Sweet treats to digital decrees: How Shab-e-Barat changed in Bangladesh

A few years ago, a Facebook scroll broke the monotony of my morning routine. I came across a catchy advertisement, promising "Shab-e-Barat festive colors'' with homemade Halwa. I was instantly transported back to my childhood when my mother used to make sweet delights for us.

But the familiar joy felt distant. Born and raised in the professors' colony of BUET, where a mere wall separated us from the vibrant pulse of Old Dhaka, I witnessed Shab-e-Barat celebrations with buoyant zeal. Now, years later, residing in Dhaka's upscale yet sterile Dhanmondi, the concrete jungle seems to have swallowed those once-vivid memories.

Here, in box-like apartments, Shab-e-Barat is barely a blip on the radar. The government declares a holiday, but the day itself unfolds in the quiet lull of chores, devoid of any festive spirit. The only glimmer of celebration comes from online advertisements, like the Halwa one that triggered my nostalgia.

Even in this virtual space, the shadow of doubt creeps in - what is this celebration all about? Along with Halwa ads, a number of Islamic scholars' Facebook posts warn against celebrating Shab-e-Barat, labelling it a "bidat'' or Bidʿah, an innovation without an Islamic basis.

While this holy night, being observed on February 24, resonates deeply for a large number of Muslims in the subcontinent, drawing millions to mosques where they pray for forgiveness and blessings, the Arab world, Islam's birthplace, frowns upon its very name.

Where religion and tradition went along

In Arabic lore, Sha'ban holds a dual meaning: "the month of separation," a time when pre-Islamic tribes dispersed to find water, and "the month of blessings," encompassing the holy night of Laylat al-Bara'at or Shab-e-Barat.

On this night, tradition holds that Allah reviews the deeds of believers, weighing their virtues and shortcomings. This belief imbues the 15th day of Sha'ban with special significance, encouraging introspection and spiritual renewal. However, this notion has very little theological basis backed by either the Quran or Prophet Muhammad’s sayings, which are known as the Hadith.

While this “night of remembrance” is observed across the Indian subcontinent and in Central Asia and Türkiye, as well as among the Sufis, it is not so with Salafis, Wahhabis, and more orthodox Arabs and followers.

Islam, of course, appeared in the Indian subcontinent comprising Bangladesh, India, and Pakistan, through the preaching of Sufis. The Turko-Persian cultural influence of the Sufis had developed a set of unique expressions that incorporated elements of local traditions in the subcontinent.

Besides, the historical interaction between Hinduism and Islam in South Asia led to a complex cultural tapestry. Syncretism, the blending of practices and beliefs, was prevalent, and its echoes are still visible in contemporary Islamic culture. From religious occasions like Shab-e-Barat which have many similarities with Diwali, to the respectful act of touching elders' feet, indigenous practices have found a place within South Asian Islam.

Many scholars see this intermingling as a source of cultural enrichment, while others express concerns about compatibility with strict interpretations of Islam as these adaptations strayed from core Islamic principles.

While delving into the theological intricacies of Islamic rituals is better left to qualified scholars, I can, at best, take a deep dive down my memory lane and juxtapose the contrasting celebrations of Shab-e-Barat I witnessed while I grew up near Old Dhaka in the 90’s and the lack of celebration that I see now in central Dhaka’s flashy neighbourhoods.

Nights of salvation, prayers and halwas

In the labyrinthine alleys of Old Dhaka, Shab-e-Barat unfolded like a scene from a storybook. As dusk descended, candles flickered on balconies, casting warm light on houses adorned with intricate designs. Children chased the fleeting sparks of "tarabati" (sparklers, which are called phuljhadi in India and Pakistan), their laughter echoing through the narrow streets. The air hummed with anticipation, punctuated by the occasional burst of fireworks painting the sky with fleeting colours.

During Isha prayer, men of all ages used to don crisp white kurtas and pyjamas and flocked to mosques. Along with prayers and Quran recitals, the spirit of giving also filled the air as mosques organised "Kangalii Bhoj," feasts specifically meant for the less fortunate, attracting long lines of grateful recipients. Generosity extended beyond the mosque walls, with nearby households sending sweets and savoury delights, not just for the poor, but also for those who dedicated the entire night to prayers inside mosques.

As the Isha prayer ended, a solemn procession would begin towards the graveyard. There, amidst the flickering candles and fragrant flowers, families gathered to offer special prayers and remember their loved ones who had passed away. Shab-e-Barat became a night not just for forgiveness and reflection, but also for cherishing the memories of those who were no longer with them.

Many of Old Dhaka’s famous bakeries like Ananda, Star or Hridoi used to prepare special Roti or loaf. These aren't your average loaves. Imagine fluffy, golden-brown delights studded with raisins, nuts, and honey, and sprinkled with sesame seeds for an extra crunch. Each bite was a burst of flavour, a testament to the age-old baking traditions passed down through generations. It was customary to buy these breads not just for your own family, but also to send them to loved ones, spreading festive cheer all around.

The undisputed king of Shab-e-Barat was Halwa, a rich, creamy dessert soaked with ghee or clarified butter. From the classic carrot Halwa to the vibrant Sujir Halwa or Semolina Halwa, each household boasts its unique recipe, passed down through generations. I remember that Ananda’s Lentil Halwa used to offer a uniquely rich nutty flavor, while its Neshestar Halwa brought a touch of floral essence.

My mother’s specialties were Egg Halwa and Papaya Halwa and she prepared those with lots of ghee and love. For the past decade, since our move to Dhanmondi, Halwa celebrations however have faded in our home. Age has slowed my mother's hands, and a shift in perspective has led her to view this occasion as a Bidat - something that has no roots in traditional Islam.

Changing attitudes in the time of social media

My mother's evolving perspective on Shab-e-Barat perhaps offers a glimpse into the changing face of this tradition in urban Dhaka.

At 76, she spends a significant amount of time on social media, particularly Facebook and YouTube, where she regularly consumes Islamic lectures and sermons. This constant exposure, compared to the limited information sources of previous decades, presents a stark contrast. Back then, local scholars and preachers were the primary sources of religious understanding, fostering a more community-driven interpretation of faith.

For example, most of the Islamic scholars here in Bangladesh used to view religion and culture as two sides of the same coin for ages. "Deen," encompassing everything from beliefs to daily practices, served as the cornerstone of identity but the cultural identity of Muslims, which had stemmed from hundreds of years of Hinduism and other local traditions, reigned supreme and shaped the food, fashion, and even religious ritual celebrations.

However, the rise of social media has opened the door to global voices, particularly those promoting "Salafist" or "purist" Islamic interpretations and making people here compartmentalise religion and culture, viewing them as distinct spheres. These contrasting viewpoints, often deemed "Bidaat" (innovation contradicting tradition), have significantly influenced perspectives on cultural practices like Shab-e-Barat.

I believe, the ease of access to these alternative interpretations, delivered directly by scholars from the Arab world, challenges established local traditions, potentially contributing to the decline of observance of days like Shab-e-Barat in urban settings like Dhaka. Whether it has done good or bad is best left to personal belief and understanding but to me, it feels like this ideological shift has created a sense of alienation from our cultural heritage.