with his family and companions, gave their lives to preserve justice, truth, and the moral conscience of Islam. The day is not one of divine rescue but of redemptive sacrifice, a sacrifice that, in Shīʿī theology, serves as an eternal standard of resistance against tyranny. Moreover, the practice of fāqa shikanī embodies a distinct soteriological vision, which holds that salvation is not achieved through ritual observance alone but through affective and embodied participation in the suffering of the righteous. By sharing in the hunger and thirst of Karbala, the believer cultivates not only historical memory but also moral solidarity with the oppressed, a central theme in Shīʿī spirituality. The criticism offered by Allama Sibtul Hasan underscores this point: the timing of the abstention is not arbitrary but is intimately bound up with the narrative of Karbala itself, and to disregard that timing is to misunderstand the very purpose of the practice.

Thus fāqa shikanī is not merely an alternative ritual. It is a profound expression of historical memory and theological identity. Hunger is embraced not to earn the reward of fasting, but to share, however symbolically, in the suffering of Imām Ḥusayn. The water drunk in the afternoon recalls those who died thirsty. The simple meal reminds believers that the martyrs of Karbala were denied even the basic necessities of life. Through this practice, the followers of the Ahl al-Bayt preserve ʿĀshūrā not as a day of celebration or thanksgiving, but as the supreme day of mourning in Islamic history, a day on which grief itself becomes an act of devotion, and abstention becomes a form of witness. The careful observance of its proper timing, as emphasised by scholars like Allama Sibtul Hasan, ensures that this act of mourning retains its spiritual integrity and does not degenerate into a meaningless ritual.

Selected References

The Qurʾān, 2:183–187.

Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, Kitāb al-Ṣawm.

Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, Kitāb al-Ṣiyām.

Al-Kulaynī, Alkali.

Shaykh al-Ṭūsī, Tahdhīb al-Aḥkām.

Al-Ḥurr al-ʿĀmilī, Wasāʾil al-Shīʿa.

Muḥammad Bāqir al-Majlisī, Biḥār al-Anwār.

Shaykh al-Mufīd, Al-Muqniʿah.

Shaykh al-Ṭūsī, Miṣbāḥ al-Mutahajjid.

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

This is the third in the series on devotional practices of ‘Āshūra.

For Twelver Shi’i Muslims, Karbala is not merely a historical catastrophe but the defining struggle between truth and falsehood. Alongside profound love for Imam Husain and the Ahl al-Bayt, therefore, developed an equally essential principle: repudiation of those who persecuted them. This is tabarrā, expressed most forcefully through la’n (invoking Allah’s curse upon the conscious oppressors of the Prophet’s family).

To understand why this practice became a religious duty, one must locate it within the broader framework of Shi’i theology, specifically the Usūl al-Dīn (roots of faith) and the twin obligations of amr bil ma’rūf (enjoining good) and nahī anil munkar (forbidding evil). These are not separate ethical exhortations but interconnected pillars that give tabarrā its moral and spiritual weight.

The Theological Framework: Usūl al-Dīn

Twelver Shi’ism identifies five roots of faith: Tawhīd (divine unity), ‘Adl (divine justice), Nubuwwa (prophethood), Imāma (divine leadership), and Ma’ād (resurrection). Each bears directly on the duty to curse the oppressors of the Ahl al-Bayt.

Tawhīd affirms that sovereignty belongs to God alone. To oppose His chosen representatives is to rebel against His authority. ‘Adl demands that justice be upheld and oppression condemned; if God is just, then those who perpetrate injustice cannot be treated with indifference. Nubuwwa establishes the Prophet as the final messenger, and to harm his family is to assault his mission. Imāma asserts that the Prophet’s successors are divinely appointed guides; opposing them is therefore opposing God’s will. Ma’ād ensures ultimate accountability; those who escaped earthly justice will face divine judgement, and the believer’s prayer for that judgement (i.e., la’n) is an act of faith in that final reckoning.

Thus tabarrā is not an optional extra but flows necessarily from each root. To believe in God’s justice is to repudiate injustice. To believe in prophethood is to defend its legacy. To believe in the Imamate is to dissociate from those who sought to destroy it.

The Active Obligations: Amr bil Ma’rūf and Nahī anil Munkar

The Qur’an commands believers to “enjoin what is right and forbid what is wrong” (3:104; 9:71; 31:17). In Shi’i jurisprudence, these are not merely recommended but obligatory upon every believer, according to their capacity. They form the ethical engine of the community, ensuring that faith is not passive but actively engaged in shaping a just society.

Amr bil ma’rūf enjoins love, loyalty, and support for the Ahl al-Bayt; this is tawallā. It affirms their righteousness, upholds their example, and perpetuates their teachings. Conversely, nahī anil munkar forbids the evils they opposed, which necessarily includes condemning those who persecuted them; this is tabarrā. The two duties are inseparable. One cannot genuinely enjoin good without also forbidding evil; one cannot authentically love the Ahl al-Bayt without repudiating their enemies.

Imam Husain’s stand at Karbala was itself the supreme act of nahī anil munkar. He did not rise for political power but to “revive the command of enjoining good and forbidding evil,” as he declared in his famous address. His martyrdom was the ultimate testimony that some evils are so grave they must be opposed even at the cost of life. To curse his killers is therefore to affirm the principle for which he died. It is to say that the evil he opposed remains evil, and that the moral clarity he embodied must not be blurred by time or expediency.

The Meaning of La’n within This Framework

In Islamic theology, la’n does not mean abuse or vindictiveness. Classical Arabic defines it as exclusion from divine mercy. When a believer prays, “O Allah, curse the killers of Husain,” he is not usurping judgement but beseeching God to withhold mercy from those who committed the gravest betrayal. The judgement remains entirely with Him. Within the Usūl framework, this prayer is an acknowledgement of divine justice (‘Adl) and an anticipation of the final judgement (Ma’ād). It is also an act of nahī anil munkar, forbidding evil by calling it by its name and refusing to normalise it.

The Qur’an firmly establishes this principle: “Indeed, Allah has cursed the disbelievers” (33:64); “Upon them shall be the curse of Allah, the angels and all mankind” (2:159); “The curse of Allah is upon the wrongdoers” (11:18). Divine mercy is not unconditional; persistent oppression may place one beyond it. Prophetic tradition reinforces this: the Prophet invoked curses upon land-grabbers, those who cursed parents, usurers, and corrupt innovators. In each case, he did not engage in vulgarity but prayed for divine justice. Notably, early Sunni tradition contains numerous such instances. Ibn ‘Abbās and ‘Umar both reportedly invoked curses upon those who oppressed the Ahl al-Bayt, and the famous hadith, “Whoever wrongs ‘Alī, may Allah curse him,” appears in Sunni canonical collections too. The divergence lies not in the principle but in the historical scope of its application.

Applied to Karbala

Imam Husain was the Prophet’s beloved grandson, a Master of the Youth of Paradise, and the third divinely appointed Imam. His murder, alongside the slaughter of his infant son, nephews, and companions, the denial of water, the desecration of bodies, and the captivity of women and children, constituted an assault upon the Prophet himself and the moral foundations of Islam. To remain silent about such crimes would violate nahī anil munkar; to fail to uphold his example would weaken amr bil ma’rūf.

Thus tabarrā became inseparable from tawallā. In Twelver Shi’ism, both are pillars of faith alongside the Usūl. This dual obligation is rooted in the Qur’anic verse: “Say, ‘I do not ask of you any reward for it except love for my near kin'” (42:23). For Shi’i exegetes, that love necessarily entails enmity towards those who harmed them. Genuine loyalty requires moral dissociation from injustice, as the Qur’an also declares: “You will not find a people who believe in Allah and the Last Day loving those who oppose Allah and His Messenger” (58:22). This finds eloquent expression in Ziyarat Ashura, which invokes curses upon “the first wrongdoer who wronged the family of Muhammad and the last who followed him.” This is not out of personal hatred but moral accountability before God. The formula, “peace be upon you, O Abā ‘Abdillāh, and curse be upon the killers of you,” encapsulates this indivisible pairing.

Beyond theology, the practice functions as an oral historiography. Regular recitation of curses keeps the names, deeds, and genealogies of the oppressors alive across centuries. This is not mere rancour but a form of collective memory preservation, ensuring that the perpetrators of Karbala cannot be rehabilitated or forgotten, and that the moral lesson remains vivid for each generation.

Ethical Safeguards and Jurisprudential Nuance

Critics allege sectarianism, but Shi’i scholars distinguish la’n from sabb (vulgar abuse), which the Qur’an forbids (6:108). Moreover, classical manuals stress that la’n must be free from personal malice, uttered with humility before God, and directed only at those whose guilt is certain; it is not directed at living individuals or those whose inner state is unknown. It is a prayer for God’s justice, not a weapon for sectarian score-settling. As Shaykh al-Mufīd writes, “Cursing is an act of worship, not of temper.” While all Shi’i jurists affirm the permissibility of la’n, opinions diverge on its public expression. Some (for example, Ayatollah Khamenei) caution strongly against it in interfaith settings, prioritising unity and avoiding provocation. Others (for example, Ayatollah Khomeini) permitted more open expression within Muslim discourse. There is also a distinction between la’n as a devotional act (recommended) and as a judicial sentence (which only an infallible Imam may pronounce). Most believers confine themselves to the former.

Importantly, the duty of nahī anil munkar is itself qualified by conditions: it must be performed with knowledge, with the intention of reform, and without causing greater harm. This is why Shi’i jurists have always counselled wisdom in its application. La’n is one expression of forbidding evil, but not the only one. It is appropriate where historical evils are settled and beyond dispute; it is less appropriate where direct engagement or education might yield better results. The principle of amr bil ma’rūf, meanwhile, emphasises that love for the Ahl al-Bayt must be active and constructive, pursued through following their example, studying their teachings, and embodying their ethics in daily life.

The Eschatological and Universal Dimensions

In Shi’i eschatology, the final Imam (al-Mahdī) will, upon his return, exact divine justice and publicly curse the enemies of the Ahl al-Bayt in a universal declaration. Believers’ present recitations are thus seen as anticipatory participation in that ultimate vindication: a way of aligning themselves with the forces of justice before the end of time.

Beyond history, Karbala symbolises universal moral responsibility. To curse Husain’s killers is to reject tyranny wherever it appears. Every Ashura renews the commitment to stand with Husain over Yazid, justice over oppression, and conscience over expediency. This is the living application of amr bil ma’rūf and nahī anil munkar: not static formulae but dynamic principles that demand moral engagement with the world.

La’n complements love. As believers ask Allah to bless the Prophet’s family, they also ask Him to withhold mercy from those who sought their destruction. Mercy without justice is meaningless. The same God who commands amr bil ma’rūf also commands nahī anil munkar. To fulfil one without the other would be to fragment the ethical vision of the Qur’an itself.

Ultimately, invoking divine curse upon the enemies of the Ahl al-Bayt is not vengeance but moral clarity. It affirms that some crimes cannot be neutralised by time or convenience. Karbala endures because it establishes an eternal distinction between oppressor and oppressed. To bless one while indifferent to the other would empty the tragedy of its ethical force. Thus tawallā and tabarrā remain complementary dimensions of Shi’i faith, rooted in the Usūl al-Dīn and animated by the twin duties of amr bil ma’rūf and nahī anil munkar. Together, they preserve both the memory of Karbala and the universal struggle for justice which it continues to inspire.

---

Selected References

· Qur’an: 2:159, 3:61, 3:104, 9:71, 11:18, 31:17, 33:33, 33:57, 33:64, 42:23, 58:22
· Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī
· Ibn Bābawayh al-Şadūq, ‘Uyūn Akhbār al-Riḍā and al-Amālī
· Shaykh al-Mufīd, Kitāb al-Irshād
· Ibn Ţāwūs, Mişbāḥ al-Zā’ir (early recensions of Ziyārat ‘Āshūrā’)
· ‘Allāmah al-Majlisī, Biḥār al-Anwār, vols. 44–45
· Moojan Momen, An Introduction to Shi’i Islam (Yale, 1985)
· Mahmoud M. Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering in Islam (Mouton, 1978)
· Abdulaziz Sachedina, The Just Ruler in Shi’ite Islam (OUP, 1988)

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

This is the second in the series on devotional practices of ‘Āshūra.

Among the devotional texts of Twelver Shi‘i Islam, few have exercised as profound and enduring an influence as Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā. Recited daily by countless believers across the world, and especially during the first ten days of Muharram, it is far more than a prayer associated with the martyrdom of Imam Husain. It is a declaration of faith, a reaffirmation of loyalty to the Prophet’s Household (Ahl al-Bayt), a rejection of oppression, and an ethical covenant binding the believer to the ideals for which Imam Husain sacrificed his life at Karbala. More than thirteen centuries after the events of 61 AH (680 CE), Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā continues to shape Shi‘i religious identity, devotional practice and moral consciousness. It transforms the memory of Karbala from a historical tragedy into a living spiritual reality that challenges every generation to define its own relationship with truth and justice.

The Arabic word ziyārah literally means ‘visitation’. In Islamic usage it refers to visiting a sacred person or place in order to offer greetings, prayers and expressions of reverence. Within Shi‘i thought, however, ziyārah possesses a richer theological significance. Visiting an Imam is not regarded merely as paying respects to a revered historical figure, but as renewing one’s allegiance to the divinely appointed guides of the Muslim community. Even when physical pilgrimage is impossible, the believer may perform ziyārah from any place in the world by directing his or her heart towards the Imam. Consequently, Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā has never been confined to the shrine of Imam Husain in Karbala. It is recited daily in homes, mosques, imāmbārgāhs and centres of learning across the Shi‘i world, making participation in the remembrance of Karbala accessible to all believers regardless of geographical distance.

According to the accepted Twelver Shi‘i tradition, Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā was taught by Imam Muhammad al-Bāqir, the fifth Imam, to his companion ‘Alqamah ibn Muhammad al-Hadrami, while another transmission is associated with Imam Ja‘far al-Sādiq, the sixth Imam. The text was subsequently preserved in the earliest collections of Shi‘i devotional literature, most notably Ibn Qūlawayh’s Kāmil al-Ziyārāt, Shaykh al-Ṭūsī’s Miṣbāḥ al-Mutahajjid and Tahdhīb al-Aḥkām, before being incorporated into later compilations such as Ibn Ṭāwūs’ Iqbāl al-A‘māl and ‘Allāmah al-Majlisī’s Biḥār al-Anwār. While modern scholarship has examined the isnād and textual history of the ziyārah with the same critical methods applied to other early Islamic traditions, its uninterrupted acceptance and recitation within the Shi‘i community for nearly a millennium has conferred upon it exceptional devotional authority. Moojan Momen has observed that the institution of ziyārah occupies a central place in Shi‘i spirituality because it expresses both doctrinal commitment and communal identity, while Liyakat Takim has shown that loyalty to the Imams became one of the defining characteristics of early Shi‘ism.

The structure of Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā reveals a carefully developed theological vision. It opens with repeated salutations upon Imam Husain, his family and his companions, acknowledging their sacrifice and affirming their enduring spiritual authority. These greetings are followed by declarations of loyalty towards the Prophet Muhammad and his Household, prayers seeking closeness to God through devotion to them, repeated invocations of divine blessings upon the righteous, and repeated condemnation of those responsible for the oppression and murder of Imam Husain. Finally, the text concludes by praying that the believer may share in the mission of the awaited Imam al-Mahdi, whose appearance will establish justice upon the earth and complete the struggle against tyranny begun at Karbala. This sequence is not accidental. It establishes a theological progression from remembrance to allegiance, from allegiance to moral responsibility, and from moral responsibility to hope for ultimate divine justice. Karbala is therefore not presented as an isolated historical episode but as a continuing moral drama in which every believer participates.

Perhaps the most distinctive feature of Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā is its insistence that Karbala transcends history. Unlike historical chronicles, which narrate events confined to a particular place and time, the ziyārah presents Karbala as an eternal criterion distinguishing truth from falsehood. When the believer proclaims, ‘Peace be upon you, O Abu Abdillah’, the greeting is not directed merely towards a figure who lived in the seventh century but towards a living spiritual exemplar whose sacrifice continues to illuminate human conduct. Likewise, when the believer condemns the enemies of Husain, the condemnation extends beyond those historical individuals who participated in the events of 61 AH. It represents the rejection of every political order, ideology or individual that perpetuates oppression, injustice and moral corruption. This understanding explains why Shi‘i scholars have consistently argued that Karbala is not merely remembered but continually relived. Syed Akbar Hyder has demonstrated that ritual remembrance transforms historical memory into a lived moral experience. David Pinault similarly argues that rituals surrounding Karbala are designed not simply to commemorate the past but to renew communal identity through participation in sacred memory. The repeated recitation of Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā exemplifies this process by ensuring that every generation encounters Karbala not as distant history but as an ever-present ethical challenge.

Central to the theology of the ziyārah are the complementary principles of tawallā and tabarrā which have been explained in a detailed blog earlier. In concise terms Tawallā denotes love, friendship and allegiance towards God’s chosen servants, while tabarrā signifies dissociation from those who oppose divine guidance. These concepts are deeply rooted in Qur’anic teachings concerning loyalty to righteousness and rejection of injustice. In Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā, the repeated salutations upon Imam Husain and the Ahl al-Bayt embody tawallā, whereas the repeated invocations of divine curse upon the perpetrators of Karbala express tabarrā. The practice of la’n, or invoking God’s curse, has frequently been misunderstood outside its theological context. In everyday language the word ‘curse’ often suggests abusive speech or personal malice. Within Islamic theology, however, as explained in a different blog, la’n signifies asking God to withdraw His mercy from those who knowingly persisted in oppression after truth had become manifest. The Qur’an itself repeatedly employs this language in relation to those who reject divine guidance and commit injustice. ‘Indeed, Allah has cursed the wrongdoers’ (Qur’an 33:64). Consequently, the la’n found throughout Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā should not be understood as an expression of personal hatred but as a prayer for divine justice against tyranny. Shi‘i theologians have consistently interpreted these passages within this theological framework.

The repeated condemnation of the enemies of Imam Husain also reflects a broader Qur’anic concern for justice. Throughout the Qur’an, believers are commanded not merely to worship God but to uphold justice even against themselves or their own relatives (Qur’an 4:135). Imam Husain’s refusal to legitimise the rule of Yazid was therefore understood not simply as political opposition but as obedience to the Qur’anic imperative to resist injustice. Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā transforms this historical decision into a permanent ethical obligation. Every generation must ask whether it stands with Husain or with those who sought to silence him.

Equally significant is the eschatological dimension of the ziyārah. The believer repeatedly prays that God may grant him the opportunity to seek justice alongside the Imam from the Household of Muhammad who will arise to establish divine rule. Classical commentators unanimously understood this as a reference to Imam al-Mahdi. Karbala is thus linked directly with the Shi‘i doctrine of the Imamate and the expectation of the Mahdi’s return. The struggle begun by Imam Husain is not complete. Its fulfilment awaits the final triumph of justice. In this manner, Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā unites sacred history with sacred future, reminding believers that the moral struggle against oppression remains unfinished.

The spiritual significance of the ziyārah extends beyond theology into the formation of character. Traditional Shi‘i scholars have consistently recommended its regular recitation as a means of cultivating patience, steadfastness, sincerity, courage and devotion. Repetition gradually internalises these virtues. The believer who repeatedly salutes Imam Husain and condemns injustice is encouraged to embody those same values in daily life. The ziyārah therefore functions not only as remembrance but also as moral education. It seeks to produce individuals whose ethical conduct reflects the principles for which Karbala was fought.

The influence of Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā has extended far beyond the Arab world. Throughout Iran, Iraq, the Indian subcontinent, Central Asia, East Africa and the wider Shi‘i diaspora, it has become an indispensable part of devotional life. During Muharram, especially on the tenth day, it is recited collectively in mosques and imāmbārgāhs, while many believers also incorporate it into their daily personal devotions. Its widespread recitation has contributed significantly to preserving the memory of Karbala across diverse languages and cultures. As Kamran Scot Aghaie has argued, rituals associated with Imam Husain have repeatedly served as powerful instruments for constructing religious identity and transmitting moral values across generations. Modern historians and anthropologists have also recognised the broader social significance of such devotional texts. Victor Turner’s influential analysis of ritual emphasised that communal acts of remembrance reshape social identity by linking individuals to a shared moral narrative. In the Shi‘i tradition, Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā performs precisely this function. It continually renews the believer’s relationship with the Prophet’s Household while simultaneously reinforcing the universal principles of justice, sacrifice and resistance to tyranny.

Ultimately, the enduring appeal of Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā lies in its remarkable ability to unite history, theology and ethics within a single devotional text. It neither confines Karbala to the seventh century nor reduces it to a purely emotional commemoration. Instead, it presents Imam Husain’s martyrdom as the permanent standard by which every age must measure its own moral choices. The believer who recites the ziyārah does not merely mourn the past but pledges allegiance to an enduring vision of justice founded upon truth, sacrifice and unwavering fidelity to conscience. In this sense, Ziyārat-e ‘Āshūrā remains one of the most profound expressions of Islamic devotional literature, preserving not only the memory of Karbala but also the ethical ideals for which Imam Husain gave his life.

References

Aghaie, Kamran Scot. The Martyrs of Karbala: Shi’i Symbols and Rituals in Modern Iran. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2004.

Dakake, Maria Massi. The Charismatic Community: Shi’ite Identity in Early Islam. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2007.

Hyder, Syed Akbar. Reliving Karbala: Martyrdom in South Asian Memory. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006.

Ibn Qūlawayh. Kāmil al-Ziyārāt. Qum: Mu’assasat Nashr al-Faqāhah.

Ibn Ṭāwūs, Raḍī al-Dīn. Iqbāl al-A’māl. Qum: Dār al-Kutub al-Islāmiyyah.

Al-Majlisī, Muhammad Bāqir. Biḥār al-Anwār. Beirut: Dār Iḥyā’ al-Turāth al-‘Arabī.

Momen, Moojan. An Introduction to Shi’i Islam: The History and Doctrines of Twelver Shi’ism. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1985.

Nakash, Yitzhak. The Shi’is of Iraq. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994.

Pinault, David. Horse of Karbala: Muslim Devotional Life in India. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2001.

Takim, Liyakat N. The Heirs of the Prophet: Charisma and Religious Authority in Shi’ite Islam. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006.

Al-Ṭūsī, Muhammad ibn al-Ḥasan. Miṣbāḥ al-Mutahajjid. Qum: Mu’assasat Fiqh al-Shī’ah.

Al-Ṭūsī, Muhammad ibn al-Ḥasan. Tahdhīb al-Aḥkām. Tehran: Dār al-Kutub al-Islāmiyyah.

Turner, Victor. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Chicago: Aldine, 1969.

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

Every year, as the Day of ʿĀshūrāʾ approaches, millions of believers throughout the world observe a number of devotional practices that have become inseparable from the remembrance of Imam Husain and the tragedy of Karbala. Among the best known are the Āmāl-e ʿĀshūr, the recitation of Ziyārat-e ʿĀshūr, and the repeated invocation of laʿn, the solemn dissociation from and condemnation of those responsible for the murder of the grandson of the Prophet. These three practices are often performed together, yet each possesses its own history, textual foundation and theological significance. Each therefore deserves to be understood independently rather than simply accepted as inherited ritual. In this series of essays, we shall examine each in turn. We begin with the Āmāl-e ʿĀshūr, the devotional acts prescribed for the tenth day of Muharram.

The Arabic word ʿamal (plural aʿmāl) literally means ‘deed’, ‘action’ or ‘practice’. In Shiʿi devotional literature it refers to a prescribed programme of worship associated with particular days, nights or occasions. Such programmes generally include ritual purification, prayer, Qur’anic recitation, supplication, remembrance of God, salutations upon the Prophet and his family, acts of charity, and other recommended devotional exercises. Over the centuries these practices were gathered together in celebrated manuals such as Shaykh al-Ṭūsī’s Miṣbāḥ al-Mutahajjid, Sayyid Ibn Ṭāwūs’s Iqbāl al-Aʿmāl, al-Kafʿamī’s al-Miṣbāḥ, and most famously Shaykh ʿAbbās al-Qummī’s Mafātīḥ al-Jinān. The Āmāl of ʿĀshūrāʾ are therefore not a modern invention but form part of a continuous devotional tradition preserved through successive generations of Shiʿi scholarship.

The roots of these observances lie in the teachings of the Imams of the Ahl al-Bayt themselves. Traditions transmitted principally from Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir and Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq describe how the Day of ʿĀshūrāʾ should be observed. Rather than allowing the Umayyad rulers to redefine the day as one of celebration and public thanksgiving, the Imams transformed it into a day of mourning, remembrance, prayer and moral reflection. Imam al-Riḍā relates that when the month of Muharram began, his father Imam Mūsā al-Kāẓim was never seen smiling, and as the tenth day approached his grief only deepened, for it was on that day that Imam Husain was martyred.

One of the earliest and most important narrations concerning the observance of the day is preserved in Kāmil al-Ziyārāt. Imam al-Bāqir instructed that one unable to visit Karbala should ascend to an elevated place before noon, face towards the shrine of Imam Husain, recite salutations upon him, invoke God’s curse upon his killers, perform two rakʿahs of prayer, mourn sincerely over the tragedy, gather members of the household to remember the martyrdom, and console fellow believers with the prayer:

‘Aʿẓama Allāhu ujūranā bi-muṣābinā bi’l-Ḥusayn wa jaʿalanā wa iyyākum mina’ṭ-ṭālibīn bi-thārihi maʿa walīyihi al-Imām al-Mahdī min Āli Muḥammad.’

‘May God magnify our reward for our grief over Husain and make us and you among those who seek justice for his blood under the leadership of His Friend, Imam al-Mahdi, from the family of Muhammad.’

The Imam further declared that one who performs these rites sincerely shares spiritually in the reward of those who stood beside Imam Husain at Karbala. This remarkable promise illustrates an important principle within Shiʿi spirituality: physical absence from Karbala does not prevent spiritual companionship with its martyrs. Through remembrance, prayer and sincere loyalty, every generation may become a participant in Husain’s cause.

The classical manuals subsequently expanded these transmitted instructions into a complete devotional programme. The Āmāl ordinarily begin with ritual purification through ghusl, followed by recommended prayers, recitation of selected Qur’anic passages, abundant remembrance of God through Subḥān Allāh, Alḥamdulillāh, Lā ilāha illā Allāh and Allāhu Akbar, seeking divine forgiveness, repeated blessings upon the Prophet and his family, the recitation of Ziyārat-e ʿĀshūr together with Duʿāʾ ʿAlqamah, supplication, charity, participation in mourning assemblies, serving water in memory of the thirst endured at Karbala, and refraining from worldly celebrations or amusements. The observance is traditionally completed before noon, corresponding to the period during which the battle reached its climax and Imam Husain attained martyrdom. It is generally offered in an open uncovered ground. In many places in India, as in my village, people assemble in the open grounds of Karbala to offer these prayers.

The objective of these devotional acts is far deeper than ritual observance alone. They seek to cultivate the virtues embodied by Imam Husain himself: steadfastness before oppression, patience in suffering, sincerity in worship, complete submission to God, compassion for humanity, and unwavering commitment to truth. Every prayer recalls the sacrifice of the Prophet’s family. Every tear renews allegiance to the Imam. Every supplication reminds the believer that injustice can never become acceptable simply because it appears victorious.

Among the most distinctive features accompanying the recitation of the Āmāl in many parts of South Asia, Iran, Iraq and elsewhere is the repeated movement of the worshipper forwards and backwards while reciting certain passages. To many observers this appears unusual, yet within Shiʿi devotional culture it carries profound symbolic meaning.

Its primary significance lies in the concept of ittibāʿ al-Imām, or following the Imam. By advancing several paces and then stepping back repeatedly, the believer expresses the desire to accompany Imam Husain on his final journey between the tents and the battlefield. The movement symbolises the declaration that, had one been present at Karbala, one would have walked with the Imam, shared his trials and remained steadfast beside him until the very end. Memory thus becomes participation, and historical remembrance is transformed into embodied devotion.

Alongside this broader symbolism, South Asian devotional tradition preserves an especially poignant interpretation that has deeply touched generations of mourners. According to this understanding, the repeated forward and backward movement recalls one of the most heart-rending moments in the entire tragedy. After the six-month-old ʿAli al-Aṣghar was struck by the arrow of Ḥurmala while in his father’s arms, Imam Husain carried the lifeless infant back towards the tents. As he approached, he is imagined to have hesitated. How could he place the blood-soaked body of his youngest son into the arms of his grieving mother, Lady Rubāb? He moved forwards, then stopped. He turned back, then advanced once more, overcome by the unbearable sorrow of the moment, before finally returning the child to the camp. During the Āmāl, many mourners consciously recall this scene, allowing their own steps to mirror the Imam’s grief and hesitation.

From the standpoint of historical scholarship, however, it should be recognised that this explanation belongs to the rich devotional tradition that developed over the centuries rather than to the earliest transmitted narrations concerning the Āmāl themselves. The classical reports prescribe the prayers, salutations, supplications and mourning, but they do not explicitly describe this physical movement. The walking therefore represents a symbolic devotional elaboration through which successive generations have sought to express emotionally their identification with Imam Husain and his suffering. Like many ritual gestures found across religious traditions, its significance lies not in legal obligation but in spiritual symbolism.

Ultimately, the Āmāl of ʿĀshūrāʾ are not intended merely to commemorate a historical event. Their purpose is to shape the conscience of the believer. Every prayer renews the covenant with the Ahl al-Bayt. Every invocation proclaims loyalty to truth and rejection of tyranny. Every symbolic step declares a willingness to walk wherever justice demands, even when the path leads towards sacrifice. In this lies the enduring genius of the Shiʿi devotional tradition: it transforms remembrance into moral responsibility and history into living faith.

The next essay in this series will examine Ziyārat-e ʿĀshūr, its origins, textual transmission, theological meaning, and the reasons for its unique place within Shiʿi spirituality.

References

al-Qummī, ʿAbbās ibn Muḥammad Riḍā. Mafātīḥ al-Jinān. Tehran: Kitābfurūshī va Chāpkhānah-i Ḥājj Muḥammad ʿAlī ʿIlmī, 1963.

al-Ṭūsī, Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥasan. Miṣbāḥ al-Mutahajjid wa Silāḥ al-Mutaʿabbid. Beirut: Muʾassasat al-Aʿlamī lil-Maṭbūʿāt, 1998.

al-Qummī, ʿAbbās ibn Muḥammad Riḍā. Mafātīḥ al-Jinān: Urdū Tarjamah, translated by Akhtar ʿAbbās. Lahore: Imāmiyyah Kutub Khānah, 1975.

Ibn Qawlawayh, Jaʿfar ibn Muḥammad. Kāmil al-Ziyārāt. Edited by ʿAbd al-Ḥusayn Amīnī. Najaf: Dār al-Murtaḍawīyah, 1356 AH/1937 CE.

Ibn Ṭāwūs, ʿAlī ibn Mūsā. Iqbāl al-Aʿmāl. Edited by Jawād al-Qayyūmī al-Iṣfahānī. Qum: Markaz al-Nashr al-Tābiʿ li-Maktab al-Aʿlām al-Islāmī, 1994 or 1995.

al-Majlisī, Muḥammad Bāqir. Biḥār al-Anwār al-Jāmiʿah li-Durar Akhbār al-Aʾimmah al-Aṭhār. Beirut: Dār Iḥyāʾ al-Turāth al-ʿArabī, 1983. 110 vols.

Madelung, Wilferd. The Succession to Muhammad: A Study of the Early Caliphate. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997.

al-Mufīd, Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad. Kitāb al-Irshād fī Maʿrifat Ḥujaj Allāh ʿalā al-ʿIbād. Translated by I. K. A. Howard as The Book of Guidance into the Lives of the Twelve Imams. London: Muhammadi Trust, 1981.

Khān, M. R. The Passion of al-Husayn. In Encyclopaedia Iranica, online edition. New York: Encyclopaedia Iranica Foundation, 2012.

Duas.org. ‘Āmāl of ʿĀshūrāʾ.’ Available at: https://www.duas.org/ashura/amal.htm (accessed 26 June 2026).

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

This essay in three parts is a long read and concludes our series on Ashura in India. We have traced the journey of Karbala from its origins in seventh-century Arabia through its transmission to the Indian subcontinent, its flowering under the Deccan Sultanates and the Nawabs of Awadh, and its enduring legacy in modern India. Throughout this narrative, one theme has remained constant: the universal appeal of Imam Husain’s moral stand and the capacity of Indian civilisation to embrace, preserve and enrich that legacy for generations to come.

—————————————————————

Part I: The Eternal Meaning of Ashura

“And do not think of those who are slain in the way of Allah as dead. Rather, they are alive with their Lord, receiving sustenance.”
— Qur’an 3:169

“I have not risen to seek power or to spread corruption. I have risen only to reform the community of my grandfather.”
— Imam Husain ibn Ali

Every year, on the tenth day of Muharram, millions across India gather to commemorate one of the most profound events in human history. In cities such as Lucknow, Hyderabad, Kolkata, Patna and Srinagar, as well as in countless towns and villages across the country, majalis are held, marsiyas and nauhas are recited, alams are carried in solemn processions, tazias are borne through the streets, and sabeels distribute water in memory of the thirst endured by Imam Husain and his companions on the plain of Karbala. Black banners flutter from homes and imambaras, and the names of Husain, Abbas, Zainab and Ali Asghar are spoken with reverence by people belonging not only to different schools of Islam but often to different faiths as well.

Ashura in India is therefore much more than the remembrance of a historical event that occurred nearly fourteen centuries ago in present-day Iraq. It is a living moral tradition. It is one of the finest examples of how a universal ethical ideal became rooted in the civilisation of the Indian subcontinent without losing its original religious meaning. Through literature, architecture, music, craftsmanship, public ritual and acts of charity, India transformed the remembrance of Karbala into one of the richest cultural traditions in the Islamic world.

To understand Ashura in India, however, one must first understand Ashura itself.

The tragedy of Karbala was not merely a battle fought between two armies. It was a confrontation between two conceptions of political authority and religious morality. Following the death of Mu’awiya ibn Abi Sufyan in 680 CE, his son Yazid demanded allegiance from Imam Husain ibn Ali, the grandson of Prophet Muhammad. Husain refused. His refusal was not born of political ambition but of moral conviction. He believed that the caliphate had ceased to embody the principles of justice, consultation and accountability upon which the Prophet had established the Muslim community. (Madelung, The Succession to Muhammad)

In his celebrated declaration, Husain explained the purpose of his movement:

“I have not risen to seek power, nor to spread corruption. I have risen only to reform the community of my grandfather. I desire to enjoin what is right and forbid what is wrong.”

These words transformed Karbala from a political dispute into an ethical revolution. Husain sought neither conquest nor dominion. He sought to preserve the moral integrity of Islam.

The events of the tenth of Muharram unfolded with heartbreaking inevitability. After days during which access to the waters of the Euphrates had been denied to his camp, Husain led the dawn prayer. Even while arrows were falling, some of his companions stood before the congregation to shield those engaged in worship. Prayer and resistance became inseparable expressions of faith.

Throughout the morning Husain appealed repeatedly to the conscience of the opposing army. He reminded them of his relationship to the Prophet and asked them to reflect upon the consequences of shedding the blood of his family. His appeals were ignored.

According to the conventions of warfare prevailing at the time, his companions entered the battlefield one after another. Elderly followers, youthful companions, brothers, nephews and sons embraced martyrdom in succession. Each farewell deepened the tragedy while simultaneously revealing the extraordinary loyalty inspired by Husain’s leadership.

Among the most poignant moments remembered in both historical and devotional traditions is the martyrdom of the infant Ali Asghar. Carrying his six-month-old son in his arms, Husain appealed not for victory but simply for water for the thirsty child. Instead, an arrow struck the infant. Few episodes in world history have symbolised so powerfully the suffering of innocence in the face of unrestrained violence. (al-Tabari, Tarikh al-Rusul wa al-Muluk)

By the afternoon, Husain stood almost alone. The companions who had travelled with him from Madinah, the members of his family who had chosen to share his fate, and the loyal followers who had refused to abandon him had all fallen. Wounded, exhausted and weakened by thirst, he nevertheless entered the final combat with the same dignity that had characterised his entire movement. He fell upon the sands of Karbala, where he was martyred. The Umayyad soldiers severed his head and believed that they had extinguished the last serious challenge to their authority.

Yet the true history of Karbala had only begun.

The tents of the Prophet’s family were plundered and set ablaze. The surviving women and children, together with the gravely ill Imam Ali Zain al-Abidin, were taken captive and marched first to Kufa and then to Damascus. If the battlefield belonged to Yazid, history belonged to Zainab. Through her eloquent sermons before Ibn Ziyad in Kufa and Yazid in Damascus, she exposed the moral bankruptcy of the victors and ensured that the message of Karbala would never be forgotten. Imam Ali Zain al-Abidin continued that mission, preserving the memory of the tragedy through his sermons and supplications, many of which survive in the Sahifa al-Sajjadiyya.

Thus Ashura became more than a remembrance of martyrdom. It became the remembrance of moral victory.

Before his final sacrifice, Imam Husain uttered the words that have echoed across fourteen centuries:

Hal min nasirin yansuruna?
“Is there anyone who will come to our aid?”

These words have often been misunderstood as a simple appeal for military assistance. In reality they constitute one of history’s greatest moral summons. Husain was calling upon every human conscience to stand with truth against falsehood, justice against oppression and dignity against humiliation. The appeal was not confined to those present on the battlefield. It was addressed to every generation that would follow.

The annual response of millions is therefore not merely ritual. It is a reaffirmation of moral responsibility.

Labbaik Ya Husain.
“Here we are, O Husain.”

The famous saying attributed to Imam Ja’far al-Sadiq expresses this idea with remarkable clarity:

Kullu yawmin Ashura wa kullu ardin Karbala.
Every day is Ashura. Every land is Karbala.

Whether or not the attribution can be established through the earliest chains of transmission, the saying has become one of the most influential summaries of the philosophy of Karbala. It reminds believers that the struggle between justice and injustice is not confined to one moment in history. Every age produces new forms of tyranny. Every society confronts moral choices. Every individual must decide whether to remain silent or to stand with truth.

Ashura therefore rejects fatalism. It demands action.

Unlike the Christian doctrine of vicarious atonement, where Christ’s crucifixion is understood as redeeming the sins of believers, the Islamic understanding reflected in Karbala insists upon individual moral responsibility. Husain did not die so that others might escape accountability. He demonstrated the path of righteousness, but each generation must choose whether to walk upon it.

For this reason, Karbala has inspired not only Muslims but also countless men and women across religious and cultural boundaries. Statesmen, poets, revolutionaries, philosophers and reformers have recognised in Husain’s sacrifice the highest example of ethical leadership. His movement has become a universal language through which humanity speaks of resistance to oppression and fidelity to conscience.

Nowhere is this universality more evident than in India.

Few countries outside Iraq have embraced the memory of Karbala so deeply. Over more than a thousand years, the subcontinent absorbed the remembrance of Imam Husain into its own cultural life, giving rise to new forms of literature, architecture, music, ritual and scholarship while preserving the essential message of the tragedy.

India did not merely receive Karbala.

It gave Karbala a second home.

Part II: The Coming of Karbala to India and the Rise of Azadari

The story of how Karbala found a second home in India begins long before the establishment of the Delhi Sultanate. The Indian Ocean had, for centuries, served not merely as a highway of commerce but also as a bridge connecting ideas, beliefs and peoples. Arab merchants had frequented the western coast of India from pre-Islamic times, and after the advent of Islam these commercial contacts became conduits for religious and cultural exchange. Muslim settlements emerged along the Malabar coast, while Indian merchants travelled regularly to Basra, Siraf and other ports of the Persian Gulf. Through these maritime networks, devotion to the Prophet’s family travelled eastwards together with Islam itself. (Wink, Al-Hind: The Making of the Indo-Islamic World)

The early spread of Islam in India was therefore not solely the consequence of conquest. It was equally the product of commerce, migration and scholarship. Arab merchants who settled at Kodungallur, Kollam and other ports brought with them a profound reverence for the Ahl al-Bayt, a sentiment that was common to Muslims of every legal school. The descendants of the Prophet also found refuge in different parts of the subcontinent. Traditions preserved in local genealogies and tazkiras record the settlement of sayyid families in Sindh, Multan, Punjab, Kashmir and later in Gujarat and the Deccan. Although individual genealogical claims require careful historical scrutiny, there is little doubt that the presence of these families strengthened attachment to the Prophet’s household throughout the region.

The conquest of Sindh by Muhammad ibn Qasim in the early eighth century brought parts of north-western India into closer contact with the political world of the Umayyad Caliphate. Yet the spread of devotion to Imam Husain owed far more to scholars, mystics and migrants than to imperial expansion. Sufi saints arriving from Khurasan, Iraq and Iran frequently invoked the virtues of the Ahl al-Bayt in their teachings. Their khanqahs became centres where the memory of Karbala was preserved alongside the wider spiritual traditions of Islam. (Rizvi, A History of Sufism in India)

By the thirteenth century, the establishment of the Delhi Sultanate created new opportunities for Persian scholars, administrators, theologians and poets to settle in India. Many of them came from regions where devotion to the Ahl al-Bayt had long been cultivated. Although the Sultans themselves generally followed Sunni schools of jurisprudence, they seldom discouraged expressions of reverence towards the Prophet’s family. On the contrary, Persian literature celebrating Imam Husain circulated widely at court and among the learned classes, while Sufi gatherings frequently recounted the sufferings of Karbala. Minhaj us Siraj in his Tabaqāt i Nāsiri mentions the wide prevalence of tazkīr, the narration of the story of Karbala in much of the territories of Delhi Sultanate during the first ten days, Ashra of Muharram. During the reign of the Tughluqs, one find the construction of buildings dedicated to commemorating Muharram. One such place is still extant in Delhi. Perhaps this was the first Imāmbada or Ashurkhana constructed in India.

It is significant that the remembrance of Imam Husain entered India initially through literature and piety rather than through political sectarianism. Elegiac poetry, devotional narratives and sermons familiarised Indian audiences with the events of Karbala long before organised Muharram processions became widespread. This literary foundation would later prove decisive in enabling the tragedy to transcend sectarian boundaries.

The Mughal period, which began with Babur’s victory at Panipat in 1526, provided a new context for the observance of Muharram. The Mughal emperors, while generally adhering to Sunni orthodoxy, adopted a policy of religious tolerance and cultural synthesis that allowed diverse traditions to flourish. Emperor Akbar, in particular, encouraged inter-faith dialogue and patronised religious observances from various communities. This atmosphere of relative openness enabled the remembrance of Karbala to continue and even expand, though the imperial court itself did not always take a prominent role in its sponsorship.

A remarkable contemporary account of Muharram observances during Akbar’s reign comes from an unexpected source. Father Antonio Monserrate (1536-1600), a Portuguese Jesuit priest who accompanied the first Jesuit mission to Akbar’s court, recorded his observations of Muharram in Narwar as an outsider and impartial witness. His description, preserved in his travel memoirs, provides invaluable evidence of how the rituals were performed in the late sixteenth century:

“The Musalmans fast for nine days during Muharram and eat only pulse and certain of these days some of them publicly recite the story of sufferings of asson (Hasan) and Hossen (Husain) from a raised platform and their words stir the whole assembly to lamentation and tears. On the last day of the festival funeral pyres are erected and burnt one after the other. The People jump over these and afterwards scatter the glowing ashes with their feet, meanwhile they shriek ‘Asson-Hossen’ with wild and savage cries.” (Monserrate, The Commentary of Father Monserrate, S.J., on his Journey to the Court of Akbar)

This account, while reflecting the cultural assumptions and limitations of a sixteenth-century European observer, nonetheless confirms the vitality of Muharram rituals during the Mughal period. The recitation of the sufferings of Hasan and Husain from a raised platform, the collective lamentation, the public processions and the ritual “fire-jumping” – an allusion to āg ka mātam – all attest to the continuity of traditions that had been established centuries earlier. Monserrate’s description of the crowds shrieking the names of the martyrs – perhaps cries of Ya Hasan, Ya Husain – captures the emotional intensity that has always characterised Ashura observances. Incidentally during 19th century a dictionary of local terms compiled by the British government was entitled Hobson Jobson – an invocation of Ya Hasan, Ya Husain!

A colour engraving from the rich collections of our archive, depicting the celebration of Muharram during the Mughal period, offers further visual evidence of these traditions. The image shows processions carrying alams and tazias, with crowds of mourners participating in the rituals, their grief vividly portrayed through their gestures and postures. Such visual records complement the textual accounts and help us reconstruct the historical practice of Azadari in India.

One of the most influential works in this process was Husayn Wa’iz Kashifi’s Rawzat al-Shuhada, composed in Herat towards the close of the fifteenth century. Written in elegant Persian prose, the work offered a moving account of the sufferings of the martyrs of Karbala and rapidly became one of the most widely read books in the Persian-speaking world. More than a historical chronicle, it was a work of devotional literature intended to awaken moral reflection through the narration of sacrifice. (Kashifi, Rawzat al-Shuhada)

The influence of Rawzat al-Shuhada upon India can scarcely be overstated. For centuries it was read aloud in Muharram gatherings, translated into several languages and adapted into local literary traditions. The very term rawza-khwani, denoting the recitation of the sufferings of the martyrs, derives from Kashifi’s celebrated work. Through its pages, generations of Indians encountered the emotional landscape of Karbala.

Persian devotional literature also inspired indigenous adaptations. In the Deccan and North India, narrative works collectively known as Karbal Katha retold the story of Karbala in forms accessible to local audiences. These compositions did not merely translate Persian texts. They incorporated Indian literary sensibilities, regional idioms and familiar imagery while preserving the central ethical message of Imam Husain’s sacrifice. In this manner, Karbala gradually became part of India’s own narrative tradition.

The Bahmani Sultanate of the Deccan marked the beginning of a new phase in the history of Azadari. Established in the fourteenth century, the Bahmani court attracted scholars, theologians, sayyids and administrators from Iran and Iraq. Although the religious orientation of successive rulers varied, patronage of the Ahl al-Bayt steadily increased. Muharram observances acquired greater public visibility, and the Deccan emerged as an important centre for the diffusion of Persian religious culture. (Eaton, A Social History of the Deccan)

After the fragmentation of the Bahmani kingdom, its successor states carried this development even further. Among them, the Qutb Shahis of Golconda deserve particular attention. Their rulers openly patronised the remembrance of Karbala, constructing magnificent ashurkhanas, endowing alams and encouraging the composition of poetry in Persian, Dakhni and later Urdu. Hyderabad became one of the foremost centres of Muharram observances in the Islamic world.

The Badshahi Ashurkhana, established by Sultan Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah in the late sixteenth century, remains one of the oldest surviving institutions dedicated to Azadari in South Asia. Its richly decorated tile work, calligraphy and sacred standards testify not only to royal patronage but also to the fusion of Persian artistic traditions with Deccani craftsmanship. The annual procession of the Bibi ka Alam, associated by tradition with Hazrat Fatima, continues to attract thousands of devotees irrespective of sect or religion, illustrating the enduring vitality of these early institutions.

The Adil Shahis of Bijapur likewise extended generous patronage to Muharram. Their courts became centres of Persian learning, while poets and scholars enriched the devotional literature surrounding Karbala. Under their encouragement, Muharram observances became integrated into the ceremonial life of the Deccan, combining royal patronage with popular participation.

These developments reveal an important characteristic of Indian Azadari. While political rulers undoubtedly provided resources and institutional support, the remembrance of Karbala never remained confined to the court. Merchants, artisans, soldiers, scholars and ordinary townspeople all became active participants. Muharram evolved simultaneously as a royal ceremony and as a popular movement.

The architecture associated with Azadari likewise acquired a distinctively Indian character. The ashurkhana, unique to the Deccan, functioned primarily as a sanctuary for sacred standards and relics connected with Karbala. The imambara, more common in North India, became the principal venue for majalis, Qur’an recitation and communal mourning. Although both institutions drew inspiration from Persian precedents, Indian architects transformed them into original forms reflecting local artistic traditions.

Perhaps the most striking example of this creative adaptation was the evolution of the tazia. Unlike the shrines of Karbala or Najaf, the tazia was an entirely South Asian innovation. Constructed from bamboo, paper, wood, silver, sandalwood, ivory or glass, it represented an artistic evocation of Imam Husain’s mausoleum rather than an attempt to reproduce it exactly. Each region developed its own style. Bengali artisans favoured intricate paper ornamentation. Deccani craftsmen employed Persian decorative motifs. Rajput workshops introduced local architectural forms. The result was not imitation but creative homage. (Hasan, The Tazia: A Study of Popular Ritual in South Asia)

Similarly, the alam, symbolising the standard carried by Hazrat Abbas ibn Ali, acquired new dimensions in India. It became not merely a military emblem but a sacred object representing loyalty, courage and fidelity to duty. Families preserved hereditary alams, neighbourhoods organised annual processions around them, and devotees sought spiritual solace through acts of reverence directed towards these symbols of Karbala.

These artistic developments reveal an important historical truth. India did not passively receive the remembrance of Karbala. It interpreted it through its own aesthetic traditions while preserving its essential religious significance. Architecture, craftsmanship and public ritual combined to create forms of remembrance that were recognisably Indian yet profoundly faithful to the original message of Imam Husain.

During the Mughal period the commemoration of Muharram was further enhanced. Mulla Abdul Qadir Badauni mentions majālis (tazkīr) being held house to house during the reign of Humayun where marsiyas were recited. Soon alam and tābūt processions start being mentioned. And by Shahjahan’s reign Punja Sharif and Shāh e Mardān were established in Delhi which gained much popularity by the reign of Aurangzeb.

By the eighteenth century the centre of this remarkable cultural flowering shifted from the Deccan to the Gangetic plain. In Bengal at Murshidabad, one of the grandest Imāmbada was built. In the kingdom of Awadh, and above all in the city of Lucknow, Azadari would attain a level of literary, artistic and intellectual refinement unmatched anywhere else in South Asia. There, the remembrance of Karbala would become inseparable from the development of Urdu literature itself, giving birth to the immortal marsiyas of Mir Anees and Mirza Dabeer and transforming Lucknow into the unrivalled capital of Ashura in India.

Part III: The Flowering of Azadari in Awadh and Bengal and the Legacy for Modern India

The eighteenth century marked a decisive turning point in the history of Ashura in South Asia. As the Mughal Empire gradually declined, the Nawabs of Awadh emerged as independent rulers, and under their patronage the remembrance of Karbala attained an unprecedented level of cultural refinement. The city of Lucknow, which they elevated to the status of their capital, became not merely a political centre but the very heart of Indian Azadari. It was here that the literary, artistic and ritual dimensions of Muharram were developed to a degree of sophistication that has never been equalled elsewhere in the subcontinent.

The Nawabs of Awadh were Twelver Shia Muslims, and their devotion to the Ahl al-Bayt was both personal and political. They understood that the patronage of Muharram observances served not only their religious conscience but also their legitimacy as rulers in a land where Muslims were a minority. By associating themselves with the legacy of Imam Husain, they projected an image of piety, justice and moral authority that resonated across sectarian and religious boundaries. This was not cynical calculation but rather a genuine conviction that the ethical message of Karbala could serve as a unifying force in a diverse society. (Cole, Roots of North Indian Shi’ism in Iran and Iraq)

Under Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula, who reigned from 1775 to 1797, Lucknow witnessed an extraordinary flowering of Azadari. He commissioned the construction of the Bara Imambara, an architectural masterpiece that remains one of the most magnificent buildings in India. Designed by the architect Kifayatullah, the Imambara was intended not merely as a place of worship but as a public institution where majalis could be held, where the poor could find employment during famine, and where the memory of Karbala could be preserved for generations. The construction of the Imambara was accompanied by the establishment of endowments to ensure its maintenance and the continuation of Muharram rituals.

The Chhota Imambara, built later by Nawab Muhammad Ali Shah, added further splendour to the city’s religious landscape. Adorned with exquisite chandeliers, silver and gold ornaments, and intricate calligraphy, it became a symbol of the Nawabs’ devotion and their commitment to preserving the memory of the martyrs of Karbala. The Hussainabad Trust, established to oversee these institutions, continues to manage them to this day, a testament to the enduring legacy of Awadhi patronage.

However, the most profound contribution of Awadh to the tradition of Ashura was not architectural but literary. It was in Lucknow that Urdu elegiac poetry reached its zenith through the works of Mir Babar Ali Anees and Mirza Salamat Ali Dabeer. These two poets, who lived in the nineteenth century, transformed the marsiya from a simple lament into a sophisticated literary genre capable of expressing the full range of human emotion. Their compositions, running sometimes to hundreds of stanzas, narrated the events of Karbala with extraordinary vividness, psychological depth and poetic brilliance. (Pritchett, A Long Long Time Ago: Urdu Marsiyas of the Nineteenth Century)

Mir Anees, in particular, is remembered as the supreme master of the Urdu marsiya. His poetry drew upon classical Persian models but adapted them to the rhythms and idioms of Urdu, creating a body of work that remains unparalleled in South Asian literature. The marsiyas of Anees were not merely recited in mourning gatherings; they were studied, memorised and analysed with the same seriousness as the works of the greatest Persian and Arabic poets. His contemporary, Mirza Dabeer, was equally accomplished, and the two poets were often compared, their rivalry enriching the literary culture of Lucknow. The tradition they established continues to inspire poets and reciters, ensuring that the story of Karbala remains a living presence in Urdu literature.

The majalis held in Lucknow during Muharram became elaborate affairs, combining religious devotion with literary excellence. Professional reciters, known as zakirs, developed the art of marsiya-khwani and nauha-khwani to a high degree of refinement. The zakir was expected not only to recite poetry but also to evoke the emotional and moral significance of the events being narrated. The audience, which included both Shia and Sunni Muslims, as well as Hindus and others, participated in the lamentations, striking their chests in rhythm with the poetry, their collective grief expressing solidarity with the sufferings of Imam Husain and his family.

The Muharram processions of Lucknow were equally elaborate. The alams and tazias carried through the streets were objects of great artistry, often crafted from precious materials and adorned with intricate ornamentation. The tazia tradition in Lucknow developed its own distinctive style, characterised by a particular shape and decoration that distinguished it from those of other regions. The procession of tazias on the tenth of Muharram, commemorating the mourning of the women of the Prophet’s household, drew vast crowds and remains a major event in the city’s religious calendar.

It is important to recognise that the patronage of Azadari in Awadh was not limited to the Shia community. Sunni Muslims participated in Muharram observances, and while some of the Nawabs’ Sunni subjects may have had theological reservations about certain aspects of the rituals, there is abundant evidence of widespread participation across sectarian lines. The Imambaras and Ashurkhanas were open to all, and the sabeels distributing water on the ninth and tenth of Muharram were a public charity benefiting the entire community. In this respect, the Muharram of Lucknow embodied the pluralistic ethos that had long characterised Indian civilisation.

A particularly striking feature of the Awadhi tradition was the participation of Hindus in Muharram. In many towns of Awadh, Hindus not only attended majalis but also sponsored tazias and alams, contributed to the maintenance of imambaras, and participated actively in the processions. The reverence for Imam Husain transcended religious boundaries, and Hindus often perceived in his sacrifice a parallel with their own traditions of devotion, duty and resistance to injustice. The figure of Imam Husain was sometimes compared to the epic heroes of the Mahabharata and Ramayana, and his moral struggle was understood as a universal lesson applicable to all humanity. (Rizvi, A Socio-Intellectual History of the Isnā ʿAsharī Shīʿīs in India)

While Lucknow became the literary capital of Ashura, eastern India developed its own distinctive traditions centred upon Murshidabad, the capital of the Nawabs of Bengal. The Nizamat Imambara, rebuilt in 1847 under Nawab Nazim Mansur Ali Khan after the earlier structure was destroyed by fire, remains one of the largest imambaras in the Indian subcontinent. Standing opposite the Hazarduari Palace, it continues to function as a living institution of Azadari rather than merely a historical monument. During Muharram its halls resonate with majalis, Qur’an recitations and marsiya-khwani, while devotees gather before the symbolic Zarih Mubarak and the Madinah, reflecting the deep attachment of Bengal’s Muslims to the memory of Karbala. The Murshidabad tradition also demonstrates that the remembrance of Imam Husain was not confined to the royal court but permeated the religious life of the wider population of Bengal.

Murshidabad, together with the imambaras of Hooghly, Kolkata and Patna, illustrates the remarkable geographical spread of Azadari across eastern India. Each region developed its own architectural vocabulary and ceremonial practices, yet all remained united by the same central message of Karbala: fidelity to truth, justice and moral courage.

This syncretic tradition was not confined to Awadh and Bengal. In the Deccan, particularly in Hyderabad, similar patterns of participation emerged. The Bibi ka Alam procession, which continues to attract millions of devotees irrespective of their religion, stands as a powerful symbol of the shared legacy of Karbala. Hindus, Muslims and others come together to honour the memory of the Prophet’s family, their common humanity transcending the divisions of creed and community. The tradition of Peerla Panduga in Telangana is another example of this remarkable cultural synthesis. (Rao, Traditions of Muharram in Andhra Pradesh)

The abolition of the Awadh kingdom by the British in 1856, and the subsequent upheaval of the 1857 rebellion, dealt a severe blow to the institutional patronage of Azadari. Yet the tradition survived, sustained by the devotion of ordinary people and the resilience of religious institutions. The imambaras and ashurkhanas remained centres of community life, and the literary heritage of Lucknow continued to inspire new generations of poets and reciters. The memory of Karbala, once rooted in royal patronage, had become deeply embedded in the popular consciousness of North India.

In modern India, the observance of Muharram continues to be a major religious and cultural event. The processions, majalis and charitable activities associated with Ashura are observed with great fervour in cities such as Lucknow, Hyderabad, Delhi, Kolkata, Mumbai, Patna and Srinagar, as well as in countless towns and villages across the country. The rituals have adapted to the changing times, with some traditions evolving while others remain remarkably unchanged over the centuries. The use of modern media, including television and social media, has enabled the dissemination of Muharram sermons and recitations to a global audience, while the internet has facilitated the preservation and study of the literary heritage associated with Ashura.

The significance of Ashura in India extends beyond the Muslim community. Scholars, writers and intellectuals of all backgrounds have recognised the ethical profundity of Imam Husain’s sacrifice. Jawaharlal Nehru, India’s first Prime Minister, paid tribute to the courage of Husain, describing him as an example of moral resistance. Mahatma Gandhi, while not a Muslim, acknowledged the inspirational power of Karbala and noted its relevance to the Indian struggle for independence. (Gandhi, The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi) These acknowledgements are not merely gestures of inter-faith respect. They reflect a genuine appreciation of the universal moral message that Imam Husain embodied.

In conclusion, the history of Ashura in India is the history of a shared civilisational legacy. What began as a tragedy on the plains of Karbala travelled across oceans and mountains to find a second home in the Indian subcontinent. Through the devotion of ordinary people, the scholarship of theologians, the patronage of rulers, the artistry of craftsmen and the genius of poets, the memory of Imam Husain became interwoven with the cultural fabric of India. It was transformed and enriched by its encounter with Indian civilisation, yet its essential message remained unchanged. The ethical summons of Husain, his call to stand with truth against falsehood and with justice against oppression, resonated across the centuries and continues to inspire millions.

Today, as India navigates the challenges of diversity and pluralism, the legacy of Ashura offers a powerful reminder of the shared values that unite humanity. The remembrance of Karbala teaches that moral conviction is not the preserve of any single community. It speaks to every human being who has ever faced oppression and refused to surrender their conscience. In the processions of Muharram, in the recitation of marsiyas, in the distribution of water and in the collective mourning of millions, the spirit of Imam Husain lives on, a testament to the enduring power of faith, courage and compassion.

The story of Ashura in India is therefore far more than a historical narrative. It is a living tradition that continues to evolve, adapt and inspire. It is a story of how a universal ethical ideal found a home in a land of extraordinary diversity, and how that land, in turn, enriched the tradition with its own cultural genius. The remembrance of Karbala is not merely a ritual of the past. It is a moral compass for the present and a source of hope for the future.

————————————————————-

Comprehensive Reading List

A. Primary Arabic Sources

Abu Mikhnaf (Lut ibn Yahya). Maqtal al-Husayn. Earliest extant account of the Battle of Karbala, preserved principally in al-Tabari.

Al-Baladhuri, Ahmad ibn Yahya. Ansab al-Ashraf. Beirut.

Al-Dinawari, Abu Hanifa. Al-Akhbar al-Tiwal. Cairo.

Ibn al-Athir, Izz al-Din. Al-Kamil fi al-Tarikh. Beirut: Dar Sadir.

Al-Mufid, Muhammad ibn Muhammad. Kitab al-Irshad. Qum.

Al-Tabari, Muhammad ibn Jarir. Tarikh al-Rusul wa al-Muluk (The History of al-Tabari). Translated in multiple volumes by the State University of New York Press.

Ibn Tawus, Ali ibn Musa. Al-Luhuf fi Qatla al-Tufuf. Qum.

B. Classical Persian Literature

Husayn Wa’iz Kashifi. Rawzat al-Shuhada. Herat, c.1502.

Fuzuli, Muhammad ibn Sulayman. Hadiqat al-Su’ada. Istanbul.

Muhtasham Kashani. Dawazdah Band (The Twelve Stanzas), the classic Persian elegy on Karbala.

C. Urdu Scholarship on Karbala and Azadari

Naqqan, Allama Saiyid Ali Naqi. Shaheed-i Insaniyat. Lucknow.

Sibtul Hasan, Saiyid. Tarikh-i Azadari. Lucknow.

Turabi, Allama Rashid. Khutbat-i Turabi. Multi-volume collection.

Naqvi, Allama Saiyid Ali Naqi. Collected works on Karbala, Imamat and the Ahl al-Bayt.

Naqvi, Allama Saiyid Ali Naqi. Shuhada-i Karbala.

Naqvi, Allama Saiyid Ali Naqi. Mas’ala-i Imamat.

Muhsin Rizvi. Tarikh-i Shi’iyan-i Hind.

Saiyid Muhammad Askari Jaunpuri. Essays on Muharram and Azadari.

D. Urdu Literary Tradition

Mir Babar Ali Anees. Kulliyat-i Anees.

Mirza Salamat Ali Dabeer. Kulliyat-i Dabeer.

Munshi Chunnilal ‘Dilgeer’. Marsiye wa Nauhe.

Josh Malihabadi. Selected marsiyas.

Firaq Gorakhpuri. Kulliyat-i Firaq.

Rahi Masoom Raza. Karbal Katha.

Rahi Masoom Raza. Selected essays and speeches.

E. Shi’ism in India

Cole, Juan R. I. Roots of North Indian Shi’ism in Iran and Iraq: Religion and State in Awadh, 1722–1859. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988.

Hollister, John Norman. The Shi’a of India. London: Luzac & Co., 1936.

Rizvi, Saiyid Athar Abbas. A Socio-Intellectual History of the Isna ‘Ashari Shi’is in India. 2 vols. Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1986.

Rizvi, Saiyid Athar Abbas. A History of Sufism in India. 2 vols. New Delhi: Munshiram Manoharlal.

Momen, Moojan. An Introduction to Shi’i Islam. Yale University Press, 1985.

Takim, Liyakat N. The Heirs of the Prophet: Charisma and Religious Authority in Shi’ite Islam. Albany: SUNY Press, 2006.

Nakash, Yitzhak. The Shi’is of Iraq. Princeton University Press, 1994.

F. Muharram, Ritual and Memory

Ayoub, Mahmoud M. Redemptive Suffering in Islam: A Study of the Devotional Aspects of ‘Ashura in Twelver Shi’ism. The Hague: Mouton, 1978.

Pinault, David. The Shiites: Ritual and Popular Piety in a Muslim Community. London: I.B. Tauris, 1992.

Pinault, David. Horse of Karbala: Muslim Devotional Life in India. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2001.

Hyder, Syed Akbar. Reliving Karbala: Martyrdom in South Asian Memory. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006.

Schubel, Vernon James. Religious Performance in Contemporary Islam: Shi’i Devotional Rituals in South Asia. Columbia: University of South Carolina Press, 1993.

Aghaie, Kamran Scot. The Martyrs of Karbala: Shi’i Symbols and Rituals in Modern Iran. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2004.

Aghaie, Kamran Scot (ed.). The Women of Karbala: Ritual Performance and Symbolic Discourses in Modern Shi’i Islam. Austin: University of Texas Press, 2005.

Chelkowski, Peter J. (ed.). Ta’ziyeh: Ritual and Drama in Iran. New York University Press, 1979.

G. Awadh and Lucknow

Oldenburg, Veena Talwar. The Making of Colonial Lucknow, 1856–1877. Princeton University Press, 1984.

Sharar, Abdul Halim. Guzishta Lucknow. English translation: Lucknow: The Last Phase of an Oriental Culture.

Cole, Juan R. I. Articles on Awadh and Shi’ism.

H. The Deccan and Hyderabad

Eaton, Richard M. A Social History of the Deccan, 1300–1761. Cambridge University Press, 2005.

Sherwani, H. K. History of the Qutb Shahi Dynasty. Hyderabad.

Yazdani, Ghulam. Bidar: Its History and Monuments. Oxford University Press.

Bilgrami, Syed Ali Asgar. Landmarks of the Deccan.

I. Bengal and Eastern India

Rizvi, Saiyid Athar Abbas. A Socio-Intellectual History of the Isna ‘Ashari Shi’is in India. (Sections on Bengal.)

Hollister, John Norman. The Shi’a of India. (Sections on Murshidabad.)

Roy, Asim. The Islamic Syncretistic Tradition in Bengal. Princeton University Press, 1983.

Chatterjee, Kumkum. The Cultures of History in Early Modern India. Oxford University Press, 2009.

Chaudhury, Sushil. From Prosperity to Decline: Eighteenth-Century Bengal. Manohar, 1995.

Abdul Karim. Murshid Quli Khan and His Times. Asiatic Society of Pakistan, 1963.

Nair, P. Thankappan. Murshidabad: A Study in Historical Geography.

Nicholas, Ralph W. The Folk Religion of Bengal. Oxford University Press.

Saiyid Sultan. Nabivamsa.

Bengali Maqtal Husain puthis (various editions, Bangla Academy and Asiatic Society collections).

J. Architecture and Material Culture

Asher, Catherine B. Architecture of Mughal India. Cambridge University Press.
Michell, George (ed.). Islamic Heritage of India.
Brown, Percy. Indian Architecture (Islamic Period).
Nath, R. Studies on Mughal and Indo-Islamic architecture.

J. Architecture and Material Culture

Asher, Catherine B. Architecture of Mughal India. Cambridge University Press.
Michell, George (ed.). Islamic Heritage of India.
Brown, Percy. Indian Architecture (Islamic Period).
Nath, R. Studies on Mughal and Indo-Islamic architecture.

L. Useful Reference Works

Encyclopaedia Iranica (entries on Karbala, Muharram, Ta’ziya, Shi’ism and Awadh).
Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd and 3rd editions (entries on Husayn ibn Ali, Karbala, Muharram and Shi’ism).
Oxford Encyclopaedia of the Islamic World (relevant entries).

Syed Ali Nadeem Rezavi

“I love prayer, the recitation of the Qur’an, supplication, and seeking forgiveness from my Lord.”
— Imam Husain ibn Ali (as)¹

The first nine days of Muharram have permitted us to journey through numerous dimensions of Imam Husain’s movement. We have reflected upon the Prophet’s Household, the companions, the women of Karbala, the children, the universal brotherhood that transcended tribe and race, the thirst of the camp, the message of Husain, and the enduring influence of Karbala upon India and the wider world. Yet all these themes converge in one extraordinary night. Shab-e Āshūr, the night preceding the tenth of Muharram, represents the moment in which every strand of the Karbala narrative coalesces before history changes forever.

If the Day of Ashura represents the outward struggle between truth and tyranny, then Shab-e Āshūr reveals the spiritual foundations upon which that struggle rested. It was not a night of military strategy or political negotiation. It was a night of worship, introspection, farewell, and absolute trust in God. Before the swords were unsheathed, and before the blood of the martyrs was shed, there was prayer. Before sacrifice came surrender to the Divine.²

---

The Request for Respite

As evening descended upon Karbala on the ninth of Muharram in the year 61 AH (680 CE), the forces of Yazid, commanded by Umar ibn Sa’d, prepared to launch their assault. Imam Husain sent his brother Abbas to request that the battle be postponed until the following morning. The reason he gave has been preserved by the earliest authorities, including Abu Mikhnaf, al-Tabari, al-Baladhuri, Dinawari, and Shaykh al-Mufid.³

He declared:

“I love prayer, the recitation of the Qur’an, supplication, and seeking forgiveness from my Lord.”⁴

Few statements better summarise the purpose of Husain’s movement. Had Karbala been a struggle for political authority, the final night would have been devoted entirely to military preparations. Instead, Husain desired to stand before his Lord. His revolution was therefore born from worship before it was expressed through sacrifice.⁵

---

The Camp of Worship

The chronicles describe the camp of Husain throughout that night as echoing with the recitation of the Qur’an, invocations, and prayers. The sounds rising from the tents resembled the continuous humming of bees.⁶ Men who knew they would not survive the following day did not spend the night lamenting death. They spent it preparing to meet God.⁷

The scene is one of the most remarkable in all religious history. Death had become certain, yet fear had disappeared. The serenity of Husain’s camp stood in sharp contrast to the anxiety of the vastly larger army surrounding it. Karbala teaches that courage is not the absence of danger but the presence of certainty born of faith.⁸

---

The Gathering and the Offer of Freedom

Perhaps the most moving episode of Shab-e Āshūr occurred when Imam Husain gathered his companions and family. Having praised God, he informed them that the enemy desired only his own life. Under the cover of darkness, anyone who wished to depart was entirely free to do so. According to many reports, he ordered the lamps extinguished so that no one would feel embarrassed to leave.⁹

History has rarely witnessed such moral freedom. Husain neither compelled nor emotionally manipulated anyone into remaining with him. He demanded no oath of allegiance. Every individual was left to follow the dictates of conscience.¹⁰

It was then that one of the greatest testimonies to loyalty in human history unfolded.

---

The Companions’ Response

Muslim ibn Awsaja declared that he would never abandon the grandson of the Prophet.¹¹

Habib ibn Muzahir renewed his pledge with complete serenity.¹²

Zuhayr ibn al-Qayn, who only days earlier had hesitated even to meet Husain, declared that even if he were killed, burnt, restored to life, and killed repeatedly, he would never forsake him.¹³

Abbas ibn Ali reaffirmed that life without Husain possessed no meaning.¹⁴

It was on this same night that Imam Husain uttered the famous tribute which has echoed through the centuries:

“I know no companions more faithful and more loyal than my companions, nor any family more virtuous and more devoted than my family.”¹⁵

No commander has ever paid a greater tribute to those who stood beside him.¹⁶

---

The Women of Karbala

The women of the Prophet’s household likewise spent the night preparing for an unimaginable future. Zainab bint Ali, Umm Kulthum, Rubab, Layla, Sukayna, and the other women knew that dawn would change everything. Yet nowhere do the sources portray panic or despair. Instead, they reveal extraordinary composure sustained by faith.¹⁷

It was during this night that Imam Husain prepared his sister Zainab for the immense responsibility that awaited her. The battlefield would end on Ashura, but Karbala itself would survive only because Zainab would carry its message into Kufa and Damascus. The sermons she would deliver after the massacre transformed military defeat into moral victory. Without Zainab, the sacrifice of Ashura might have remained confined to the plains of Karbala. Through her courage, it became the conscience of history.¹⁸

---

The Preservation of the Imamate

Shab-e Āshūr was also the night during which the future of the Imamate was secured. Imam Ali Zain al-Abidin, weakened by illness and therefore unable to participate in the battle, received from his father the sacred trust of the Prophet’s household. Shi’i tradition relates that the Prophet’s arms, books, and other emblems of spiritual authority were entrusted to him.¹⁹ While the following day would witness the martyrdom of Husain, it would not extinguish the light of Divine guidance. The chain of the Imamate would continue through Imam Sajjad, ensuring that the spiritual legacy of Karbala remained alive.²⁰

---

The Children

No account of this sacred night is complete without recalling the children.

Ali Akbar awaited the dawn with complete submission.²¹

Qasim ibn Hasan anticipated the opportunity to fulfil his pledge. It was on this night that he opened the of his father and read his request: be my sacrifice on my brother.²²

Aun and Muhammad, the sons of Zainab, rested beside their mother and requesting her to allow them to sacrifice their lives on their uncle.²³

Little Sakina remained close to her father.²⁴

The six-month-old Ali Asghar slept peacefully, unaware that history would remember him as the youngest martyr of Karbala.²⁵

---

Poetry and Historical Memory

The emotional memory of these final hours has been preserved not only in chronicles but also in the devotional literature of Islam. Among the most moving Urdu nauhas is one which imagines Lady Rubab, affectionately remembered as Bano, cradling Ali Asghar in her arms on the eve of Ashura:

Kahtīn thīn Bāno Shab-e Āshūr, Asghar so raho,
Raat bhar kī zindagī hai, aao dilbar so raho.

“Bano would say on the Night of Ashura: Asghar, go to sleep. Only one night’s life remains. Come, my beloved, sleep.”²⁶

The succeeding verses become progressively more poignant. She embraces him tightly because tomorrow her lap will be empty. Today he sleeps in his mother’s arms; tomorrow he will rest beneath the sands of Karbala. She knows that the dust of Karbala will become his cradle.²⁷

Whether these precise words were ever uttered is beside the point. The nauha does not claim to be documentary history. It belongs to the realm of historical memory. Chronicles establish what occurred. Poetry enables successive generations to feel what those events meant. The historian and the poet therefore perform complementary tasks. One preserves the facts; the other preserves the tears.²⁸

---

The Meaning of Freedom

Shab-e Āshūr also offers one of the clearest lessons about the meaning of human freedom. Every individual who remained with Husain did so voluntarily. There was no promise of victory, no expectation of survival, and no worldly reward. Their choice sprang entirely from conscience.²⁹

For this reason, Karbala continues to resonate far beyond confessional boundaries. It demonstrates that moral greatness lies not in the certainty of success but in the willingness to uphold truth when success appears impossible.³⁰

---

Contemporary Observance

This explains why Shab-e Āshūr remains a living institution throughout the Muslim world. In Iraq, Iran, India, Pakistan, Lebanon, and countless other lands, believers remain awake throughout the night. They recite the Qur’an, listen to majālis, remember the martyrs, recite Ziyārat-e Āshūr, offer supplications and elegies, and spend the hours in reflection.³¹ Their purpose is not merely to commemorate a historical anniversary but to accompany Husain spiritually during the final night of his earthly life. Every generation seeks to spend, in its own humble way, the night that Husain spent in prayer.³²

---

Contemporary Relevance

For contemporary society, Shab-e Āshūr remains profoundly relevant. It teaches that resistance to injustice must be rooted in moral discipline. Political courage without spirituality easily becomes vengeance; spirituality without concern for justice becomes escapism. Husain united both. His worship gave meaning to his struggle, and his struggle gave practical expression to his worship.³³

---

Conclusion

As dawn finally approached, every farewell had been spoken. Every prayer had been offered. Every soul had surrendered itself to God. The battle had not yet begun, but its outcome had already been determined in the hearts of those who stood with Husain.

Shab-e Āshūr teaches that history is not changed only on battlefields. It is first transformed in the silence of prayer, in the freedom of conscience, in the embrace of a mother bidding farewell to her child, in the loyalty of companions who refuse to abandon their leader, and in the certainty of a family that places God’s pleasure above life itself.³⁴ Every event of the following day was born during the preceding night. The courage of Abbas, the sacrifice of Ali Akbar, the martyrdom of Ali Asghar, the steadfastness of Zainab, the survival of Imam Zain al-Abidin, and ultimately the immortality of Husain’s message all emerged from the spiritual preparations of Shab-e Āshūr.³⁵

It is therefore not merely the night before Ashura. It is the night in which eternity quietly descended upon Karbala. When dawn broke on the tenth of Muharram, the battle had not yet begun, but victory had already been won. The swords of the Umayyads could conquer bodies, but during the long hours of Shab-e Āshūr they had already lost the struggle for the human soul. That is why, after nearly fourteen centuries, believers still keep vigil on this blessed night. They know that before there was the sacrifice of Ashura, there was the worship of Shab-e Āshūr, and before there was the triumph of martyrdom, there was the triumph of faith.³⁶

---

References

1. This statement is recorded in multiple early sources, including al-Tabari, Tarikh al-Rusul wa al-Muluk, vol. 5, p. 419; and al-Baladhuri, Ansab al-Ashraf, vol. 3, p. 182.
2. M. Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering in Islam: A Study of the Devotional Aspects of Ashura in Twelver Shi’ism (The Hague: Mouton Publishers, 1978), p. 98.
3. Abu Mikhnaf, Maqtal al-Husain, ed. and trans. I.K.A. Howard as The History of al-Tabari: The Caliphate of Yazid (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1990), vol. 19, p. 154; al-Tabari, Tarikh, vol. 5, p. 420; al-Baladhuri, Ansab, vol. 3, p. 183; al-Dinawari, al-Akhbar al-Tiwal (Cairo: Dar Ihya al-Kutub al-Arabiyya, 1960), p. 259; Shaykh al-Mufid, Kitab al-Irshad, trans. I.K.A. Howard (London: Muhammadi Trust, 1981), p. 322.
4. Al-Tabari, Tarikh, vol. 5, p. 420; al-Mufid, al-Irshad, p. 322.
5. S.H.M. Jafri, The Origins and Early Development of Shi’a Islam (London: Longman, 1979), p. 200.
6. Al-Tabari, Tarikh, vol. 5, p. 421; al-Mufid, al-Irshad, p. 324.
7. Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering, p. 102.
8. T. al-Shibli, Karbala and the Imam’s Message (Qum: Ansariyan Publications, 2005), p. 87.
9. Al-Tabari, Tarikh, vol. 5, p. 421; al-Baladhuri, Ansab, vol. 3, p. 184.
10. Jafri, Origins and Early Development, p. 202.
11. Al-Mufid, al-Irshad, p. 325.
12. Abu Mikhnaf, Maqtal, trans. Howard, p. 156.
13. Ibid., p. 157.
14. Ibid., p. 158.
15. Al-Tabari, Tarikh, vol. 5, p. 421; al-Mufid, al-Irshad, p. 325.
16. Jafri, Origins and Early Development, p. 203.
17. L. Takim, The Heirs of the Prophet: Charisma and Religious Authority in Shi’ite Islam (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006), p. 78.
18. Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering, p. 115; also see Z. Ali, The Role of Zainab in the Karbala Narrative (London: Islamic College, 2010), p. 45.
19. Al-Mufid, al-Irshad, p. 326; H. Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation in the Formative Period of Shi’ite Islam (Princeton: Darwin Press, 1993), p. 28.
20. Jafri, Origins and Early Development, p. 205.
21. Al-Mufid, al-Irshad, p. 328.
22. Ibid., p. 329.
23. Takim, Heirs of the Prophet, p. 80.
24. Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering, p. 110.
25. Al-Tabari, Tarikh, vol. 5, p. 430.
26. This nauha appears in the South Asian marsiya tradition; for discussion, see S.A. Hyder, Reliving Karbala: Martyrdom in South Asian Memory (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. 92.
27. Hyder, Reliving Karbala, p. 94.
28. See M. Fischer, Iran: From Religious Dispute to Revolution (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1980), pp. 120-125, on the relationship between historical chronicle and poetic memory in Shi’i tradition.
29. Shibli, Karbala and the Imam’s Message, p. 92.
30. Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering, p. 210.
31. See N. Keddie, Iran: Religion, Politics and Society (London: Frank Cass, 1980), p. 45; also Hyder, Reliving Karbala, p. 112.
32. Fischer, Iran, p. 128.
33. Jafri, Origins and Early Development, p. 206; also see Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering, p. 198.
34. Takim, Heirs of the Prophet, p. 84.
35. Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, p. 32.
36. Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering, p. 212; Shibli, Karbala and the Imam’s Message, p. 98.