[This is the land of Karbala, tread carefully
The fragments of the family of Muhammad (PBUH) lie here] — Unknown

*“Our public spaces are as profound as we allow them to be.”
— Candy Chang, architect and urban planner

As the crescent moon of Muharram graces the Karachi sky, a familiar transformation sweeps through a bustling neighbourhood. One house in North Nazimabad, in particular, stands out.

The clatter of hammers and rhythmic sawing fill the air, as skilled artisans meticulously work on an alam [standard or flag] — its glistening metal frame promising an imposing structure. Inside the house, a black cloth, vast as a mourning veil, is carefully unfolded, ready to drape the metal frame. Upstairs, a cradle, swathed in black lace, awaits its symbolic purpose.

These are the signs of Muharram, a period of remembrance for the sacrifice 1,344 years ago of Imam Husain (AS) and his companions. These preparations are later followed by the oft-recited noha [elegy]:

[May our flag remain high, may our flag remain high
As long as the heavens endure
Let every old man and young man hear
At the call of Shabbir (Husain)
May this caravan keep moving forward
May its steps never falter
May our flag remain high]

The beating pulse of Muharram is underpinned by the noha, which is more than just a recounting of the events and tragedy of Karbala. The rich symbolism and poetic composition of Urdu nohas actively shape a space, transforming it into a remembrance, a mourning, a protest against injustice and a shout of defiance for freedom

The iconic noha ‘Ooncha rahay apna alam’, first recited in the 1960s by the renowned noha-khwaan [reciter] Ali Mohammad Rizvi (popularly known as Sachay bhai), serves as a well-known expression of resilience and perseverance and is now recited across the globe by noha-khwaans.

As the day progresses, this ordinary house in North Nazimabad changes into a sacred space of reverence, recalling, retrospection and transcendence, evoking the time of 680 CE in the far-off desert of Karbala. In this way, the transformed space, as described by French social theorist Henri Lefebvre, transcends the physical and becomes a space “conceived” and “representational” — a canvas for communal mourning and the echoes of a historic tragedy — and it happens every year.

The noha is a poetic lament for the martyrs of Karbala, and it goes beyond mere recitation. It actively shapes the “space” of remembrance. As Lefebvre argued, space isn’t static — it’s a dynamic product shaped by social forces.

On Karachi’s noha-khwaani landscape, renowned reciters such as Sadiq Husain Chajjan, Sachay bhai, Afaq Husain, Nazim Husain, Jafar Husain, Syed Nasir Jahan and Nadeem Sarwar left indelible impressions on this genre of Urdu poetry. Some of the renowned poets, such as Najm Afandi, Anees Paharsari, Rehan Aazmi and Dr Hilal Naqvi, use specific poetic metres and symbols to evoke emotions of grief and inspiration in their audience.

Nohas resonate across not just the open roads but also within the intimate settings of private homes and the designated mourning spaces of imambargahs, and the impact extends beyond those spaces, because the “production of space” isn’t just about physical locations. Lefebvre’s concept resonates here: how a cultural practice actively shapes and is shaped by the spaces it inhabits.

Noha-khwaani and the accompanying maatam [mourning] is a form of protest, as well as later being a replacement for the beat of war drums. The noha and maatam transport the mourner into the space of the battlefield of Karbala, and the struggle, hence, continues.

DEFIANCE ON THE BATTLEFIELD

The noha ‘Ameer-i-lashkar-i-Husain’ [The Commander of Husain’s Army] by Maulana Hasan Imdad, was written at the end of 1972. It was first recited by Sachay bhai in the Muharram of 1973, during Haiderya shab-bedaari [night-vigil] at Imambargah Kazmain, on Drigh Road.

[He (Abbas) is the Zulfiqar of Haider, the Lion of Najaf,
He is the sharp sword of Hashim, the symbol of the bravery of ancestors,
The centre of everyone’s attention, the protector of the thirsty ones at Karbala,
By the banks of the Euphrates, he was the target of all enemies
But no one could stop the commander of Husain’s army,
The Lion of the desert of Nineveh, the commander of Husain’s army]

This noha, which is a beautiful mix of an epic elegy for Hazrat Abbas (AS) and the desert of Karbala, immediately establishes the setting — a desert space transformed into a battlefield. The use of symbols, such as the sword of Imam Ali (AS) and swords of the Hashemites, stands in stark contrast to the representational space of Yazid’s forces.

The complete text of the noha routinely uses symbols such as bahaduraan-i-saf-shikan [brave warriors who break the ranks] and zor-awaraan-i-tegh-zan [swordsmen who adorn the battlefield], and kafeel tashna-kaam-i-taf [protector of the thirsty (of Karbala)].

In processions, standards such as the ‘Huzbar dasht-i-Nenevah’ become battle cries, defying the very notion of oppression. They roar with the right to exist, igniting a fire of inspiration in the hearts of believers. Imagine the nohas rising as these standards are raised. The physical space they occupy transforms, becoming a potent symbol of Imam Husain’s and his companions’ unwavering fight for justice and freedom — a stark contrast to the imagined space of Yazid’s regime, a place choked by oppression and tyranny.

The ‘Huzbar dasht-i-Nenevah’ stands as a powerful testament to this clash. It’s a testament to the transformative power of symbols in shaping resistance.

BATTLEFIELD REDEFINED

Mentioned in the collected works of Najm Afandi (published in 1977) as a marsiya titled ‘O’ the essence of Islam’s strength, little warrior’ was recited by Syed Nasir Jahan as a noha. It offers a glimpse into the production of space through the lens of the martyrdom of Hazrat Ali Asghar (AS), the infant son of Imam Husain.

[O’ the essence of Islam’s strength
In a duration of six months, equal to the day of reckoning
Little warrior, Ali Asghar, Ali Asghar!
Possessing the ways of father and grandfather
Slept in the desert without any pillow or bed
O’ little warrior, Ali Asghar, Ali Asghar!]

The noha uses vivid imagery to describe the tragedy, comparing it to “doomsday”. It also highlights the innocence of Hazrat Ali Asghar, who was only six-months-old when he was martyred. Here again, the noha portrays a shift in the usual function of a battlefield. Instead of a space for combat, it becomes a cradle for a martyred child.

The noha uses neend [sleep] as a metaphor for death, suffering and martyrdom on the sands of the desert, amidst the harsh reality of war. This juxtaposition highlights the dominant social representation of Karbala as a space of immense suffering and sacrifice. And the lack of a takia [pillow] and bistar [bed] signifies the disruption of the “normal” space of a child’s sleep.

GRIEF’S LONG SHADOW

The Urdu noha ‘Museebat ki gharri aur shaam ke barrhtay huay saaey’ [The hour of adversity in the shadows of the lengthening evening] was written and first recited by Sachay bhai in the early 1990s. It poignantly captures the spatial dynamics of grief and loss, in a lived space, as experienced by the family of Imam Husain, especially after the martyrdom of Ali Akbar.

[The hour of travails…
If it is written, O Lord, that one must pass away in youth,
Let the mother pass away before Ali Akbar does
Only that one can understand the pain of Laila’s heart,
Who sees their young son pierced by a spear before their eyes
The hour of travails…]

The noha opens with the imagery of “shaam ke barrhtay huay saaey” [the lengthening shadows of the evening], symbolising the encroaching darkness of grief and despair — a space shattered by the loss of Ali Akbar. The imagery of “tarrapti reh gayi maa” [the mother was left writhing in agony] and “jawaan ki laash peeri mein uthaana ik qayamat hai” [lifting in old age the corpse of a young man is a catastrophe] captures the physical and emotional pain being endured, particularly by the mother.

It is one of the few nohas that, through its mesmerising delivery and heart-wrenching verses, successfully transports the listener from their current physical state to the immense emotional and physical space of the ground of Karbala.

ECHOES OF KARBALA

The noha ‘Ab aaye ho baba’ [Now you have come father], was penned by Shahid Naqvi. Anecdotal accounts suggest that its debut was by the legendary Izzat Lakhnavi and it was the first ever noha telecast by Pakistan Television (PTV). It depicts the intense grief and anguish of Imam Husain’s sister Hazrat Zainab (AS) and of the surviving women and children of Imam Husain’s family following the tragedy of Karbala, with the enduring strength of Hazrat Zainab.

[Now you have come, father
When people have carried away the bodies of the martyrs,
Asserting their rights
Only the body of Shabbir was left to be trampled,
Now you have come, father]

Again, the social production of space during the tragedy of Karbala is evident here because, instead of a space for combat, the space of Karbala becomes a site of mutilated martyrs’ bodies, plundered tents and the mourning of Hazrat Zainab.

It also evokes contrasting spatial representations. In the full text of the noha, the phrase “Amma ka bhara ghar” [mother’s full house] signifies a space of complete familial relations, comfort and security. This is juxtaposed with the harsh reality of “pardes” [foreign land], which in fact is a battlefield, a space of alienation, loss and violation.

This again highlights the dominant social representation of Karbala as a space of immense suffering. The “khayma” [tent], a traditional symbol of refuge and privacy, becomes a space of vulnerability, having been looted and burnt.

WALKING ON EMBERS

The noha ‘Kasht-i-aalaam mein Zainab ko bhala aaraam kahaan’, written by Rehan Aazmi and recited by Nasir Zaidi, is a lament for the suffering of the Prophet’s (PBUH) family. The full text describes the horrific events of Karbala, including the deaths of Imam Husian, Hazrat Abbas, Hazrat Ali Asghar and Hazrat Ali Akbar (AS). It also describes the plight of the women and children of the Prophet’s (PBUH) family, who were left to wander in the desert without food or water. The main themes of the noha are loss, grief, injustice and the ruthlessness of Yazid’s minions.

[Children who fall on the ground get crushed
The hearts of mothers are overwhelmed with sorrow
No one listens to the cries and laments of widows
Where to find the peace]

The complete noha is full of spatial imagery that helps to create a vivid picture of the setting and the events that are taking place. It uses words such as “khaak” [desert sand], “maqtal” [place of execution], and “darya” [river] to describe the physical environment. The noha also uses spatial metaphors to describe the emotional state of the characters.

For example, it says that the children of the Prophet’s (PBUH) family are “mutilated on the desert’s sand” and that the women are “drowning in a sea of grief.” Besides adroitly juxtaposing the sea to the desert, the use of spatial imagery helps to create a sense of immediacy and realism. The spatial imagery also helps to convey the vastness of the tragedy of Karbala. The Prophet’s (PBUH) family is lost in a vast and hostile world, and they are surrounded by enemies.

[Where to find peace
The caravan is now going through the markets of Syria
The ahl-i-haram are treading on embers of cruelty
At every step, the ill (Hazrat Imam Zain-ul-Abideen (AS)) faces a new ferocity
Where to find peace]

Walking on embers is a metaphor for navigating a space filled with emotional or psychological pain. The excruciating experience of walking on embers creates a sense of “otherness” in relation to the space itself. The once-familiar act of walking becomes an alien experience.

The marketplace is depicted as a microcosm of the larger suffering the Ahl-i-haram or close family has endured, filled with “embers of cruelty” and constant reminders of their loss. They are forced to traverse a hostile environment, controlled by their oppressors, constantly subjected to humiliation and suffering. The spatial dynamics reinforce the power imbalance between the Ahl-i-haram and their adversaries.

THE COURT TREMBLED

The noha ‘Shaam ka bazaar, Abid-i-beemaar’ [The Bazaar of Syria, Abid is Ill] was first recited in 1982 in Husainabad, Gulbahar (Golimaar), in a shab-bedaari by the famous noha-khwaan Nazim Husain of the Anjuman-i-Tableegh-i-Imamia. By and large, the focus of the noha is on the travails of the only male survivor of the tragic events of Karbala, Hazrat Imam Zainul Abideen (Abid). The following verse, however, portrays the arrival of women of the Ahl-i-Bait in the court of Yazid:

[Heads uncovered, grieving, the family arrive in the court,
An uproar begins to rise, it feels like the Day of Judgement,
The court is trembling… the ill Abid]

The verse paints a vivid picture of spatial disruption. The “court”, traditionally a space of order, has become one of protesting voices and is filled with the roars of the much revered “Haram”. These contrasting experiences highlight the social production of space, and how power structures and events shape our perception and use of environments. Perhaps a protest is disrupting the established social order.

The trembling palace signifies the vulnerability of power structures within the established spatial order. This upheaval reflects a potential clash between conceived (idealised) and lived space. The dominant conception of the court as a space of control might be challenged by the lived experience of protest. The trembling palace reinforces this as the established spatial order is under threat. The verse showcases how social conflicts and power dynamics can radically alter how we perceive and interact with spaces. This aligns with Lefebvre’s concept of space as a battleground of contesting ideologies.

THE WEIGHT OF HISTORY

The above-mentioned nohas are only the tip of the iceberg in the vast treasure trove of Urdu nohas. Other contemporary examples include ‘Musaafiron ko Madeena salaam kehta hai’ [Madina pays tribute to the travellers] recited by Nasir Jahan and written by Najm Afandi; ‘Yeh sochta hoon’ [I often think] recited by Ustad Fateh Ali Khan and Asad Amanat Ali and written by Nawab Arif; ‘Beywa Shabbir ki ro kar pukaari’ [The widow of Shabbir cried out in lament] recited by Sabira Kazmi and written by Shaukat Bilgrami; ‘Taqaddum waldi’ [Step forward, my son] recited by Sachay bhai and written by Maulana Hasan Imdad; ‘Achhi nahin yeh baat’ [This is not a good thing] recited by Nadeem Sarwar and written by Rehan Aazmi; and ‘Ghabraaye gi Zainab’ [Zainab will be worried] recited by Nasir Jahan and written by Channo Lal Dilgeer.

Nohas, through their symbols, imagery, specific vocabulary and transcendental nature of expression, remind us how space contributes to the reproduction of collective identity — be it the transformation of the desert of Karbala into a battlefield, a land of fragmented and mutilated bodies or a zone of plunder and loot, but also a site of bravery, commitment and self-sacrifice by Imam Husain and his companions.

The intricate interplay between emotional expression, physical space and historical memory aligns perfectly with Lefebvre’s triad of production of space: spatial practices, representations of the space and representational spaces.

As the cultural anthropologist Layla Ahmad once said: “The mournful rhythm of a noha procession can transform a bustling street into a sombre corridor of remembrance, forcing passersby to acknowledge the weight of history embedded in that space.”

The need of the times is to understand this populist, rich and intangible heritage in a more academically robust manner for a better understanding of expressions of elegiac literature.

[How they emerged as (perfect) representatives of their gender and age,
In the scorching desert of Karbala, who were chosen and brought by Husain
At every step, whether in Syria or Kufa, his head was there on the spear,
What a companion he was, Zainab’s brother Husain]

The writer is a Karachi-based academic and a board member of the Urban Resource Centre. He can be reached at mansooraza@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 14th, 2024

Header image: The noha is a poetic lament for the martyrs of Karbala, and it goes beyond mere recitation as it transports the mourner to the battlefield of Karbala | M.F. Husain’s Karbala painted in 1990