Padlocks secured the iron grill gates to mosques across the Chinese city of Urumqi yesterday.

The white-bearded imam of the tiny Nurluk Mosque in one of the poorest districts peered out through the locked doors and waved away visitors. Only when a small group of well-dressed men climbed the hill and rattled the gate did he open up.

They were government officials carrying out a check to make sure that even this tiny place of worship would remain locked for the Friday noon prayers that are the focus of the Muslim week. The mosques were closed after Sunday’s rioting which killed 183 people — mostly Han Chinese — and left more than 1,000 injured. The violence began when an Uighur mob took to the streets, burning cars and smashing shops, provoking reprisals.

Residents of the hilltop slum shrugged their shoulders. Aishu Zhen, 35, shook with indignation. "Of course we don’t agree with this. But the government has closed the mosque. We can only make our prayers at home." The aim was to prevent large congregations of minority Uighurs gathering for Jumah prayers with emotions running high only five days after the riot.

Uighurs living in the warren of mud-brick houses lingered, hoping for a change of heart. Maimat Ali, a worn blue velvet skullcap covering his head, wagged his finger towards the mosque. "What can we do? There is nothing we can do about it." In another Uighur district, where some of the worst damage occurred on Sunday, more than a dozen riot police sat inside the gates to one mosque and city police patrolled outside. "No one is allowed near here," one officer said. His companion turned away a group of men who arrived carrying their prayer mats. They left quietly.

In the heart of the city, at the Say Bag District Mosque, officials sipped orange juice in the shaded entrance. Electric truncheons lay on the table in front of them. A notice on an entrance pillar asked people to worship at home.

Prayers were cancelled, it said: "Because of the complicated situation at the moment and to safeguard the security of the Muslim masses and to protect the property of the mosque and so as to give no opportunity to violent terrorists."

A mosque official, a Han Chinese, explained. "If too many people come then the situation will become too complicated. They could be stirred up to incite rioting."

Nearby, a group of young men sat around a table tearing at freshly baked naan bread. One said: "Of course we will go to prayers at midday. Our faith requires that we go the mosque on Friday. It is not something we can do at home." His friends nodded.

Paramilitary, police and soldiers poured into the city, standing in trios at major intersections, on alert for trouble. Helmeted security forces in camouflage marched up and down in front of the entrance to one mosque that holds a congregation of 2,000.

They shouted in unison: "Protect the Masses." Several white armoured personnel carriers were parked to one side of the mosque. Three soldiers kept watch from atop a minaret. It was an impressive show of force and it worked. The Uighurs watched or slipped away.

Many found their way to the popular White Mosque. As the time for noon prayers approached, about 100 men began to pray in front of the gates. The crowd swiftly swelled into hundreds, pressing to get inside. Finally a Uighur policeman guarding the gates opened up, allowing in a few for an abbreviated service cut to only about 10 minutes.

The policeman said: "We decided to let them in because they were too many. There could have been trouble." Two young men paused afterwards to chat to friends. One said: "We could pray today but I can’t say anything else, it’s too dangerous."

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