Karbala

Karbala's history begins with a battle. On the tenth of Muharram in the year 680, Hussein ibn Ali, grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, was killed with most of his family and companions on the plain here after refusing to recognise the Umayyad caliph Yazid. The dead were buried where they fell, and within a few years pilgrims were coming to the graves. A settlement grew around them, watered by a canal from the Euphrates, and the two tombs — Hussein's and that of his half-brother Abbas — became the fixed points of the town's plan.

The shrines were repeatedly enlarged, destroyed and rebuilt: the Abbasid caliph al-Mutawakkil had the tomb levelled and the ground flooded in the ninth century, and later Buyid, Safavid, Ottoman and Qajar rulers paid for domes, gold plating, tilework and walls. Wahhabi raiders from the Arabian peninsula sacked the city in 1802, and Ottoman troops besieged and stormed it in January 1843, killing thousands, after a long standoff with the local factions. Persian, Indian and Turkish endowments made it wealthy, and its seminaries rivalled those of Najaf.

In modern times the city has often been at the centre of Iraqi politics. It was one of the seats of the 1920 revolt against British rule, and after the 1991 Gulf War the Shia uprising that spread here was put down with heavy force. Pilgrimage was restricted under the Baath government and resumed on an enormous scale after 2003, though bombings repeatedly targeted the crowds in the years that followed. Today Karbala is one of the most visited cities in the Islamic world, and much of it has been rebuilt to handle the numbers.

Karbala's culture is the culture of mourning for Hussein, and it sets the rhythm of the year. During Muharram the city is hung with black cloth, husayniyya halls fill for nightly recitations of the battle, and processions move through the streets with drums, chants and the striking of chests. Poets compose new laments in Arabic and the passion play known as the ta'ziya re-enacts the events on the plain. Forty days later, at Arba'een, the walk from Najaf brings millions of people along a road lined with mawakib, volunteer tents that hand out food, tea, foot massages and floor space to sleep.

Hospitality here is close to an industry and a point of religious pride: families compete to feed strangers, and the free kitchens run day and night during the commemorations. Alongside the mourning, Mid-Sha'ban and the imams' birthdays bring lights, sweets and celebration, and the same streets look entirely different.

The city's other identity is scholarly. Its seminaries and libraries have taught for centuries, second in Iraq only to Najaf's, and religious publishing, prayer stones made from Karbala's soil, and the trade in rosaries and devotional objects all depend on that reputation. The permanent population is almost entirely Shia Arab, but the streets are full of Iranian, Pakistani, Indian, Lebanese, Gulf and African pilgrims, and the shopkeepers switch between several languages as a matter of course.

About 800,000 people live in Karbala, and on the biggest pilgrimage days that number is dwarfed by visitors. The pilgrim economy dominates: hotels, hostels and guesthouses, restaurants, transport, religious goods, gold and money-changing, along with construction work to widen streets and build new accommodation. The two shrine administrations are major institutions in their own right, employing thousands and running hospitals, schools, farms and building projects.

Around the city, agriculture still matters. Karbala province grows dates in large palm groves, along with vegetables and grain on Euphrates water, though drought, falling river flows and salinity have hurt farmers, and Lake Razzaza to the west has lost most of its fish to salt and changing water levels. Water and electricity shortages bite in summer here as everywhere in Iraq, and households rely on neighbourhood generators.

The day starts early with dawn prayers and the first arrivals at the shrines, and the shrine plaza never really empties. Shops close through the worst of the afternoon heat and reopen in the evening, when families come out to the pedestrian streets and the ice-cream and juice stalls. Traffic, housing costs driven up by the pilgrim trade, jobs for young people and the management of the enormous seasonal crowds are the issues that occupy the city.

Karbala's signature dish is qeema, a stew of very finely minced meat and chickpeas cooked down to a thick, spiced sauce and served over rice. It is a Muharram tradition above all: enormous cauldrons are set up in the streets, the meat is pounded by hand, and the result is handed out free to anyone passing. Hareesa, wheat and meat pounded together into a smooth porridge, is cooked and shared the same way, and both are associated with vows and charitable giving.

The everyday food is the food of central Iraq. Kebab and grilled chicken shops surround the shrines, tashreeb layers torn bread under stewed lamb and broth, dolma stuffs vine leaves and vegetables with spiced rice, and biryani-style rice with meat and raisins is cooked in quantity for pilgrim kitchens. Samoon, the diamond-shaped bread, comes hot from stone ovens through the day, and breakfast is often kahi pastry with geymar clotted cream, or a bowl of pacha for those with an appetite for it.

Dates are Karbala's own crop and its souvenir: eaten fresh in late summer, dried the rest of the year, boiled into dibis syrup and folded into kleicha. Sweet shops pile up baklava, zalabia and sesame halva. Tea, strong and very sweet, is poured into small istikan glasses everywhere, and cardamom coffee is offered at the end of a meal or a visit.