Z.G.MUHAMMAD
In the wee morning hours of December 27, 1963, when everything around had frozen I overheard people outside the barber shop talking about “stealing” of the Holy Relic from the Hazratbal shrine.
I have a vivid impression of the day; the frosty majestic Chinar trees stripped to the core had their shimmer, and the humble shingled roofed houses with chandeliers of icicles had their royal touch. The frozen, icy streets looked liked big sheets of glass and the tiled lane that led to our house resembled a big patterned mirror. I remember, unmindful of the gravity of the news, I overhead, taking every step cautiously; like a toddler, I walked on the glassy road to my house. I shared the news with my mother- either she did not believe it, or she, under shock, could not realize its impact and asked me to go for the tuition at Bulbul Lankar.
I walked through the maze of lanes, passing through the historic part of the city to my teacher’s house. En route, there was an eerie feeling in the atmosphere- as good an eeriness that often blanketed our part of the city on the arrest of a leader with groups of men on roadsides closeted to each other.
The room where my teacher Shyam Lal Labroo Sahib tutored students had only one window that opened towards the Mar canal. While teaching us, he often kept latticed window open to allow more light into the room. From the window, one could see only vast tracts of vegetable farms; during summers, these were verdant and in winters as desolate as deserts. Sitting inside the clay daubed room one could hardly know about happenings on the streets.
It was by elevens, and with the sack of books slinging from my shoulder, I strolled back home through the labyrinth of lanes and by lanes. Silence had descended on all lanes that, despite freezing cold, came to life before noon with boys playing games. The minor vendors inside the lanes had pulled down the shutters of their shops. As I approached the main road, the uproar started becoming louder- thousands had converged on the lawns of the Jamia Masjid and maddening crowds from far and distant villages shouting full-throat slogans were moving through the streets towards Hazratbal shrine. Half a million people were on the streets by mid-noon.
On reaching home, I dropped a sack of books in the foyer and joined my friends at our favourite crossing- Khoja Ba’zar Chowk. The elders of the locality discussed making arrangements for food and shelter for the night for protestors from villages. The boys eagerly waited for directions from elders. Each one of us wanted to become a volunteer. The word volunteer in our childhood had become as good a part of our lingua franca as curfew and bunker during the nineties. Perhaps it had become part of our lexicon in the mid-thirties or early forties when people’s fight against autocracy was at its peak. Names of many political workers – both men and women were suffixed with the word volunteer; some of the names live in my memory to this day. Tales of chivalry of some political volunteers who had courted arrests or challenged powers that be had become part of our folklore. Moreover, being a volunteer or a “razakar” was an honour.
The boys were assigned the job of collecting food grains, other eatables- something we had mastered at during “hupa-hupa’ collections. All of us black-tied pieces of cloth on our arms – collected rice and eatables all houses in a tumbrel..I remember by late at night, food was ready for thousands.
Thinking about the organizing capacity of the people of my birthplace makes me feel proud.
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Muzzafar Bazaz
I remember the maddening crowds assembling at Nowhatta wailing for the theft of Muo Mukadas.Irony is that till date no ruler ever talked about the person responsible for the theft. People were shouting to expose the conspiracy and expose the real culprit.
Shafiq Ahmad Punjabi
It was early morning and I was going to Razaq Kak’s ranga hamam home to fetch milk. When I reached Nowhatta Chowk a tonga came from malkhah side and a man stood up in the front of the tonga slapping his face both sides and weeping and crying moi sharief nyook choori. Just one shop had opened at that time, in the corner where i later years Aziz news agency also opened shop. The milk vendor also started weeping and crying closing his shop. I could understand the gravity of the situation by the reaction of the people, returned home without getting milk telling mother what had happened. She also started weeping loudly and went upstairs to wake up my eldest brother papa. Rest is history. The people, men women beating breasts and chanting aes karav na seenae chaak assi nyookh na moi pak still reverberate my ears
Qazi Ajaz Rashid
Amazing memory and nostalgic too. I also have a very faint memory for a 5 year kid like me , my uncle Qazi Mohmmad sadiq crying hoarse at the top of his voice “Moi shareef ha nuikh choori.”
Pall of gloom fell in the whole locality. Hailing originally from an area of Rainawari which was looked upon as sarhad and not well connected with main city , the news would reach at a much slower pace there .That time there was no concept of uptown or down town or civil lines which came to be known later only after seventies. Lot of political changes happened after that.Jawagarnagar colony was coming up during Bakshi sahib’s time and after the episode of holy relic Sadiq sahib took over .we shifted to jawaharnagar in 1966.
Javid Makdhoomi
On 27th December, 1963 Moi-Muqadas (S.A.W) was lifted by unknown imprudent and condemnable gang. The news spread like wild fire in the entire Srinagar. Those days word of mouth was effective and potent means to carry the news and sometimes baseless rumours travelled to far and wide areas. On the said date residents of Hazratbal in moderate numbers visited the Shrine for Fajar (morning prayers). That is when tampering of the safe was noticed followed by natural hue and cry. Public demonstrations were spontaneous and all inclusive I,e Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs.After the initial shock and dismay scores of people poured on the roads. Apart from mourning crowds the weeping and wailing people were not over-awed by roaring ‘ Chilia Kalan’ —the worst forty days of the Kashmir winters.
After the initial shock the Kashmiri leadership immediately responded by huddling together so that strategy was discussed. Within a day they decided to assemble at the residence of Pir Afzal Mukhdoomi located in the neighborhood of Ziarat Naqshbandi Sahib. This was a well thought over decision. There were three places which could be used as a hub of agitational activities. The three places were Ziarat Dastagir Sahib, Khankahi Moula and Jamia Masjid. The residence of marhoom Pir Afzal Sahib was almost equidistant and convenient to assemble as transport had come to a grinding halt. In the absence of Sheikh Mohammed Abdullah, Moulana Masoodi took the command and remained stationed there throughout the agitation days.
Javid Makdhoomi
Two or three days after the shocking incident Dr. Farooq Abdullah accompanied by late Sheikh Nazir and many others suddenly dropped at the said residence which had already started working as the nerve centre of Moi Muqadas Agitation. Dr. Farooq met the Moulana and 3/4 persons got in a huddle in a vacant room on the first floor. It was perhaps a serious exercise to prepare Dr. Abdullah for a public speech at Jamia Masjid where more than 3 lakh people had assembled. This was perhaps Dr. Farooq’s first public appearance before a mammoth gathering. He made unintentionally a distinct leader by speaking in the “sweet kashmiri” language. However he succeeded in making a connection with the people. This was the day when the Duck-back shoe of Moulana Masoodi was stolen on the stage which had been earlier erected on the Gojwara side of the Jamia Masjid’s compound. Moi Muqadas theft , unfortunately, continues to remain a mystery to this day.
Kabli Nazir
I remember our house help maqbool returning from kandur wan weaping , wailing and crying, repeatedly hitting his face and whinning that moi -muqadas has been stolen. There was shock, grief and sorrow in the house. In a while the whole Mohalla gathered in our premises to confirm the news and than their was all over mourning. The initial bewirlderment gave way to anger that lead to spontanous response in the form of the mass and unprecedented protests. Everyone left home in the morning with total disregard for their childern, personnel safety and house in the singleminded pursuit of the protest. Even my grand mother would join the processions reciting those self composed noha’s and darood e rasool. In the history of kashmir it was a spontanous peoples response to an event that shattered the lives of the common man. And are imprint on my mind that i witnessed as a 6 /7 year old: Irfan Yasin
The stark reality has been mentioned by the zahid sahab about the 90s and people were very cooperative with each other but unfortunately our volantarism has been thrown into dust by self interested people:
Let us try as much as we can to preserve our traditional culinary and gastronomic.
Z.G.Muhammad is a noted writer and columnist
