Where does history end?

It is 8:15 am, and Zahooran just gave me a ‘missed call’. This can only mean that she doesn’t intend to come to work today. I don’t usually call back, just let her take a day off,….knowing that she probably has a valid reason for doing so. Either she is under the weather herself, or her son Tayyab is, and she either needs to rest at home, or visit a doctor to get some advice on how to get well quick….the poor in the city don’t have the luxury of recovering at a leisurely pace.

I called her back today however, and the first thing she did was inquire after my health since she has been witnessing the effects of a full blown cold on my well-being.

Then she went on to inform me politely but with an air of resolution that she would not be coming to work today because she intended to make ‘Niaz’ to commemorate Imam Hasan and Imam Hussain.

There was no way I could mess around with Zahooran’s pious intentions and I acquiesced gracefully, wondering as I hung up what she intended to cook and who she would feed.

To my knowledge, Zahooran is not a Shia Muslim, nevertheless she harbours a deep respect for anyone belonging to the family of the Prophet.

It is the month of Muharram, the first of the lunar Islamic calendar, a month that is dedicated to the mourning of Imam Hussain and his small band of loyal followers who were brutally massacred at the hands of the Umayyad army on those fateful days in Karbala.

Shias all over the world (and many Sunnis) still grieve those martyrs, keeping the memory alive, as if it all happened last week instead of fourteen hundred years ago, it being one of the most terrible events to happen in the history of Islam,  never to be forgotten as long as there are Shias in the world.

I belong to a devoutly Shia community.

Soon I will be getting dressed to go to my communal mosque to attend a majlis, one of many that lead up to Ashura, where every sermon ends with a prayer….that we never face any grief other than the grief we feel for Imam Hussain.

I’m not sure about exact figures, but the Sunni population of Pakistan easily overwhelms the Shia.

There are some Sunni sects that harbour great animosity towards mainstream Shi’ism and believe that killing Shias is encumbent upon their faith. It doesn’t matter that Shias are Muslims too.

For years now, there has been systematic genocide happening all around us. I have lost track of the countless news reports about target killings in this city.

Karachi is a hotbed for sectarian violence and killing, as well as being the most ethnically diverse. You will literally find every type of Pakistani in this city, who would all get along perfectly amicably were it  not for political rivalries and religious bigotry. Hardliner Sunni groups claim responsibility for all the Shia doctors that have been shot dead, and the latest to join the ranks of ethnic cleansers is no other than the Taliban themselves. Drones and bombings in the tribal areas forced them to flee their original hiding place and now they have infiltrated Karachi.

For months now we have been hearing news about the Hazaras of Quetta, that have been systematically gunned down, execution-style. These people are originally from Afghanistan, and have distinctly Mongol features which easily set them apart and make them instantly recognizable. About half of the Hazaras belong to Shia clans, but the killers make no distinction, and Hazara graveyards are filling up fast with dead men and boys, each gravestone marked with a picture of the deceased, an inscription saying how and where he was killed, and a verse from the Quran.

Desperate families are sending their loved ones away, or they are leaving their homeland voluntarily just to escape being targeted. The ones left behind are cloistered, like the Palestinians in Gaza….except they are not being bombed, but picked off, one by one.

My community is well known for its peacefulness. We love food and we love to socialise and we are useful members of society. We have our mosques and our religious gatherings. We pray, we fast, we pay our dues. We go for Haj and we go on pilgrimages to sites considered holy in the Middle East, most of which are shrines built for the family of the Prophet and the martyrs of Karbala. We disturb no one. We have our own dress code though and ways of being. Most of the men sport beards (in keeping with traditions of the Prophet) and a white ‘topi’ with gold trim. Most of the women wear distinctly colourful ‘ridas’, or burqas that set them apart from everyone else. We have a strong ethnic identity….and we are instantly recognizable too. None of us believe in strife, all we do is live our lives the way our faith tells us to and not harm anyone while doing so.

We have been under the radar because we don’t wear black like mainstream Shias in Muharram, but apparently we can no longer be complacent about our safety.

Bombs are going off in the major cities in the buildup to Ashura, the tenth day of Muharram when Iman Hussain was slain by Shimar, one of the most hated and reviled men in Islamic history.

Huz just told me that the Tehreek-i-Taliban have claimed responsibility for the blasts that collectively killed around 34 people yesterday in Lahore and Karachi.

Security is tight around our mosque and the community is abuzz with a sense of dread…but no one stays at home. We are still gathering, despite the horrible headlines in the papers.

A couple of weeks ago, while driving home with Amu, my sister Fatu, 10 year old nephew and 8 year old niece, we started talking about what was going on. The kids stopped their chattering and their interest was piqued with all the talk of killing and intrigue. Why is it okay to kill Shias….? they wanted to know, and that’s all the impetus I needed to start off with one of my ‘talks’. You could have cut the silence with a knife. When I was done rambling and the car fell silent, Amu looked subdued and scared…..but I sensed something more than that in the three kids.

There was almost a sense of excitement at being in the middle of something large….something that spans almost a millenium and a half of belief and faith. There was almost a sense of…..pride (I can’t think of a better word), at being different, mingled with this new sense of fear….