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18-08-2018
Text Source:-
A Hamid, the distinguished Urdu novelist, and short story writer writes a column every week based on his memories of old Lahore.
Majid Sheikh article Jews, Parsis, Chinese of Lahore.
As the sun is about to set, a group of pale tall men in spotless
white can be found on the beach, the sacred Zoroastrian belt knotted around
their waists. They stand at the edge, bend down and immerse both their hands
into the water, which they then raise to their forehead, touching it briefly.
Thereafter, they untie their sacred belts which they lift briefly to their
brows, only to retie them. Then they turn their faces towards the setting sun
and utter just three words: Humata, Hakata, and Havershta.
These three words belong to a four thousand-year-old language.
When the sun finally sinks into the sea and its last rays disappear from the
horizon, these pale-faced men in white gowns turn towards the east three times,
three times towards the south, and three times towards the west. This they
follow by dipping their hands in the sea again, touching their foreheads as
they recite sacred texts under their breath. After the completion of the
ritual, they disappear into the streets of the throbbing city, which is Bombay.
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| Faravahar is the symbol of Zoroastrianism, The building is located on mall road Lahore |
The Faravahar is one of the best-known symbols of
Zoroastrianism, the state religion of ancient Iran. This religious-cultural
symbol was adapted by the Pahlavi dynasty to represent the Iranian nation.
The
winged disc has a long history in the art and culture of the ancient Near and the Middle East. Historically, the symbol is influenced by the "winged
sun" hieroglyph appearing on Bronze Age royal seals (Luwian SOL SUUS,
symbolizing royal power in particular). In Neo-Assyrian times, a human bust is
added to the disk, the "feather-robed archer" interpreted as
symbolizing Ashur.
While
the symbol is currently thought to represent a Fravashi (c. a guardian angel)
and from which it derives its name, what it represented in the minds of those
who adapted it from earlier Mesopotamian and Egyptian reliefs is unclear.
Because the symbol first appears on royal inscriptions, it is also thought to
represent the 'Divine Royal Glory' (khvarenah), or the Fravashi of the king, or
represented the divine mandate that was the foundation of a king's authority.
This
relationship between the name of the symbol and the class of divine entities it
represents reflects the current belief that the symbol represents a Fravashi.
However, there is no physical description of the Fravashi is in the Avesta, the
sacred texts of Zoroastrianism, and in Avestan, the entities are grammatically
feminine.
In
present-day Zoroastrianism, the faravahar is said to be a reminder of one's
purpose in life, which is to live in such a way that the soul progresses
towards fresh-kereti, or union with Ahura Mazda, the supreme divinity in
Zoroastrianism. Although there are several interpretations of the
individual elements of the symbol, none of them are older than the 20th
century.
Even
after the Islamic conquest of Persia Zoroastrianism continued to be part of
Iranian culture in which throughout the year festivities are celebrated such as
the Persian New Year or Nowrouz, Mehregan, and Chahar Shanbe Souri which are
remnants of Zoroastrian traditions.
From
the start of the 20th century, the Farvahar icon found itself in public places
and became a known icon amongst all Iranians. The Shahname by Ferdowsi is
Iran's national epic and contains stories (partly historical and partly
mythical) from pre-Islamic Zoroastrian times. The tomb of Ferdowsi which is
visited by numerous Iranians every year contains the Farvahar icon as well.
After
the Islamic Revolution of 1979, the Lion and Sun which was part of Iran's
original national flag were banned by the government from public places to prevent people from being reminded of life before the revolution,
nevertheless, Farvahar icons were not removed. As a result, the Farvahar icon
became a national symbol amongst the people which became somewhat tolerated by
the government compared to the Lion and Sun. The Farvahar is the most worn
pendant amongst Iranians and has become a national symbol rather than a
religious icon, although its Zoroastrian roots are certainly not ignored.
These men are the descendants of Parsis who originated from Iran
four thousand years ago when Iran was called Paras. They were known as fire
worshippers because the fire that burns in their temples is never allowed to go
out. After all, they believe the fire to be sacred. The Parsis also believe that the
earth and water are sacred. That is why they do not burn their dead because
that would amount to soiling the purity of fire. Nor do they dispose of them by
consigning them to water because that would degrade their sacred character. They
do not bury their dead either because that, they believe, would introduce
impurity into the earth. Consequently, they place their dead either on top of a
hill where their flesh is consumed by birds of prey or they place them in what
is called towers of silence.
At some point in history, the Parsis moved from Iran to India,
but they do not appear to have made any effort to spread their faith. It is
said that since the Parsis were not idolaters, they might have been afraid that
if Hindus converted to their religion, they might bring with their idolatrous
practices. Parsis rarely marry outside their community, preferring to keep
their race pure. Most of the Parsis of India lived in Bombay and were among the
most prosperous of the city’s residents. The first multinational Indian company
was Parsi-owned. They were also into banking, manufacturing, aviation, and
shipping. The Parsis were the first in India to start playing cricket. They
used to enter a Parsi team in the famous Bombay Pentangular tournament. Greatly
respectful of their religion and their traditions, older members of the
community would generally dress traditionally: a round black cap, a
long coat, and pajamas of a certain cut. Parsi women wore their saris in their
own distinct way, quite different from the way the garment is generally worn.
At the time of independence, quite a few Parsi families were living in Lahore, one I knew of, in Laxmi Mansion, where Saadat Hasan
Manto came from Bombay to spend his last days. It was and is a small
residential enclave just off the Mall between Hall Road and Beadon Road.
Members of this particular Parsi family I often saw when on the Mall on their
evening walk. I am talking of the early days of Pakistan when the roads of
Lahore were quiet and placid and free of the noise and pollution of traffic
that is their hallmark today. The young men of this family were always
immaculately dressed and there was an amazing similarity in their looks. The
Parsi ladies would keep their heads covered with the loose end of their saris.
What I always noticed about them, in both men and women, was their dignity. You
never heard them talking or laughing loudly. They had great poise and they
would take their evening walk with measured steps, smiling shyly and talking to
one another but in voices so low that even if you were walking right behind
them, you did not hear a thing.
Ozir Zuby, the painter and sculptor, married a Parsi lady who
was a very good artist. That was the only instance, at least in Lahore, of a
Parsi marrying a non-Parsi. The liquor business in Lahore was a Parsi monopoly.
On McLeod Road stood the Gandhi Wine Shop, owned by a Parsi gentleman, who was
a man of principle and would absolutely refuse to sell liquor to anyone unless
the person had a government permit. I remember trying all kinds of tricks to
make him change his mind or make an exception, but it was just like running
into a wall. There were other liquor shops in the city, all Parsi-owned. There
was Edulji in Commercial Building. Then there was the English Wine Shop in
Regal and the French Wine Shop next to the Shah Din Building. There was also a
Parsi-owned wine shop in Temple Road towards its Mall end. There was another
such outlet in Lahore Cantonment not far from Globe Cinema.
They are all gone – as is the Globe Cinema – but no one who
drinks can go dry in the city of Lahore. The business has gone underground,
like so much else in Pakistan. There also used to be a doctor on McLeod Road by
the name of Dr. Barucha. He was a child specialist and if there is such a thing
as healing touch, then he had it because a dose or two of one of his mixtures
and the child would be up and running. There was also a wonderful Parsi laundry
near Lahore Hotel run by an old gentleman who would sit behind his wooden
counter and keep scribbling in an old register. Next to his laundry was a
bookshop that only sold English books. All those shops have vanished and all
those people are gone.
The Plaza Cinema, where we would go to watch Hollywood movies,
had a Parsi gatekeeper who supervised the entry to the second class. He was a
quiet man of sixty or sixty-five in strict Parsi attire who wore thick glasses
and who always kept smiling. I would sometimes see him walking on the footpath
that runs along the Lahore Zoo. In Nila Gumbad there used to be a Parsi Bank in
an old two-story building. The sign outside showed an evenly balanced pair of
scales held by a woman who resembled a figure from mythology. I have not been
in that area for some time but I am sure the bank no longer exists. The Parsis
of Lahore, like its Anglo-Indians, was like an ornament that the city wore.
Their disappearance has left it poorer in more ways than one.
If you proceed along Lahore’s M.M. Alam Road, just before
reaching Hussain Chowk to the left is a lane. As to travel along to the right
is a large brick building. This is where the last of the Parsis of Lahore are
slowly fading away.
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Dr. E.P Bharucha memorial building |
When I last visited this place two years ago there were only 28 Parsis left in Lahore. Today barely 12 old Parsis inhabit this special hostel built by a Parsi entrepreneur. The total number in Lahore today is 23 only. Of recent, I have been researching how small minority groups have been faring in large metropolises of the sub-continent. The idea is to understand how these old small groups have been managed in Lahore. So for the sake of this piece, let me try to compare how such groups fared in Lahore in Pakistan, and in Calcutta (Kolkata) in India. If anything it will bring forth how our own society functions, or even cares, and tries to understand, let alone tolerate, the narrative of small minority groups.
So let us start with the Parsi population of Calcutta. We see
the first Parsis coming to this Bengali city in the 18th century. In Calcutta
amazingly, the first Indian Census of 1837 shows 40 Parsis out of a population
of 229,705. By 1901 this population rose to 274 and in 1921 it reached 620
Parsis. In 1947 there lived 3,465 Parsis who used three Parsi fire temples. It
seems that the killings of ‘freedom’ hit them hard. In the 2001 Indian Census,
the whole of India had 69,601 Parsis, of whom 98 lived in Calcutta. In 2016
that number had dramatically shrunk to a mere 27. Depressing to say the least.
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| A Pre-partition Parsis Residence on Mall Road Lahore |
In Lahore, a very similar situation emerged. The first Parsis
came during the Mughal reign and stuck to business and provided the rulers with
products not available within their domain. So the Parsis were always into
shipping and trading, as they remain to this day. In 1947, Lahore had a Parsi
population of 1,867 according to census sources. Then the decline started. In
our youth, we lived next to the Parsi Temple on Rattigan Road, which sadly
closed down in the 1970s. Today in Lahore a mere 23 remain, and their Parsi
hostel in Gulberg lies almost empty as there are none left to occupy the rooms.
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| A Pre-partition Parsis Residence on Mall Road Lahore |
So where have they all gone? Research by the eminent
historian, the late Sir Chris Bayly, puts forth three reasons to explain this
dramatic decline. Firstly, they are to blame for they do not marry
outside their faith. Hence a natural decline is inbuilt into this equation of
‘limited choices. Secondly, they have tended to move towards the major
shipping cities, like Bombay (now Mumbai) in India, and Karachi in Pakistan,
where their main population is concentrated. Lastly, the educated young, like
other educated Pakistanis, have all flown away to the West. It seems the older
generation refuses to leave these two cities and is slowly fading away. The
young take their chances abroad.
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| A Pre-partition Parsis Residence on Mall Road Lahore |
In the sub-continent, the Parsi community was always highly
educated, westernized, and tended to work in shipping, films, and theatre and
were excellent and very honest corporate officers. Even today business
companies prefer them for their competence and honesty.
Let us study another now almost extinct community, they being
the Jews. Lahore had a Jewish population 1921 of 56 persons. Karachi has a
higher number, even though Gen. Ziaul Haq got their only temple knocked down.
Their only graveyard still stands. But then let me share some very interesting
statistics. In the 2013 elections, 809 adult Jews were enrolled as voters.
Amazingly, against 427 women, only 383 men were on the rolls. What is even more
interesting is that in the 2017 voters list, their number has risen to 900
voters. As these are official figures there is little to doubt them. But as
opposed to communal extremists, my view is that this is a good sign as opposed
to the fate of our Parsis.
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| A Pre-partition Parsis Residence in new Anarkali Bazaar Lahore |
The point is where do they live in Lahore? The last Jewish family that we knew lived on Queen’s Road, but then they sold out 10 years ago and moved to their ‘Promised Land. As a journalist who walks the lanes of the old walled city, I do know of two families who allegedly are Jews, but then they are very poor and keep to themselves and celebrate every local festival with gusto … and why not? There was a time in the 1930s when Lahore’s money lenders, as well as some ‘businessmen’ in Taxali Chowk, were Jews.
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| A Pre-partition Parsis Residence in new Anarkali Bazaar Lahore |
In Calcutta, the picture is very different. In 1947, this Indian
city had a Jewish community of over 6,000 as the famous writer Shalva Weil’s
book tells us. Today that number has shrunk to a shocking 20 Jews only. Again
they are all older people. Also, the five once-thriving synagogues have been
reduced to only two, which sadly are maintained by ‘foreign’ Jewish
organizations. The Calcutta Jews were known as Baghdadi Jews, as were those of
Karachi. In 1947 as the Partition riots erupted in Calcutta with Israel also
being created, shiploads of Jews left this port city for their new
‘motherland’.
*The only hostel in Lahore for old Parsis constructed near Hussain Chowk is funded by
Dr. Eddie P. Bharucha (December 28, 1916–December 14, 2017). The building has a name," Dr. E.P Bharucha memorial building."
Do you know who was Dr. E.P Bharucha?
He completed his MBBS and MD in both Mumbai (Bombay) and London. He was appointed as Honorary Physician in Medicine at KEM Hospital and GS Medical College in 1945. Between 1949 and 1952, he trained in neurology at the Hospital for Nervous Diseases, Queen Square, and the Maida Vale Hospital for Nervous Diseases in London. He then proceeded to the United States where he worked for 3 months each under Dr. Houston Merritt at Columbia University and under Dr. Denny Brown at Boston City Hospital. He returned to India in 1952 and became the first neuro physician to establish a Department of Neurology in India, at the KEM Hospital. The departments of neurology and neurosurgery were inaugurated in January 1953 with 12 beds each. By the time Dr. Bharucha retired, the KEM Hospital had all the core elements of the clinical neurosciences including neuropathology, electroencephalography, and electromyography, and the Department of Neurology had established a reputation nationally and internationally for excellence in patient care, teaching, and academic endeavors. Dr. Bharucha also established the Department of Neurology at the Bombay Hospital and continued in private practice until his mid-80s.
He was ahead of his time in many ways: he promoted and practiced seamless multidisciplinary care and established an epilepsy clinic at the KEM Hospital and later with the late Drs. Anil Desai and Noshir Wadia founded the Indian Epilepsy Association. He and his wife, the late Dr. Piloo Bharucha, promoted and practiced pediatric neurology long before all these were established concepts in many centers in more advanced economies. From the mid-1950s onward for many years, they ran clinics for neurological and pediatric assessment of children with poliomyelitis and cerebral palsy at what was formerly the Children's Orthopedic Hospital. He also played a pivotal role in establishing the Spastics Society of India (now Able Disabled All People Together).
Dr. E. P., as he was fondly known “Eddie” to his peers, held several positions in national and neurologically related international organizations and was widely respected. From a national perspective, he was a steadfast member of the Neurological Society of India and president in 1961. He was also a member of the Council of the National Academy of Medical Sciences, served as a Medical Council of India inspector,
