Oh Zainab, in the moments of her brother’s death.
The story of the battle of Karbala is all thirst and tears.
The battle plays out between bodies
of water.
Zainab was searching for water at the moment of her brother’s death.
Was collapsing from thirst at the moment of her brother’s death.
Oh Zainab, in the moments of her brother’s death.
The story of the battle of Karbala is all thirst and tears.
The battle plays out between bodies
of water.
Zainab was searching for water at the moment of her brother’s death.
Was collapsing from thirst at the moment of her brother’s death.
Oh Zainab, in the moments of her brother’s death.
Mithadar, July 2024.
This Ashura, Karachi was reeling from a relentless heatwave. Just a few days prior to this recording temperatures had soared to 53 degrees Celsius.
It was 2 AM, shab-e-ashura - the night before the 10th of Muharram. The women were singing, as they do every year, of the battle of Karbala. We were in an imambargah in Mithadar, which along with the adjacent Kharadar forms the old core of the city. Mithadar means sweet door. Sweet door refers to the sweet water of the Lyari river around which this settlement first emerged. Kharadar means salty door. Salty door refers to the salt water of the Indian Ocean that once bordered this settlement. The salty waters have receded due to land reclamation and climate change. And the sweet water has disappeared under layers of construction, sewage, and collapsed riverbeds from sand mining. The imambargah itself is known for being the oldest imambargah in Karachi. It is said it was built by the ancestor of the current caretaker, when he dreamt of five alams flowing through the ocean and landing on the beach. In the morning he went to the same spot at the beach and found the five alams lying there. He understood this sign and built this imambargah right there by the water. Walking now around the neighbourhood of this imambargan there is no water in sight. The sea receded. The rivers disappeared. The pipes are full of sewage and arsenic. In Mithadar, like much of Karachi, clean water is increasingly just a dream, a memory.
This imambargah stands in the spectral memory of water, water bodies that once were, water invoked in songs and sonic memory. For a moment the sweet and salty portals after which these neighborhoods were named - they open up again. A song about Zainab on the 9th of Muharram echoes across the circular halls of the old imambargah. Oh Zainab, in the moments of her brothers death.
This Ashura, Karachi was reeling from a relentless heatwave. Just a few days prior to this recording temperatures had soared to 53 degrees Celsius.
It was 2 AM, shab-e-ashura - the night before the 10th of Muharram. The women were singing, as they do every year, of the battle of Karbala. We were in an imambargah in Mithadar, which along with the adjacent Kharadar forms the old core of the city. Mithadar means sweet door. Sweet door refers to the sweet water of the Lyari river around which this settlement first emerged. Kharadar means salty door. Salty door refers to the salt water of the Indian Ocean that once bordered this settlement. The salty waters have receded due to land reclamation and climate change. And the sweet water has disappeared under layers of construction, sewage, and collapsed riverbeds from sand mining. The imambargah itself is known for being the oldest imambargah in Karachi. It is said it was built by the ancestor of the current caretaker, when he dreamt of five alams flowing through the ocean and landing on the beach. In the morning he went to the same spot at the beach and found the five alams lying there. He understood this sign and built this imambargah right there by the water. Walking now around the neighbourhood of this imambargan there is no water in sight. The sea receded. The rivers disappeared. The pipes are full of sewage and arsenic. In Mithadar, like much of Karachi, clean water is increasingly just a dream, a memory.
This imambargah stands in the spectral memory of water, water bodies that once were, water invoked in songs and sonic memory. For a moment the sweet and salty portals after which these neighborhoods were named - they open up again. A song about Zainab on the 9th of Muharram echoes across the circular halls of the old imambargah. Oh Zainab, in the moments of her brothers death.
Sindh is named after Sindhu, the ancient river that flows, expands, contracts across its surface. It is a profoundly sacred and deeply revered river. The Rig Vedas were written at the banks of this river, and they mention Sindhu over 150 times: ‘Waters, the worshipper addresses to you excellent praise… the rivers flow by sevens through the three worlds; but the Sindhu surpasses all the other streams in strength.’ This river predates the Himalayas. Through the massive geological shifts that birthed the highest mountains on the planet, the Sindhu endured and softly shored a path.River worship is an ancient and ongoing tradition here. Devotees are known as Daryapanthi: those who walk the path of the river. Another name for Sindhu, and for Sindh, is Mehran. A name connected etymologically to Mehr/Mitra - the Indo-Persian diety of water and friendship.
Mitr. Friend.
Mitr. Friend.