Posts Tagged ‘Ahl-e-Hadith’

In Memoriam: Amatul Haseeb of Dehli, Karachi and Lahore (c. 1928-2019)

September 7, 2019

Grave of Amatul-Haseeb, Bait-ur-Rehmat cemetery, Lahore, Jumma 6th Muharram 1441, Friday 6th September 2019. Photo (c) Abdullah Qazi

Grave of Amatul-Haseeb, Bait-ur-Rehmat cemetery, Lahore, c. 12th Rabi’ al-Awwal 1441, Sunday 10th November 2019

“Whoever biographs a believer, it is as though he has brought him or her back to life.”
(man arrakha mu’minan fa ka’annama ahyahu) – Imam Sakhawi

[I would extend the above phrase to biographing any person.]


Bismillah.  I write this after helping with the funeral prayers & burial of my mum’s mum (Nani Ammi), Amatul-Haseeb (servant/slave of the Reckoner), of the Ahl-e-Hadees families of Dehli (Delhi): Shah Waliullah of Delhi (Dehli) is the most famous name in our intellectual, scholarly and spiritual lineage.  Her father-in-law was Mawlana Yunus Qureshi, nephew of Mawlana Ahmadullah, student of Sayyid Nadheer Husain of Dehli. She outlived her husband, Mawlana Zubair Qureshi, by approximately 50 years, living as a pious, ascetic widow devoted to God and then to family.

Dada Abba and Nani Ammi

When our Dada Abba or paternal grandfather departed a decade ago, leaving Nani Ammi as our only surviving grandparent, my sister Hafsa observed that Nani Ammi didn’t have the public limelight that Dada Abba had (he had served as a senior Islamic scholar in India, Pakistan and Saudi Arabia), but that she was an unsung heroine who quietly lived her saintly life.

[A mathematical interlude]

According to the famous hadith, the most special people in the world, in order, are: Mum, Mum, Mum, Dad. Here is some mathematical analysis – I would be grateful for other mathematical insights into this kind of calculation: there is a unity of knowledge, so there should be no problem mixing mathematics and hadith.

If we use simple arithmetic, the relative importance is: Mum 3, Dad 1. Or as fractions converted to percentages:

Mum 75%, Dad 25%

Multiplying to grandparents, we get:

Mum’s Mum: 9 (56%)

Mum’s Dad: 3 (19%)

Dad’s Mum: 3 (19%)

Dad’s Dad: 1 (6%)

TOTAL: 16 (100%)

If we use exponents, what happens?

[Answers on a postcard or in the comments below, please: I don’t have time to do the math(s) right now.]

Nani Ammi the Qur’an-teacher

I have been honoured to accompany my mum on her last two trips to Lahore – to see our Nani Ammi alive for the last time in the Spring, with my brother Mujahid, and now to participate in her funeral and burial.  My sisters Khola and Hafsa visited her last year along with their husbands.

I didn’t know that Nani Ammi had been a Qur’an teacher: she had taught my mum and her three sisters and brother, and completed that career by the time of my earliest memories of her in Karachi: devoted to prayer, reading the Qur’an and domestic duties as a widow with young children. So she is the grandteacher of the hundreds of Mum’s Qur’an students, including myself and my siblings.  She only lost her own mum about 24 years ago, after attending a wedding in the UK.

Karachi: Dehli Colony & North Nazimabad

Dehli Colony in Karachi was literally a small town of people transplanted from Dehli after Partition in 1947: entire families living in one room, clay pots for cooking and storing water, simple sewage systems, house doors that remained open throughout the day guarded by a curtain, and daily life revolving around the five daily prayers at the mosque, with the boys playing cricket and even football between the late afternoon and sunset prayers, when it was much cooler.

In North Nazimabad, one of my abiding memories of her was breaking down the huge blocks of ice that we bought a couple of days a week from the ice-seller: a huge block covered in matting, and wheeled through the streets on a cart, in the days before refrigerators. She would break the ice into small pieces so they could fit into the water cooler using a little chisel, although we as naughty kids would eat most of these ice pieces.  She would also encourage us to observe the five daily prayers in the mosque as far as possible, and to do our daily Qur’an study.  Being woken up for the dawn prayer by the prodding of her bony fingers was tough love!

Visiting the UK

Nani Ammi visited the UK several times, attending most of her grandchildren’s weddings there.  She clearly felt like a fish out of water in the UK.  She also gently rebuked me once for spending too much time in front of the television!

Dehli again, and the comparison of the Partitions of India (1947) & Palestine (1948)

During my year in Pakistan in 2002-3 (as Visiting Associate Professor at NUST, the National University of Sciences & Technology, in Rawalpindi-Islamabad), I was obviously more aware of the history of the region.  I realised that Nani Ammi must have been a teenager or about 20 when partition happened (I’m still trying to confirm her year of birth).  I asked her, “Do you remember Dehli much?”  Her reply astonished me: “I think about Dehli every day! It was such a lovely place and a nice life.” This was after approximately 56 years in exile from Dehli in Karachi!  My yearning for Dehli grew that day, and I often think about the parallels between the Partition of India in 1947 and that of Palestine in 1948.

(Azzam Tamimi once said in a public talk at Cambridge University, when I shared a panel with him in the early 2000s, that he would not stop struggling until “he was able to return to his grandmother’s house in Beersheba” and I wondered whether we Dehlawis or Dehli-origin people would be justified in applying the same logic to our grandmothers’ houses in Dehli.)

The end

Her final, bedridden year has been very tough on all the family.  During our last visits, Dr. Liaquat Ali had been able to help on medical aspects, whilst Shaharuddin applied his photography expertise to take stunning photos of our aged grandmother. During my visit in April, I thought the best thing I could do was to recite her beloved Qur’an to her loudly, because she had become quite hard of hearing.  My brother Hafiz Dr Mujahid was able to help on medical aspects as well as recite the Qur’an to her!

Back in April, I recited from Surah al-Baqarah (The Heifer, 2) to her one day.  We were leaving Lahore on the Friday night, and I had a meeting planned with Prof. Suheyl Umar in the afternoon/evening before our flight to Karachi.  So I resolved to recite Surah al-Kahf (The Cave, 18) to her on the Friday morning before Jumma (Friday congregational) prayers, as per traditional practice. I sat beside her and asked if I could recite the Qur’an to her.  “Yes,” she said, “recite Surah Ya Sin (Y.S., 36).” Traditional Muslim practice is to recite this surah over dying or deceased people.  Freaked out, and not in the mood to recite Surah Ya Sin over my beloved grandmother, I said, “Nani Ammi, I would like to recite Surat-ul-Kahf to you because it is Jumma.”  “Aaj Jumma hai? (Is it Jumma today?)” she asked, because of course she had lost track of time, and deeply regretted not being able to pray according to the natural cycles of day and night.

I replied that yes, it was Jumma, and recited the first few verses (ayat) of Surat-ul-Kahf to her.  I paused to check that she could hear me all right? “I can hear you,” she replied, “but you’re reading it wrong. Recite Surah Ya Sin!” I was now overruled, and duly recited Surah Ya Sin to her.  Her last words to me were, “You recite the Qur’an very well. May God forgive all your sins and bless your wife and children!”  I will obviously treasure those words for the rest of my life.

She breathed her last in the company of her only son, our uncle, on Thursday 5th Muharram 1441 / 5th September 2019.  A few days earlier, Mum had had a vivid dream where Nani Ammi came to hug her goodbye, although Mum couldn’t feel the flesh and bones of her Mum.

When we arrived this morning, Mum embraced the walls of the room where Nani Ammi had spent her final year, the room now being bare after her death, in the way pilgrims embrace the walls of the Ka’bah in Mecca.  The bare room did remind me of the inside of the Ka’bah (I’ve been there aged 11, as a guest of the Saudis, may God guide us and them – for all their faults, they have served the Holy Places of Mecca and Medina well, at least outwardly.) It now has chairs for the guests arriving for condolences.

I reflected that this was appropriate, because the House of God in Mecca is a symbol of the House of God in the heart, and in the Islamic tradition, after God, Mum is number one, being the reflection and manifestation par excellence of Divine Mercy.

Mum later prayed in that room.  For those who understand such realities: on a spiritual level, Mum was praying inside the Ka’bah (trust me: I’ve been there, at least outwardly).

The local mosque imam led her funeral prayer – family wanted me to lead, but I preferred to defer to authority, otherwise the imam becomes redundant if family members always lead the funeral prayer.  The imam offered the prayer in the traditional Hanafi style, with her body outside the mosque on a small verandah, and no women inside the mosque.  Just as we finished, Mum and some aunties and female cousins arrived, so I led them in another funeral prayer, taking the opportunity to follow an Ahl-e-Hadith method based on sound hadiths, for over the past quarter-century, some brothers and sisters in the West have tried to replace salafi straitjackets with medieval-madhhabi straitjackets that are just as bad or even worse. This salafi method allows women at the prayer and inside the mosque, reciting the funeral prayer loudly as well as recitation after the Fatiha, based on an authentic expression of the Sunnah, one amongst many.  The verses I chose were Surat al-Ikhlas (Sincerity, 112), preceded by the last four verses of Surat al-Fajr (Dawn, 89:27-30) that are especially appropriate because they are addressed to the feminine (soul), so the final verses recited over her in prayer were:

O contented soul! 

Return to your Lord, pleasing and pleased with.

Enter amongst My servants:

Yea, enter My Garden!

In the Name of God, Most Merciful, All-Merciful

Say: He [or It] is God, One!

God, the Source of All!

Not giving birth, not being born:

Nothing equal to Him: No-One!


[These verses often form epitaphs over Muslim graves, including that of my wife’s beloved aunt, Mrs. Anjum Manazir Ahsan in the Muslim section of the Saffron Lane cemetery in Leicester, UK.]

Mum had led the washing of her mum’s body, along with two of her sisters. The ambulance had sped Nani Ammi’s to the local mosque for the funeral prayer, with its flashing light and siren.  Now, the men took over and we accompanied Nani Ammi to the graveyard. One of my relatives commented that the noise of the siren was a little disrespectful to the dead, but upon reflection, I thought it was appropriate: after a 90-year-lifetime serving others ahead of herself, it was entirely appropriate now that people of the blessed city of Lahore were making way for her and that she was speeding towards the cemetery, reminding everyone in the way of the inevitable reality of death.  (The speed is from the Islamic tradition of hastening burial.)

We buried her between the late afternoon (‘asr) and sunset (maghrib) prayers at the Bait-ur-Rehmat (House of Mercy) graveyard in Lahore.

[Note to fellow students: I haven’t Arabised this to Bayt al-Rahmah as I would have done in the past: we Indian Muslims with ancestry including Arabs, Persians and Turks, did not overthrow British colonial rule in order to be re-colonised by Arabs! We speak Urdu, Hindi, Bengali and other local languages that have strong Arabic influences but are not pure Arabic, so let’s please stop pretending to be Arabs, especially given the appalling racism faced by our people in parts of the Arab world, though not all. End of rant.]

The skies were clear, and the first-quarter moon shone at its zenith overhead as the sun set and the call to sunset prayer was chanted from the adjacent mosque, indicating the first week of Muharram and the new Islamic year, reckoning time and dates appropriately for her name, Amat-ul-Haseeb (Servant/Slave of the Reckoner).

[An astronomical interlude]

The sun reaches its zenith daily at midday or noon.  The moon’s zenith depends on its phase:

New moon: same as the sun, although invisible.

First quarter: zenith at sunset [as with the timing of Nani Ammi’s burial.  There will be a mystical symbolism to this, but I haven’t been able to reflect on it yet.]

Full moon: zenith at midnight

Last quarter: zenith at sunrise.

The Bait-ur-Rehmat [House of Mercy] cemetery, Lahore

The appropriately-named cemetery is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, with lots of trees, including palm trees, dotted around the graves, providing much shade and coolness.  We know from the science that the bodies of the deceased are literally recycled to life in the trees and plants that grow in the soil. Until today, I had thought that woodland burials, where trees grow out of the graves, were unique to the West, but this is clearly not the case!

I can honestly say that in over 40 years, I cannot recall even a single unkind word from Nani Ammi.

Nani Ammi is survived by her son and four daughters, approximately 20-25 grandchildren and approximately 40 great-grandchildren. May we too be blessed with some of her light, Amin.

A Fitting Poem

And in a nod to some of her blessed great-grandchildren in London: last month our sons bought us an anniversary present.  (I’m old-fashioned and prefer not to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries, preferring communal celebrations only such as Eid, although there is of course goodness too in the Western individualism of celebrating birthdays, such as valuing individuals.)  It was the BBC publication, The Nation’s Favourite Poems, edited with an introduction by Griff Rhys-Jones.  The BBC conducted a poll and published the top 100 British people’s poems.  But the editor included a brilliant poem in the introduction that did not make the top 100.  It’s the only one I’ve read so far in the collection, and so it was waiting for Nani Ammi:

Do not stand at my grave and weep:
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

(c) Usama Hasan

Lahore, Pakistan.

7th Muharram 1441 / 7th September 2019 [updated 8/1/41, 8/9/19, 10/11/19 – Remembrance Sunday & the Prophet’s Birthday]

Grave of Amatul-Haseeb before burial, Bait-ur-Rehmat cemetery, Lahore, Jumma 6th Muharram 1441, Friday 6th September 2019. Photo (c) Abdullah Qazi

Brown Hawk over Lahore sunset, taken from the balcony opposite Amatul-Haseeb’s room, 4th April 2019, five months before her departure from this world. Photo: (c) Usama Hasan


Wohaib Hasan [6/9/19]: Her patt [sheets of caramelised nuts] was legendary, but it’s the poverty of Delhi Colony that will always be my recollection of her. The one time Mum came unannounced, there was nothing to eat at home aside from daal chawal [rice & lentils]. But Naani’s mother, sitting on her throne (bed) always in white as everyone else paid their respects, totally a scene from Pakeezah. Jum’ah days were the highlight of the week, we would always have her lamb salan [curry] after the prayers with roti, fresh off her tawa. And she taught us to read the Quran, yes, we learnt from our Mum but she is the one I remember guiding me through the qaida [Qur’anic Arabic primer, and nothing to do with Al-Qaida]. In those early days she wore the white shuttlecock burka to be replaced with the black one as time passed. But, I’ll always remember the rickshaw rides with her, the wind blowing in my face, the scent of Karachi, and her leaning forward as she shouted directions to the driver. But yes, our uncle was her favourite, and her saying his name in that scoldy fashion will be my enduring memory of her.

Hafsa Hasan [7/9/19]: Just as an aside, I did go back to her house in Delhi that you mentioned, well, as close as I could … The lane behind the mosque in Chandni Chowk directly opposite the Red Fort & mosque complex. The houses are all a jumble of famous bazaars now and the atmosphere… if you can imagine at the foot of the greatest Mughal buildings ever built: My one year of studying Mughal history at SOAS made so much sense …

Khola Hasan [7/9/19]: Read her reflections here.



November 10, 2017

With the Name of God, All-Merciful, Most Merciful




I am publishing this partly because I am tired of telling the same story about Kunar to dozens of journalists and academic researchers, partly because I am fed up of questions about my one-minute video message in support of British troops (2010), and partly because I hope that people may benefit and learn from the story.

I began writing this on the last day of Ramadan 1433/2012, and completed the bulk of it shortly after Eid.  The recent death of two British soldiers in Nad Ali in Helmand (Matthew Smith and Robert Chesterman ) brought back vivid memories of our FCO-sponsored four-man delegation’s “Projecting British Muslims” trip to Helmand during Ramadan in August 2010, a visit that included ISAF’s Forward Operating Base at Nad Ali.  As I finalise it, I’m reading about the 2,000th US soldier to die in Afghanistan since 2001.

*Update: I am finalising and publishing this on 10th November 2017 – it has been sitting in my draft folder for five years.*


Memories from the Jihad in Kunar, 1990-1

This was my second 10-day visit to Afghanistan: the first had been in December-January 1990-1991, during my second-year Cambridge University holidays, as part of a three-man fact-finding mission of senior JIMAS ( ) figures to Kunar.  The other two people were up to a decade older than me: Abu Muntasir and Abu Aaliyah.  I was fortunate to have the strongest Arabic at the time, and served as interpreter for much of the trip, although of course other mujahideen helped also.

We drove to Afghanistan from Islamabad via Peshawar and Bajaur, and spent a week at a training camp near Asadabad, Kunar, for Arab fighters run by Jama’ah al-Da’wah ila l-Qur’an wa l-Sunnah (JDSQ, “Group of Calling to the Qur’an and Sunnah”), the major Salafi organisation that controlled large parts of Kunar province as well as of neighbouring Nuristan.  There were separate training camps for Arab, Afghan and Pakistani fighters – we chose the Arab one, for access to more Arabic-speaking scholars.  The camp rules stated that disagreements would be solved in a last resort by referring to the fatwas of Sheikhs Ibn Baz and Albani. On our introduction to the camp, I introduced myself with my first name, upon which I was immediately corrected by a Kuwaiti mujahid: “In Jihad, we only use aliases.” Specifically, he meant aliases of the kunya type that take the form of “Abu X” meaning “Father of X.”  My colleagues were fathers and already had kunyas, so I used, for the first time, my middle name that my grandfather had given me when he named me upon birth: Abu Dharr, after an austere, ascetic Companion of the Prophet.  The emir of the training camp was a tall, well-built, muscular, fair-skinned, charismatic and learned Palestinian fighter called Abu Asim.  In appearance and character, he reminded me of Abdur-Raheem Green, then also a senior JIMAS figure.  I shed many tears upon hearing about Abu Asim’s reported death in a training accident some years later, when a weapon exploded accidentally.

Upon joining the training camp, we had to fill in a registration form, giving personal details and skills that might be useful for the jihad. The three of us all put down our computer/IT skills, and I also mentioned my mathematics and physics knowledge. A quarter of a century later, ISIS, who had turned defensive, liberating jihad into bloodthirsty terrorism, had similar registration forms, with one striking addition: asking registrants whether they wanted to be regular fighters, suicide-bombers or suicidal attackers (inghimasi).

This was Abu Muntasir’s second trip to the same region: he had trained and fought at the front line in 1989 or early 1990 also, with a close companion known as Brother Mushtaq.  JIMAS’ contacts with the Afghan mujahideen had come about via salafi scholars in Holland and meetings in London that had involved Dawood Burbank (d. during Hajj 2011, may Allah have mercy on his soul) and Brother Mushtaq.  Abu Muntasir later fought in Kashmir and even in Burma with Rohingya militia in the early 1990s.

Note that JIMAS (Jamiat Ihyaa’ Minhaaj al-Sunnah: The Society for the Revival of the Way of the Messenger) had earlier been called HISAM (Harakatu Islahish Shabab al-Muslim: The Movement to Reform the Muslim Youth) but had recently had a name-change after an offshoot insisted on retaining the name HISAM.  During this episode, one of the suggestions for the name of JIMAS was in fact JDQS – this was directly copied from the Afghan group.  The current Pakistani salafi/Ahl-e-Hadith jihadi group Jama’at-ud-Da’wah, linked to Lashkar-e-Taiba, may also have based its name on the Afghan one.

We also met and interviewed Sheikh Jameel-ur-Rahman, an Afghan salafi/Ahle-e-Hadith muhaddith-mujahid (scholar of Hadith and warrior), founder and emir of JDQS.  Sheikh Jameel was an elderly, learned man with a long beard, dyed with henna.  He was accompanied by elders who constituted his shura and by a group of younger, heavily-armed men who served as his bodyguards.  Abu Muntasir conducted the interview in English: Sheikh Jameel replied in Arabic.  One of the questions was whether or not the Jihad in Afghanistan was fard ‘ayn or fard kifaya, i.e. an individual or collective obligation: his reply was the former.  The interview was recorded and it was many months before Dawood Burbank translated it into English for the benefit of other JIMAS members.  Abu Muntasir may still have this material in his possession.

The Arab mujahidin credit Sheikh Jameel with having begun the “Jihad against the communists” in 1973, way before the Soviet invasion.  Sheikh Jameel gave a talk after dawn prayers on one occasion whilst we were at the training camp, during which the camp generator failed, leaving the prayer tent in darkness.  At the end of that talk, he took questions.  One of the questions was about whether or not there was any dhikr to be recited during the prostration of gratitude (sajdah al-shukr) – this was related to the story of The Prophet’s disciples Ka’b bin Malik, Murara bin Rabi’ah and Hilal bin Umayyah and their missing a military expedition followed by their subsequent ostracism and eventual repentance recounted in the long hadith of Bukhari and Muslim in reference to Qur’an 9:118 (Surah al-Tawbah or Chapter: Repentance).  In this heart-rending story that had been recounted by one of the younger scholar-warriors at the camp after dawn prayers the day before, Ka’b performs such a prostration of gratitude.  Sheikh Jameel replied that no specific dhikr had been narrated about this prostration, and therefore any dhikr would suffice, but a young Saudi mujahid argued vehemently with him that there was no dhikr in this prostration for the same reason.  Salafism in a nutshell!

Sheikh Jameel had announced an “Islamic emirate” (imarat-e-Islami) in Kunar. One day at the training camp, one of the commanders gave us the “good news” of the full establishment of Sharia in the emirate: predictably, this involved the hudud, with which islamists are obsessed: a thief’s hand had been amputated as corporal punishment for his crime.

We were holy warriors: ascetic monks and soldiers, simultaneously. With regular congregational prayer, scriptural study, physical exercise and weapons training. Being halfway up a valley, there wasn’t much food: on one day, the camp had run out of food and all we had for 24 hours was a glass of milk and an orange. Soldiers know all about the rationing of supplies. At the firing range, Abu Muntasir embarrassed our instructor by being the only one to hit the target during a sniping contest. (This reminds me of a story about Caliph Omar: he came across some people practising archery and found that they weren’t very good at hitting their target. When he enquired as to why this was the case, they replied in ungrammatical Arabic that they were learners. “Your Arabic is even worse than your archery,” the Caliph quipped!)

Around 1993/94 we heard the awful news that Sheikh Jameel had been assassinated by an Arab fighter – many salafis blamed this on forces loyal to Gulbuddin Hekmatyar (Hizb-e-Islami), who was backed by the Jamat-e-Islami of Pakistan and the Arab Muslim Brotherhood.  Hekmatyar denied these accusations, but the incident was one of the many causes of tension between salafis and the Brotherhood, a tension that continues all over the world until today.  A few years later at Imperial College London, I asked the Riyadh-based Syrian salafi Sheikh Adnan Arour, who had taken part in Saudi-sponsored mediation amongst the warring mujahidin groups after the fall of Kabul in 1992, about Hekmatyar’s denial of being behind Sheikh Jameel’s assassination.  He replied, “Who killed him then, Ibn Baz and Albani??!”

With hindsight, it was probably for the best that the Kunar emirate had fizzled out with the death of Sheikh Jameel, otherwise the obsession with hudud might have led to a situation similar to ISIS.

Around 2004, I briefly met one of Sheikh Jameel’s sons who was studying at the Islamic University of Madinah during my only visit there, facilitated by Yasir Qadhi.

Back to Kunar: we spent a day and night at the front line, taking part in the Jihad against forces loyal to President Najibullah.  The Soviets had of course withdrawn in early 1990, but most mujahideen groups fought on, firstly against Najib’s communists, and then against each other during the vicious civil war of 1992-6.  The latter war helped me realise the emptiness of the Islamist dream that the mujahideen were going to establish the ideal “Islamic state” after taking Kabul in 1992.

The Saudis subsidised half the cost of mujahidin’s flights to Pakistan, but kept a record of all names. There was, of course, close co-operation amongst the US, Saudis and Pakistanis during the anti-USSR Jihad.  We met a couple of Libyans at the front line who had burnt their passports, since returning mujahideen were not too welcome in Gaddafi’s police-state.

The training camp’s courtyard had a disused Soviet tank in the centre and was covered in snow: many of the Arabs, religious scholars and committed warriors, had never seen snow before and thoroughly enjoyed their first snowball fights whilst we, the British trio, looked on bemused.  The Arabs were from various countries, including Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Libya, Egypt and Palestine.  There was also a trio of Indonesian or Filipino fighters who kept to themselves since they didn’t know Arabic.  At the camp, we received basic weapons training: Kalashnikov/M16 and also studied scripture after regular, congregational prayers.  In between the prayer rows would be lines of AK-47s belonging to the warrior-worshippers. At the front line, we exchanged artillery fire with invisible communist forces, as several mountain ridges separated us.  Our guns were 76mm cannon.  One enemy shell, fired from several miles away, landed a hundred feet from us but we were quite safe: this taught me about the fragility of life, but not to be afraid of the ever-present danger of death.  A disturbing scene throughout Kunar was the sight of large cemeteries in place of villages.

At the front line, I had hoped to use my expert Further Mathematics A-level knowledge of precise mathematical calculations of projectile motion to help with the accuracy of our shelling. (18 months earlier, I had been the only one to score 100% in our Lower Sixth Form mathematics examination at the City of London School for Boys, where I held the John Carpenter Scholarship, 1987-9, and been awarded the Mathematics Prize in the Upper Sixth Form, although a couple of Jewish friends were better mathematicians than me.) But we were only there for a day, and there were no PCs or calculators. The mujahideen’s method to ensure shelling accuracy was simple: it was piety – we were encouraged to mention and remember God in dhikr every time we fired a shell!

There were many funny incidents during our stay: a sense of humour helps in tough situations.  The Kuwaiti who stopped the jeep to pick up snow for the first time: “This is not like the snow in our freezer!” (Snow and ice are synonyms in Arabic: thalj.)  The young Saudi who had studied English “whilst he wasn’t religious” in Cambridge some years ago and knew the Pakistani-run Nasreen Dar store there, famous amongst Fitzwilliam and Churchill College students for selling cheap, out-of-date biscuits.  This was a surreal moment for me: I had travelled thousands of miles from Cambridge to meet an Arab mujahid in the mountains of Afghanistan and talk about a shop back home.  (Partly due to our salafist influence in Cambridge, Nasreen Dar eventually stopped selling alcohol. And it finally closed recently.)  Abu Muntasir nicknaming the Indonesian or Filipino mujahid, “Brother One-Bullet” since he could only afford one bullet for his M16 gun (these bullets were much more scarce and therefore expensive, compared to AK-47 bullets). Abu Muntasir saying to Abul Qa’qa’ (named after a Companion of the Prophet), “They’re calling you,” when a flock of crows crowed loudly: caw! caw! The 007-style “pen gun,” disguised as a heavy ink pen that housed a bullet instead of an ink cartridge, with the pen clip as the trigger, and used for close-range assassinations.  The Arabs called it the “ben gun” since there is no “p” in Arabic, and this made me think of my primary-school days spent reading Treasure Island.  At the front line, I described the “man in the moon” that I could see in the full moon through binoculars.  Our Arab guide there, unfamiliar with the nuances of the English language, rebuked me gently although unfairly with the teaching of the Prophet (pbuh), “Tell the truth, even if you are joking.”

My parents, siblings and extended family, plus the JIMAS group in the UK, were very supportive of our jihad trip and very proud of us. My grandfather, Sheikh Abdul Ghaffar Hasan, a very senior salafi scholar of India, Pakistan and Saudi Arabia, quoted to me the hadith of the Prophet, peace be upon him, upon my return, “There are two eyes that will not be touched by the Fire: an eye that watches guard at night in the path of God [esp. holy war], and an eye that weeps from the awe of God.” My grandfather added, “I hope that you will qualify on both counts.” It was a quarter of a century later, prompted by a journalist’s question, that I asked my dear mother how she felt whilst I was away for a fortnight – I had remembered her tears upon both my departure and return. She told me that there were some days when she couldn’t eat, out of worry. The FATE video showing a family of a jihadi fighter at a dinner table gives some idea of how she must have felt.

JIMAS and other UK groups later sent dozens of fighters to Afghanistan and hundreds to Bosnia (1992-5).  One young man from Southall spent months in Afghanistan and described fishing in the river by use of hand-grenades: the explosion would blast the fish onto the banks.  One Londoner I know, currently a primary schoolteacher, spent a year or so in Afghanistan in the mid-90s, having gone there with the intention of a “sacred migration to the Islamic state” (hijrah), but became disillusioned when he heard talk of plans to attack western countries: some of the mujahideen were of course building Al-Qaeda.

So, fast-forward 20 years to 2010, almost a decade after 9/11 and the whole idea of Jihad had become utterly confused, including in the UK after the 7/7 attacks.  British involvement in the war in Afghanistan was deeply unpopular amongst UK Muslims, so when the FCO offered me a trip to the country to project British Muslims, I jumped at the chance, deciding that I would also treat it as a fact-finding mission again as to what was going on there.


Ex-Taliban Mullahs at the UK Embassy in Kabul, August 2010

We flew from London to Kabul via Dubai, after having undergone two days of “Hostile Environment Training” in Shropshire provided by ex-army people.  The training included practice in wearing the body armour (with ceramic plates) and helmet that we would need everywhere in Afghanistan, a simulated roadside bomb attack on the armoured jeeps in which we would travel and advice on what to do if we got kidnapped (co-operate with your kidnappers, don’t try anything silly, and hope to get rescued).  Whenever I wore the body armour, I thought of the Qur’anic story of Prophet Sulayman, or King Solomon, manufacturing iron armour under divine inspiration for protection in war: modern body armour, with its light but strong material that is ever-improving due to science and technology, is the latest manifestation of the Solomonic Sunnah.

At the heavily-fortified UK embassy in Kabul, we had iftar with a couple of ex-Taliban, including Mullah Ishaq Nizami, who had once served as a junior communications minister for Mullah Omar.  Nizami spoke of the need for human rights and corruption-free institution-building in Muslim-majority countries, something much stronger in western ones. He was also working with other, higher-profile ex-Taliban, including Mullah Mutawakkil and Mullah Zaeef (author of My Life With The Taliban,, in negotiations between Karzai’s government and Taliban leaders.  The iftar was hosted by Ambassador Sir William Patey and his staff.


Lashkar Gah ISAF Base, Helmand

The next day we flew to Lashkar Gah (“Lash”) via the formidable Kandahar Air Base.  At Lash we met the Commander of Task Force Helmand, Brigadier Felton.  (He had the England v Pakistan cricket test match from Lord’s on TV in the background via satellite: Sky Sports, but switched it off when we entered. This was the test match when Mohammed Amir bowled “those no-balls.”) I led the delegation in that meeting and my first question to him was about civilian casualties: his reply was that the Taliban were now killing more civilians than ISAF were, and that the new strategy under US General Petraeus was to minimise civilian casualties.

The head of the civilian mission here was Arthur Snell, formerly head of UK Prevent and now (2012) our High Commissioner in Barbados.  At the Lash command centre, one poster showed a big gun with the caption: “One size fits all: Taliban, Al-Qaeda, Haqqanis and HIGs” – the latter referring to Hezb-e-Islami Gulbuddin, i.e. the fighters still loyal to our old friend-or-foe Hekmatyar.  (Hekmatyar finally laid down his arms in 2017, after almost 40 years of fighting.) Another striking recruitment poster read, “Who is fighting in place of your son?”

One striking feature at Lash was the presence of a handful of young, female soldiers. I saw a couple of male soldiers pumping iron whilst staring lustfully at a young female who was jogging in her shorts, and looking quite scared. I felt an air of fear and tension, as these young, British men and women had been transplanted into the midst of a war against a ferocious enemy: they were thousands of miles from home, and millions of miles away from any understanding of the surrounding Afghan Muslim culture. I asked the base chaplain about sexual ethics in the camp. His reply was that the soldiers were advised “not to have sex” but that if a female soldier became pregnant, she could return home immediately.

We also met the local mullahs at Lash’s rebuilt Central Mosque, including the Chief Mullah. A few years ago, a suicide-bomber had destroyed the mosque and killed the previous Chief Mullah: his shrine was next door.  There was a long queue of local men waiting to apply for the Hajj programme.  All of the mullahs were anti-Taliban; most were vehemently anti-Pakistan also, blaming the country for supporting insurgents.  The day before we eventually left Helmand, the Chief Mullah was arrested on charges of corruption relating to the embezzlement of Hajj application fees.

Nad Ali and the death of a young, British soldier

We also spent a few days in Nad Ali, where facilities were much more primitive compared to the relative luxuries of Lash (nicknamed “Lash Vegas” by soldiers).  We flew there and back by helicopter (RAF Merlin and Chinook, respectively): my first rides in a chopper.

We again met local mullahs in the main Nad Ali mosque.  There was almost a riot outside because two ISAF soldiers, both Muslim (one British male, one American female), had entered the mosque: a mob became very angry at the fact that foreign soldiers and a woman had “desecrated” their place of worship: they found it very difficult to comprehend that NATO soldiers could be Muslim.  Some of the mullahs accompanied us back to the base to show the public that NATO were not anti-Islam.

A Scottish army major here told me that many of the young Taliban recruits were clearly very devoted and brave fighters who believed in their Jihad, attacking NATO posts in their flip-flops, armed only with AK-47s: they stood no earthly chance against NATO’s superior firepower.

During our stay in Nad Ali, Lance Corporal Jordan Bancroft ( ) was killed.  All private communications by troops were disabled whilst the MoD officially informed the family, rather than them receiving the news via friends.  Back at Lash, almost everyone turned out for a moving memorial service.  Bancroft’s commanding officer read a tribute to him and the chaplain read from Psalm 23 and the Lord’s Prayer.  The service happened to occur at the time of the late afternoon Muslim prayer, so throughout the ceremony, the Islamic call to prayer rang out from the speakers of local mosques.  The total effect was something like:

The Lord is my shepherd

God is Greatest! God is Greatest!

I shall not be in want

He makes me lie down in green pastures

I bear witness that there is no god but God

He leads me beside quiet waters

He restores my soul.

I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of God

He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Come to life-giving prayer!

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil

Come to life-giving success!

For you are with me; your rod and staff they comfort me.

God is Greatest! God is Greatest!

There is no god but God.

God is Greatest! God is Greatest!

Our Father, who art in heaven

Hallowed be thy name

I bear witness that there is no god but God

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done

On earth as it is in heaven

I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of God

Give us this day our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses

Come to life-giving prayer!

As we forgive those who trespass against us

And lead us not into temptation

Come to life-giving success!

But deliver us from evil

God is Greatest! God is Greatest!

For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory

For ever and ever, amen!

There is no god but God!


A friend commented that many of Bancroft’s comrades would have been offended by the Islamic prayers, that they associated with the Taliban, throughout his memorial service, but this was a poignant moment for me: here we had thousands of western soldiers and Jihadist insurgents fighting each other, with no understanding at all of their shared, Abrahamic, religious heritage that is utterly devoted to the Glory of God.  As a Muslim believer in the divine origin of the Torah, Psalms, Gospel and Qur’an, the futility of the war was summed up for me in this scriptural and liturgical encounter: when will the Children of Abraham ever stop killing each other, I wondered?

Visit to a British-run training camp for Afghan police recruits

 We visited a British-run camp training Afghan police to take over security roles.  Helmand has a very high illiteracy rate, and the literacy levels of these police officers after training was that of 5-year-old children.  As may be expected, “unlettered” nations like this rely heavily on oral tradition and word-of-mouth means of communication and education.


Visit to the British-built Lashkar Gah Prison, and the would-be suicide-bomber aged 16

We also visited a relatively state-of-the-art British-built prison, where a significant minority of the inmates were Taliban or Pakistani and there was a separate wing for women, who were probably in the safest place for them.  Here we met 18-year-old Umar, a madrasa graduate from Pakistan who had served two years of his sentence ever since being intercepted before he could carry out a suicide-bombing attack.  “I came for Jihad,” he told me, “… The people who sent me are not good.  I won’t return to them when I’m released.”  I also asked him whether or not he got to exchange letters with his parents in Pakistan.  (Twenty years earlier, I had met a Pakistani fighter at the front line of the Jihad whose family home happened to be near my parents’ one in Karachi.  He had given me a letter and message to convey to his family, since he hadn’t seen them for years: my mother had accompanied me when I did so, feeling the pain of another woman whose son was at war in a far-off land.)  But Umar’s reply was a sign of the times: “I speak to them via mobile phone, two or three times a week.”

Another tragic story at the prison was that of the child imprisoned, mainly for his own safety, after he shot dead his own father in a fit of rage after the latter had shot dead the family’s pet goat in a fit of anger.  The authorities said that there was no drug problem in the prison, but we noticed a discarded hypodermic needle lying in the yard.  They also told us that they had procured TVs for the prisoners, and that all of the Taliban had gratefully accepted these, despite Mullah Omar’s fatwa banning television.


Other visits in Lashkar Gah

We met officials dealing with the problem of poppy-farming and opium-production: most of the world’s heroin supply originates in Helmand.  We were shown official UN figures to this effect, which also recorded the remarkable anomaly of near-zero poppy production in summer 2001 after Mullah Omar’s decree prohibiting it: 9/11 followed soon afterwards and narcotics production resumed.  Instability and war are clearly in the interests of the drug-traffickers, and the drugs trade is of course a massive source of income for warlords and insurgents.

We met a senior local judge whose work was supported by British officials: a traditional version of Hanafi Sharia law was applied, but the penal code consisted of fines, imprisonment or the death penalty by hanging: there were no floggings, amputations or stonings to death.  The judge maintained that Sharia embodied justice in all matters.

We had iftar at the official residence of the Governor of Helmand, a humble and educated man who served us personally.  Governor Mangal has come to the UK several times on FCO-sponsored trips.  He was himself not from Helmand but from one of the other 33 provinces: bringing outsiders to govern provinces is a common practice in Afghanistan due to the tribal rivalries everywhere.  I discussed with him the importance of education for the future of Afghanistan, having noticed the fledgling Helmand University in Lash, occupying two floors of a multi-storey building and reminding me of universities similarly-housed in simple surroundings in Pakistan.

We also had suhur (the pre-dawn meal in preparation for fasting) with the local head of the Afghan National Army, after which I remember seeing the familiar and reassuring sight of the Pleiades, Taurus, Orion and Sirius rising in the eastern sky.  In the middle of war-torn Helmand, it was nice to be reminded that we were actually still on the same planet as our comfortable homes in the UK.

Our scheduled 3-day stay in Helmand was extended to a week due to a large sandstorm that grounded all flights – a common occurrence, during which insurgent attacks are more dangerous since air cover is not available.  Back in the UK, families and civil servants were desperately worried about an official delegation being stranded in a war-zone, but we took the opportunity to benefit as much as possible from the experience.  I even did a half-hour interview by phone for Edinburgh’s Radio Ramadan, discussing lunar visibility, Islamic dates and prayer-times etc.


Reflection: three decades of brutal war in Afghanistan

During this trip, talking to many experienced people helped me build up a picture of the tragic story of Afghanistan over the past century, a story of which I had been entirely oblivious when joining the Jihad as a well-intentioned but naïve undergraduate in 1990. Here is a rough timeline:

1919-1973: A monarchy rules Afghanistan.  (In the mid-90s, I saw the copy of the Qur’an used in the early 20th-century initiation ceremony of the King of Afghanistan into Freemasonry on public display at the United Grand Lodge near Holborn – and no, I am not a freemason!)  By the end of this phase of history, the royals are living in obscene luxury whilst most of the people are in abject poverty.  Hence, it is no surprise when …

1973: A coup overthrows King Zahir Shah.  Many of the various political factions and warlords are in touch with the neighbouring Communist superpower USSR, vying for influence and funding.

1979: The USSR invades to support the Marxist-Communist coup of 1978.  Warlords and tribal leaders announce a Jihad against the “atheist, communist enemy.”  The Jihad is backed heavily by the Pakistani, Saudi and US governments.  Thousands of Jihad fighters (mujahideen) flock to Afghanistan from all over the Muslim-majority world.  The Soviets commit many massacres: between 600,000 and 2 million Afghans, mainly civilians, die in the war.

1989: The Soviets withdraw, defeated by a combination of mujahideen operations and US-supplied Stinger anti-aircraft missiles that erase Soviet mastery of Afghan airspace; the Jihad continues against Afghan communist forces.

1992: Kabul falls to the mujahideen.

1992-6: A vicious civil war ensues, as the various Afghan mujahideen warlords fight for power: Hekmatyar (backed by Pakistan’s Jamat-e-Islami), Massoud, Mujaddedi, Rabbani, Sayyaf, Dostum, etc.  The Saudis attempt to broker peace, with limited success.  The warlords commit many massacres, notably including the regular, heavy shelling of Kabul by Hekmatyar’s forces, said to be far worse than any Soviet bombardment.

1996-2001: The Taliban emerge and rapidly take over most of the country, disarming the warlords.  Civil war continues as the Northern Alliance fights the Taliban.  Both sides commit atrocities.  Massacres of Afghan Shias almost lead to war between the Taliban and Iran. (Religious sectarianism is a serious problem in Afghanistan, as in many countries: in the Lash prayer-room, I found a polemical Shia text deeply offensive to Sunnis; no doubt, reverse cases are in abundance too.)

2001-12: The US-led invasion force removes the Taliban from power after 9/11 and  continues fighting Al-Qaeda.  NATO and the Taliban (the latter allied with Al-Qaeda, the Haqqani Network and remnants of Hekmatyar’s fighters) commit many atrocities in over a decade of fighting.


Conclusion: hope from Helmand?

Back in the UK, I was asked by a video-wall company to record a short message of support for British troops in Afghanistan who were obviously missing their families back home.  I obliged, wording it carefully with the hope that we could help end the war, leave the Afghans with the peace and freedom to rebuild their devastated country, and bring our troops home as soon as possible.  With UK combat troops set to withdraw by 2014, that hope is closer to fruition.  And with it being an open secret that NATO is negotiating with the Taliban and GIROA (Government of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan), the talks being hosted in Qatar, the seeds of peace and mediation efforts that we saw in 2010 seem to have also borne some fruit.

But what next for the Afghans?  I had asked many people this question whilst in the country, and of course everyone was very uncertain.  One thing they generally agreed upon was that the country was caught between brutal, religious extremists and corrupt, secular politicians, with most people simply wishing to get on with their lives in peace: sadly, a familiar story in Muslim-majority nations.

Wherever we had driven in Helmand, children had mostly waved at our prominent, armoured jeeps but a few boys would always hurl pebbles at the convoys.  During one of our excursions in Lash, I had watched a very old woman slowly cross a busy road. (She reminded me of my Indian-Pakistani grandmothers and great-grandmothers).  It struck me that this woman had probably been in Helmand all her life, and would have lived through most of the history described above, including three decades of near-constant war.  What’s more, there were probably millions of men and women like her in Afghanistan: all touched by war and death, yet determined to achieve the best for themselves and their families.  The old woman’s enduring, wrinkled face was a tribute to humanity’s courage, faith and perseverance in the midst of constant tragedy: a message of hope from Helmand.

© Usama Hasan

London, UK

30th September 2012 (minor edits & publication: 10th November 2017)

Biography of Shaykh ‘Abdul Ghaffar Hasan

June 8, 2009

Biography and Isnad of Shaykh ‘Abdul Ghaffar Hasan (1330-1427 / 1913-2007), updated from 2007 with a section of my own “Treasured Memories of the Shaykh” at the end.  Btw My father has completed a 100-page biography of his father in Urdu, which is due to go to print soon in Pakistan.  The intention is to translate it into Arabic and English also, insha’Allah.  My translation of the Shaykh’s “Intikhab-e-Hadith” has gone to print as “Way of the Prophet” (publishers: Kube).  Insha’Allah, we hope that it will be available before Ramadan this year.

Biography of Shaykh Abdul Ghaffar Hasan