From pulpits to petrol pumps

In the echoes of history, a famous Syrian jurist and writer, 'Alī Tantāwī, left a warning in 1946. He urged every reader in Syria to spread and remember his caution, foreseeing a day when remorse would echo,

“Oh how I wish this warning had benefitted us…Oh how I wish.”

If ignored, he expressed that no remorse would benefit him on that day because what passes doesn’t return.

Fast forward to today, as a narrator devoid of Tantāwī’s stature but compelled by a shared sense of urgency, I find myself compelled to stand in his stead and deliver a similar message to my Kashmiri brethren. This, too, is a warning. A plea that echoes across time, urging you to pay attention. If you choose to disregard it, a day will inevitably arrive when your remorse, much like those before you, will prove futile. The echoes of warnings unheeded, reverberating through the annals of history, serve as a stark reminder: what passes doesn't return.

In the enchanting land of Kashmir, where winter chills pierce through bone and tradition alike, a peculiar drama unfolded both in the tangible world and the digital realm. A common Kashmiri, bundled up against the dry winter winds, has been engaged in passionate quest from one petrol pump to the other. Why, you ask? To prepare for the impending apocalypse or, perhaps, to fuel up for a moonlit visit to his newly acquired lunar estate. The irony is as thick as the fog on a chilly Kashmiri morning. In the next moment, he craved drama and controversy, seeking refuge in the glow of his mobile phone. Pupils dilated against the glare, he frantically hopped from one spicy video to another, relishing the spectacle of the “preacher” under fire. In the end, he retires to his mundane life with a “kettle” of petrol and a “jug” of sentiments. However, contrary to his anticipation, no physical or religious existential threat pursues.

Some days back, an average jobless Amir was routinely puffing his fourth cigarette of the day while perusing the chaos on social media. An Islamic video-clip featuring a bearded preacher and adorned with comments like "gustaakh," "arrest him," and the classic "ban him" caught his wandering eye. Intrigued by the spice, Amir dedicated his nicotine-fuelled break to unravelling the controversy. As comprehension eluded him, except for the mention of some revered saints, he instantly rang up his religious confidant, Owais, for explanation.

Owais, a figure known far and wide in local circles for his outwardly religious persona and teachings, gathered the preliminary information from Amir. Heartily embracing the self-imposed “divine” duty, he crafted an eloquent tirade against the supposed "gustaakh." Score-settling time had arrived, and Owais was ready for the impending online hullabaloo. Except he had one problem. He needed to defer his meeting with his girlfriend, a connection forged in one of his religious classes. On his whatsapp he sent a voice note to her, “Jiger, fi sabeelillah chhe akh keam. Pagah samkhav, in sha Allah [My heart, I got some work to do for the sake of Allah. Meet you tomorrow].”

Some 200 kms away, an adamant, egoist, below-average Islamic studies post-graduate of a reputed university, Shahid, had assumed that his degree was the ultimate validation of his religious authority. However, his weak intellect had served against his case and he had not been much of an influence for the people around him. Jealous of the self-taught "gustaakh" and sensing an opportunity amid the uproar, Shahid pounced in and unleashed the grandeur of his useless, rotting degree.

As Shahids, Zaids, and Tahirs joined the fray, events spiraled out of control. Kashmir became a theatre for the re-enactment of the Asch Conformity Study, heavily influencing the likes of Amir. The only pause in the chaos came when another norm took hold—fuel scarcity. The herd was seen rushing wildly towards gathering the last drop of fuel, in whatever was capable of holding a liquid. After all, the revered saints could wait in their graves and the religion till the day of Judgement.

Or is there a connection, you wonder? Perhaps fuel is the secret elixir to keep the virtual fire burning. After all, in the world of chaos, who knows what fuels the frenzy?

The warning ensues: Should you permit yourselves to be mere pawns in a play, brace yourselves for the impending chaos. Reflect upon the parable of three buffalos and the lion, a timeless allegory that beckons you to stand united against the looming threat. For, in the absence of solidarity, a day will dawn when the lion, with a sinister grin, takes turns devouring each of you. The order of your arrival, whether first or last, will hold no significance in that fateful moment. As the inevitable unfolds, these words will escape your lips:

"I was consumed the day the first among us succumbed to the lion's jaws."

In these words, an echo reverberates, urging introspection on the consequences of disunity. Much like the passage of time itself, the narrative of collective destiny unfolds, and the immutable truth surfaces—a stark reminder that the actions of one echo through the corridors of shared existence.

Note: The characters are fictitious. Don’t come bugging me if you happen to fit in the context.