In the course of my stay in Jammu and nearby towns I visited a number of Sufi shrines and met with shrine custodians and ‘ulama who are associated with the Barelvi school of thought, which advocates a reformed Sufism. Despite the fact that they are not engaged in any organised inter-community dialogue work, all the shrine custodians and Barelvi scholars I met insisted on the need for harmonious relations between the different communities, and bitterly critiqued the violation of human rights in India, including Kashmir, by Muslim and Hindu militants as well as the armed forces.

They unanimously insisted that the killing of innocent people, irrespective of religion, was a grave sin in Islam, and argued for the need for a peaceful resolution to the Kashmir issue. To kill a single innocent person, no matter what his or her religion, they pointed out, is condemned in the Qur’an as tantamount to the slaughter of all humankind. Hence, they stressed, those who loot, rape and kill innocent people cannot be said to be mujahids engaged in a legitimate jihad. Some of them claimed that numerous militants were engaged in such activities. Rather than being Islamically legitimate, they argued that such actions were fitna—strife, chaos or illegitimate rebellion—the very opposite of true jihad. A declaration of jihad can, they pointed out, be made only if Muslims are denied the freedom to practice their faith. Since there is no restriction on the practice of Islam in the state, they said, the conflict cannot be said to be a jihad. One of them, however, claimed that it could be considered a jihad for those militants whose families had been forced to flee Jammu for Pakistan in the Partition violence. To seek to regain lost Muslim land through force, he argued, might also be recognised as a legitimate jihad. This, however, appeared not to be a widely expressed or shared opinion. Some also pointed out that a declaration of jihad cannot be made by just about any Muslim. Rather, a fatwa to this effect must be declared by the accepted imam or leader of the entire community. They argued that since the different militant groups have shown no effort at building unity among themselves they do not have a single imam, who alone could, in theory, might be qualified to issue such a fatwa. Even if they agree on a single imam, his fatwa would not be binding on other Muslims who did not accept him as their imam. On the whole, then, most of the Barelvi scholars and shrine custodians I met felt that the root of the conflict in Kashmir was political, rather than religious. Hence, they argued, it needed a political solution, and they bitterly critiqued the radical Islamists’s claim that it was a war between Islam and ‘infidelity’ that would carry on till the latter had been uprooted.

The shrine custodians and Barelvi scholars I met also stressed the urgent need for better and peaceful relations between different communities, arguing that this was precisely what Islam insisted on, and for which the Sufis had devoted their lives. Some of them claimed that no major Barelvi scholar had characterised the ongoing militant movement in Kashmir as a jihad, and most of them blamed what they called ‘Wahhabis’ (by which they meant a range of such different groups as the Jama‘at-i Islami, the Ahl-i Hadith, the Lashkar-i Tayyeba and the Deobandis, all of whom they regard as having strayed from ‘true’ Islam) for the violence. At the same time they also denounced human rights violations by the Indian Army in Kashmir and the massacre of Muslims by Hindu terrorist groups in other parts of India.

They seemed divided on their own political views, however. All but one opposed Kashmir’s merger with Pakistan. Some of them thought that the only realistic solution was an independent Kashmir. Among these some also expressed the fear that an independent Jammu and Kashmir might result in the imposition of Kashmiri hegemony on the rest of the people of the state. They also opined that, given the fact that radical Islamist groups (whom they do not consider as representing ‘true’ Islam) wield the power of the gun, in an independent Jammu and Kashmir bloody civil war might break out between different groups of Muslims, each of which claims to represent normative Islam. Several others, however, insisted that since Muslims enjoyed religious freedom in India, and since Pakistan had allegedly been turned into a ‘Wahhabi’ bastion, it was best for the Kashmiris to remain with India rather than join Pakistan or be independent. At the same time, they admitted that they could not say this in public, for fear of being targeted or even physically eliminated by the militants. Yet, they added that by their appeals for peace, tolerance and love, they were, in their own ways, seeking to counter the appeal of the militant groups. While bitterly critical of the militants in Kashmir, they were equally adamant that for peace in Kashmir it was imperative that Hindu fascist groups in India also be countered, arguing that the oppression of Muslims in India by Hindu terror groups provided a powerful propaganda tool to Islamist groups in Kashmir.

Numerous custodians of Sufi shrines and Barelvi scholars whom I met in Jammu disagree with the Islamist political agenda of groups like the Jama‘at-i Islami and the Ahl-i Hadith-inspired Lashkar-i Tayyeba that insist on the centrality of an Islamic state. Although, in theory, the Barelvis and many shrine custodians do not deny the normative value of a state ruled in accordance with the shari‘ah, their focus, as in the case of most Sufis, is on individual moral reform, arguing that it is only when Muslims become ‘true’ Muslims in their own daily lives that an Islamic state could become a reality. That, however, is postponed into the indefinite future, since Muslims, like others, are seen as constantly faced with the temptation of the snares of the world. This explains the overwhelming concern on the part of the shrine custodians and Barelvi scholars with the ‘cleansing of the self’, through ritual observance, to the almost complete neglect of political affairs. As many of them see it, political power, in order to establish an Islamic state, is not to be actively sought. Rather, it is a gift that God gives to whomsoever He wills. In the absence of an Islamic state, Muslims are believed to be capable of leading fully Islamic lives, conducting their own personal and social affairs in accordance with Islamic injunctions. This is, of course, in marked contrast to the position of groups like the Jama‘at-i Islami and the Lashkar-i Tayyeba.

The opposition of numerous shrine custodians and Barelvi scholars to the ‘Islamic state’ agenda of groups like the Jama‘at-i Islami and the Lashkar-i Tayyeba is also inextricably related to their bitter critique of what they describe as ‘Wahhabism’. The term derives from the movement launched by the eighteenth century Arab puritan, Shaikh Muhammad bin Abdul Wahhab, who bitterly critiqued what he saw as the ‘corrupt’ and ‘un-Islamic’ practices and beliefs characteristic of much of popular Islam in his own times. He denied the need to strictly follow one of the four established schools of Sunni Islamic jurisprudence. He also denounced Sufism and popular Sufi practices as ‘un-Islamic’. He also opposed the popular Sufi notion of Muhammad being almost superhuman. Muhammad, he insisted, was a mere mortal, although he was a prophet of God. In contrast to the Sufis, he believed that the Prophet was no longer alive, and that his body had turned to dust in his grave. Likewise, he was vehemently opposed to the notion that the Sufis were alive in their graves and that they could intercede with God to have people’s requests met. He castigated such beliefs as akin to shirk, or associating partners with God, a heinous, unforgivable crime in Islam. He suggested that Muslims who held such beliefs were no different from ‘polytheists’ (mushrikun), and, hence, were actually not Muslim at all. Because of this, the ‘Wahhabis’ are routinely condemned by the Sufis as ‘traducers of the Prophet’ (gustakh-i rasul) and ‘enemies of Islam’ (dushmanan-i din).

The Jama‘at-i Islami, the Ahl-i Hadith, with which the Lashkar-i Tayyeba is associated, and the Deobandis, are, typically, seen in Barelvi discourse as different fronts of the ‘Wahhabis’, who are described as ‘anti-Islamic’ and as created by a range of ‘anti-Islamic’ enemies to destroy Islam from within. Commonly, the ‘Wahhabis’ are described as American- or Zionist-agents. It is thus hardly surprising that numerous Barelvi scholars and shrine custodians I met in Jammu were bitterly critical of the militant groups associated with one of the above mentioned Islamic organisations or movements. While they did not directly deny the importance of an Islamic state, they appeared unanimous that, given what they described as the ‘anti-Islamic’ ideology of the different ‘Wahhabi’ groups, the sort of ‘Islamic state’ that the militant groups were seeking to establish would result in bloodshed on a hitherto unprecedented scale, and would hardly deserve to be called ‘Islamic’ at all. Some of them expressed the fear that if Kahmir joined Pakistan or became independent civil war might break out between the different Muslim sectarian groups, given the ‘Wahhabi’ opposition to the deeply rooted Sufi tradition in Kashmir. Hence, several of them argued, for the Kashmiri Muslims it was better to remain in India, under a secular and democratic state, than to live under a ‘Wahhabi’ state, even in an independent Kashmir or as part of Pakistan. They claimed that if Hindu right-wing forces were effectively countered in India and if the oppression of Muslims in India were to cease, Kashmiri Muslims might themselves prefer to live in India, they claimed. When asked how it was that the militants continued to enjoy considerable support from local Kashmiris, even from those who would not identify themselves with one or the other of what they called ‘Wahhabi’ groups, they replied that this was because the ‘Wahhabis’ had deliberately kept their true beliefs concealed behind the rhetoric of jihad. If at all they came to power, they said, they would ‘reveal their true colours’, and begin to attack the Sufis and their adherents. Hence, they suggested, it was imperative that before this could happen ordinary Kashmiris should be made aware of the actual beliefs of the ‘Wahhabis’.

Linked to these complex political arguments is a bitter critique articulated by several shrine custodians and Barelvi scholars whom I met who insisted that since, by definition, the ‘Wahhabis’ were ‘anti-Islamic’, the so-called jihad that they had launched showed clear signs of being ‘anti-Islamic’ as well. They recounted numerous incidents of militants raping, looting and killing innocent people, and of militant leaders making a lucrative livelihood from donations from abroad in the name of jihad. They also cited instances of militants violently opposing popular Sufi-related practices and even of killing moderate leaders, some of them known for their Sufi piety. All this suggested, as one Barelvi scholar told me, that ‘The Islam that they follow is a fake one’. Because of this, they claimed, many Kashmiri Muslims were now increasingly tired of the ongoing violence and were disillusioned with the jihadist organisations. ‘They yearn for peace and normalcy’, I was told, ‘but they cannot speak out against the oppression of both the armed forces and the militants for fear of being killed’.

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Name of the Book: A Necessary Engagement—Reinventing America’s Relations With the Muslim World
Author: Emile A. Nakhleh
Publisher: Princeton University Press, Princeton & Oxford
Year: 2009
Pages: 162
Price:
ISBN: 978-0-691-13525-0

Reviewed by: Yoginder Sikand

Relations between the ‘Muslim world’ and the ‘West’ have rapidly deteriorated in recent years, and, despite repeated calls for dialogue, they only seem to be further worsening. That this bodes ill for everyone—not just Muslims and Westerners—is too obvious to need any explanation. This book is a passionate appeal for putting an immediate halt to this rapid downslide, and to work towards promoting meaningful dialogue between Muslims and the ‘West’, specifically America.

Nakhleh brings together years of experience, first as a scholar in residence at America’s Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), and then as director of the CIA’s Political Islam Strategic Analysis Programme, as well as insights gained from visits to over 30 Muslim-majority countries to argue the case for a radical revision of America’s attitude towards the ‘Muslim world’. Put briefly, he argues that America must rethink several of its current foreign policies vis-à-vis Islam and Muslims, and that this must go hand-in-hand with a creative, meaningful, sustained and multi-pronged public diplomacy initiative directed towards Muslim publics.

Based on his longstanding role as adviser to senior American policy makers, Nakhleh remarks that the American government ‘lacks deep knowledge of the Islamic world and of the diverse ways Muslims understand their faith, their relations with each other, and their vision of, and attitudes toward, the non-Muslim world’ [xi]. This, he suggests, is one of the principal reasons for not just the failure of most American initiatives in the ‘Muslim world’, but also for the rapid deterioration in relations between America and the latter. He laments the marked tendency of many senior American officials to see the world through the lens of terrorism, to refuse to recognize that most Muslims do not support terrorism, and to be unwilling to acknowledge that the majority of Muslims do indeed support ideas of good governance and are willing to enter into meaningful dialogue with others, including America.

Nakhleh clearly indicates that Islam, or even what is called ‘political Islam’ or Islamism, is not necessarily a factor for radicalization or terrorism. He insists that mere increased piety, or exhibitions of piety and identity assertion, among Muslim publics must not be seen as a threat or as a prelude to extremism. Yet, at the same time, he recognizes that ‘an Islamized environment might be conducive to further radicalization and terrorism’ (p.9), particularly if the agencies of ‘Islamisation’ are conservative, literalist Muslim groups, such as, for instance, Wahhabi-oriented movements. Further, radicalism using the language of Islam must not be seen simply as an ideological phenomenon. Rather, most often it is the drastic developments in the external environment that leads Islamic movements to take to the radical path, such as foreign occupation, repression by local governments, imperialist invasions or severe oppression by dominant non-Muslim communities. Nakhleh clearly recognises that in such cases, radicalism cannot be tackled through a simple law-and-order or security-driven approach. Without countering the root causes that lead some Muslims to take to extremism, such a policy will not just fail but will lead to further radicalization.

With regard to American policies in the ‘Muslim world’ that have exacerbated radical Islamist tendencies, Nakhleh identifies America’s support to dictatorial and repressive client regimes in Muslim countries, its invasion and occupation of Iraq, its continued offensives in Afghanistan, and its unstinted support to Israel as key issues. He insists—and for a retired senior official at the notorious CIA, this appears strikingly bold and honest—that all this must stop if American policies are not to continue to lead to the manufacturing of ever increasing hordes of Muslim radicals. He calls for the ending of the US-led occupation of Iraq, the scaling down of American military operations in Afghanistan, an immediate stop to the torture of Muslim prisoners, serious efforts to solve the Palestine issue and to end the plight of the Palestinians living under Israeli occupation, and a just resolution of regional conflicts in which Muslim groups are involved, as in Kashmir. Mere sloganeering about democracy, human rights and respect for Islam and Muslim sentiments will not do, he argues, in the absence of concrete policy initiatives. He rightly critiques the US establishment for its tendency to relate to the ‘Muslim world’ mostly or wholly through the lens of ‘terrorism’, ‘security’, and through the use of force and threats of forcible regime change. All of this, he writes, is construed by Muslims as an assault on Islam. It is entirely contrary to any serious engagement with the ‘Muslim world’ and also defeats what he regards as America’s ‘national interests’.

Far-reaching changes in US foreign policy vis-à-vis the ‘Muslim world’, Nakhleh suggests, must go along with well-designed public diplomacy initiatives directed at Muslim communities globally, in order to win Muslim hearts. These include a presidential declaration that reaches out to Muslims, convincing them that America is not at war with Islam and stressing what Nakhleh regards as common values and interests of America and the ‘Muslim world’, and various initiatives to promote ideas of good governance, transparency, democracy, accountability, fairness, human rights and the rule of law in Muslim countries. The public diplomacy package should include initiatives to promote moderation and tolerance, and should involve Muslim leaders who are committed to the rule of law and gradual and peaceful change. Efforts must also be made to dialogue and work with moderate Islamist groups and parties, who, while they may be critical of certain American policies, support ideas of good governance and democracy.

Nakhleh suggests some practical initiatives that could be undertaken by the US to reach out to Muslim publics, including the appointment of an ambassador to the ‘Muslim world’, initiating dialogue with ‘mainstream’ Islamic parties, developing exchange programmes for Muslim and Western parliamentarians, students, teachers and professionals, encouraging American universities to open campuses in Muslim countries, setting up a national university in America for the training of imams, empowering Islamic reformers to confront radicals, expanding American cultural centres in Muslim countries, and partnering homeland security with local Muslim communities.

Much of what Nakhleh suggests by way of American foreign policy and public diplomacy measures with regard to the ‘Muslim world’ is laudable and eminently sensible. But what he fails to engage seriously with are the very real practical difficulties that some of these suggestions are bound to face. If America continues to define its ‘national interests’ (which, Nakhleh writes, would be served by the policy recommendations he offers) in a very narrow way, will it at all be willing to promote democracy in Muslim countries, especially oil-rich ones, where democratically-elected regimes are likely to stop slavishly toeing American dictates? Given the enormous clout of the Zionist and Christian Right lobbies in America, will it seriously be willing to let its much-touted slogans of democracy and justice guide its policies towards Palestine? Would America seriously be willing to allow true democracy to flourish in Muslim lands if this means that Islamist parties might come to power through the ballot-box? What would their victory mean for democracy and human rights if the vision of Islam that these groups represent grossly violates contemporary notions of both?

The book’s focus is on what America could (or should) do to improve ties with the ‘Muslim world’. But, what about the other side of the story? What must Muslims do to improve relations with the non-Muslim West (and other non-Muslims)? Nakhleh refers to this only in passing, but it is clear that an urgent task before Muslim reformers is reformulating new, contextually-relevant understandings of their religion that accept and celebrate diversity, human rights, gender justice, and cordial relations with people of other faiths. This would, of course, mean directly challenging traditionalist, ‘orthodox’, ‘fundamentalist’ and radical interpretations of Islam on a whole host of issues. Admittedly, that is no easy task, but it is one that can no longer be avoided.

Despite the obvious limitations of this book, and, in parts, its tiring repetitiousness, this book simply has to be read by everyone interested in contemporary global politics and in Muslim issues.

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The Jammu province accounts for around 45 per cent of the total population of Jammu and Kashmir. The province consists of six districts: Doda, Poonch, Rajouri, Udhampur, Jammu and Kathua. Muslims form the majority of the population in the first three districts, and Hindus in the remaining three districts. Overall, the Hindus form a majority in the province, with Muslims accounting for around a third of the population. Other communities living in the province include Christians and Sikhs. Of the Hindu population, around a third belongs to the Scheduled Castes.

Hindu-Muslim relations in Jammu town: Alternate ways of understanding Islam

Jammu is popularly known as the ‘City of Temples’, owing to its large number of Hindu shrines. Most of the inhabitants of the town are, of course, Hindus, but the town also has a fairly substantial Muslim population. Although there are a few local Dogri-speaking Muslims in the town, most of them appear to be fairly recent settlers, from Poonch, Doda, Rajouri and from the Kashmir Valley.

Prior to 1947 Muslims had a very substantial presence in Jammu town. However, in the 1947 Partition riots, the Jammu province witnessed a large-scale slaughter of Muslims, with thousands killed and many more forced to flee to Pakistan. Consequently, Jammu town was almost completely depleted of its Muslim population. The violence in Jammu was in contrast to the situation in the Kashmir Valley at this time, which remained largely peaceful and did not witness any communal violence directed against its small non-Muslim minority, mainly consisting of Kashmiri Pandits. It was only from the 1950s onwards that small numbers of Muslims began settling in Jammu, mainly from other parts of the state.

Despite its recent history of communal antagonisms, which is further reinforced by the strong presence of right-wing Hindu organisations in the town, Jammu has not witnessed any large-scale communal riots in recent years. This is remarkable, given the situation in the Kashmir Valley. There have been minor clashes between Hindu and Muslim groups in Jammu town, generally in the wake of massacres of Hindus in Kashmir, but the local administration has been able to prevent these from breaking out into full-fledged communal riots.

The Muslims of Jammu town lead a somewhat ghettoised existence. Most of them live in the town’s two almost entirely Muslim localities. Living together provides them a sense of safety. There is, however, considerable interaction between the Muslims and the local Hindus and Sikhs, at the personal as economic and professional levels. Despite this, there are few, if any, organised efforts to promote any sort of inter-religious or inter-community dialogue. Communal stereotypes remain deeply-entrenched. Few, if any, of the several NGOs in the town are engaged in actively promoting communal harmony. When asked why this is so, the typical reply is that community, including religious, leaders are simply not interested in such work. This complaint generally goes along with a routine denunciation of religious leaders, who are alleged to use religion simply as a means of self-aggrandizement and are, therefore, not interested in dialogue. They have, so it is often claimed, a vested interest in preserving and promoting communal differences. This fits in with a certain image of many religious leaders of being not ‘really religious’ at all. Another reason that is often put forward to explain the absence of any organised work to promote inter-community dialogue is that although some religious leaders do feel the need for this, they do not have the contacts and the resources to do such work. Since there is little or no interaction between religious leaders of the different communities it is not surprising that even those who are interested in promoting dialogue are unable to do so.

On the whole, therefore, it would be safe to say that in Jammu, as elsewhere, most people have little understanding of the religious beliefs of other communities. The University of Jammu does not have a department of religious studies. Scholars associated with the university have done little research on local religious belief systems and nothing at all on inter-community relations and perceptions in the region. There is no literature available on the subject, and none of the several Hindu and Muslim bookshops in Jammu stocks any such literature. The local press also displays little interest or no in the issue.

Local religious mechanisms for inter-community interaction: Sufi shrines of Jammu

Despite the lack of organised efforts to promote inter-faith dialogue in the town, there are local mechanisms that work, in their own limited ways, to promote a certain interaction and ecumenism between the different communities. For instance, it is not rare to find shops and buses displaying pictures of images associated with the different religious traditions. This might be construed, in some cases, as simply good business sense, but in other cases it does reflect a sincerely-held belief of all religions being valid in their own ways. They have an important symbolic importance, especially if they are displayed, as they often are, in public spaces. It is, however, important not to exaggerate the prevalence of this sort of attitude. It is not very common, and is rather the exception than the rule. Then again, such images and associated beliefs are generally confined, not surprisingly, to some Hindus, and it is rare for them to be seen in Muslim, Sikh or Christian shops and vehicles.

The single most important and influential local religious institution for promoting inter-community in Jammu town, as almost everywhere else in India, are the town’s numerous Sufi shrines or dargahs. Dargahs are mausoleums that house deceased Sufi saints or Muslim mystics. The general belief is that the saints are still alive, in a spiritual sense, and, being close to God, can sometimes intercede with Him to have people’s requests met. The analogy with a government department is often used to explain this belief. Just as one cannot approach the head of the department without going through a clerk, so, too, it is said, it is sometimes difficult to approach God directly. One is, so it is believed by many, more likely to have one’s requests met if one approaches God through the mediation of the saint. This is especially the case since one recognises oneself as a sinner, and hence acknowledges that one is unlikely to have one’s requests met if one acts on one’s own.

This belief transcends community boundaries and unites believers in the powers of the Sufis in a shared sacred tradition. This is not to say that people from different communities view the Sufis in an identical way. Muslims, typically, see the Sufis as true Muslims, sometimes as missionaries of Islam, and as awliya or ‘friends of God’. Hindus who flock to Sufi shrines tend to see them as pious beings, in the same rank as genuine sadhus and mendicants who have renounced the world, although, strictly speaking, not all the Sufis were world-renouncers. Some Hindus even think of the Sufis as incarnations of God or as deities (devta). Needless to say, this is a view that Muslims do not agree with.

Jammu is home to a number of Sufi shrines, many of them being centuries-old. Interestingly, the vast majority of those who visit the shrines are Hindus, from different castes. The shrines provide the only arena where people of different communities participate together in common worship and devotion. As such, then, they are a unique institution for promoting inter-community interaction at the religious level. Hindus who visit the shrines sometimes prostrate before the graves of the Sufis, a practice not common among Muslim visitors who believe that prostration must be made only to God. Hindu devotees also sometimes touch the feet of the shrine custodians in reverence. They take oil from the clay lamps placed in the shrines, which they believe to be blessed, and apply it on their foreheads or wipe their hair with it. Some of them even press the graves of the Sufis as if massaging the tired bodies of the saints.

People from different communities offer prayers together at the graves, and there is no set format for this. Generally, the visitors pray silently, cupping their hands in front of them or holding them up, in Muslim fashion, in supplication. Sometimes, the custodians of the shrines, almost all of whom are Muslims, recite some verses from the Qur’an and then offer a prayer in Dogri or Urdu for the welfare of all the devotees present. After the prayer is over, people accept little drops of sugar as prashad or tabarruk, which may be offered by the custodian or by a person he appoints, who may be a Hindu or a Muslim.

Thursday evenings are special occasions for the shrines, when large numbers of people visit them. Another popular occasion for visiting the shrines is during the ‘urs celebrations of the buried saints. ‘Urs, in Arabic, means ‘marriage’, and marks the death anniversary of the saint, whose death is commemorated as his symbolic meeting with God. Some people visit the shrines simply out of devotion and reverence. Many, however, come in the hope that they would have their requests met through the mediation of the saint. It is common for Hindus who visit the dargahs to also visit Hindu shrines in order to have their prayers granted. In this sense, the dargahs are seen as seats of invisible power that one can, through proper devotion, access, and not necessarily as specifically ‘Islamic’ or ‘Muslim’ shrines in a narrow sense. The saint is believed to help everybody, irrespective of caste and creed, for, it is argued by many Hindu devotees, true saints are, in a sense, beyond religious and caste boundaries.

The mediation of the saint, some believe, can be more efficacious through the agency of the custodian of the shrine, the mutawalli or sajjada nashin. Usually, though not always, the custodian is a lineal descendant of the saint. He is often believed to have inherited some of the powers of his saintly ancestor. This explains why, in several dargahs, people, Hindus as well as Muslims, wait upon the custodian with their requests. In one dargah in Jammu that I have visited on numerous occasions, most of these supplicants are Hindu women from middle-class, and presumably ‘upper’ caste families. The custodian sits on a raised platform, while the supplicants sit below him. They approach him in turn and relate their problems, and he offers them solace and advice. In the case of some people who are said to be troubled by evil spirits, he runs an iron implement (chimta) on their heads and back while uttering a silent prayer. He tells his supplicants that he himself cannot do anything because he is simply a ‘slave of God’ (rabb da banda). They should, instead, pray to God and abstain from sin, and God might then be moved to grant them their requests or solve their problems. In case their requests are met, he says, they should come back to the shrine and offer incense and oil in honour of the saint. He jokes with his supplicants and speaks to them as something like a father figure, which helps create a certain charisma around him as a true man of God. In line with this, he does not accept any payment, and he says that he does this work simply out of service to God. However, some other custodians are said to accept donations, a practice which has, unfortunately, led to the entire class of sajjada nashins being viewed by many people as corrupt and as no different, in this regard, from charlatan babas and sadhus.

The dargahs of Jammu all have a distinctly ‘Islamic’ or ‘Muslim’ look about them. The graves that they house are all in Muslim style, and are covered with green silk sheets, often with verses from the Qu’ran embossed on them. The structures of the buildings are also ‘Islamic’, with domes and minarets, and sometimes with a small mosque attached to them as well. Inside, the shrines are also often decorated with pictures of Sufi saints or of the Ka‘ba in Mecca and the Prophet’s mosque in Medina and posters that bear verses from the Qur’an in Arabic calligraphy. Yet, they are open to people of all communities for worship, this being in contrast to both Hindu temples as well as mosques. The ecumenical appeal of the shrines is enhanced by the fact that, although a few of the rituals are distinctly ‘Islamic’, most of them are not seen as being associated with one particular religion or community, being more in the nature of local traditions that are followed across community boundaries.

The stories that are told about several of the shrines in the town—their ‘foundational myths’, one could call them—reflect a fascinating historical process of negotiation of inter-community relations in a harmonious way. These stories are often invoked to stress the point that people of different religions should live together in peace, that God is one, that all humans, at a certain level, are basically the same, and so on. A few examples may be cited here to illustrate this point:

The Dargah of Pir Raushan Ali Shah

The first major Sufi to come to the Jammu region is said to have Pir Raushan ‘Ali Shah, whose dargah is located at Gumat, near the famous Raghunath Mandir, in the heart of Jammu town. The pir is said to have been very tall, which explains why his grave is some 20 feet (or nine gaz) long, and hence the shrine’s popular name of Maqbara Naugazan. Some believe the pir to have been one of the companions of the Prophet Muhammad, but, clearly, this is wrong. A more reliable claim is that he arrived in Jammu in the 13th century, before Timur’s invasion of North India. He is said to have performed many miracles, which, so it is claimed, so impressed the Hindu Raja of Jammu that he became his devotee and requested him to settle in his city. When the pir died, the Raja laid him to rest with full honours and had a grave constructed for him.

The Dargah of Pir Lakhdata

The name lakhdata literally means ‘the giver of hundreds of thousands’. It could signify belief in this pir’s status as a giver of Sufi wisdom or as a helper to people in distress and need. The small dargah of Pir Lakhdata is located in a bazaar named after him in Jammu. The life of the pir is shrouded in mystery, although he is said to have been a close associate of Guru Nanak, the first guru of the Sikhs. The cult of Pir Lakhdata is particularly popular among the agriculturist castes of Punjab and Rajasthan, both Hindu as well as Muslim. This tradition is linked with the cult of Guga Pir, said to be a Rajput chieftain who converted to Islam. In some versions of the account of Guga Pir’s life, he and Pir Lakhdata are presented as one and the same person. According to local tradition, after his death, half of Guga Pir’s body was taken by his Muslim followers and buried according to Muslim rites, and to them he is known as Zahir Pir. The other half of his body was cremated by his Hindu followers, who revere him as Pir Lakhdata.

The Dargah of Baba Budhan ‘Ali Shah

Another noted Sufi whose shrine is located in Jammu and who is associated with Guru Nanak is Baba Budhan ‘Ali Shah. His real name is said to have been Sayyed Shamsuddin, but he is known more popularly as Baba Budhan (‘The Old Baba’) because he was blessed with a very long life. Baba Budhan was born near Lahore in the village of Talwandi, the birthplace of Guru Nanak. Tradition has it that he was a very close friend of Guru Nanak, and the two would often meet to discuss spiritual matters.
The Dargah of Pir Mitha

Pir Mitha’s dargah is located on the banks of the river Tawi, not far from the Jammu palace. According to local tradition, he came to Jammu from Iran in 1462 during the reign of Raja Ajab Dev. It is possible that Pir Mitha was a Isma‘ili Shi‘a, although today there are no Isma‘ilis left in Jammu.

One day, so a version of the local legend has it, the Raja’s wife fell seriously ill. The pir is said to have cured the queen by performing a miracle, as a result of which the king and many of his subjects became his disciples. A large section of the Bhishtis or water-carriers, considered to be a ‘low’ Hindu caste, accepted him as their spiritual preceptor. Soon, the pir’s fame spread far and wide, and many began converting to Islam at his hands. Because of this, the pir was faced with stiff opposition from some Hindu priests. His most vehement opponent was Siddh Garib Nath, a Shaivite Gorakhnathi yogi. However, as the story goes, the two soon became friends and, consequently, the pir is said to have ceased his missionary work. The pir and the yogi became, so it is said, so close that they decided to settle down together in the cave where the pir lived. This cave is known as Pir Khoh or the ‘Cave of the Pir’.

Legend has it that the yogi entered the cave and travelled all the way to Matan in Kashmir, never to return again. After he disappeared, his disciples came to Pir Mitha and requested him to accept them as his followers. The pir declined, and told them that they should be faithful to their own guru. When this failed to satisfy them, the pir relented somewhat and told them that they could, if they wanted, take his title of pir, generally associated with Muslim mystics. That is why the cave is today called as Pir Khoh and the heads of the Nath yogis who reside there are known as pirs.

Jammu skyline

A sizeable number of devotees of Pir Mitha today belong to the Jheer community. The Jheers identify themselves as Hindus, and although they are of ‘low’ caste background (their ancestral profession consisted of drawing water and cleaning utensils for the ‘upper’ castes) they now claim to be Rajputs. One branch of the Jheers, who are known as Kashps, revere Pir Mitha as their patron saint. It is customary for many Kashps who live in Jammu to visit the dargah every morning after having a bath. All their auspicious ceremonies are conducted only after paying respects at the shrine. Many Kashps are migrants or descendants of migrants from Sialkot, now in Pakistan, who fled to Jammu in the wake of the Partition riots in 1947. Several Kashps claim that they managed to flee their homes to Jammu unscathed because of the blessings of their pir.

The Dargah of Baba Jiwan Shah

Baba Jiwan Shah was born in 1852 in the Sialkot district of Punjab in a family known for its piety. At the age of 23, upon the advice of his preceptor, the Chishti Sufi Sain Baqr ‘Ali Shah, he left his village, spending 12 years in meditation and austerities at Akhnoor on the banks of the river Chenab. He then headed for Jammu, where he took up residence in a graveyard, meditating near the grave of the Sufi Sher Shah Wali for 12 years. After this, he spent the rest of his life in the region around Jammu, preaching and making disciples, who included Hindus as well as Muslims. Among these are said to have been Maharaja Pratap Singh, ruler of Jammu and Kashmir (1885-1925) and his brother Amar Singh. The king fixed a regular monthly stipend (wazifa) for him and would often invite him to the royal palace. Another disciple of the Baba was a certain ‘low’ caste man from the Chamar caste, who is buried in a small shrine near the dargah of the Baba in the Mohalla Jeewan Shah in the heart of Jammu town.

The Dargah of the Panj Pir

At Ramnagar, in the outskirts of Jammu town, is the shrine of the panj pirs, the five Muslim saints. The panj pir cult is widespread all over northern India and Pakistan. The composition of the panj pirs varies from place to place, and in some cases, it includes both Muslim as well as Hindu figures. The origins of the cult have been traced back to the Hindu cult of the five Pandava brothers, heroes of the Hindu epic, the Mahabharata, as well as to the Shi‘a Muslim tradition of revering the five members of the ahl ul-bayt, the ‘holy family’ consisting of the Prophet Muhammad, his daughter Fatima, her husband ‘Ali and their sons Hasan and Husain.

Little is known about the history of the panj pir shrine in Jammu. Legend has it that five brothers of a Muslim family spent many years there in meditation and austerities and then they all left to go their own ways. One day the five pirs appeared in a dream to the Maharaja and admonished him for sleeping with his feet pointing to their chillah, the placed where they used to meditate. The next morning, the Maharaja ordered the spot to be excavated, and an umbrella and five kettledrums were found. Believing this to be a holy place, he ordered the construction of a dargah there. He then appointed his royal charioteer, Alif Shah, and a Muslim woman, Khurshid Begum, as custodians of the shrine.

The great popularity of the panj pir shrine, especially among the local Hindus, is believed to be a largely post-1947 phenomenon. It is said that following the Partition riots some Hindus attempted to take over the shrine, claiming that it was actually a temple of the five Pandavas. They went so far as to forcibly install a Shiva linga on top of the grave-like structure inside the dargah.

However, so the story goes, the next morning people discovered that the linga had cracked into pieces on its own. The Hindus took this as a sign that the shrine was actually a Muslim dargah and so withdrew their claims.

At present, the dargah is looked after by a Hindu Rajput, Kuldip Singh Charak. He is the husband of a Muslim woman, Shamim Akhtar, the daughter of Khurshid Begum, the first custodian of the shrine. He took over this responsibility following Khurshid Begum’s death in 1986.

The participation of people from different religious and caste communities in the Sufi shrines of the town helps, in its own ways, in breaking down barriers between them. Sometimes, it provides a means for people to build friendships across community boundaries. In a way it also helps challenge, or at least question, deeply-rooted social hierarchies. Thus, while ordinarily many high caste Hindus may not eat food cooked by Muslims, in the shrines they accept the sweets prepared by Muslims or so-called low caste Hindus. It is also not rare for Muslim Sufi shrine custodians who are practising Sufis themselves to accept Hindu disciples, while not asking them to renounce their own religion. In one shrine that I visited, a Punjabi Hindu is a disciple of the Muslim custodian. He regularly attends the shrine, where he dons a Muslim-style cap and sits in the courtyard to distribute sweets to the visitors as prashad. This he does on his own volition and has not been told to do so by his spiritual master (pir). But he still identifies himself as a Hindu and goes to temples as well, and this his Sufi preceptor does not forbid. In this and several other cases, the categories of ‘Hindu’ and ‘Muslim’, while in a sense still valid, do not denote the radical separation, difference or conflict that, unfortunately, they often seem to.

It is important, however, not to exaggerate the ecumenical potential of the Sufi shrines. For many Muslims who attend the shrines the Sufis are seen, above all, as pious Muslim and often as missionaries of Islam. At the same time, they also taught, so their Muslim devotees would stress, love for all creatures of God, irrespective of religion and caste, but their Islamic identity is not in doubt. Another phenomenon that must be taken into account when assessing the possible role of the shrines in promoting interfaith dialogue and interaction is the declining influence of popular Sufism in some sections of the Muslim community. Several educated Muslims in Jammu, as elsewhere, see the cults centred on the shrines as ‘un-Islamic’. The opposition to the cults of the shrines is articulated in what are presented as ‘Islamic’ terms. Thus, it is argued that these cults are a later development, and thus are an ‘innovation’ (bid‘at) from the path of the Prophet. A tradition attributed to the Prophet is routinely cited, according to which the Prophet declared that every bid‘at leads to hell. Hence, several practices associated with the cults of the shrines, such as singing qawwalis or belief in the intermediary powers of buried saints or the belief that the saints are still alive and can hear one’s requests, are branded as ‘un-Islamic’ and as leading those who are involved in them to hell. Furthermore, these beliefs are said to be shirk or akin to polytheism, as they allegedly set up helpers in addition to God. Several of the practices and beliefs associated with the shrines (such as, for instance, offering flowers and sweets at the graves) are also branded as ‘Hinduistic’ (hinduana), and are thus condemned as ‘un-Islamic’. In this form of Islamic discourse, criticism of the cults of the shrines is also associated with a critique of the shrine custodians, who are said to have a vested interest in promoting ‘un-Islamic’ beliefs (such as faith in the miraculous powers of the saints) in order to fleece the credulous. In turn, they come to be seen as working to promote Muslim backwardness, including political marginalisation.

Opposition to the cults of the saints is one of the major focuses of some Islamic groups active in the Jammu region, as elsewhere in India. These include the Hanafi Deobandis, the Islamist Jama‘at-i Islami as well as the vehemently anti-Sufi Ahl-i Hadith, all of whom have established a limited presence in Jammu in recent decades.

The Deobandis have a large madrasa in Jammu town, and the imam of the largest mosque in Jammu is also a Deobandi. Besides, there are several Deobandi mosques and madrasas elsewhere in the Jammu province. The Deobandi cause has been further facilitated by the growth of the Tablighi Jama‘at, a Deobandi-inspired movement that seeks to purge Muslim society of what it sees as ‘un-Islamic’ accretions. The movement is said to have started working in the area from the 1970s onwards. As elsewhere, differences between Deobandis and the shrine custodians are intense. Several ‘ulama or Islamic scholars who are attached to the shrines whom I met denounce the Deobandis as hidden fronts of the Saudi ‘Wahhabis’ and as being agents of what they call the ‘enemies of Islam’. They see other Muslim groups, such as the Jama‘at-i Islami and the Ahl-i Hadith in a similar light. Some of the ‘ulama attached to the shrines identify themselves with the Barelvi school of thought, which is associated with the late nineteenth century Imam Ahmad Raza Khan of the town of Bareilly, in present-day Uttar Pradesh, who ardently defended the Sufi tradition from its detractors. Others identify themselves simply as dargah wale or ‘people of the Sufi shrines’.

In assessing the ecumenical potential of the Sufi shrines it must also be borne in mind that for many Hindus who attend the shrines the Sufis might be seen as pious men of God, but this does not necessarily or always translate into positive perceptions of or closer interactions with Muslims, although this sometimes does happen. It is possible for a Hindu to hold deeply-rooted negative stereotypical notions of the Muslim as the religious ‘other’ at the same time as he or she regularly visits a Sufi shrine. Often, this is because, for many people, the shrines are visited only in the hope of getting requests met or problems solved, and not necessarily simply out of devotion and faith or a quest for religious truth. In fact, at the shrines there is no overt discussion of religious doctrines in any great detail, these being often limited in their expression only to brief prayers, mainly silent and undertaken individually. Hence, although there is certainly an encounter and exchange between people of different communities, as such there is very little inter-religious dialogue at the theological level at the shrines. Thus, it is hardly surprising that the vast majority of the Hindus who visit the shrines would learn little about Islam or the doctrines of the Sufis since this is hardly discussed, except perhaps in a very general way when the custodian might refer to these when talking about the need for proper ethical behaviour to people to come to him for assistance. It is likely that since Jammu is a ‘communally-sensitive’ town and since Muslims live here as a small minority, the custodians think it pragmatic not to overtly stress the Islamic aspect identity of the shrines for fear of being looked at with suspicion. It is pragmatic, possibly, in another way for some custodians who accept donations, because an overtly Islamic identity would possibly mean less Hindu visitors and, hence, a decline in their incomes.

Given the ways in which the histories of the Sufis associated with several of the shrines are framed and remembered, and given the fact that people from different communities visit the shrines in sizeable numbers, the dargahs could, it might be thought, be motivated to play a more interventionist role in promoting greater understanding between the different communities at the religious level. There are several constraints, however, in this regard. To begin with, each shrine is an independent entity and there are few formal links between them, and so they do not operate as a group. Secondly, the shrine custodians might appear not to wish to overtly stress the Islamic identity of the shrines in a more explicit way, for reasons mentioned earlier, which limits their own interest in inter-religious dialogue initiatives. Thirdly, many of the custodians do not have the ‘right’ sort contacts, funds and cultural capital that might be needed to organise dialogue initiatives with religious leaders of other communities. Fourthly, in some cases there is simply no interest in the issue since for some shrine custodians their primary consideration is earning a livelihood through the shrines rather than social reform or activism. There is also the simple fact of inertia, and the feeling that since Muslims are in a minority in the town they should maintain a low profile. To add to this is the general perception that such efforts would make little or no difference at all in promoting communal harmony in the region in the absence of a political solution of the Kashmir issue.

Photo by Nihard

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By Yoginder Sikand,

Recent Developments

Traditionally, relations between the principal communities in Ladakh, the Buddhists, Shi‘as and Sunnis, have been fairly cordial. However, recent years have witnessed a marked deterioration in relations, owing primarily to various political developments. This finally culminated in a social boycott by the Buddhists of the Muslims of Leh district, declared and enforced by the Ladakh Buddhist Association (LBA) in 1989. The boycott remained in force till 1992, and witnessed several clashes between Buddhist and Muslim youth, incidents of police firing in which three people lost their lives, the burning down of several Muslim homes and even cases of forced conversion of Muslims to Buddhism. During the boycott, Buddhists who visited their Muslim relatives or patronised Muslim shops were penalised by LBA activists, and social relations between the communities were almost completely severed. Relations between the Buddhists and Muslims in Leh have improved after the lifting of the boycott, although suspicions still remain. The deterioration in relations between the Buddhists and Muslims of Leh are entirely a product of modern developments, particularly economic and political. They cannot, therefore, be seen as atavistic or a regress to a supposed obscurantist past, especially as, we have noted above, in the past relations between the communities were relatively cordial.

Old mosque and Leh Castle in the background

The boycott of Leh’s Muslims came as a culmination of a series of agitations spearheaded by local Buddhist groups against what they saw as Kashmiri Muslim ‘colonialism’. No sooner had Jammu and Kashmir acceded to the Indian Union than the Buddhists of Ladakh began protesting against Shaikh ‘Abdullah and the Kashmir-dominated state. The first budget of Jammu and Kashmir after 1947 allocated no funds for Ladakh, and, in fact, the region had no separate plan till 1961. In May 1949, Chewang Rigzin, President of the Ladakh Buddhist Association, sent a memorandum to the Indian Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru; pleading that Ladakh should not be bound by the outcome of a plebiscite in the state if the majority of its inhabitants chose to join Pakistan. He suggested that Ladakh be governed directly by the Government of India or be amalgamated with the Hindu-majority parts of Jammu to form a separate province or else be incorporated into East Punjab. Failing this, he said, Ladakh would be forced to consider joining Tibet. Nehru shared the LBA’s concerns, but urged it not to insist on its demands on the grounds that any constitutional or administrative action could weaken India’s stand on Kashmir in the United Nations.

The LBA then began to press for greater internal autonomy for Ladakh. It demanded the formation of a Ministry of Ladakh Affairs headed by a popularly elected Ladakhi member of the Legislative Assembly; adequate representation in the legislature and civil service; more development funds for constructing roads and canals and promoting agriculture and horticulture; and replacement of the Kashmiri police by local personnel. It wanted Ladakhi in the Tibetan or Bodhi script to be made the medium of instruction in schools in place of Urdu, and special provisions to be made for facilitating higher education and training in medicine, law, engineering, agriculture and forestry. It argued that Ladakh should bear essentially the same relationship with the state of Jammu and Kashmir as that between Kashmir and India, with the local legislature being the only competent authority to make laws for Ladakh.

In the years that followed, state allocations for Ladakh increased and the state government set up a ten-member Ladakh Development Commission, but these were seen as inadequate steps by the Buddhists of Leh, who kept up their demand for autonomy. Thus, in turn, led to growing political differences between the Ladakhi Muslims and Buddhists. In 1969, the alleged desecration of a Buddhist flag by a Muslim, the stoning of the Jami‘a Masjid and Imambara in Leh by a Buddhist procession, and subsequent reactions in Kargil, led to a heightening of the communal divide. The Buddhist Action Committee raised a number of demands, including Scheduled Tribe status for the Ladakhis, settlement of Tibetan refugees in Ladakh, construction of a rest house in Kargil, recognition and introduction of the Bodhi language as a compulsory subject till the high school level, and provision of a full-fledged cabinet minister to represent Ladakh. Some of these demands were met by the state government but the others were not accepted, perhaps because they were strongly opposed by the Muslim Action Committee in Kargil, who feared that this would result in further Buddhist domination. The Shi‘a Muslims of Kargil now began to see their interests as being inextricably linked to Kashmir, despite a complete absence of cultural and ethnic ties with the Kashmiri Muslims, the vast majority of whom, in contrast to the Kargilis, are Sunnis.

In 1980, police firing on Buddhist agitators demanding regional autonomy resulted in the setting up of the All-Party Ladakh Action Committee to spearhead the autonomy movement. Shortly after, a parallel Kargil Action Committee was set up, constituted by the National Conference and the Congress, which demanded provincial status for the two districts of Leh and Kargil on the pattern of the Jammu and Kashmir divisions. The Kargilis were, obviously, apprehensive of being included along with the Buddhists of Leh in an autonomous Ladakh. Taking advantage of these divisions, the state government used the Kargil Action Committee’s stand to reject the demand for Ladakhi regional autonomy on the plea that all Ladakhis did not want it.

The outbreak of militancy in Kashmir in 1989 convinced many Buddhists in Leh that their future was insecure in Jammu and Kashmir. Many of them feared what they saw as a possible Muslim takeover of their land. This fear was strengthened both by the Kashmiri demand for total independence or merger with Pakistan of the entire state of Jammu and Kashmir, including Ladakh, as well as the fact that the population growth rate in Kargil was considerably higher than in Leh, which meant that in a few decades the Buddhists would be in a clear minority in Ladakh as a whole. To add to this were continued charges of neglect by the Kashmir government and discrimination against Buddhists in fund and project allocations and government jobs. The question of regional autonomy for Leh was now increasingly being framed in communal terms, as a Muslim-Buddhist conflict.

A scuffle between a Buddhist youth and four Muslims in Leh on July 1989 set off a major agitation in Leh. This led to clashes in Leh town, which then spread to other parts of the Leh district. The Jammu and Kashmir Armed Police are said to have fired at Buddhist demonstrators, killing some of them. They are also alleged to have forcibly entered Buddhist homes, desecrated objects of worship, resorted to indiscriminate beating of locals and looting of property. These actions led the LBA to embark upon a violent struggle, once again demanding the separate constitutional status of a Union Territory for Ladakh. Shortly after, the LBA declared a complete economic and social boycott of the Muslims.

The boycott was initially directed at the Kashmiri Muslims, who controlled the local administration, as well as the Argon Sunni Muslims, who dominated the economy of Leh town, and who were seen as ‘Kashmiri agents’ and as opposed to the Buddhists’ demand for autonomy. The Baltis were later also included after they made common cause with the Sunnis, who presented the conflict as a communal one. The boycott was finally lifted in 1992, after the Government of India convinced the LBA that it would not consider its demands if it carried on with the boycott. An agreement was then entered into by the LBA and the Ladakh Muslim Association (LMA), which represented both the Shi‘as and the Sunnis of Leh. The Government of India, after much procrastination, then set up the Leh Autonomous Hill Council, providing the Leh district with considerable internal autonomy. With this, many of the demands of the LBA were met.

Two Ladakhi Muslim girls

In 1995, when the Leh Autonomous Hill Council was set up, the Kargilis were offered a similar deal. They, however, declined, believing that it would undermine the authority of the Kashmir government, whom they tended to look upon as their ally. However, probably witnessing the considerable development that Leh has seen in recent years, partly because it now enjoys a degree of autonomy, the Kargilis agreed to the setting up of the Kargil Autonomous Hill Council, which came into being in 2003. This, however, has been met with stiff resistance from the Buddhist minority in the Zanskar region in Kargil, who see the move as against their interests, and who have now started demanding a separate autonomous territory for themselves.

The setting up of the Leh Autonomous Hill Council appeared to have settled matters somewhat, to begin with. However, in 2000, when the then Jammu and Kashmir Chief Minister, Farooq ‘Abdullah, tabled a resolution in the state assembly calling for the restitution of the pre-1953 status of Jammu and Kashmir as an autonomous entity within the Indian Union, the LBA once again protested and demanded that Ladakh be declared a Union Territory. The LBA feared that if the pre-1953 status were restored, Ladakh would be turned into a ‘colony’ of Kashmir. In the wake of a week-long stir in Leh in June 2000, the LBA President Tsering Samphel insisted, ‘The only way out is to let Ladakh assume a Union Territory status’. He declared that if the LBA’s demands were not met, it would ‘approach the United Nations, pleading to somehow protect our cultural identity’. Lobzang Nyantak, the leader of the LBA’s youth wing went to the extent of cautioning the state and Union governments that, ‘The God-fearing folk of this region would be forced to take up arms if their long-pending demand remained ignored…[and] it will only be for the administration to blame if we happened to resort to the warpath. It [violence] may appear anti-religious, but the motive, nonetheless, is to protect our identity’. Not surprisingly, the LBA’s demand for the trifurcation of the state on essentially communal lines was warmly welcomed by the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh and the Bharatiya Janata Party, who are said to have established close links with the LBA, seeing it as an ally against the Muslims.

The vast majority of the Buddhists of Leh are said to solidly back the Union Territory demand, and some Muslims of Leh have also supported it. However, it is likely that some local Muslims oppose the demand, for fear of being dominated by the more advanced Buddhists, although they are careful not to be vocal in their opposition. Likewise, the majority of the Muslims of Kargil are vehemently opposed to Union Territory status for Ladakh. They refuse to consider joining Leh because they feel that Kargil, considerably poor and under-developed compared to Leh, would suffer neglect at the hands of a Buddhist-dominated administration. Further, they also do not wish to separate from Muslim-majority Kashmir, although, at the same time, most Kargilis do not support the secessionist struggle in the Valley. The ongoing political tussle which underlies the communal schism is further exacerbated by the fact that the Ladakh region, including Kargil and Leh, has just one parliamentary seat. During elections, Buddhist and Shi‘a leaders are said to consistently pander to communal prejudices to mobilise votes for this one single seat. A possible solution to this problem is, as some people have suggested, to increase the number of parliamentary seats to two, one each for Shi‘a-majority Kargil and Buddhist-majority Leh. Alternately, the single seat could be allocated on a rotational basis, for one term to Leh and for the next to Kargil.

Although the roots of the communal divide in Leh are, thus, largely political, they also have an underlying religious dimension. Religion in Ladakh is, as elsewhere, often used as a mobilisational device by politicians, both Muslims as well as Buddhists, which leads to further mistrust between the communities. Besides, several religious leaders appear to have a very negative image of other communities and their religions. These understandings, in turn, are contested by some of their co-religionists, who seek, in their own ways, to promote better relations between the communities.

[Photos: http://sherabphoto.blogspot.com]

Courtesy: TwoCircles.net

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Ladakh, the northern-most part of the state of Jammu and Kashmir, occupies almost two-thirds of its territory but accounts for just 2.7 % of its population. Ladakh consists of two districts: Kargil and Leh. Both the districts have a roughly equal population of a little more than a hundred thousand people. The majority of the population of Kargil, some 85 per cent, are Shi‘a Muslims, most of whom belong to the Balti ethnic community. The remainder are mainly Buddhists, in the Zanskar valley, with a small minority of Sunni Muslims in Padum and Nurbakshi Muslims in the Dras area. In Leh, the overwhelming majority of the population is Buddhist, with a minority of Sunni, Shi‘a Balti and Nurbakshi Muslims, who account for roughly 15 per cent of the population. Muslims are found in 25 out of the 112 villages of Leh district. In most of these villages they form scattered minorities, although in some villages near Leh and in the Nubra Valley they account for a substantial proportion of the population.

Buddhist-Muslim Relations in Leh: A Historical Background

According to a leading Ladakhi historian from Leh, Abdul Ghani Sheikh, Islam’s first contact with Ladakh goes back to the eighth century, when Arab soldiers and traders began entering the area. He writes that by the mid-seventh century Arab armies had already conquered large parts of central Asia, which had close historical ties with Ladakh. In the late eighth century, during the reign of the Abbasid Caliph Al-Mahdi (775-85), Arab armies reached as far as Tibet and had demanded tribute from the Tibetans. It is probable, Sheikh argues, that some Arab soldiers entered Ladakh at this time, although the available documentary evidence is fragmentary. Local legend has it that the Persian Kubrawi Sufi, Mir Sayyed ‘Ali Hamadani, who played an important role in the introduction of Islam in Kashmir, passed through Ladakh in 1381/2. He is said to have built a mosque at Shey, then the capital of Ladakh, and at Padum, in Zanskar, although this is disputed. Not long after his visit, some Muslim mystics of the Rishi order, such as Baba Zainuddin Rishi and Baba Nasiruddin Ghazi, are said to have travelled to Ladakh and Baltistan, and are credited with having made some converts to Islam in the area. The spread of Islam in Ladakh is said to have further accelerated after the conversion to Islam of the Ladakhi Buddhist ruler of Kashmir, Lha-chen-dngros-grub in the early fourteenth century, who later went on to take the name of Rinchen Shah.

New mosque in Leh

Ladakh witnessed a new influx of Muslims from the sixteenth century onwards, as Sunni Muslim traders from Kashmir began settling in the region. They were key players in the trans-Himalayan trade network along the Silk Route connecting West Asia with Tibet and China. They were welcomed by the Ladakhi Rajas, who saw them as playing a valuable role in the local economy. They were allotted their own special quarters in the capital city and lands to construct mosques. They married local Buddhist women, and the Argon community of Sunni Muslims in Leh today are descended from these unions. The Sunni community in Ladakh was further augmented after Ladakh became a vassal of the Mughals in the reign of Shah Jahan in the seventeenth century. Ladakhi rulers invited a number of Kashmiri Muslims to join their court as scribes to conduct official correspondence, in Persian, with the Mughal governors of Kashmir, and also to help run the royal mint. At this time Sunni Muslims also began settling in small numbers in the Zanskar area in Kargil, as assistants to the local Buddhist rulers as well as traders.

The Sunni Muslims are the largest religious minority in Leh today. They form around 6 % of the district’s population, and are almost entirely of mixed Kashmiri-Ladakhi background. This explains why they are often referred to as Argons or ‘mixed race’. They are more commonly known as Khacha Pa, the wordKhacha Yul meaning ‘Kashmir’ in the Ladakhi language. In addition to the Kashmiri element, some Argons also claim Turkestani and Central Asian descent.

The Shi‘as of Leh are almost all of Balti stock, ethnically similar to the Buddhist Ladakhis and the western Tibetans. They trace their conversion to the sixteenth century Mir Shamsuddin Iraqi, who is credited with introducing Shi‘a Islam in Kashmir and Baltistan. He and his disciples are said to have been responsible for the conversion of a number of Balti Buddhist princes to the Shi‘a faith. Many of the local Shi‘as, it is said, are descendants of migrants from Baltistan. They claim that they settled in Leh in the early seventeenth century, when the Ladakhi Buddhist ruler Jamyang Namgyal (1555-1610) married Gyal Khatun, daughter of Yebgo Sher Ghazi, the Shi‘a prince of Khaplu. Gyal Khatun is said to have brought along with her a number of Balti Shi‘as in her retinue. They were later accompanied by another group of Baltis who shifted to Ladakh following a devastating flood in Baltistan. Their descendants are now to be found in fairly sizeable numbers in Phyang, Shey, Chushot, Thiksey and Leh town.

A third Muslim community in Ladakh are the Nurbakshis, followers of the fifteenth century Persian mystic Sayyed Muhammad Nurbaksh. Nurbaksh’s own sectarian affiliation is disputed. Some claim that he was a Sunni of the Shafi’ school and a Kubrawi Sufi. Others insist that he was a Shi‘a who concealed his faith out of fear of Sunni persecution. The Nurbakshis in Ladakh are today found chiefly in the Nubra Valley and in some villages near Dras, in Kargil. Larger numbers of Nurbakshis lives across the border in Baltistan, in Pakistani-controlled Kashmir. Today, they are increasingly being targeted by Sunni and Shi‘a missionary groups, who are now engaged in a fierce competition to bring them to their respective folds.

Muslim-owned shops

Although the consciousness of adhering to different religious systems remained strong, Buddhists and Muslims in Ladakh historically shared a broadly similar culture. The local Muslims spoke Ladakhi and wore the same dress, often with minor differences. Food habits were, to an extent, similar, except for the consumption of alcohol and carrion, which are forbidden in Islamic law. Given the Buddhist prohibition of killing animals, all the butchers in Ladakh were Muslims, and many Buddhist communities specially imported Muslim butchers from Kashmir and Baltistan to settle in their villages. At the popular level there was, in some cases, a blurring of religious boundaries. For instance, in several outlying areas Muslims would visit Buddhist oracles and healers for cures, and some Buddhists would attend the Balti mourning rituals for Imam Husain. Another revealing example in this regard is that of the royal ceremonies on the occasion of Losar, the Tibetan New Year. The Raja would pass through Leh at the head of a large procession, followed by his cavalry. The Buddhist head of the cavalry would visit the Sunni mosque in the town, offer oil for the lamps in the mosque, and ask for the blessings of the local Imam.

Intermarriage between Argons, Baltis and Buddhists in Ladakh was fairly common until recently. Such marriages occurred among both ‘ordinary’ people as well as among the royalty. Thus, for instance, as mentioned above, the seventeenth century ruler of Ladakh, Jamyang Namgyal, married Gyal Khatun, daughter of the Shi‘a ruler of Khaplu. Gyal Khatun remained a Muslim till her death, but she was regarded by many Buddhists as an incarnation of the White Tara, probably because her son, Singe Namgyal, rose to become the most famous ruler of Ladakh, playing a crucial role in the expansion of both Buddhism and the geographical boundaries of the Ladakhi kingdom. Another Ladakhi Raja, Nima Namgyal, was married to a Muslim princess, Zizi Khatun, who is said to have exercised a major role in running the affairs of the kingdom. Raja Pirang Namgyal married Begum Wangmu, daughter of a small Shi‘a principality in Kargil. The son of the last independent ruler of Ladakh, Thundup Namgyal, also had a Muslim queen. Likewise, Hurchu Khan, the Shi‘a ruler of a principality in Kargil, married a Ladakhi Buddhist princess.

The historical records speak of numerous wars were between the Ladakhi Buddhist kings and the Shi‘a Muslim rulers of various small principalities in Baltistan. At the same time, they also mention a large number of marriages between the Shi‘a and Ladakhi ruling houses. Political alliances often cut across religious boundaries. Thus, for instance, when Ladakh was invaded by a joint Tibetan-Mongolian army in 1681, the Ladakhi ruler appealed to the Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb for help. In response to this request, the Mughal army, under Nawab Fidai Khan, entered Ladakh and, along with the Ladakhis, inflicted a heavy defeat on the invaders. In gratitude for this assistance, the Ladakhi ruler allotted a plot of land just below his palace in Leh to the Sunni Muslims of the town for a mosque. The mosque, which still stands, is now the central or Jami‘a mosque of the Sunnis of Ladakh. In other words, one cannot speak in terms of a history of any inherent antagonism between Muslims and Buddhists, as entire communities, in the region. Ladakh has never known the sort of communal violence that many other parts of India have witnessed.

[Photos: http://sherabphoto.blogspot.com]

Courtesy: TwoCircles.net

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Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd is a well-known Egyptian Islamic scholar. In 1982, he joined the faculty of the Department of Arabic Language and Literature at Cairo University.

In 1995, he was promoted to the rank of full professor, but  controversies about his academic work led to a court decision of apostasy  and the denial of the appointment. A hisbah trial started against him Islamist groups and he was declared a heretic (Murtadd) by an Egyptian court. Consequently, he was declared to be divorced from his wife, Cairo University French Literature professor Dr. Ibthal Younis. This decision, in effect, forced him out of his homeland and seek refuge in the Netherlands, where he now works. In this interview with Yoginder Sikand, he speaks about his work and reflects on his efforts to promote a humanistic reading of the Islamic tradition.

Sikand: You have been writing on the question of human rights in Islam for a long time now. What are you presently working on?

Nasr Abu Zaid: I am presently working on a project that explores and develops the notion of the rights of women and children in Islam. The aim of the project is to promote knowledge of the traditional sources of Islam, such as the Qur’an, the Sunnah or practice of the Prophet and fiqh or Islamic jurisprudence, within Muslim communities so as to help promote general awareness of these rights. Alongside this, the project also seeks to critically look at aspects of tradition that might appear to militate against these rights.

In the course of your work how do you relate to those aspects of the historical Islamic tradition which you think might be opposed to the notion of women’s and children’s rights?

Every tradition has both negative as well as positive aspects. The positive aspects are to be further developed, while the negative aspects need to be discussed closely, to see if they are indeed essential elements of the faith or are actually simply human creations.

How does this work relate to what you have been previously engaged in?

I see it as part of my long interest in Islamic hermeneutics, the methodology of understanding the Qur’an, the Sunnah and other components of the Islamic tradition. Of particular concern for me are certain assumptions in popular Islamic discourse that have not been fully examined, and have generally been ignored or avoided. Thus, for instance, Muslim scholars have not seriously reflected on the question of what is actually meant when we say that the Qur’an is the revealed ‘Word of God’.

What exactly does the term ‘Word of God’ mean? What does revelation mean? We have the definitions of the Word and revelation given by the traditional ‘ulama, but other definitions are also possible. When we speak of the ‘Word of God’ are we speaking of a divine or a human code of communication?

Is language a neutral channel of communication? Was the responsibility of the Prophet simply that of delivering the message, or did he have a role to play in the forming of that message? What relation does the Qur’an have with the particular social context in which it was revealed? We need to ask what it means for the faith Muslims have in the Qur’an if one brings in the issue of the human dimension involved in revelation.

Are you suggesting that the Qu’ran cannot be understood without taking into account the particular social context of seventh century Arabia?In other words, are there aspects of the Qur’an that were limited in their relevance and application only to the Prophet’s time, and are no longer applicable or relevant today?

What I am suggesting is that in our reading of the Qur’an we cannot undermine the role of the Prophet and the historical and cultural premises of the times and the context of the Qur’anic revelation. When we say that through the Qur’an God spoke in history we cannot neglect the historical dimension, the historical context of seventh century Arabia. Otherwise you cannot answer the question of why God first ‘spoke’ Hebrew through his revelations to the prophets of Israel, then Aramaic, through Jesus, and then Arabic, in the form of the Qur’an.In a historical understanding of the Qur’an one would also have to look at the verses in the text that refer specifically to the Prophet and the society in which he lived. Some people might feel that looking at the Qur’an in this way is a crime against Islam, but I feel that this sort of reaction is a sign of a weak and vulnerable faith. And this is why a number of writers who have departed from tradition and have pressed for a way of relating to the Qur’an that takes the historical context of the revelation seriously have been persecuted in many countries. I think there is a pressing need to bring the historical dimension of the revelation into discussion, for this is indispensable for countering authoritarianism, both religious and political, and for promoting human rights.

Could you give an example of how a historically grounded reading of the Qur’an could help promote human rights?

Take, for instance, the question of chopping off the hands of thieves, which traditionalists would insist be imposed as an ‘Islamic’ punishment today. A historically nuanced understanding of the Islamic tradition would see this form of punishment as a borrowing from pre-Islamic Arabian society, and as rooted in a particular social and historical context. Hence, doing away with this form of punishment today would not, one could argue, be tantamount to doing away with Islam itself. By thus contextualising the Qur’an, one could arrive at its essential core, which could be seen as being normative for all times, shifting it from what could be regarded as having been relevant to a historical period and context that no longer exists.

If one were to take history seriously, how would a contextual, historically grounded understanding of the Qur’an reflect on Islamic theology as it has come to be developed?

As I see it, Sunni Muslim theology has remained largely frozen in its ninth century mould, as developed by the conservative ‘Asharites. We need to revisit fundamental theological concepts today, which the Sunni ‘ulama, by and large, have ignored, for there can be no reform possible in Muslim societies without reform in theology. Till now, however, most reform movements in the Sunni world have operated from within the broad framework of traditional theology, which is why they have not been able to go very far.

How would this new understanding of theology that you propose reflect on the issue of inter-faith relations?

When I suggest that we need to reconsider what exactly is meant by saying that the Qur’an is the ‘Word of God’, I mean Muslims must also remember that the Qur’an itself insists that the ‘Word of God’ cannot be limited to the Qur’an alone. A verse in the Qur’an says that if all the trees in the world were pens and all the water in the seas were ink, still they could not, put together, adequately exhausted the Word of God. The Qur’an, therefore, represents only one manifestation of the absolute Word of God. Other Scriptures represent other manifestations as well. Then again, many Sufis saw the whole universe as a manifestation of the ‘Word of God’. But, today, few Muslim scholars are taking the need for inter-faith dialogue with the seriousness that it deserves. Most Muslim writers are yet to free themselves from a rigid, imprisoning chauvinism.

How does this way of reading the Qur’an deal with the multiple ways in which the text can be understood and interpreted?

The Qur’an, like any other text, can be read in different ways, and there has always been a plurality of interpretations. The text does not stand alone. Rather, it has to be interpreted, in order to arrive at its meaning, and interpretation is a human exercise and no interpreter is infallible. As Imam ‘Ali says, the Qur’an does not speak by itself, but, rather, through human beings. True, Muslims from all over the world, do share certain rituals and beliefs in common, but their understanding of what Islam and the Qur’an are all about differ considerably. It is for us to help develop new ways of understanding Islam that can promote human rights, while at the same time being firmly rooted in the faith tradition.

Yoginder Sikand works with the Centre for the Study of Social Exclusion and Inclusive Policy at the National Law School, Bangalore

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The last time I visited the Madrasa Arabiya Dar ul-Ulum Subhaniya, on the outskirts of Ferozepur Jhirka town—in 1992—it was housed in an ancient, crumbling mausoleum—said to have once hosted the grave of a Shia nobleman who died some 400 years ago. Today, the madrasa has undergone considerable expansion. The sprawling tomb-structure is cemented and neatly whitewashed, a number of low-lying buildings have come up around it, and the madrasa is now surrounded by a well-trimmed lawn with plenty of trees and flowering plants.

Madrasas teaching modern subjects

The founder of the madrasa, the amiable, 60 year-old Maulana Ilyas Qasmi, a graduate of the Dar ul-Uloom at Deoband and currently head of the Haryana wing of the Jamiat ul-Ulema-e Hind, has aged considerably since I last saw him. Yet, he still recognizes me as I step inside, and rushes up to envelop me in a warm embrace. He seats me down on a mattress on the floor and tells me excitedly about the progress his madrasa has made in the years since I last visited it. It now has some 150 students—almost all Meos. In addition to regular Islamic subjects, it now also teaches English, Hindi and Mathematics, till the fifth grade level. Those who teach these subjects are themselves maulvis, though, the Maulana admits, they are not well-qualified for the task. ‘We wish we could appoint better qualified teachers for these subjects, but such teachers demand high salaries, which we cannot afford’, he says.

Maulana Ilyas is a passionate advocate of ‘modern’ education, as well as education for girls. ‘When Islam has forbidden neither of these’, he says, ‘who are some so-called maulvis to forbid them?’ No reliable maulvi has ever issued a fatwa against modern education, he hastens to tell me. All that they are opposed to is blind Westernisation and loss of religious faith, commitment and identity that often characterizes students who study in regular school. Islam and modern education, he says, must go together. The Meos need both, he insists. That is why, he says, madrasas, too, need to reform. ‘Often, madrasa students cannot read English or Hindi, which not only causes many practical problems for them but also causes them to feel inferior, forcing them to depend on others in situations that require knowledge of such languages’, he rues.

Watch: Interview of Madrasas teachers and students

Lamenting what he describes as the rapid ‘Westernisation’ of the Meo youth, particularly, he points out, under the influence of television, the Maulana admits that the process appears unstoppable. ‘When people begin to regard something bad as good, it become very difficult to stop it’, he explains. This is another reason, he says, why madrasas must teach their students—would-be ulema—the basics of ‘modern’ subjects. ‘By familiairising themselves with these subjects, they can understand and speak in the language and idiom of the educated classes and explain Islam to them in an appropriate manner’, he points out.

Govt scheme to modernize madrasas

In order to ‘modernise’ Mewat’s madrasas, the Government has instituted a special scheme, Maulana Ilyas tells me. But, he laments, this have made little progress. He cites reports of endemic corruption as one basic cause for its failure. ‘A number of people set up fake madrasas simply to siphon off funds from the scheme’, he says. And, he adds, government servants administering the scheme were said to demand a hefty ‘cut’ before sanctioning money to madrasas that applied to avail of it. To make matters worse, he says, those administering the scheme were not too serious about them—perhaps they were loathe to see the Meo Muslims progress.

Yet another reason why the government-funded scheme for madrasa ‘modernisation’ found few takers in Mewat was because some larger madrasas, in Mewat and elsewhere, vociferously denounced the scheme as an alleged conspiracy against Islam and the madrasas. Maulana Ilyas dismisses this charge as unfair. ‘Some such larger madrasas simply want to maintain their supposed superior position and keep the smaller madrasas below them. Hence their opposition to the scheme. Some of them even went to the extent of announcing a social boycott of the smaller madrasas that wanted to avail of government funds under the scheme’, he relates.

Like a few other madrasas in Mewat, the Madrasa Arabiya Dar ul-Ulum Subhaniya brushed aside the opposition of some maulvis and decided to avail of the Government’s madrasa ‘modernization’ scheme for a period of two years. Under the scheme, the madrasa received a sum of three thousand rupees per month as salary for one teacher appointed for ‘modern’ subjects for every forty students, plus an annual grant of eight thousand rupees to buy equipment. ‘Contrary to what many maulvis had claimed’, Maulana Ilyas stresses, ‘there was no effort on the part of the Government to interfere in the madrasa’s curriculum and system of functioning through the scheme.’

Maulana Muhammad Husain, Maulana Ilyas’ eldest son who helps him run the madrasa, exemplifies a new sort of ulema that is today fast emerging in Mewat—socially-engaged and supportive of ‘modern’, in addition to religious, education for Meo children, both boys and girls. Two of his four sons study at the English-medium Aravalli Public School near Ferozepur Jhirka, and they also attend religious classes in the madrasa after class hours. ‘They are babus during the day and maulvis at night’, Maulana Husain’s friend Qari Sirajuddin jokes. Maulana Husain has high ambitions for his sons. Strikingly, he does not want them to become maulvis like himself and his father. ‘I hope they will become doctors, engineers, lawyers or government officials. But, at the same time, they must have a good grounding in religious education’, he tells me.

Madrasas turning into regular schools

Another institution that I visit on this trip is the Muhammadiya High School, in the village of Sakras, not far from Ferozepur Jhirka. When I saw it last—in 1992—it was a small madrasa. Now transformed into a regular co-educational school, it caters to almost 400 children, a fourth of who are girls. A little more than a tenth of the students of this Meo-run school are Hindus, the rest being Meos. The school follows the syllabus prescribed by the Haryana Board, to which it is affiliated, but it also has facilities for Urdu, Arabic, and Islamic Studies. Although its medium of instruction is Hindi, it arranges for its senior students to take the examinations conducted by the Jamia Urdu, Aligarh.

At the school I met a maulvi—whose name I forgot to ask—who teaches Islamic Studies to students in the primary and middle classes. He opines that it is imperative that the madrasas modernize by introducing at least a basic modicum of modern subjects in their curriculum. This, he says, is crucial especially since in Mewat the ulema continue have a very strong influence, and if they are seen as supporting modern (in addition to religious) education, it can have a very powerful and positive impact on the wider Meo society, inspiring Meo parents to seek modern, in addition to Islamic, education for their children.

Watch: Meos speak on education

At the same time, the maulvi is critical of some maulvis, associated with the larger madrasas, who are vehemently opposed to any sort of modernization, including the government’s madrasa modernization scheme. ‘They are financially strong, so they feel no need to take advantage of this scheme. They fear that through the scheme the government might interfere in their finances’, he surmises. ‘They continue to spread rumours that the government is engaged in a conspiracy to interfere in the madrasas and, thereby, to destroy them in the name of reforms. In this way, they want to keep modern education out of the madrasas’, he continues. He is clear, though, that madrasas must not balk at teaching their students the basics of ‘modern’ subjects—with or without the financial assistance of the government—because, otherwise, he warns ‘madrasas will find themselves anachronistic, being unable to keep up with the times.’ ‘Madrasa students who don’t know a word of Hindi or English feel terribly ashamed when they have to seek the help of others for even such small matters as filing in railway reservation forms or for writing an address on a letter. Being forced to be helpless in such matters is quite contrary to the stature that one expects of the ulema’, he bemoans.

Another man I meet at the school is 68-year old Maulana Kamaluddin Nadwi, a Meo graduate of the renowned Nadwat ul-Ulema madrasa in Lucknow. Uncle of the director of the school, Abdul Ghaffar, he is, in some sense, the main inspiration behind it. ‘Over time’, he tells me, ‘many Meo ulema have changed their position on modern education. Only a few of them—maybe just a fifth—remain somewhat opposed to it in its present form. They fear that the sort of education that is imparted in general schools will impact negatively on the religious identity and commitment of Meo children. At the same time, they realize that the demand for modern education is immense. That is why they have been forced to modify their views.’

Maulana Nadwi comes across as a passionate advocate of what he calls ‘a balanced and holistic Islamic concept of education’, combining both modern as well as Islamic subjects. He does not conceal his differences with those maulvis, such as some very staunch activists of the Tablighi Jamaat, which still remains strong in Mewat, who argue that modern education is opposed to Islam, a claim, he argues, that they assert simply to promote their own vested interests that depend on keeping people ignorant. He recites an Urdu couplet to stress his point:

Mudda tera agar duniya mai hai talim-e deen

Tark-e duniya qaum ko na sikhlana kabhee

(‘If you want to promote religious education in the world, do not teach the community to renounce the world’)

It is not simply out of practical considerations that Maulana Nadwi argues for a healthy mix of both ‘modern’ and Islamic subjects in the madrasas. Rather, he says, his appeal is based on his understanding of Islam, which, he says, countenances no division between religion and the ‘this-worldly’, unlike Christianity. ‘Muslims pray to God for success in both this world and in the life after death’, he reminds me, ‘so how can we, especially our ulema, ignore knowledge of this world?’ ‘The Quran refers to those who have truly submitted to God as the best community, which has been created for the welfare of people’, he poignantly asks, ‘but what welfare can we present-day Muslims provide others when we ourselves have no knowledge of the present world?’

Maulana Nadwi passionately argues the case for Meo girls’ education, lamenting that the Meos have one of the lowest rates of literacy among all the various communities that inhabit India. ‘Islam insists that education is a duty binding on all Muslims, men as well as women’, he says, ‘and hence those who oppose girls’ education, ironically in the name of Islam, adopt a completely anti-Islamic stance.’ In sharp contrast to most other Mewati maulvis, Maulana Nadwi argues that Islam does not prohibit Muslim women from seeking suitable employment outside their homes, if the need so arises, or from playing roles in the public sphere. ‘While abiding by the rules of Islamic decorum, Muslim women must participate in public activities and take up suitable careers. In this way, they can have a salutary impact on people of other faiths who have negative views about Islam, based on serious misunderstandings and on wrong interpretations of the faith on the part of many Muslims themselves’, he stresses.

The winds of change blowing across Mewat have not left even traditional madrasas unaffected. Many of these have now included a basic course in ‘modern’ subjects while continuing to focus mainly on traditional Islamic learning. One such madrasa is the all-girls’ Madrasat ul-Banat Khadjiat ul-Kubra at Patparbas, near the town of Nagina. Established in 1994 by Maulana Syed Muhammad Sulaiman, it is one of Mewat’s only two girls’ residential madrasas. Associated with the Deobandi school, the syllabus it follows is ‘traditional’. Texts penned by numerous Deobandi elders specifically for women, most notably Maulana Ashraf Ali Thanwi’s Bahishti Zevar and Bahishti Sumar, form the core of the madrasa’s five-year maulviyat course, after which students are encouraged to shift to the Jamiat us-Salehat, a large girls’ madrasa in Malegaon, Maharashtra, to train for an additional three years in order to become full-fledged religious scholars or alimas. Presently, some sixty Meo girls, aged between six and fourteen, study and stay at the madrasa. Education is free, but a monthly fee of three hundred rupees is charged for boarding and lodging, but only from those girls whose parents can afford it.

In addition to the core religious or traditional subjects, students at the madrasa now also learn basic English, Hindi and Mathematics, besides practical skills such as tailoring, embroidery, cooking and first-aid. Says Maulana Sulaiman, ‘The Prophet made education a duty for all Muslims, including women. It is as important as food is. The real ulema have never opposed girls’ education or modern education, unlike what is often alleged. Instead, what they are against is immorality, un-necessary intermingling of the sexes, and licentiousness. Otherwise, they have no problem with them.’

That statement I am to hear from almost every Meo maulvi I meet on this trip—a clear indicator of the veritable educational revolution underway quite unnoticed in Mewat today.

(Photos and interviews taken by Mumtaz Alam Falahi of TwoCircles.net)

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Lying to the immediate south of Delhi, straddling the rocky outcrops of the Aravalli range, is the region known as Mewat, named after the Meo Muslims, the principal community living in the area. Mewat covers large parts of the Gurgaon and Faridabad districts in Haryana and Alwar and Bharatpur in Rajasthan. Recently, a separate district was carved out of the Meo-dominated parts of Haryana and also given the name of ‘Mewat’.

Two decades ago I used to regularly visit Mewat—for my Ph.D. dissertation, which was about the history of the global Islamic revivalist Tablighi Jamaat, now the world’s largest such movement, which had its roots in the humble hamlets of Mewat in the 1920s. It was the Tablighi Jamaat that put Mewat on the map of the world. Some months ago, I returned to Mewat, after a gap of fifteen years, curious to learn how much, if at all, the region had changed in this period.

Despite its proximity to Delhi, Gurgaon and Jaipur, Mewat is one of the most impoverished regions in northern India. When I did fieldwork in the region in the 1990s, the literacy rate among the Meos, more than a million-strong community, was estimated at less than 10 per cent, and that of Meo females at lower than 5 per cent. This was attributed to extreme poverty (most Meos being small peasants) as well as the influence of the ultra-conservative Tablighi Jamaat, which was seen as being opposed to education imparted in regular schools, particularly for girls, believing that this would lead the Meos astray from Islam.

Two decades later, the Mewat is still characterized by endemic poverty. The villages and towns I visited this time seem to have hardly changed in terms of looks since I saw them last. But for a couple of recently-constructed large, brightly-painted mansions and a few new shops (only a few of which were Meo-owned), Nuh and Ferozepur-Jhirka, the two largest towns in Mewat, seemed to be no different from what I remembered of them from my earlier visits. In fact, they only seemed to have become even more filthy and chaotic. The villages I travelled to seemed to have remained frozen in time—the same squalid mud huts, the same visible signs of neglect by the state, the same scene of Meo women labouring in the fields while their menfolk squatted on cots sunning themselves or sucking away at their hukkahs at roadside eateries. But one change struck me forcefully throughout my trip: a distinct thirst on the part of many younger Meos for ‘modern’ education—nothing short of a revolution in terms of demands, hopes, and expectations.

Meos breaking shackles to get education

This was quite in contrast to what I had witnessed on my first visit to Mewat, in the late 1980s, when there was not a single Meo-run school, when there were hardly a dozen or so Meo girls in government-run schools throughout the region, and when many local ulema or Muslim clerics, mostly affiliated to the Tablighi Jamaat, openly condemned ‘modern’ schools as dens of irreligiousness and licentiousness, insisting that the Meos should send their children only to madrasas instead. Today, however, literally dozens of ‘modern’ schools run by Meos have mushroomed all over Mewat; girls are enrolling in these and in government-run schools in rapidly increasing numbers; many ulema are in the forefront of promoting ‘modern’, in addition to religious, education among the Meos; and scores of madrasas have begun teaching English and Hindi, with some of them having actually transformed themselves into regular schools.

Located on the outskirts of Ferozepur Jhirka town is the sprawling 15-acre campus of the recently-established English-medium Aravalli Public School, the largest Meo-run school in Mewat. Founded by a retired Meo engineer, Muhammad Israil, this residential school has some 600 students on its rolls, 60% of whom are Meos, and roughly 10% Muslims from other parts of India, the rest being from other religious communities. 60 of the school’s 70 girl students are Meos. The costs of studying here are exorbitant by average Meo standards, but tuition fees are waved for girls in order to encourage more Meo girls, whose overall literacy rate is less than 15%, to enroll. The schools’ principal is a Hindu. Most teachers are non-Meos, including Muslims from other parts of India as well as non-Muslims from Mewat.

The school’s well-maintained campus is lined with fine buildings built around a vast playing field. The swank technical training institute was built with aid from the Japanese Embassy, so I am informed by a student who takes me around, and the girls’ hostel building that is still under construction is being financed by the Islamic Development Bank.

It is late in the afternoon, and the students pour out of their hostels and onto the playing field, forming teams to play football and cricket. They are dressed in jeans or shorts, and brightly-coloured T-shirts or jackets and sneakers. None of them sports the almost mandatory Tablighi-style beard that almost every Meo male in their fathers’ generation does. These students are nearly all Meos—I can hardly believe that at first, for hardly any Meo boys dressed like this when I last visited the area. A dozen girls, Meos all, take a sprint around the playing field, brandishing their badminton rackets. Needless to say, that would have been considered sheer anathema two decades ago.

I stare, dumbstruck, at the students, stunned at what I see before me. When I first visited Mewat, the parents of most of these students would almost all have been un-educated peasants—their fathers dressed in long kurtas, tahmats and ponderous turbans, their mothers, wholly illiterate, kept carefully cloistered in their homes when they were not compelled to work in the fields.

Watch: Interview of Mewat students

That a major section of Meo youths are today defying deep-rooted traditions by clamoring for ‘modern’ education is undeniable, and signs of this are today visible all over. I am not sure if this is an entirely positive development, though. Need ‘modernisation’ necessarily be equated with ‘Westernisation’? Does it have to also necessarily imply ‘secularisation’, in the sense of focusing wholly on worldly knowledge and ‘success’, consequently trivializing religion and moral values? These crucial questions are being raised by many Meos themselves, who fear that the irrepressible desire on the part of Meo youths for ‘modern’ education might seriously erode traditional, religious values and promote crass consumerism. This is summed up in a complaint of a maulvi attached to a Deobandi madrasa located adjacent to the Aravalli Public School—‘The school has no facility for teaching Islamic Studies. All that they are taught is about this world (duniya)—how to gather more information and degrees so that they can get highly-paid jobs and lead a life of ease and comfort.’

Schools imparting religious and secular education

Devising an educational system that balances the needs of the duniya and the deen or religion has been a longstanding concern for Muslim educationists. When I first visited Mewat, I came across almost ulema who were supportive of, leave alone actively engaged in, promoting ‘modern’ or ‘secular’, in addition to religious, education. In contrast, on this trip, I met with numerous maulvis, all graduates of what are commonly considered to be ‘orthodox’ madrasas, who have set up their own schools that impart a healthy mix of both sorts of learning.

Watch: Interview of Qari Sirajuddin of Al-Falah Model School

One of these ulema is an old friend of mine, 33 year-old Qari Sirajuddin of Bhadas village near the town of Nuh. The last time I met him was when he was 18 years old. He had just completed his religious education at the Jamia Sanabil, an Ahl-e Hadith madrasa in Delhi, and had returned to his village, where he had started a small maktab in a two-room tenement to provide basic Islamic education to girls. Today, what started off as the Madrasat ul-Banat Ayesha Siddiqa is now the Al-Falah Model Senior Secondary School. Affiliated to the Haryana Educational Board, it provides education till the twelfth standard. It has almost 700 students on its rolls, of whom almost a hundred are non-Muslims. Girl students number some 125, of whom 25 are Hindus, and the rest Meo Muslims. The school supplements the government-approved syllabus for modern subjects with compulsory Islamic Studies, Urdu and Arabic for Muslim students and Sanskrit, for Hindu students.

What, I ask Qari Sirajuddin, made him transform what began as a girls’ madrasa into a co-educational secondary school? ‘There are scores of madrasas in Mewat’, he answers, ‘but what we lack are sufficient general schools, for which there is now increasing demand’. Further, he adds, ‘I did not want to keep depending on people for donations (chanda), which I would have had to had I continued to run it as a madrasa. As a school it can generate funds for itself through the fees that it charges’.

Several other small madrasas across Mewat might, too, like to make the shift and become regular schools, albeit with provision for Islamic education for their Muslim students, Qari Sirajuddin tells me. However, a major hurdle in this regard are the government’s stringent norms for providing recognition to private schools that most such madrasas fail to meet. As per the existing rules, to qualify for official recognition an institution must possess a basic minimum plot of land (half acre for primary schools, one and a half acres for middle schools and two acres for high schools)—which effectively rules out most madrasas. Likewise, an institution must possess a certain number of rooms of a particular size, a library with a basic specified number of books and so on, which many smaller madrasas, that run small budgets based on donations, simply cannot afford. Were the government to lower these requirements in the case of madrasas, Qari Sirajuddin suggests, several small madrasas in Mewat might well transform themselves into regular schools. ‘That’, he says, ‘would be a much less expensive and controversy-free way to modernize madrasas.’

Qari Sirajuddin’s own family, whom he introduces me to over a hearty meal at his home, exemplifies the rapid transformation that the Meos are today undergoing in terms of their approach to education. Although himself a madrasa graduate, none of his children is training to become a traditional alim or Islamic scholar. The first two of his six children, including one girl, study in modern, privately-run ‘public’ schools, and the rest in his own school. His brother, also a graduate of a traditional Ahl-e Hadith madrasa (the Madrasa Riyaz ul-Ulum, Delhi) has just finished a degree in Social Work from the Jamia Millia Islamia and hopes to join the civil services.

His support for ‘modern’, in addition to religious, education, Qari Sirajuddin assures me, is something that he shares with increasing numbers of ulema today—not just in Mewat, but across other parts of India, too. ‘Even some very conservative Deobandi Meo ulema, who traditionally frowned on modern schools, have opened such institutions, fearful that otherwise Muslim children would study in non-Muslim schools, because of which they might, as they see it, go astray’, he tells me. Madrasas throughout Mewat, he says, have now introduced basic English, Hindi and Mathematics in their curriculum, mainly because they realize that this is what parents of most Meo children now also want. At the same time, he laments, few of these madrasas take the teaching of these subjects seriously. ‘Some of them claim to be teaching English and other such subjects simply to keep the mouths of their critics shut and to stave off criticism that they are not giving their students a well-rounded education’, he says. ‘The managers of most madrasas do not know English or other modern subjects themselves, and so are not in a position to prescribe a proper syllabus for these subjects and to supervise the teachers they appoint for teaching them.’ Many of them also feel, Qari Sirajuddin goes on, that if they were to deviate from the traditional Deobandi-style curriculum by giving more than just a basic attention to modern subjects they would be criticized by their religious ‘elders’. Typically, he says, the staff they employ for teaching these subjects are simple high school graduates, with no training at all, and with a very poor command of these subjects.

Be that as it may, the very fact that Mewat’s madrasas, once known for their visceral opposition to what they saw as the baneful influence of ‘Western-style’ education imparted in schools, are increasingly willing to incorporate these ‘Western’ subjects into their curriculum is ample proof, Qari Sirajuddin assures me, of the veritable revolution in the demands and expectations of vast numbers of Meo parents as regards the education of their children.

Qari Sirajuddin can be contacted on 09813790027 or at gwfmewat@gmail.com

(Photos and interviews taken by Mumtaz Alam Falahi of TwoCircles.net)

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Maulana Yahya Nomani

(Translated from Urdu by Yoginder Sikand)

The issue of what Islam has to say about inter-community relations is one about which much misunderstanding exists. Anti-Muslim propagandists claim that Islam preaches hatred for non-Muslims, and that the Quran is a menace to world peace. They go so far as to argue that world peace is simply impossible as long as the Quran exists. In order to back their propaganda, they have deliberately twisted and misinterpreted certain verses of the Quran. Many people with little knowledge have fallen prey to this poisonous propaganda, which has been aggressively spread on an enormous scale through the media.

At the same time, we must also admit that some Muslims themselves entertain misunderstandings and extremist views about the issue of relations between Muslims and others that are based on a completely wrong interpretation of the Quran and the Sunnah, the practice of the Prophet. This calls for a detailed study, so that misunderstandings, wrong interpretations and extremist views about Islamic teachings regarding relations between Muslims and others can be countered.

It is true that Islam stresses that Muslims, here understood in the sense of true submitters to God, are distinct from others in terms of their religious views and ethical virtues. It cautions them from imitating others, especially their religious symbols and rituals, which Islam does not accept. It is also true that Islam strictly forbids befriending enemies of the faith and those who conspire against Muslims. At the same time, however, Islam exhorts Muslims to relate to other non-Muslims with softness, good manners, gentleness and love.

Respect for the Human Race

Islam teaches that all human beings, irrespective of community or race, are children of the same set of primal parents, and, so, are bound together by their common humanity. As the Quran states:

“O mankind! We created you from a single (pair) of a male and a female, and made you into nations and tribes, that ye may know each other (not that ye may despise each other). Verily the most honoured of you in the sight of Allah is (he who is) the most righteous of you.” (Quran 49:13).

This basic Islamic teaching about the whole of humankind being children of the same parents stresses the need for consciousness of our common humanity and of us being brothers unto each other. This is why, according to a hadith report, the Prophet would, after finishing his prayers, supplicate with God, saying, ‘O Allah! Sustainer of myself and of everything! I bear witness that all human beings are brothers of each other.’

According to the Quran, human beings are creatures worthy of respect:

“We have honoured the sons of Adam […]and conferred on them special favours, above a great part of Our Creation.” (Quran 17:70)

This clearly indicates that Islam regards human beings as deserving respect, love and concern on the basis of their humanity. A hadith report well illustrates this teaching. Once, the Prophet was present along with some of his disciples when a funeral procession passed by. The Prophet stood up. Seeing the Prophet stand out of respect for the dead man, some of his companions informed him that the man had been a Jew. But, the Prophet responded, ‘Was he not a human being?’ After the Prophet, some of his companions, too, followed this example of his, as is related in the books of Hadith compiled by Bukhari and Muslim.

In another hadith report, the Prophet exhorted his followers to relate with kindness to all creatures thus:

‘God is merciful to those who are merciful. Deal with mercy towards creatures on earth and He in the heavens will be merciful towards you.’ (Sunan Tirmidhi, 1924; Sunan Abu Daud, 4941).

This hadith report very clearly expresses a basic Quranic teaching. The Quran states that the true path to salvation is through showing mercy and love to others:

“And what will explain to thee, the path that is steep? (It is:) freeing the bondman; Or the giving of food in a day of privation to the orphan with claims of relationship, or to the indigent (down) in the dust. Then will he be of those who believe, and enjoin patience, (constancy, and self-restraint), and enjoin deeds of kindness and compassion. Such are the Companions of the Right Hand.” (Quran 90: 12-18)

This is the path of salvation—not simply to be kind-hearted, but also to participate in the mission to promote, in practical terms, kind-heartedness and compassion for others. Such are the steps on the path to salvation. Islam does not restrict good behaviour simply to other human beings. Rather, it insists that Muslims should behave in this way with all living creatures. Thus, according to a hadith recorded in the Sahih of al-Bukhari, the Prophet said, ‘There is merit (sawab) in behaving well towards all living creatures.’

The Bond of Nation/Community (Qaum)

Islam recognizes a certain sort of brotherhood and feeling of oneness among members of the same community/nation as an established fact. This is expressed in the Quran in the form of various prophets, such as Hud, Saleh, Shoeb and so on, addressing the non-Muslim members of their communities as brothers, and, in this way, accepting a relationship of nation- or community-based brotherhood between Muslims and non-Muslims belonging to the same nation or community. When these prophets of God preached His message to their own people (who were not Muslims, or ‘submitters’ to God), they addressed them as ‘ya qaum’ or ‘O my people’, appealing to their hearts and reminding them of the common bond of community that they shared with them. This clearly indicates the sort of concern and love that Muslims should adopt when addressing their non-Muslim compatriots and in seeking to cement bonds with them.

The importance of how concern and love should infuse relations between people belonging to a common race or nationality, despite their religious differences, is evident from the fact that the Prophet Muhammad cared for the (the then non-Muslim) Egyptians just because the mother of the Prophet Ismail (Ishmael), son of the Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham), was from Egypt. The Prophet instructed the Arabs to remember this ancient racial tie, saying that they would soon conquer Egypt and that he wanted them to deal with the Egyptians kindly because they had the right to protection (haq-e zimma) and because their racial ties with the Arabs demanded this.

Kind Behaviour Towards Non-Muslims: Some Examples

Various Islamic teachings and Sunnah or practice of the Prophet indicate the kindness and concern that non-Muslims deserve from Muslims. The Quran mentions that needy non-Muslims are deserving of the financial assistance of Muslims, and that, therefore, they should be helped. In the Surah Al-Baqara of the Quran, God says that guiding others to the faith is not the work of human beings, and that God guides whom He wills. The Quran adds that we must not refuse to help a needy person simply because he or she refuses to accept Islam. It says that we shall be rewarded for whatever we spend in God’s way:

“It is not required of thee (O Messenger) to set them on the right path but Allah guides to the right path whom He pleaseth. Whatever of good ye give benefits your own souls and ye shall only do so seeking the “Face” of Allah. Whatever good ye give, shall be rendered back to you and ye shall not be dealt with unjustly.” (Quran 2:272)

This verse indicates that while providing financial help to others it is not necessary to distinguish between those who accept Islam and those who do not. In other words, all needy people are deserving of such help.

Elaborating on this verse, the noted scholar Imam Ibn Jareer Tabari wrote in his Tafsir-e Tabari that the verse commands Muslims not to deprive non-Muslims of charity. He was of the view that this was how numerous companions of the Prophet and those who came after them in the next generation understood this verse.

This was also the practice of the Rightly-Guided Caliphs. Thus, as mentioned in the Kitab al-Kharraj by Abu Yusuf, the Caliph Umar sent a letter to his governor, instructing him to provide for his poor and needy non-Muslim subjects from the wealth of the Muslims.

Reconciliation and Kind-Heartedness

Islam stresses kindness towards relatives, especially close relations, so much so that it says that God declares war against he who does not fulfill his responsibilities towards his relatives (Masnad Ahmad 1684; Sahih al-Bukhari 5987-5989). It also declares that those who sunder their relations with their relatives will have no place in heaven (Sahih Muslim, 2556).

Kindness towards and reconciliation with relatives applies to all relatives, Muslim as well as non-Muslim. It is their right. Islam seeks to cement relations, not to destroy them. Thus, non-Muslim relatives have all the rights over a Muslim, so much so that the Quran lays down that if a Muslim’s parents are not Muslim themselves, and even if they seek to pressurize their Muslim son or daughter to abandon Islam, they must be treated well under all conditions, although one should not yield to their pressure. As the Quran puts it:

“And We have enjoined on man (to be good) to his parents: in travail upon travail did his mother bear him, and in years twain was his weaning: (hear the command) “Show gratitude to Me and to thy parents: to Me is (thy final) Goal. “But if they strive to make the join in worship with Me things of which thou hast no knowledge obey them not; Yet bear them company in this life with justice (and consideration) and follow the way of those who turn to Me (in love): in the End the return of you all is to Me, and I will tell you the truth (and meaning) of all that ye did.”(Quran 31:14-15).

The mother of Abu Hurairah, a companion of the Prophet, used to say bad things about the Prophet, but Abu Hurairah tolerated this. When he complained about her behavior to the Prophet, the latter prayed for her, rather than expressing hatred for her. Because of this, she was guided (Sahih al-Muslim, 2491).

The mother of Hazrat Asma bint Abu Bakr was a polytheist. In the wake of the Treaty of Hudaibiyah between the Muslims, led by the Prophet, and the Meccan pagans, relatives from both sides were able to meet each other. At this time, Hazrat Asma’s mother came to Medina to meet her, bringing along with her some gifts. Hazrat Asma thought of reciprocating this gesture by giving her mother some presents when she was returning. However, she hesitated for a bit, not sure if Islam allowed for Muslims to present gifts to their non-Muslim relatives. Accordingly, she approached the Prophet and asked him if she should seek to strengthen her ties (silah rahmi) with her mother. In reply, the Prophet said she must, and instructed her to give her gifts. (Sahih al-Bukhari 2602; Fath al-Bari).

Some commentators have claimed that Hazrat Asma’s mother had come to Medina because she was in need of help. But, the fact is that she was a well-off woman, and Hafiz Ibn Hajar and other scholars have written that she herself had brought gifts for her daughter. Thus, it could be that she wanted to restore her bonds with her daughter that had been earlier sundered. In other words, Hazrat Asma’s giving of gifts to her mother appears not to have been an expression of help to a needy mother, but rather, a way of expressing and fulfilling her duty of familial love.

Other Social Relations Between Muslims and Others

While Muslims have been forbidden to engage in such relations with non-Muslims that might undermine or destroy their religious distinctiveness, Islam stresses that Muslims must relate with concern, and a high standard of morality with non-Muslims in order to create a better society. Treating neighbours kindly is such an important Islamic teaching that in the corpus of Hadith, narrations relating to the Prophet, it has been said that not abiding by this teaching can sometimes even lead to the danger of one’s own faith being taken away. The Prophet thrice proclaimed that he who is a source of discomfort to his neighbour is not a true believer (momin) (Sahih al-Bukhari, 6016).

One’s neighbour, who deserves exemplary treatment, can be a Muslim or a non-Muslim, and the above-mentioned principle applies in both cases. This is well-illustrated in the following story. One day, a goat was slaughtered in the home of Hazrat Abdullah Ibn Umar. When he returned home, the first thing he did was to ask if some of the meat had been sent to the house of his Jewish neighbour. ‘I have heard the Prophet stressing the importance of kindness towards neighbours’, he said (Abu Daud, 5152).

One aspect of the life of the Prophet, which serves as a model for Muslims to emulate, is that even if an enemy is in great trouble one should supplicate for him with God. On the one hand, the Prophet would beseech God to punish bloody oppressors, but, on the other hand, we see the Prophet helping the Qureish of Mecca, who stiffly opposed him, when they were faced with a severe famine. In that critical situation, Abu Sufiyan, the Qureish leader who had stridently opposed the Prophet, came to him. Invoking their relationship, he said that the Quraish, the tribe that the Prophet himself belonged to, were dying, and requested him to beseech God. The Prophet prayed to God, and because of his prayer the situation was cured (Sahih Bukhari, 4824).

It is said that if a Jew present in the Prophet’s congregation would sneeze, the Prophet would do the same dua, ‘May God give you guidance and improve your condition’, for him as he would for a Muslim (Sunan Abu Daud 5040). Because they were so fond of this dua, some Jews would pretend to sneeze, but the Prophet still do this dua for them. In the Masannaf Ibn Abi Shiba, the Masannaf Abdur Razzak and the Sahih of al-Bukhari, there are numerous narrations about the Prophet making dua for non-Muslims. This clearly shows that Islam exhorts its followers to deal kindly with people of other faiths.

Commensality or eating together has great importance in building relationships. The Prophet used to invite non-Muslims for meals. Expressing concern for the oppressed and distressed, irrespective of religion, is something basic for good social ties, and the Prophet Muhammad also abided by this. He would visit the homes of non-Muslims when they were sick, to enquire about their health (Sahih al-Bukhari 5657). The Prophet also gave gifts to non-Muslims, and courteously accepted the gifts that they presented him with, as has been recorded in the books of Hadith. It is said that a non-Muslim ruler sent the Prophet a beautiful silken cloak, which the Prophet accepted (Sahih al-Bukhari 2616). He gave it to Ja‘afar bin Abi Talib, saying that he should send it to his ‘brother’, Najashi, the Christian ruler of Abyssinia, who had helped the Muslims (Masnad Ahmad 13214). The Caliph Umar sent a valuable cloth as a gift to a ‘polytheist brother’ of his, and the Prophet knew about this (Muslim 2068). The ruler of Aila sent the Prophet cloth and a mount, which were put to use (Sahih Bukhari 3161). At the time, when the Prophet was departing from this world, he instructed Muslims, especially their leaders, that delegations of guests (who were generally non-Muslims) that would come to them should be given presents while departing, as he himself had done (Sahih al-Bukhari 3053, Sahih al-Muslim 1637).

From these references to the shariah and the Sunnah, the practice of the Prophet Muhammad, it is clear that Islam stands for humanitarianism, love, concern, compassion, large-heartedness and good behaviour with people of other faiths, in general. That is to say, if a person who follows another faith is not an oppressor or an enemy of Islam or a conspirator or is not waging war against Muslims, Islam considers him or her worthy of help and solidarity and stresses respect for his or her humanity.

(This is a translation of excerpts from Yahya Nomani’s Urdu book, al-Jihad [Lucknow: Al-Mahad al-Ali Lil Darasat al-Islamiya, 2009. Yahya Nomani works with the Lucknow-based Urdu Islamic monthly, al-Furqan)

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Located at Santhapuram, a township in the Mallapuram district some eighty kilometers from Calicut, the Jamia al-Islamiya is one of the largest Islamic seminaries in Kerala. Established in 1955 by activists associated with the Kerala unit of the Jamaat-e Islami, and considerably expanded since then, the Jamia offers a wide range of courses and seeks to combine Islamic and modern subjects. Says V.K.Ali, the Rector of the Jamia, ‘We want our graduates to take up careers in a wide range of fields, not just as professional ulema, and this is reflected in our curriculum. So far, some 40 batches have passed out of our institution, and our graduates have taken on a range of jobs. Some are in journalism. Many are Arabic teachers in schools. Others work in the numerous institutions run by the Jamaat-e Islami throughout Kerala. Yet others are in the Gulf.’

Admission is provided to students who have finished at least the tenth grade of regular school and have passed the entrance examination held by the Jamia at its premises every year. ‘Unlike in much of the rest of India,’ Ali points, ‘in Kerala most ulema have a basic modern education as well.’ Students first go through a two-year Introductory or Tamhidi course, studying Urdu, Arabic, English, Quran, Hadith, Fiqh, Islamic History and Computer Applications. Thereafter, they can opt for a Bachelor’s Degree in either Usul ud-Din (‘The Principles of Din’) or the Shariah, each of a three-year duration. English, Urdu, Arabic and Comparative Religions are part of the curriculum of both courses. BA level students must simultaneously enroll, as private candidates, for a graduate degree course in Calicut University in a subject of their choice. Most select English, Arabic or Sociology. Thereafter, students can do a two-year Master’s course in Quranic Studies, Hadith Studies or Islamic Mission (Dawah). The medium of instruction in all three courses is Arabic.

Education in most courses at the Jamia al-Islamiya is provided free of cost, as are boarding and lodging. Students doing their Master’s degree are provided with an additional monthly stipend of Rs.1250. At present, the Jamia has some 500 students, of whom around 65% are from Kerala and the rest from north India, mainly Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. Of the 50-odd teachers, mostly from Kerala, several hold Ph.D degrees, including from Saudi Arabia and Egypt, in addition to some Indian universities.

Besides regular course work, students are encouraged to participate in a range of curricular activities. Malayalam journalists are regularly invited to speak to the students to encourage them to write for the press and to help improve their writing skills. The Jamia brings out three periodicals—Sandesham in Malayalam, Majallat ul-Jamia in Arabic and Dawn in English—which contain articles penned by students. Its sprawling library, containing some 30,000 books, is one of the largest collections of Islamic literature in south India.

Recent years have seen a marked rise in the popularity of and demand for ‘Islamic’ financial institutions. To promote further research in the field of Islamic economics and to cater to the increasing demand for personnel skilled in this discipline in India and abroad, in 2003 the Jamia launched a one-year post-graduate diploma course in Islamic Economics and Finance. ‘Ours is the only institution in south India to offer such a course,’ says course co-ordinator Muhammad Saleh. ‘We framed our very detailed syllabus in consultation with Islamic economics experts, and after examining the curriculum used for teaching the same subject in institutions in Malaysia and some Arab countries. Our syllabus has been validated by the Markfield Institute of Islamic Studies in the United Kingdom, a major centre for research in the field of Islamic Economics and Finance.’ The medium of instruction is English, and entrance is open to B.Com and BA (Economics) graduates. Given the demand for ‘Islamic economics’ specialists, particularly in the Gulf, the course has been attracting a steadily increasing number of students, who are willing to pay the Rs.10,000 course fee (in addition to boarding and lodging expenses). Presently, some 40 students are enrolled in the course, four of who are girls. One of these girls is a topper in Physics from Calicut University. Another student is a trained Chartered Accountant and four students are graduates of Islamic Studies. Most of the earlier students are now working in finance institutions in the Gulf.

Students in the Institute of Islamic Economics and Finance are expected to do a one month internship to gain practical experience, generally at an interest-free credit society or shariah-based firm in Kerala. They must also write a detailed thesis, in English, on a subject of their choice, which could be either theoretical or empirically-based. Muhammad Salih points to a cupboard neatly arranged with bulky blue-coloured bound volumes—almost fifty thesis that have so far been submitted by the students. I take a hurried glance at their titles, all of which seem fascinating to me and represent innovative research that few other Islamic institutions in India are engaged in. I note down a few titles: ‘The Economic Teachings of the Quran’, , ‘Shariah Investment Options in India and the Indian Capital Market’, ‘Acceptability of Mutual Funds as an Islamic Mode of Investment’, ‘Islamic Finance in Real Estate’, ‘Interest-Free Funds in Kerala: A Case Study of the Irshad Islamic Finance Cooperative, Melattur’, ‘Islamic Micro-Finance: A Case Study of the Welfare Society, Salamath Nagar, Pallikal’, ‘Flourishing of Shopping Malls: Boon or Bane?’, ‘Islamic Microfinance Through Self-Help Groups in Kerala’, ‘The Role of the Islamic Welfare Forum in Poverty Alleviation of Muslims in Edavankad’, ‘The Impact of Interest in Society: A Case Study of Tirur Municipality’. And so on.

The Jamia’s Rector enthusiastically tells me that his institution wants to give greater focus on research on contemporary issues. ‘We need our scholars to know about present-day conditions and challenges and about what inspiration we can get from Islam to deal with these.’ To promote scholarship in this area, the Jamia recently set up the Islamic Research Centre. At present it has five research fellows, all of them graduates of the institution. Each of whom gets a modest sum of money, plus boarding and lodging facilities, to work on a project on a subject of their own choice, which, after its completion, might be published as a book and made accessible to the general public. The topics on which the researchers are presently working reflect some crucial current debates about Islam: ‘Islamic Revivalism’, ‘Salafism’, ‘Islamic Banking’, ‘Islamic Economics’ and ‘Islam and Democracy’.

‘We need to address modern-day concerns and questions, not simply parrot whatever past writers have written, as is the case with many madrasas and Islamic publishing houses in India’, says a young research scholar who takes me around. And judging by the enthusiasm of the students I meet, that seems a mission that the Jamiya al-Islamia seems to be taking with considerable seriousness.

The author works with the Centre for the Study of Social Exclusion and Inclusive Policy at the National Law School, Bangalore.
For more details about Jamia al-Islamiya, see its website www.aljamia.net

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