The passing of Professor Abdul Ghani Bhat is a profound personal loss for me and an irreparable loss for the people of Jammu and Kashmir. To me, he was more than a colleague in the Hurriyat Conference — he was an affectionate elder, a friend, and a guide with whom I shared a bond of over 35 years.
Bhat will be remembered as a man of intellect and moderation, who consistently championed dialogue and engagement as the only viable way to resolve the Kashmir issue. At a time when many believed otherwise, he had the courage to speak openly that “guns must give way to talks”. He often reminded us with his characteristic phrase: “Sab ki thodī-thodī nāk kaṭegī, par ḳhubṣūrtī meñ kamī nahīñ āyegī” — meaning India, Pakistan, and the people of J&K would all have to make compromises, but the beauty of peace would only grow. His conviction that dialogue was not weakness but wisdom gave strength to our collective efforts.
What set him apart was not only his political clarity but his intellectual stature. A professor of Persian by training, he was deeply immersed in the world of literature, poetry, and philosophy. Our conversations would often move from politics to Islam, Sufism, Rumi, and Iqbal. He guided me in my PhD thesis, drawing upon his vast knowledge and scholarly discipline. Many evenings, I recall him reciting Rumi or Iqbal to explain the deeper meaning of patience, justice, or hope. He had the unique habit of beginning our meetings by asking if I had seen any dream, and then interpreting it with a blend of spirituality and mystery. He was, in truth, a dreamer — but a dreamer of peace.
He bore personal tragedies with extraordinary resilience. He lost his brother to violence, just as I lost my father, Mirwaiz Molvi Farooq, and later my uncle, Molvi Mushtaq. We grieved together the assassinations of Abdul Gani Lone sahib and the attack on our colleague Fazal Haq Qureshi. Yet, despite this trail of loss, Bhat never allowed bitterness to cloud his vision. His response was always the same — to persist in engagement and dialogue, because without it, there could be no way forward. This moral courage is what defined him.
Bhat was also far-sighted in his understanding of geopolitics. Long before it became part of mainstream discourse, he would speak about the role of China in South Asia and its implications for Kashmir. He urged us to think beyond rigid positions and to approach the issue with imagination and pragmatism. He saw peace in the Subcontinent not as a utopia but as a realistic necessity.
For me personally, he was always present in moments of struggle, in moments of doubt, and in moments of grief. He stood by me through thick and thin, offering guidance rooted in faith and wisdom. It pains me beyond words that when his final journey came, I was denied by the state the simple human right to walk with him to his resting place. To be locked inside my home, unable to shoulder his bier, is a cruelty that compounds the sorrow of his passing.
I will miss his nuance, his gentle humour, his mystical insights, and above all, his unwavering belief that peace is possible if we dare to dream it. Abdul Gani Bhat’s legacy will live on as that of a scholar-statesman who combined intellect with humility, courage with patience, and conviction with compassion. His absence leaves a void that cannot be filled, but his words, his dreams, and his example will continue to guide us.
As Mawlana Rumi reminds us:
“Don’t get lost in your pain,
Know that one day your pain will become your cure.”
Bhat believed in this truth — that out of suffering must emerge healing, and out of conflict, peace. He was, and will remain, a dreamer of peace for the Subcontinent.
The writer is chairman, Hurriyat Conference
