Peerzada Masarat Shah
Some dates in history are immortal, refusing to fade no matter how many calendars try to erase them. For Kashmir, 13 July 1931 is one such day—a day drenched in the blood of 22 unarmed men, yet radiant with their courage. These were not just names etched on tombstones; they were 22 beating hearts, silenced by bullets but echoing through generations. Their sacrifice outside Srinagar’s Central Jail, where they fell for daring to raise the Azan and demand dignity, remains the heartbeat of Kashmir’s struggle. As a Kashmiri who grew up hearing these stories from elders whose eyes glistened with pride and pain, I believe we owe it to these martyrs to keep their memory alive, to resist attempts to erase their legacy, and to honor their sacrifice with unwavering resolve.
In the early 20th century, Kashmir groaned under the oppressive rule of the Dogra dynasty led by Maharaja Hari Singh. The Muslim majority, over 75% of the population, lived as strangers in their own land, denied education, employment, and basic respect. Crippling taxes crushed farmers, and dissent was met with brutality. Yet, the human spirit cannot be chained forever. Voices like Sheikh Mohammad Abdullah, Mirwaiz Yusuf Shah, and Chowdhary Ghulam Abbas began to stir, speaking not with violence but with truth—a weapon tyrants fear most. By 1931, the air was thick with the promise of resistance.
On 13 July, thousands gathered outside Srinagar’s Central Jail to protest the trial of Abdul Qadeer Khan, a young man arrested for challenging Dogra oppression. As the time for prayer approached, a Kashmiri stood to deliver the Azan. A gunshot rang out, and he fell. Another stepped forward to continue the call. He, too, was shot. One by one, 22 men rose, each determined to complete the Azan where the last had fallen. By the end, 22 lives were lost, their blood staining the ground. This was no ordinary act of defiance—it was a testament to faith and courage, a moment that reshaped Kashmir’s destiny. Historical records, including Sheikh Abdullah’s Aatish-e-Chinar and reports in The Tribune and The Hindu, preserve the raw truth of that day: these men died not with swords but with prayers on their lips and freedom in their hearts.
The massacre did not silence Kashmir—it awakened it. The bloodshed birthed the All Jammu & Kashmir Muslim Conference in 1932, which evolved into the National Conference, a beacon of the fight for civil rights and political reform. The Mazar-e-Shuhada at Naqshband Sahib became a sacred site where generations have gathered to honor the fallen and renew their commitment to justice. For over seven decades, 13 July was an official holiday, a day to reflect on sacrifice, not for politics but for memory. As historian Alastair Lamb wrote in Kashmir: A Disputed Legacy, “The events of July 1931 were not random. They were the collective scream of a people who had been denied their voice for too long.”
Political leaders today echo this sentiment, urging Kashmiris to hold fast to this legacy. Omar Abdullah of the Jammu & Kashmir National Conference said in 2023, “The martyrs of 13 July 1931 laid down their lives for the dignity and rights of every Kashmiri. Their sacrifice is not just a chapter in history—it is the heartbeat of our struggle. To forget them is to betray our identity.” Similarly, Mohammad Yousuf Tarigami of CPI(M) declared in 2024, “The 22 martyrs stood unarmed against tyranny, their only weapon their faith and courage. Their blood sowed the seeds of resistance that continue to inspire us. We must honor them by protecting the values they died for—justice, equality, and freedom.” These words remind us that the martyrs’ sacrifice is not a relic of the past but a living call to action.
Yet, this sacred memory is under attack. In 2020, the Jammu and Kashmir administration stripped 13 July of its status as an official holiday, as if bureaucracy could erase a blood-soaked legacy. In 2023, some political voices went further, branding the day as “separatist” and questioning its relevance. One politician, in a televised debate, mocked the need to remember it. I ask: How can a nation forget those who died for its dignity? How can a government dismiss a day that defines a people’s resilience? To erase 13 July is to dishonor the universal principles of justice and freedom these men died for. It is to abandon the soul of Kashmir.
The bullets of 1931 may no longer ring in the air, but their echoes pulse in our mountains, rivers, and breath. The martyrs did not die fighting with weapons—they died with faith and freedom in their hearts. Their courage, choosing defiance over silence, remains a beacon for us all. We honor them not just with tears but with resolve, gathering at Mazar-e-Shuhada, reading their stories in worn books, and passing their legacy to our children. As the Kashmiri saying goes, “Shaheedon ki yaad mein sirf aansu nahi—iraada bhi zaroori hai.” (In the memory of martyrs, we need more than tears—we need resolve.)
Let governments rewrite calendars. Let history books be altered. We, the people of Kashmir, will never forget. We will carry the memory of 13 July 1931 with pride, pain, and purpose. To the martyrs who gave their lives for our dignity, we offer our salaam. May their souls rest in peace, and may their sacrifice inspire a future worthy of their courage. Let their blood not be spilled in vain. Shaheedon ko salaam.
