From the flutter of the Alam to the silence of the Jhoola, how objects, rituals, and poetry embody grief, resistance, and remembrance in the month of Muharram

Every year, as the Islamic calendar turns to Muharram, millions of Shia Muslims across the world embark on a journey of grief, remembrance, and protest. At its heart lies the martyrdom of Imam Hussain, the grandson of Prophet Muhammad, who fell in the Battle of Karbala in 680 CE. But beyond the solemnity of its message, Muharram is deeply symbolic. From the towering alam to the quiet presence of the jhoola, a wide array of symbols and rituals have come to represent the anguish, valor, and unwavering stand for justice that Imam Hussain and his companions embodied. These symbols are not merely cultural artifacts—they are living vessels of collective memory and resistance.

The Alam: Loyalty Raised High

Among the first to appear in Muharram processions is the alam, a flag carried to commemorate Hazrat Abbas, the half-brother of Imam Hussain and the standard-bearer of his army. In Karbala, Hazrat Abbas became a towering figure of bravery and loyalty. Deprived of water for three days, the children in Imam Hussain’s camp cried in thirst. Abbas rode to the river to fetch water, refusing to drink a drop himself. His arms were severed, and he was martyred while trying to bring back the water—yet even in death, he did not let the alam fall.

Crafted with a metal panja (hand) atop a wooden pole, often wrapped in richly embroidered cloth with a small green mashk (water pouch) tied to it, the alam is a constant reminder of this sacrifice. Mourners do not merely carry it; they venerate it. It is both a battlefield banner and a banner of eternal resistance.

Tazia: Shrines of Grief and Hope

The tazia, a papier-mâché or bamboo replica of Imam Hussain’s tomb in Karbala, serves as a symbolic shrine carried in processions on the 10th day of Muharram, known as Ashura. These intricately constructed models—some as small as a child’s toy, others towering several feet—are placed in homes and Imambaras (mourning halls) during the early days of Muharram. On Ashura, they are taken to a symbolic Karbala and buried intact, never dismantled.

The tazia represents not just the tomb denied to Hussain and his companions on the battlefield, but a communal act of restoring dignity to the fallen. Children carry their own small hazeera, connecting generations to this living tradition. Although tazias are predominantly associated with Shia communities, many artisans who create them belong to Sunni backgrounds—an enduring testament to shared heritage and mutual reverence.

Taboot: Coffins That Speak of Martyrdom

Like the tazia, the taboot is a symbolic coffin that represents the fallen heroes of Karbala—from Imam Hussain’s six-month-old son Ali Asghar to women martyrs whose taboots are respectfully handled by women mourners only, and never photographed. Covered in white cloth with touches of red dye and pierced with miniature swords or arrows, the taboots mirror the brutal deaths faced by the martyrs.

These taboots are brought from local mosques in a juloos (procession) and kept in the Imambara for several days, surrounded by mourners who chant nauhas—laments mourning the past and invoking its relevance today. On the day of final rites, they are buried in designated dahals or Karbalas, symbolic graves for those who were denied proper burials.

Nakhl: The Coffin as Tree

Particularly prominent in Iranian and Central Asian rituals, the nakhl is a wooden bier, often shaped like a cypress tree, used in the ritual of nakhl-gardani. It represents the coffin of Imam Hussain and is carried by groups of men in a dramatic reenactment of the tragic aftermath of Karbala. Its tree-like form hints at life, lineage, and growth, reminding mourners that out of death arose a movement of enduring ethical force.

Zari and the Shahi Zari Ka Juloos: Remembrance in Royal Form

Another striking emblem of mourning is the zari, a symbolic replica of Imam Hussain’s mausoleum. During the Shahi Zari Ka Juloos, a traditional procession that originated in Nawabi-era Lucknow, a wax-based zari is paraded through the streets. Mourners clad in black accompany it, chanting elegies and offering prayers.

This procession is not just an act of collective mourning but also of political memory. For Shia Muslims, the death of Imam Hussain is not only a personal loss but also a protest against tyranny. The zari becomes a mobile shrine of conscience, recalling a death that continues to speak against injustice centuries later.

Imambaras and the Architecture of Mourning

In South Asia, the architecture of mourning finds its home in the Imambara—a space dedicated to majalis or mourning gatherings. These halls serve as community hubs for sermons, poetry, reflection, and ritual.

The grandest among them, the Bara Imambara of Lucknow, was commissioned by Nawab Asaf-ud-Daula in the 18th century. Built without pillars, it stands as an architectural marvel—and a political one. The Nawab, seeking to assert a distinctly Shia identity in a Sunni-dominated empire, also funded religious endowments in Karbala and created the office of Mujtahid al-Asr, cementing Lucknow’s place as the epicenter of Azadari (mourning) in India.

Poetry and Passion: Marsiya and Noha

Language, too, bleeds in Muharram. Through marsiyas (elegiac Urdu poems) and nohas (lamentation chants), the pain of Karbala is retold, year after year. Marsiyas, especially those penned by Mir Anis and Mirza Dabeer, narrate the emotional and physical torment of the battlefield in rich verse, making the events visceral and immediate.

Noha—derived from the Arabic for lament—is more direct, often chanted collectively in processions. Together, they anchor the tragedy in cultural memory, ensuring that grief is never abstract, but always heard, felt, and shared.

Objects of Innocence and Loyalty: Jhoola and Zuljanah

Two particularly poignant symbols evoke the innocence and loyalty lost at Karbala: the jhoola and Zuljanah. The jhoola, or cradle, represents Hazrat Ali Asghar, the infant son of Imam Hussain who was martyred in his father’s arms. The empty cradle, carried in processions or placed in Imambaras, speaks louder than any words—of a child’s life snuffed out, of cruelty unmatched.

Zuljanah, Imam Hussain’s loyal horse, is remembered as the one who returned to the camp bloodied and riderless after his master’s death. In Muharram processions, a decorated but riderless horse represents Zuljanah, evoking profound emotion among mourners.

Community, Consolation, and Collective Action

The rituals of Muharram extend beyond symbolism. Sabeels—stalls offering water and food—reflect the very values Imam Hussain stood for: compassion, generosity, and service. The fatiha, or recitation of the Qur’an’s opening chapter, is offered for the deceased. Banners adorned with Quranic verses and poetic couplets add further layers of meaning to the mourning processions.

The juloos, or public processions, serve as a living theatre of remembrance. Symbols are not simply carried—they are experienced. Grief is performed, shared, and transformed into resistance.

Matam and Contested Rituals

Matam (mourning through chest-beating) and other rituals like tatbir (self-flagellation using blades or machetes) are practiced in some communities as physical expressions of grief. While tatbir remains controversial and has been declared impermissible by many Shia clerics, for some adherents, it is seen as an extreme but sincere form of solidarity with the suffering of Karbala.

The diversity in practice highlights the multiplicity of ways in which Muharram is experienced—always rooted in love, though differing in form.

Muharram is not merely an event of the past—it is a living, breathing commemoration. Its symbols, rituals, and poetry form an intricate tapestry that connects communities across generations and geographies. Whether through a child’s hazeera, a mourner’s tearful marsiya, or the solemn march of Zuljanah through a crowded street, Karbala is never far away.

In a world still fraught with injustice, the message of Imam Hussain and the language of mourning remain as vital as ever: a reminder that truth demands sacrifice, and that resistance, once kindled, never truly dies.

(Mr. Naqvi, a former history professor, is a known socio-cultural and political commentator.)