The Last Time I Met Agha Syed Baqar - The Cleric Scholar of Kashmir
Something told me I should call him. Something urged me to wait not on moment longer, stop my car, and call him.
The second last time I met Agha Baqar was in July 2023, nearly two years before his death not too long ago, when he had passed away due to old age among other things that ail a human body. His body had done its job and wanted to rest.
On the night of his death, unbeknownst to the fact, I had called my maternal uncle after a long time, out of intuition. Something told me I should call him. Something urged me to wait not on moment longer, stop my car, and call him. So I did. On this call, he had told me that he was at SMHS, a hospital in Srinagar, where he was attending to the Agha’s last laboring breaths. I wasted no time, and rushed to the hospital to see him - for what I knew would be the last time. Here, hundreds if not thousands had gathered from all over Kashmir, mostly from his place in Budgam. I caught a glimpse of him from a distance, his gentle face fading away as if going to sleep, and I left the hospital to go home.
When I woke up in my bed the next day, he had passed away and a gargantuan crowd had thronged to his place in Budgam, which had stayed barricaded for days after in honor of his passing. Those who ever spent time with him, knew/felt that this Agha was different. How? Wish I could tell you. But perhaps I can show you.
The Agha and his family always gave me a sort of respect that always made me uncomfortable. I did not think I deserved it, so I squandered it. Every other week, my mamu would tell me that the Agha had sent word for me, and I would delay it thinking I would go at some point, but years passed and I never did. Now why would a revered religious scholar of Budgam look for an agnostic, non-practicing young boy of Zadibal? Beyond me.
All of this had started back in 2018, when I had written an essay on the pedigree of the Agha family, and their links to the Khomeini of Iran. I had done nothing much, to be honest. I had only read his book Tajjaliyaat, which I had essentially translated in parts for the purpose of this essay.
After the publishing of this essay, he (Agha) had instructed his immediate companions to print this essay, and distribute it in kind among his followers. That singular event, to me, has been one of the most humbling events that has also filled me with a world of pride. After this day, I always wanted to move to Agha’s place, shadow him, and write about him. “This summer” I would always tell myself, and then one summer passed, and then another, and then he was no more.
Under him, I also wanted to document the spiritual and political history/literature of contemporary Shia school of thought. I wanted to lose myself in literature, and find myself buried in the annals of history. However, I ended up doing none of that. Now the Agha is no more, the cleric scholar has bidden us a sweet and painful goodbye, leaving us with a Kashmir and a sect that believes more in political sensationalism, appeasement, and sentimentalism that it does in interpreting and understanding the word of god. The Agha has passed away, taking with him a time which may never come back, never for Kashmir, and never for the world, and my dream…well, my dream rages in pain.