Syed Nissar H Gilani
Growing up in the heart of Srinagar’s Old City—specifically in Mir Mohalla, Malaratta—the geography of faith was never a textbook concept for me; it was the rhythm of my daily life. Just two kilometers from the winding alleys of my birthplace lies a spiritual crossroads in Khanyar that has captivated both my own soul and the global imagination.
The Grandeur of the Peeri Peeran
As I would walk from Malaratta toward Khanyar, the atmosphere was always dominated by the Dastgeer Sahib shrine. Dedicated to the descendants of the “Ghaus-e-Azam,” Sheikh Syed Abdul Qadir Jeelani, it is a masterpiece of Kashmiri devotion. Here, faith is vibrant and visible. I have seen the masses flock to this sea of humanity, where the air is thick with the collective murmur of prayers, marking it as the beating heart of our community.
For my family, this was not just a monument; it was our spiritual home. In my childhood and long after, my parents visited our Peeran with a devotion that defined our lives. My late father, in particular, would spend hours together at the Dastgeer Sahib shrine. He went there for two sacred reasons: for Fatiha Khani and to visit the graves of his ancestors. As direct descendants of Sheikh Syed Abdul Qadir Jeelani—whose own resting place is in Baghdad, Iraq—my father’s connection to the shrine was a bridge between the soil of Kashmir and the history of Islam.
The quiet Enigma of Rozabal
Just meters away from the bustling devotion of my father’s ancestors, the contrast is startling. The Rozabal shrine sits small and unassuming. To the world, this is one of the most controversial sites on Earth. Growing up nearby, I witnessed a peculiar sight: while our local life hummed busily around it, I would occasionally see foreign travelers appear, cameras in hand, clicking away at the modest stone structure. They came seeking the “lost years” of a prophet, turning a quiet corner of my neighborhood into a lens for international intrigue.
A Tomb of Two Stories
The mystery of Rozabal lies in its physical reality, which I have observed firsthand. I have passed and visited the shrine dozens of times, noticing the technical enigmas that the casual observer might miss. While the shrine has been maintained to align with our local traditions—with the burials of local priests facing West toward the Kaaba—the primary sarcophagus of Yuz Asaf tells a different story. Beneath the surface, the ancient alignment is East-West, a deviation from Islamic standards that mirrors ancient Hebrew burial customs.
A Library of Global Fascination
I eventually learned that my neighborhood is the subject of an entire library of international literature:
Historical Investigations: Works like Holger Kersten’s Jesus Lived in India and the scholarship of our own Fida Hassnain argue that Jesus survived the crucifixion and found peace in our Valley.
The Early Records: The Waqi’at-i-Kashmir (1747) identifies the site as the tomb of a foreign prophet-prince.
Modern Thrillers: Books like The Rozabal Line have reimagined the very streets I walked as a child as the setting for high-stakes theological mysteries.
The Irony of the Border
There is a profound irony in my life as a native of Malaratta. I grew up in the shadow of a site that the world travels thousands of miles to see, yet the path to the other “Holy City” remained closed to me. In December 2004, I stood at the edge of the Dead Sea, at the checkpoint between Jordan and Israel. Despite being born near the Rozabal and carrying the lineage of the saints of Baghdad, I was denied entry to Jerusalem, the city sacred to all faiths. Guarded by soldiers and turned back due to incomplete travel documents, I was unable to cross over. It remains a striking memory: I lived my life next to a sacred mystery in Srinagar, yet I was barred from the gates of its counterpart in the Levant.
Conclusion: A Commoner’s Truth
To the historian, Rozabal is a puzzle of ancient migrations. To me, a commoner born just two kilometers away, it is a reminder of the barriers and bridges of faith. I live between two worlds: the grand, public devotion of the Dastgeer Sahib, where my father prayed among his ancestors, and the quiet, enduring mystery of the Rozabal—a small resting place that continues to whisper its secrets to those of us who call these streets home.
Ultimately, my journey reflects the paradox of many who live in the Valley. We are born into a landscape where the divine feels local and the historical feels personal. We walk paths that the world considers legendary, yet we often find ourselves stopped at the man-made borders of the modern world. In the end, perhaps the truest pilgrimage is not the one that requires a passport, but the one my father took every day—the short walk to the shrine to remember those who came before us.
The writer is former Assistant Commissioner of Revenue Department, can be reached at (nisargilani57748@gmail.com
