‘If we don’t speak up now, if we don’t demand justice, Sambhal will no longer be the place we remember. It will be erased, not just from the map but from our hearts’
Mohammad Alamullah | Clarion India
NEW DELHI — The haunting aftermath of violence in Sambhal, Uttar Pradesh, following the controversial survey of the historic Jama Masjid, has cast a dark shadow over Mumbai’s Sambhal-origin residents. The tragic deaths of six young Muslims due to gunshot wounds have left a deep scar in the hearts of their families, and many of their kin in Mumbai are now engulfed in despair, praying fervently for peace, but fearing for the safety of those still trapped in the turmoil back home.
In Mumbai, where communities have long lived in unity, the pulse of shared cultural harmony now seems to have fractured. For the residents of Mumbai hailing from Sambhal, the news of the violence has been heart-wrenching. From Shikhlaji Street in Nagpara to Bahram Bagh in Jogeshwari, to Saki Naka, the sadness and anxiety are palpable. Many of them, involved in small-scale businesses such as scrap dealing, now find their hearts heavy, torn between the daily struggles of earning a living and the ever-present dread of their homeland in chaos.
Zulfiqar Qureshi, a scrap dealer from Darukhana in Ray Road, can barely contain his grief as he speaks of his homeland. “Sambhal is not just where I was born. It’s where my ancestors prayed in the Jama Masjid for centuries. That mosque, with its 498-year history, has been a spiritual anchor for our entire family,” he says. “But today, that same land, that sacred ground, is drenched in blood, and all we can do from here is pray. But even our prayers feel futile, knowing the truth back home is so painful.”
Zulfiqar’s words hang heavy in the air, filled with the anguish of uncertainty. “Families are fleeing their homes in fear. The streets, once bustling with life, are now eerily quiet. Several residents have locked up their houses, and disappeared into the shadows, afraid to be caught in the nightmare that has gripped us. We don’t know what’s happening there. The internet is shut, the phones are down, and we can only rely on news from TV and newspapers.” His voice falters. “The silence from our loved ones is killing me. I can’t sleep. I can’t breathe. I don’t know if they are safe.”
Aman Qureshi, who deals in used cars in Mumbai, has never felt such a crushing weight of loss. “I visited Sambhal just two weeks ago. It was a time of happiness, filled with memories of family gatherings and old friends. But now, those memories are like a cruel joke. Everything has changed,” he says, tears welling in his eyes.
“The youth, the ones who brought life to Sambhal, now live in fear. Young men, terrified of being wrongfully arrested, are leaving. They’re running from the violence, from the law, from the terror that has engulfed our city. How can we ever rebuild the future when so much has been destroyed?” Aman adds, the despair evident in his every word. “The Jama Masjid has stood there for centuries, a symbol of peace and faith. But now, they are questioning its existence, claiming there was once a temple there. Who would dare to speak such lies? This violence, this destruction, has the clear backing of those in power,” he says bitterly.
The young men who lost their lives have become martyrs in the eyes of many, but their deaths have left families shattered, unable to comprehend the scale of the violence. “They were just children, innocent kids caught in the wrong place at the wrong time,” says Shabana Begum, a relative of one of the victims. “What did they do to deserve this? They were just praying in the mosque. How can we ever make sense of their deaths? They never had a chance to live.” Her voice is a quiet sob, laden with grief.
The situation in Sambhal is dire. The heavy hand of the police has paralyzed daily life. People are afraid to step outside, fearing that any moment could bring an arrest, a raid, or worse. “The sound of gunfire is still ringing in my ears,” says Farhan Siddiqui, a resident of Nagpara. “My nephew is still in Sambhal, and we don’t know if he’s alive. I can’t reach him. The fear, the helplessness, is unbearable. I don’t know if I will ever see him again.”
Dr. Abdul Hafeez, a historian from Mumbai University, reflects on the deep wounds inflicted on Sambhal’s cultural fabric. “Sambhal was a place where different communities lived side by side, bound by a shared history. It was a place where love, respect, and understanding prevailed,” he says, shaking his head. “But now, the violence has shattered everything. This isn’t just about a mosque or a survey. This is about a deliberate attack on the very soul of the community.”
He continues, his voice tinged with sorrow, “These lies, these manipulations about a temple beneath the mosque, are part of a larger political game. A game that has turned brother against brother. It will take years, perhaps decades, to heal these wounds, if it is even possible.”
In the face of this sorrow, the Sambhal diaspora in Mumbai is finding solace in prayer. In Saki Naka, a small gathering of residents lit candles for the victims, their faces wet with tears. They recited verses from the Quran, praying for peace, for the victims, and for the return of safety to their homeland.
“We pray for our brothers and sisters in Sambhal,” says Rizwan Khan, a local shopkeeper, his hands trembling as he holds a candle. “But prayers alone won’t bring back the lives lost, or the homes destroyed. We need justice. We need accountability. But more than that, we need our peace back.”
As the people of Sambhal in Mumbai continue to mourn, there is a growing sense of helplessness among them. “We cannot remain silent anymore,” says Ayesha Ansari, a teacher whose family hails from Sambhal. “If we don’t speak up now, if we don’t demand justice, Sambhal will no longer be the place we remember. It will be erased, not just from the map but from our hearts. We must act before it’s too late.”
Her voice cracks with emotion. “How do we explain to our children what happened to their homeland? How do we tell them that a place so full of love and history was destroyed in the blink of an eye?”
The people of Sambhal in Mumbai are united not just in grief, but in their collective hope for a day when peace will return to their homeland. But that hope feels fragile, as fragile as the memories of a Sambhal that no longer exists — a Sambhal where the sound of children’s laughter once echoed through the streets, a Sambhal where families sat together in the comfort of their homes, never imagining a future where their homes would be left behind, abandoned and lost.
In the end, they hold onto a single, fragile dream: that one day, the ashes of the violence will give way to a new dawn. But the question remains: will they ever see that day, or will Sambhal forever be lost to history, a sad reminder of what was once a place of peace?