July 13, 1931: Kashmir’s Day of Communal Reckoning

How a cook’s fiery speech, outside propaganda, and political provocation led to one of the darkest, most distorted chapters in Kashmir’s history

---

(Kashmir Rechords Exclusive)

In the long and often manipulated history of Kashmir, few dates are as politically charged and historically misunderstood as July 13, 1931. What is today remembered in some quarters as “Martyrs’ Day” was, in truth, a turning point that set ablaze not just prison gates, but also communal harmony, centuries-old coexistence and the very fabric of Kashmiri society.

To understand the real story of that fateful day, one must sift through layers of propaganda, politics and purposeful erasure. Few sources illuminate this moment with clarity and courage like G.S. Raghavan’s seminal 1931 book, Warning of Kashmir. Published in October 1931, mere weeks after the carnage, by the Pioneer Press, Allahabad, the book is a blistering exposé of how misinformation, communal incitement and orchestrated violence engulfed the Valley.

A Spark Ignited by an Outsider

The backdrop to the July  1931 uprising was tense but not unprecedented. Kashmir under Maharaja Hari Singh was grappling with socio-political churn. But it was the arrival of Abdul Qadeer, a cook from Peshawar, that set the stage for communal ignition. Far from being a native or an organic voice of the Kashmiri people, Qadeer was a transient presence who, in a speech laden with religious fervor and venom, called for the destruction of the Dogra regime.

Quoting selectively from Islamic texts and framing the Dogra rule as a religious oppression, Qadeer’s rhetoric electrified and radicalized. He was arrested on charges of sedition (Sec 124-A) and incitement to communal hatred (Sec 153-A). To avoid tensions in the city, his trial was moved inside Srinagar Central Jail.

The Flashpoint: July 13, 1931

On the morning of the trial, a crowd of nearly 5,000 gathered outside the jail. What began as sloganeering quickly descended into an organized assault. Gates were stormed, prisoners freed, buildings set afire. Despite police warnings and initial restraint, escalating violence led to military firing, killing six rioters and injuring dozens. But this was just the beginning.

The mob frenzy spilled into the city, targeting Kashmiri Pandit neighborhoods and businesses. From Vicharnag and Safakadal to Maharajgunj, Hindu homes and shops were looted, torched and residents attacked. According to Warning of Kashmir, these were not spontaneous outbursts of grief or anger—they were coordinated acts of terror. Over 330 rioters were arrested, yet more than 200 were quietly released for “lack of evidence.”

A Community Under Siege

G.S. Raghavan’s careful documentation reveals a chilling undercurrent of communal targeting. Hindus—especially Kashmiri Pandits and Punjabi Hindu traders—were singled out, attacked in broad daylight and denied protection. In Vicharnag, described as a “hell of smoke and shrieks,” the devastation was particularly severe. While military forces attempted to restore order, fear and trauma gripped the Hindu community, which found itself abandoned by the narrative that was swiftly forming around the so-called “martyrs.”

This part of the story is often omitted from official memory. While Muslim losses and grievances became central to political mobilization, the Hindu casualties, displacements and destruction were either ignored or minimized—a historical injustice that continues to echo.

The External Hand and a Manufactured Crisis

The political manipulation of the event was swift. Just twelve days later, on July 25, 1931, the All India Kashmir Committee was formed in Simla. Spearheaded by prominent Muslim leaders from outside the  Princely State, the committee demanded Kashmir be thrust into the national Muslim consciousness. August 14 was declared ‘Kashmir Day’, and Indian Muslims were urged to protest en masse.

This move, Raghavan argues, was a clear attempt to internationalize a local disturbance and turn it into a tool for larger political ambitions—not least by destabilizing the Maharaja’s regime and promoting religious separatism. Ironically, local Muslim leaders in Kashmir eventually urged these outside players to “leave Kashmir affairs well alone,” recognizing that external meddling was escalating the conflict.

Silencing the Truth: The Disappearance of a Book

Warning of Kashmir was initially recognized by the Government of Jammu and Kashmir as a credible and necessary counter-narrative to emerging falsehoods. The book, widely circulated until 1947, was later systematically removed from public libraries and government archives after Partition—part of a sinister campaign to suppress uncomfortable truths.

Raghavan’s analysis makes it clear that the 1931 unrest wasn’t simply a clash between a Hindu ruler and Muslim subjects. It was the result of outside incitement, radical preaching, inept handling of a sedition trial and most tragically, a mob frenzy that unleashed hell on innocent Hindus—the forgotten victims in today’s telling.

The Politicization of Memory

In subsequent decades, July 13 came to be celebrated in the Valley as Martyrs’ Day, complete with public holidays and official commemorations—until the abrogation of Article 370 in 2019. But the question remains: Who were the real martyrs of July 13?

Were they the men who died storming a prison in support of a seditious preacher? Or the dozens of Kashmiri Hindus stabbed, burnt, looted and displaced in the carnage that followed? The continued one-sided remembrance obscures the full truth, reducing a deeply complex and painful episode to a politically expedient myth.

Why July 13 Still Matters

As Kashmir continues to struggle with its layered identity—between religion, regionalism and nationalism—reclaiming the full history of July 13, 1931 is not merely academic. It is a moral responsibility. A future rooted in peace and reconciliation must begin with acknowledging all victims, not just those who fit a narrative.

History must not be trimmed to suit politics. The Kashmiri Pandits and other Hindus who suffered on July 13 , 1931 ( Also called as Batte Loot ) must be brought back into the frame of remembrance—not just as victims of a riot, but as citizens betrayed by silence.