By; Naseer Ahmad Khan
The clock struck 6:30 in the morning.
The day was one of the hottest in the season. In a small village in Papchan, Bandipora, at his residential house, he laid motionless. The face was quiet and tranquil. As per the narrative by his son, who stood beside him, attending him in times of desperation and hopelessness, it was merely four days before the eventuality, he lost articulation. The power of tongue to utter a phrase or sentence. But he didn’t lose his communication. He would signal his son to whom he recognized alongside his brother Nazir Ahamed Parsa, until his breath exhausted that morning.
He would ask him to recite the holy chapters and, they recall and I quote they recited: Surah Yaseen, Surah Dhar and Surah Tagabun. According to his son, he would quickly recant something on his finger creases and would acknowledge everyone with a signal of his hand, swiping it around his face as post sign to handshake and in acknowledgement of hospitality.
But that is, what he has done throughout his life: as the town bears testimony to it, and another renowned teacher, and a childhood friend of Mohideen Parsa shahib, Jinab Gh Mohammad Lone shahib (of Gundpora Rampura) said over his funeral speech: “for last fifty years, he has taught men, women, and children of the area, the holy Al Quran with translation and interpretation. He would teach them in Masjid first, then shifted it to his home, to allow female gender to pursue learning of the holy book.”
All those who were acquainted to him, would definitely acknowledge it, as an unparallel contribution on his behalf. In his passing away, Bandipora had lost this Mudaris and is unlikely to find the one, having such a commitment, articulation and sincerity in following this passion towards the holy book.
But this is not purely, how I do recall this magnetic person, who in his own persona carried an aura of reverence around him. Because of his striking personality, which ofcourse, reminds me of a towering figure in Kashmir history, who had left indelible influence in the sphere of his contact.
I do recall him, seeing for the first time, some twenty-seven years back, when we came to join High School Nadihal (now a higher secondary school), he was a towering straight figure, in grey saffari suit, capped with feathered creamy karrakuli. He made his first appearance on the morning assembly.
And what time and space it was: to be surrounded by calm mountains and a breeze striking your face like slaps of cold water to a scorching skin and listening to your teachers without distraction. He came to deliver a series of talk on the Seerat of beloved Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). For, it was a tradition during those days that the teachers then would take care of. They would deliver talk on the life of Prophet (peace be upon him). There won’t be any religiosity about it but the pleasure of speaking on such a subject, chronicling on the mind of students the details of the greatest hero of humanity.
They would shed light on different aspects of prophet’s life, with a special focus on universal peace and humanity. I still remember, he was speaking on the subject of Mohsin-e-Insaniyat.
He was the first to talk among the galaxy of faces who are widely celebrated and acknowledged as the heroes of Bandipora. Because, it was such an age, when generations would look for teachers as role models. It was the time when people did really believe that knowledge is power.
The nursery of such heroes included some known names like Jinab Khurshid Shahib, Late Headmaster Gulam Hassen Shab, Jinab Lone Shahib, jinab Mohammed Afzal Shahi Shahib and many more, whom I could not name for the paucity of space. It did include some younger generation teachers like Mohammad Amin Shahib (younger brother of Parsa shb), my all-time favourite Jinab Showkat-u-din Shah, late Musta Hassen Fazli, Jinab Majid Shahib and Jinab Saifuddin Shab (just to mention a few).
But these great teachers would be like humble students when Parsa Sahib would take to the stage; for simply two reasons 1) the extraordinary scholarship and hold on Arabic, Urdu and Persian apart from English Grammar and 2) excellent articulation and art of speech that would be as spontaneous as the sunlight to the sea. Hearing him, was to hear the invisible orchestra that was releasing the sweet lullaby. For me, he was not only the teacher of teachers but the sweetest teacher of his times.
His death marks to end of a pedagogy. That is, to a pedagogy of hope and delight in teaching. He would quote and I remember Allama Iqbal’s famous couplet:
“Nahi hain Iqbal naumeed apne kisht e weeraan say / zara num ho tau yeh mitti bhoot zarkhaiz hein saaki.”
(That Iqbal is not despondent about this ruined soil/ Give it some moisture, it has abundant fecundity. (My translation)
As a teacher, he was like leader. Like a pole star shining brighter over the rest and into the art of shaping the destiny of his students by leading them to the “island of light”- light that enlights the soul and makes it sublime towards love of humanity and nature. In times, when teachers would use the rod and tame the students to discipline, he would be as sweet as sugar, as optimistic as a parent is in his son or daughter, as uniform as a river is to the fields. Definitely, he was himself the product of some great teachers and, the family bears witness, he had been among a few, of the disciples of Molvi Hassen Shahib Gamaroo.
He might have been a great student before becoming a great teacher. Compassionate, lovable, organized, composed even in anger. At the worst, he would say, when he was upset with a learner (Tapeel chey).
He would never hurt the psychology and emotion of his student. He would understand that he was dealing with the age of innocence and, what was important for him was to believe in them and work to build a strong character in them. So, he would call me Rushid Nasir and one day, I got the guts to ask him, what it meant, he said, “Hidaayat yafta”. How strongly it get into my psyche and helped me to resist temptations when I was almost at tipping point. This is called influence and this was the influence such great teachers would carry not only by word but by conduct. Their words would echo into our ears, they seem to have been guarding us like spirits, tapping our shoulders when dreams seem to be shattering.
When l shared the timing of his Jinazah; Hamudur Rehman, my childhood friend and his student wrote; “thank you for sharing the timing. His words echoed into my ear “phir na kehna ki khabar na hui.”
Although, I am related to the family, but, that is not what stimulates my thoughts about him. I am celebrating him, in the capacity of a learner, in whom he built some kind of character and in whom he managed to transfer the legacy and inheritance of great men across cultures and civilization, and managed to entrust some sort of fundamental philosophy and, who had learnt from him, the principle that truth and courage are the real human virtues which any human being must aspire: that knowledge is love and, love is like the heavenly lamp that shines on all beings and doesn’t differentiate, that teaching is continuous evolution and consistent thirst for knowledge and experience, that humility and simplicity elevate the human body. These golden maxims helped me, and I shall always remember him as one the great influences, a true and sincere teacher doing teaching as a delight and, not under any compulsory direction or threat or appeasement.
He and many other such heroes, would take to teaching as a prophetic mission: unlike, our times, when teaching is just a way to earn bread and butter and, teachers are as good as any other servants doing every odd job from keeping an account of stray dogs to actors in a circus putting up performance for public consumption or moving from pillar to post as data entry operators. They have been inducted to a volunteerism of a sort and, in certain cases, are forced to do as directed; making teaching learning a perfunctory act.
Therefore, they love to update the Facebook walls or Instagram reels because modern day academia is to a considerable degree, a fascination for reels and shots. In all consequences, the long-term memory and bond between the teacher and the student fades as daylight at the dusk time. Teaching and learning has become a sunset moment of day when the sun had remained behind the clouds throughout the day.
And before the epidemic of social media, teaching was a glad act of character building and, a teacher would leave behind incredible mark in the heart and mind of his student. Earlier teacher did it quietly, secretly without trying to put it to public notice. Their teaching did resonate in great thoughts like the seeds that hide only to germinate.
Being related to this family, I had the privilege of watching this great teacher in other capacities. As a writer, he had left behind a collection of poetry “Sozee Hayat”, that, I shall be dealing separately. While on death bed, he exhibited the love of father, of leader of a family. I had known him; as an embodiment of love and care. And here he was exhibiting what love means.
When he was on his last legs, agitating like a candle in the blowing winds, they put him on, to a video call to two of his grandson. One in Oman and the second in Hyderabad. With the remaining energy, he was asking Waseem, “have you eaten anything. Don’t starve yourself”. To the other, he was saying, “forgive me and be a true muslims.” This was the most chilling proof of what love and care means. It dissolves your own pain and suffering to comfort someone you really care about.
From the edge, along with my friends Omar and Shahnawaz, when they lowered him to eternal rest under a birch tree, next to his father, I was letting down my guard. Eyes down, tongue parched, I managed to say to my friend, “the are burying a legend, a method, a pedagogy, an ideal and an inspiration.” Beyond this, there was nothing but the feelings, raw and pure. Some of his students didn’t budge a step, untill the lids of the grave were closed and the mud was drawn over it to cover a body that had been a moving institution of knowledge.
(About Author: Naseer Ahmad Khan is a student of this legendary figure and himself a teacher in higher education department.)
