April 13, 2002

Tinsel, gota, lace, glitter, beads, and an assortment of paper. I eyed the dazzling details of the tazia, and listened to the words of Babu Taziaywallah of Karachi, “... replica of Hazrat Imam Husain’s shrine in Kufa(?). It is a labour of love stemming from faith. We spend all we can afford, but you should really see the tazias in Jaipur, which are crafted from pure gold and silver and encrusted with precious stones. And, of course, the intricately-carved wood tazias of Chiniot.”

I must have been five, when I first saw a tazia. We had been waiting in front of Dow Medical College for a procession to pass. There were lots of people everywhere, and the air was filled with the rhythmic beating of the chest and the dhol. And then I saw a building in motion! It was silver, glittering in the night, reaching the stars.

The word tazia is Arabic for commiseration or condolence. To construct extravagant edifices is to pay a tribute to a great martyrdom. Taziadaari — the practice of mourning by crafting and revering tazias — is indigenous to the subcontinent. In 1851, Abdul-Ahad Raabit Mutawaffi, wrote in Baadshah Begum Oudh:

“The tradition of the domed tazia probably began in Lucknow. It is believed that it flourished during the time of Asif-ud-Daula. A grocer created a Tazia from bamboo and paper. After the death of the grocer, Mir Baqir built an Imambara there and similar tazias were crafted. With time... this tradition spread to the whole of Hindustan.”

According to Shahid Ali Naqvi’s research on the subject for his forthcoming book Azadaari, the first tazia was brought to Delhi by Taimur, who used to visit Karbala every year with his army. The year they were in India, they could not visit Karbala. The soldiers were restless, so Taimur gave them a model of the shrine, which was made from Khaak-i-Shifa, the Karbala clay. His soldiers took the model out in the streets of Delhi. It is said that the locals requested to keep the model/tazia in India after Taimur left, and the latter obliged. Later, the locals began to make replicas of the tazia using other materials.

The tradition lives on to this day. A visit to Karachi’s Kharadar in early Muharram shows the area transformed. The place is dotted with black and green alams, several sabeels in each lane, shops displaying rows of knives, zanjeers and little stalls selling silver ornaments and amulets. The is soz in the background creates an atmosphere all its own. In small alleys behind the curtains sit the still under-construction tazias.

Abd-us-Sattar, a butcher in his 50s, has been crafting tazias for decades. A skill acquired from his father, who was originally from Bombay. In a matter-of-fact tone he declares, “My son will have to do this.” Making a tazia is an art passed on from father to son.

While building the structure, utmost reverence is observed. In Ranchore Lines, in front of Lakhpati Hotel, the famed Baboo Taziaywallah, performs ablution. As I enter the back of his auto workshop, he insists that I take off my shoes. He had just completed an eight-foot tall gold foil zuljinah and was busy with the replica of the cenotaph.

He spends between Rs18,000 to 25,000 on a tazia he builds every year. He is proud of the generosity of the devotees who contribute wholeheartedly. The expense is usually covered through mannat, and may sometimes be funded by a committee. The assistant of Baboo, says, “iss par jitna lagao kam hai.” However, the much you spend on it, is not enough.

Much like an architect, he first sketches the design and the elevations are made to the approximate scale. He confesses to changing the adornments slightly each year, although they must resemble the original shrine at Karbala, complete with a large gold dome and at least a pair of minarets, both symbols of Islamic architecture.

The plan is usually square, or octagonal. The skeleton is made of wood and if required, reinforced with steel. In the front, to the centre is the main arched door, on the right of which is a miniature mazaar, marking the place where Imam Hussein was martyred. Another element is a row of concave arched niches called mehrabs by the craftsperson. A mehrab is an alcove made to determine the direction of Makkah for prayer.

The interior consists of a hollow chamber, which is enclosed by lattice or jaal made of sturdy, cardboard paper cut-outs. The intricate patterns are arabesque, organic and geometric. Sometimes calligraphy is also featured.

A tazia is usually candy-coloured: vibrant magenta, turquoise, red, green, silver and gold. Fluorescent colours are much in vogue. The facade is heavily embellished in paper: kite paper, cardboard and the much favoured foil, or panni. Often hand-painted illustrations of the Ka’aba and the Masjid-i-Nabvi are also part of the visual vernacular.

One wonders why the tazias glitter and gleam. Is it indicative of the taste of the craftsmen? Decoration in our part of the world is incomplete until a touch of gold or silver is added. It seems a paradox that this grand structure commemorates such a tragic event in history some 1,400 years ago. The concept may be to decorate, to beautify the shrine of Imam Hussein, much like an act of laying flowers or wreaths at a grave.

Building shrines over the graves of significant Muslims is a late occurrence in Islamic architecture. In the subcontinent, particular attention to the adornment of a grave was noted during the Mughal era. The element that seems common to shrines of all religions is the distinct treatment of the roof, which is similar to the round-domed Buddhist stupa.

On the ninth of Muharram, on a dark street in Saddar we meet with a procession — a dozen majestic tazias, lit from within, rolling down the streets on fruit carts. Accoutred with fairy lighted dancing to the beat of the dhol, some tazias even sport a mechanized revolving dome. On the night of the 10th, the sparkling forms are be floated into the sea — thanda karna — from Harding’s Bridge or the Natives’ Jetty, near Keamari. Some are taken back and stored — to be redecorated and brought out again next year.