Islam,
Madrasas And Cultural 'Arabisation': Insights From India
By Yoginder Sikand
31 July, 2006
Countercurrents.org
Introduction
Madrasas, or Islamic seminaries,
are much in the news today. Western and Indian non-Muslim media depictions
of madrasas are almost invariably negative, alarmist and sensationalist.
Madrasas are routinely accused of being 'dens of terror' and as allegedly
churning out 'fanatic' and 'fundamentalist' 'jihadist time-bombs'. They
are said to be in league with 'anti-national elements' and advocates
of 'pan-Islamism', plotting to destroy the unity of India. They are
also accused of promoting 'Arabisation' in the name of Islam, thereby
subverting what is referred to, without clearly defining the term, as
'Indian culture'.
This paper is concerned with
the last point: the accusation that madrasas in India are actively engaged
in promoting a form of culture that is fiercely opposed to local cultural
traditions, supplementing them with forms associated with seventh century
Arabia. The paper argues for a nuanced discussion of the phenomenon,
warning against alarmist reports and accusations, and appealing for
a recognition of the fact that Muslims are hardly exceptional in their
approach to religion and culture, being in this regard no different
from people of other faith traditions.
The paper begins with a discussion
of the notion of Qur'anic universalism, the universalism of revelation
that is central to the Qur'anic understanding of religion, and the consequent
'Arabisation' of Muslim religious tradition, as interpreted by Muslim
clerics or 'ulama, over time. Moving to the Indian context, it discusses
the role of madrasas and certain Islamic organisations in promoting
forms of Islam that are influenced, to various degrees, by Arab culture
as a result of the conflation of the two in the minds of many Muslims,
including many 'ulama. It then looks at mechanisms and conceptual tools
contained in the Muslim legalistic tradition developed by the fuqaha,
scholars of Islamic law, that have been and can be used to develop contextually-relevant
understandings of Islam and Islamic jurisprudence, thereby enabling
non-Arab ('ajami) Muslims, including Muslims in India today, to reconcile
their local and Islamic identities. It proceeds to argue that the phenomenon
of limited cultural 'Arabisation' that is sought to be promoted by some
madrasas today must not be exaggerated or treated in an alarmist fashion.
Rather than look at it from simply the 'security' point of view, the
paper argues, discussions about the phenomenon need to be placed in
the wider framework of processes of identity formation, changing forms
of inter-communal relations and the quest for upward social mobility.
The paper concludes with a discussion of countervailing factors that
challenge the agenda of limited cultural 'Arabisation' that some madrasas
in India seek, consciously or otherwise, to promote.
Qur'anic Universalism
versus Arab Particularism
The Qur'an, the foundational
text of the Islamic scriptural tradition, sees itself as the culmination
of a series of revelations sent by God in order to guide humankind.
The Qur'an refers to prophets (sing. nabi, pl. anbiya) as having been
sent to every 'nation' (as the Arabic word qaum is often translated
in English), pointing out that no 'nation' has been without a prophet
to provide it with divine guidance. Since God's purpose in creating
human beings has been to guide them in order to worship and serve Him,
He has dispatched a series of prophets to every 'nation' so that they
might know His Will and strive to follow it. Numerous prophets are specifically
mentioned by name in the Qur'an, and the book also refers to numerous
others whose names it does not mention. Since the Qur'an was 'revealed',
as Muslims believe, in seventh century Arabia, it mentions the names
of numerous prophets associated with the Jewish and Christian traditions,
such as Adam, Abraham, Moses and Jesus, as well as some Arab figures,
all of whose names were familiar to the Arabs of Mecca of that time.
Other prophets, sent to other 'nations', are left unmentioned, but the
Qur'an insists that a person cannot be considered a 'Muslim' (literally:
'one who has submitted [to the Will of God]') unless he or she believes
in these and all the other prophets and holds them in equal respect.
This point well illustrates the central aspect of universalism of revelation
that is a hallmark of the Qur'anic text.
Muslim tradition has it that
God has sent a total of some 1,24,000 prophets to different communities
or 'nations'. Th first of these was Adam, who was also the first man,
and the last of the prophets, the 'seal of prophethood', was Muhammad.
While the earlier prophets were meant for particular communities, Muslims
believe that Muhammad was meant for the entire humankind. Hence, he
is described as the rahmat al il-'alamin, the 'mercy to the worlds'.
All the prophets are said to have taught the same primal religion (din),
called in Arabic as al-Islam or 'the Surrender (unto God)'. Some prophets,
such as Moses and Muhammad, are also said to have been charged with
the additional responsibility of revealing a new law (shari'ah) or of
suitably modifying the existing external religious laws. A prophet who
brings a new set of laws, besides being a nabi, is termed as rasul.
All rasuls are nabis but not all nabis are rasuls.
The word shari'ah literally
translates as 'path' or 'road'. In the Islamic sense, it means the road
that must be followed by a believer in accordance with God's Will. In
the Muslim understanding of religion, religion is not simply about the
relationship between the individual believer and God. Rather, it embraces
all aspects of an individual's personal, social and collective life.
It is believed that God's Will embraces the totality of human existence
and it must be followed in each and every sphere, not simply being limited
to worship and devotion alone. Only if God's Will and God's laws are
strictly followed in all spheres of life can a believer be said to truly
be a proper Muslim. Hence, the general understanding of the term shari'ah
is that it is a 'road', embracing the totality of one's life, that leads
to eternal bliss in Heaven, if God so wills. The shari'ah, in this understanding
of the term, covers not just the laws of ritual worship but every other
aspect of life, from ritual actions, sexual relations, physical appearance,
food habits and personal deportment, to the complex realms of economics
and international relations.
As most 'ulama see it, the
shari'ah, as 'revealed' by Muhammad and later elaborated upon through
a complex process of interpretation by the early 'ulama, is the ideal
path, meant for al humankind. Prophets before Muhammad who brought along
their own shari'ahs or modified existing shari'ahs did so, in accordance
with God's Will, and in response to the specific cultural, social and
economic needs of the societies in which they lived and worked. Their
shari'ahs were, therefore, limited by their spatio-temporal contexts.
However, since Muhammad is believed by Muslims to be the last prophet,
and since he is said to have come for the entire humankind and his message
holds true till the Day of Judgment, the shari'ah of Muhammad (shari'at-i
muhammadi) is said to be, from Muhammad's
time onwards, valid for all peoples, for all time till the Last Day,
and for all places. Only by following the shari'at-i muhammadi, the
'ulama believe, can one truly be said to be following God's Will. All
other paths, as taught by other religions or ideologies, are believed
by the vast majority of the 'ulama to be either false, distorted or
else to contain only limited truths that are insufficient for one to
attain heaven after death. Hence, the 'ulama argue, Muslims must follow
the shari'at-i muhammadi strictly, and must shun all other paths, for
these other paths inevitably lead to hell.
Many contemporary 'ulama and Islamist ideologues present the shari'ah
as a neatly defined set of laws and rules, covering every conceivable
aspect of human life. In other words, they imagine the shari'ah as a
total system or a complete code of human existence. However, some scholars
have argued that this is not the way the word is understood in the Qur'an
and that it is a result of a confusion of the divine shari'ah, as referred
to in the Qur'an, with the historical shari'ah, as developed historically,
during the life of the Prophet and in the centuries immediately after
his death. Put differently, it reflects a conflation of the divine shari'ah
with fiqh, human efforts to understand and interpret the shari'ah in
the form of laws covering a vast range of matters that are not specifically
mentioned in the Qur'an.
In the Qur'an, the word shari'ah
and derivatives of it are used in the sense of 'path', denoting more
the immortal moral law associated with the sense of submission to God
and following the primal din taught by all the prophets, rather than
as simply a bundle of laws and rules. Indeed, even a causal reading
of the Qur'an reveals that the book contains relatively very few legal
prescriptions. Instead, its overwhelming focus is on the cultivation
of fear and love for God and a commitment to devote oneself to His worship
alone, this being expressed in the form of moral acts that exemplify
the din being out into action. The Qur'anic understanding of the shari'ah
clearly appears to be associated with this understanding of Islam, rather
than, as today, as a system of do's and don'ts covering every aspect
of an individual's personal and collective life.
Yet, shortly after the death
of the Prophet, this approach to understanding revelation and the shari'ah
was to undergo a momentous transformation. As in the case of other religious
communities that, in their inception, represented a powerful challenge
to the status quo, a process of institutionalisation of religion set
in soon enough among the early Muslim community, which was further solidified
over time. Consequently, the Qur'an was supplemented with several other
texts, as a result of which it was increasingly rendered difficult for
Muslims to approach the Qur'an directly. Sayings, many of them apocryphal,
as many 'ulama themselves would admit, began circulating, attributed
to the Prophet or his companions, that sought to justify monarchy, women's
subordination, the notion of Arab superiority over non-Arabs and so
on. These had no sanction in the Qur'an itself, strictly speaking, but
were institutions, beliefs and practices that were associated with the
evolving and expanding early Muslim community in Arabia in the years
after the death of the Prophet.
These sayings found their
way into the books of Hadith, collections of statements said to have
been uttered by the Prophet or related to or about him. Although the
Prophet had warned Muslims not to accept any book other than the Qur'an
for religious guidance, it was now stressed by the emerging class of
'ulama that it was not possible for Muslims to rely on the Qur'an alone.
They argued that since the Prophet was the best interpreter of the Qur'an,
it was impossible to understand the Qur'an independently of how the
Prophet had understood it. Hence, they argued, the Qur'an had to be
interpreted according to the books of Hadith, many of which contained
sayings that were fabricated and wrongly attributed to the Prophet.
The development of Hadith,
and, later, the various schools of fiqh or Islamic jurisprudence in
the centuries after the death of the Prophet led to a radical re-definition
of understandings of the shari'ah. The shari'ah was no longer seen as
a loosely defined moral path. Rather, it was gradually reduced to an
elaborate and convoluted se of rules about every conceivable aspect
of life. This was promoted by the emergence and development of the 'ulama
as class of religious specialists or clerics, whose specialised in the
rules of the shari'ah and whose claim to authority rested on this knowledge.
Over time, with the crystallisation of the 'ulama as a class of religious
specialists, it was claimed that it was only the 'ulama who had the
rightful authority to interpret Islam, for it was argued that the 'ulama
were the true 'heirs of the Prophet'. By claiming to be authorities
in matters of the shari'ah they were able to exercise their control
over society. In this they were often supported by Muslim rulers, on
whom they depended for patronage, in return for which they provided
them sanction for institution of monarchy, for which there is, strictly
speaking, no Qur'anic legitimacy.
The development of numerous
schools of Muslim jurisprudence or fiqh from the tenth century onwards
exemplifies the emergence of this notion of shari'ah as a system of
rules. However, the very fact of the multiplicity of fiqh schools itself
suggests that the precise content of shari'ah remained disputed, as
rival schools provided different, often diametrically opposed, prescriptions
on a range of matters of legal import, even as each school claimed to
represent the single 'authentic' Islamic position on every conceivable
matter. Since most of the early masters of the schools of fiqh were
Arabs or Arabised non-Arabs, it was but natural that in their approach
to shari'ah and to the rules of fiqh that they formulated they were
indelibly influenced by Arab cultural norms, values and practices. This
is how the corpus of laws and rules that the early specialists in fiqh,
the fuqaha, developed and which came to form an integral part of the
historical shari'ah were inseparable from the Arab cultural context
in which they were formulated.
As Muslims see it, the Prophet Muhammad is the 'perfect man' (al-insan
ul-kamil) and, hence, is the ideal model for all Muslims to emulate.
Accordingly, for many early 'ulama, particularly the more literalist-minded
of them, every aspect of the Prophet's life or sunnat came to be seen
as integral to his message, and hence, as the norm for Muslims. It was
made to appear as if the Prophet was uninfluenced by his own spatio-temporal
location in every action of his and that, therefore, there was nothing
in the Prophet's life that was limited in its application to seventh
century Arabia. Obviously, therefore, many aspects of the Prophet's
personal sunnat that were conditioned by his own social and temporal
location and were not, strictly speaking, an integral part of the Qur'anic
or Islamic message, were also included as an integral part of the Islamic
tradition, at least by the literalist school. For many 'ulama, this
meant that many aspects of seventh century Arabian society and culture
came to be seen as somehow an inseparable part of the faith, at least
as an ideal model for other Muslims to emulate. This included such matters
as how the Prophet dressed and smiled, the food he ate, the medicines
he used, the sort of tooth-stick that he used and so on.
The sunnat of the Prophet,
as understood by the early 'ulama, naturally included many aspects of
the Prophet's personal life that went beyond the minimum duties or fara'iz
needed to qualify as a Muslim. Several of these were unique to the Prophet
while others were aspects of life in seventh century Arabia that did
not necessarily have to do with the central tents of Islam as such.
Yet, in their zeal to present the Prophet as a perfect model to be emulated
as closely as possible by Muslims, these aspects of the life of the
Prophet and his companions were also projected as integral to the sunnat
of the Prophet and, consequently, as part of the historical shari'ah.
Since the Prophet spoke in Arabic, it was said that the language spoken
in heaven would be Arabic, and reports were manufactured to argue the
point. Since the Prophet enjoined his male followers to shave their
moustaches and grow their beards, in order to distinguish them from
the Jews of Medina of his times, it came to be held that pious Muslim
males must do this no matter where they lived. And so on. To innovate,
to do anything that might deviate from the sunnat of the Prophet, was
declared to be bidd'at or sinful 'deviation' or 'innovation''. To denounce
any such 'innovation' the 'ulama claimed that the Prophet had declared
that any 'innovation' from his sunnat was condemnable would inevitably
lead one to hell.
This conflation of aspects
of seventh century Arab culture with Islam in the minds of many of the
early fuqaha naturally resulted in presenting Islam in a somewhat 'Arabised'
mould, thereby undermining the universalistic thrust of the Qur'an.
This process was further promoted by Arab imperialism and territorial
expansionism, starting with the Ummayad dynasty. The Prophet, during
his last pilgrimage to Mecca, is said to have clearly declared that
an Arab was not superior to a non-Arab. As the Qur'an puts it, the only
criterion for superiority in God's eyes is taqwa or piety. Yet, the
conflation of Arab culture with Islam in the minds of many of the fuqaha
was amply used by the Umayyads, and, following them, the Abbasids, in
the service of Arab imperialism against non-Arabs, such as the Persians,
who were not granted an equal status even after conversion to Islam.
In order to be accepted as 'full' Muslims, it was thought necessary
by the more literalist of the 'ulama, that one had to culturally Arabise
oneself. This Arab-centric understanding of Islam and the shari'ah was
also reflected in the books written by the early and medieval 'ulama,
Arabs and Arabised non-Arabs, which were taught in most medieval Indian
madrasas, to which we now turn.
Madrasas and the
Arab-Centric Shari'ah in India
Madrasas in medieval India
served the function of producing not just religious specialists but
also administrators to staff the royal bureaucracy. Muslim elites, and,
in many places, 'upper' caste Hindus, would send their sons to madrasas
to study from learned 'ulama. Since the medieval Indian madrasas provided
a well-rounded education and were not geared simply to the creation
of religious specialists, it is hardly surprising that their curricula
did not focus only on subjects thought of as 'Islamic' or, as today,
as specifically 'religious', although these were taught as well, with
regional variations. Given the clientele they were catering to, a major
focus of most medieval madrasas was on a range of 'secular' subjects,
the 'ulum al-'aqaliya, or the 'rational sciences', such as astronomy,
geography, philosophy, medicine, architecture, logic, literature, calligraphy
and so on. The 'ulum al-naqaliya, the 'revealed sciences', such as Qur'anic
commentary and Hadith, received relatively less attention in most medieval
Indian madrasas. Often, students were taught just a single commentary
on the Qur'an, and the science of Hadith, which forms the bedrock of
contemporary notions of shari'ah, was sorely neglected, much to the
chagrin of many 'ulama. Although Arabic was taught as a subject, Persian
received considerably more importance since it was the language of the
courts and was spoken and understood by ruling Muslim and Hindu elites.
The tradition of 'rational
sciences' promoted by the madrasas contributed to the development of
a rich cultural synthesis, exemplified in what is often referred the
Indo-Islamic or the Mughal tradition, in which both Muslim and Hindu
elites played a contributory role. The relative neglect of the 'revealed
sciences' in the medieval madrasas was naturally resented by many shari'ah-minded
'ulama, who periodically raised their voice against this state of affairs.
Their opposition gathered particular momentum as the Mughal Empire began
showing signs of crumbling, faced with effective challenges from a range
of non-Muslim powers, including the Marathas, the Sikhs, the Jats and
the British. It was in this context that the doyen of the contemporary
Indian Sunni 'ulama, Shah Waliullah of Delhi (b.1703), began what later
grew into a movement to promote the study of the 'revealed sciences'.
The Waliullahi tradition
was instrumental in introducing and popularising the study of the six
collections of Hadith regarded as authoritative by most Sunni Muslims
and also in gaining a limited legitimacy for the translation of the
Qur'an into local languages. As Shah Waliullah the proponents of his
school and other 'ulama like them saw it, the rapid decline of Mughal
power owed to the fact that the Indian Muslims, particularly the ajlaf,
Muslims of indigenous, mainly 'low' caste, origins, had 'strayed' from
the path of the shari'ah, which they typically interpreted in terms
that were heavily influenced by Arab-centric notions. Hence, they regarded
a wide range of local practices and customs associated with many Indian
Muslims, particularly the ajlaf, as 'un-Islamic' innovations, insisting
that only by abandoning them and strictly abiding by the standards set
by the Arab-centric historical shari'ah could Muslims gain the pleasure
of God and, thereby, hopefully, revive the political power that they
had once enjoyed. Attacking popular customary practices and substituting
them by practices associated with the historical shari'ah was to become
a central pillar of the agenda of various Muslim reformist movements
after Shah Waliullah, most of which were influenced by him. These included
the Faraizis in Bengal and the Mujahidin in the Pathan borderlands in
the early nineteenth century, and, from the late nineteenth century
onwards, the Deobandis, the Jama'at-i Islami and the Ahl-i Hadith. Shah
Waliullah's approach to the shari'ah and popular custom also inspired
numerous madrasas that began being established in the wake of the establishment
of British rule.
Promoting a shari'ah-centric
Islam influenced, to varying degrees, by Arab cultural norms, was, as
its proponents saw it, a means for the defence of the faith from the
menacing threat posed by the British and the Hindus. It was also seen
as a return to Islamic 'authenticity', because many popular customs
and beliefs associated with the Indian Muslims, particularly the ajlaf,
were seen as having no sanction in the shari'ah and as clearly contradicting
some of the central teachings of Islam, most particularly that of unsullied
monotheism. Further, it was also a means to lay down clear symbolic
markers of identity, setting Muslims as clearly different from the Hindus,
and, in the process, attempting to create the notion of a monolithic
Muslim identity. It must be remembered that at this time, and, in many
places, even today, there was little to distinguish Hindus from Muslims
in large parts of India, particularly in the countryside. Popular religion,
in many places, consisted of a myriad cults of diverse origins, incorporating
Sufi, 'Muslim' and 'Hindu' elements. Stressing markers of external 'Islamic'
identity and crusading against popular 'un-Islamic' customs, practices
and beliefs was a powerful means of critiquing shared local cultural
and religious traditions, drawing clear symbolic lines between 'Hindus'
and 'Muslims', where such did not hitherto exist, and, in the process,
helping to crystallise the notion of a single, homogenous Muslim community
pitted against the Hindu 'other'. Similar processes were at work in
the Hindu case as well, unleashed by Hindu elites.
Madrasas and the
Spread of Shari'ah-Centric
Islam Under the British
This agenda of promoting
shari'ah-centric Islam, particularly among the ajlaf Muslims, gained
particular momentum with the onset of British rule. For the 'ulama,
especially those associated with the Mughal court, the rise of British
power was seen as heralding the collapse of dar ul-islam, the abode
of the faith. For centuries the 'ulama had regarded the existence of
a Muslim Sultan as a guarantor of the supremacy of Islam, although no
Muslim Emperor of India actually ever ruled entirely in accordance with
the shari'ah. The powers and privileges of the court 'ulama were inextricably
linked to the state. Muslim Emperors had generously patronized them
to win their support. The rise of the British was seen as threatening
the entrenched privileges of the 'ulama, and hence as particularly menacing.
In the centuries of Turkish
and Mughal rule centred in Delhi, the court 'ulama seem to have displayed
little concern for the vast majority of the Indian Muslims, who were
of 'low' or ajlaf origin. Their close relations with the royal courts
ruled out any strong links with the larger community outside the pale
of the ashraf elite, Muslims who claimed foreign origins for themselves.
They wrote and spoke in Persian and Arabic, languages almost completely
foreign to the ordinary ajlaf. They tended to look down upon the ajlaf,
who remained rooted in the 'un-Islamic' traditions of their ancestors,
regarding them as Muslims in name alone. The near monopoly over the
cultural capital of scripturalist, shari'ah-centred Islam that the ashraf
exercised created an almost unbridgeable barrier between them and the
ajlaf, thereby serving to bolster their own claims to higher social
status.
Since the authority of the
ashraf rested on, among others, on their claim of representing 'Islamic'
culture and knowledge, it is hardly surprising that Muslim rulers as
well as the ashraf 'ulama associated with the courts took little or
no interest in the 'proper' Islamisation of the ajlaf, being content
simply with their formal acceptance of or association with some form
of Islam or the other. The rapid collapse of Mughal power brought in
its wake a growing shift in the focus of the ashraf 'ulama. Over time,
with effective power increasingly slipping into non-Muslim hands, no
longer could the Muslim ruler be regarded as effectively guaranteeing
the supremacy of Islam. In this rapidly changing political context,
the 'ordinary' Muslim increasingly emerged as the symbol of the faith,
taking the place earlier occupied in the minds of the court 'ulama by
the Muslim ruler. The 'ordinary' Muslim, fired with a passionate zeal
for and commitment to shari'ah-centred Islam, was to be promoted to
the status of the defender of the faith. This, in turn, was to have
crucial implications for the understanding of what it meant to be Muslim.
No longer would it suffice to be Muslim by simply having been born in
a Muslim family or possessing a 'Muslim' name. Rather, as it was now
to be increasingly stressed, one's 'Muslim-ness' was to be a self-conscious
decision that was to be based on knowledge of the demands of the faith.
This meant that all customs that were seen as 'un-Islamic' were to be
shunned and that the individual believer was to consciously strive to
mould himself consciously on the Prophetic model, presented in a form
that was inextricably related to seventh century Arab culture.
The collapse of Muslim political
authority, a valuable source of patronage for the 'ulama, ironically
strengthened the claims of the 'ulama as representatives and leaders
of the community. Faced with the rapid territorial expansion of the
East India Company, numerous charismatic leaders arose from among the
ashraf 'ulama, seeking to mobilize ordinary Muslims, including the ajlaf,
against encroaching non-Muslim powers. These reformist movements and
the efforts of the 'ulama to reach out to the ajlaf helped rally mass
support for efforts to recover the fast declining political power of
the ashraf elite. For the 'ulama involved in these movements the ajlaf
increasingly provided new sources of patronage, now that support from
earlier patrons, such as Muslim rulers and landlords, had considerably
declined. For many ajlaf who enthusiastically participated in these
movements for reform, the access that they provided to the valued symbols
of ashraf 'high' culture opened up a new channel for upward social mobility.
Abiding by the dictates of the shari'ah was a means to claim a higher
social status. These movements must not be seen as purely religious.
In the case of several such movements, such as the uprisings led by
Titu Mir and Dudu Miyan in early nineteenth century Bengal, a strong
class element was involved. In Bengal, scores of peasants and weavers,
ruined by the policies of the East India Company, abject victims of
a new breed of largely 'upper' caste Hindu landlords whom the British
had helped set in place, enthusiastically supported the Islamic reformists.
If they were to strictly observe the commandments of the shari'ah, they
were told, divine intervention would put an end to their worldly woes.
The rise of Islamic reform
movements seeking to reach out to the masses of 'ordinary' Muslims was
thus one of the principal outcomes of the rapid spread of British power.
Some of these were armed rebellions, but they were soon crushed by the
British. Following these abortive jihads, few Islamic activists seriously
contemplated military means to re-establish Muslim power in India. However,
the legacy of the jihadist uprising movements lived on, spawning new
efforts at reforming Muslim religious practice and working for the eventual
setting up of what their leaders and followers regarded as a truly Islamic
society. A major such effort was reflected in the establishment of a
chain of madrasas with the onset of British rule.
The promotion of shari'ah-centric
understandings of Islam among the ajlaf and the growing critiques of
popular custom by the 'ulama and their madrasas were a product of rapidly
shifting forms of community identity in which the establishment of British
rule had a central role to pay. To the British impact, in fact, we owe
the creation of the notion of a unified, homogenous and well-defined
pan-Indian Muslim, as well as Hindu, community. The pan-Indian Muslim
'community', then, was very much an 'invented' and 'imagined' identity,
like its alter ego, the pan-Indian 'Hindu' community, against which
it sought to define itself. Those engaged in constructing this identity
sought to paper over internal differences of caste, class and region
at the same time as they sought to stress, highlight and manufacture
points of difference between Hindus and Muslims. In the process of reformulating
of community identities, Hinduism came to be projected by Hindu 'high'
caste elites as synonymous with Brahminical Hinduism, while Muslim elites,
including the ulama, increasingly projected Islam in terms of the shari'ah-centric
tradition. Shared spaces and customs as well as diverse and alternate
understandings of religion, both Hindu and Muslim, were sought to be
combatted in this process of homogenisation of Hinduism and Islam. N
this process of refashioning community identities, madrasas were to
play a very crucial role.
At the same time as the British
rule was accompanied by the setting up of a number of madrasas that
saw themselves as working to defend Muslims from the lure of 'irreligious'
Western culture and Christianity and as taking 'revenge' for the defeat
of the 1857 Rebellion and the collapse of the Mughals, the period witnessed
also gradual shift in the class composition of the clientele of madrasas.
Increasingly, Muslim elites preferred to send their sons to English-medium
schools, while, over time, madrasas became largely the bastion of the
poor, in many cases of ajlaf Muslims. The emergence of new forms of
education under colonial rule that catered to Muslim (and Hindu) elites
and the development of the notion of religion as simply a private matter
had momentous consequences for the 'ulama and the madrasas that continue
to be felt even today. It meant, in effect, that the madrasas no longer
would provide a general sort of education, but, instead, would increasingly
come to restrict themselves to what was to be narrowly defined as 'religious'
(dini) or 'Islamic', which was sought to be presented in strictly shari'ah-centric
terms. Since madrasas increasingly restricted the teaching of the 'rational
sciences', their role in promoting a shared elite culture in which Hindus
and Muslims both participated was radically narrowed down, if not reduced
altogether. From being vehicles of promoting and sustaining a rich shared
elite cultural heritage, they increasingly turned into a means for promoting
narrowly defined shari'ah-centric understandings of Islam, treating
local cultures as of no importance or even as 'un-Islamic', and catering
essentially to the Muslim poor, mainly the ajlaf.
Madrasas and Cultural
'Arabisation' in India Today
Today, for various reasons
that, for want of space, cannot be discussed here, madrasas, by and
large, limit themselves to the study of the sciences associated with
the shari'ah, as the term is generally understood. Since the shari'ah,
as it has come to be imagined, is significantly shaped by seventh century
Arab norms and practices, many madrasas play the role of instruments
of 'Arabisation' of local culture, in the limited sense of presenting
those aspects of Arab culture that are associated with the Prophet and
his companions as somehow intrinsic and integral to their way of imagining
Islam and the shari'ah. This role is strengthened by the fact that Persian,
which boasted of a rich literary tradition, often humanist and even
iconoclastic in its content, with an appeal not just to strict practitioners
of the shari'ah but to other Muslims and even to Hindu elites as well,
is no longer the medium of instruction in any madrasa in India. Elementary
Persian is taught as a subject in some Indian madrasas today, though
the number of such madrasas is rapidly declining. Its place has been
taken by Arabic, reflecting the notion that Arabic is the Islamic language
par excellence because the Qur'an is revealed in that tongue. In contrast
to medieval madrasas, their contemporary counterparts give much greater
stress to the study of the Hadith, which, as mentioned earlier, is the
basis for the development of notions of shari'ah that are heavily influenced
by early and medieval Arab cultural norms. Likewise, most Indian madrasas
continue in the tradition of teaching the books of medieval fiqh, mostly
developed in early medieval Arabia or authored by Arabised non-Arabs,
thus reinforcing the tendency of imagining the shari'ah (and, therefore,
Islam) in terms of Arab cultural norms.
One of the principal aims and roles of many madrasas today is the propagation
of shari'ah-centric forms of Islam and the undermining of popular forms
of Islam, which are seen as having no sanction in the shari'ah. This
opposition to popular custom is part of a broader agenda of drawing
firmer and clearer lines between Muslims and Hindus, thereby working
to further crystallise and solidify the notion of a Muslim community
as neatly separated from and radically different from the Hindus. This,
of course, reflects a common agenda of Hindu and Muslim elites, competing
with each other for numbers and, through this, for political power,
which is based on numerical strength of the respective communities of
whom they claim to be the spokesmen. The process of limited Arabisation'
that madrasas promote today must, therefore, be seen in the wider context
of inter-communal relations in India. It is, at least in part, a reaction
to Hindu fascism, which is premised on an unrelenting hatred of Muslims,
and to dominant official forms of Indian nationalism that are based
on Brahminical Hinduism and have little or no place for Islam, Muslims
and the Indian Muslim cultural heritage. Living as a threatened and
beleaguered minority, often victims of murderous pogroms engineered
by Hindu fascist groups and agencies of the state, and fearful of being
de-Islamised and absorbed into the amorphous Hindu fold, for many Muslims
the madrasas have come to be seen as the 'forts of the faith', the 'bastions
of the believers', preaching and propagating 'authentic' Islam and keeping
alive the faith of millions. Obviously, in a very real sense, the exclusivism
and limited cultural 'Arabisation' that many madrasas promote must be
seen, at least in part, as a reaction to the tremendous feeling of fear
and insecurity that Muslims in many parts of the country experience.
The limited cultural 'Arabisation' promoted by madrasas is also related
to internal processes of social mobility. Most madrasa students come
from poor families. Many of them are first-generation learners and come
from 'low' or ajlaf castes, who, for centuries, have lacked access to
the Islamic scriputuralist tradition. The limited process of cultural
'Arabisation' that madrasas facilitate opens up to them a means for
upward mobility within the local Muslim community, enabling them to
claim a higher social status for themselves because of their access
to the scripturalist tradition, which provides them the new-found opportunity
of serving as authorities in matters of faith and the shari'ah. At the
same time, this enables them to distance themselves from their humble
origins, relatives and neighbours. This process of cultural change among
sections of the ajlaf also reflects a symbolic critique of established
elites, who are condemned as being not 'Islamic' enough by following
a number of 'un-Islamic' practices, including those of local origin,
which are seen as 'Hinduistic'. This process is referred to in the social
science literature as Ashrafisation, emulation by 'low' caste Muslims
of the cultural norms associated with the ashraf, Muslims who claim
'high' caste, foreign descent.
The limited cultural 'Arabisation'
promoted by some madrasas owes to additional factors, too. In recent
years, a growing number of madrasa graduates have been enrolling in
higher institutions of Islamic learning in the Arab world. This is particularly
the case of graduates of educational institutions associated with the
Jama'at-i Islami, the Deobandis and the Ahl-i Hadith, all three of which
are fiercely opposed to a range of popular customary practices and preach
forms of Islam that, in different ways, are similar in significant respects
to the 'Wahhabi' form of Islam that is patronised by the rulers of Saudi
Arabia. Once they return to India, graduates of madrasas and Islamic
universities in the Gulf states often go on to teach in madrasas or
set up Islamic institutions of their own that propagate the sort of
Islam that they have imbibed during their years of study in the Arab
world. Many of them are also engaged in publishing literature, in Urdu,
English, Hindi and regional languages, that reflect forms of Islam that
are inherently opposed to many aspects of poplar Indian Muslim culture,
reflecting, once again, the notion that key aspects of medieval Arab
culture are integral to their way of imagining Islam. Thus, for instance,
numerous Ahl-i Hadith scholars in India are known to receive money from
generous 'Wahhabi' benefactors in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait and other Gulf
states to publish translations of Arab 'Wahhabi' 'ulama that routinely
condemn other forms of Islam as virtual 'disbelief', presenting the
'Wahhabi' model, which has no room for popular custom, as the 'normative'
form of Islam.
In the writings of some of
the more literalist Indian 'ulama, such as those associated with the
Jama'at-i Islami and the Ahl-i Hadith, local cultural norms and institutions
are bidd'at or wrongful innovations. A Hadith report, attributed to
the Prophet, is routinely evoked, according to which every bidd'at is
condemnable and would lead to hell-fire. Another Hadith report is often
adduced—to the effect that he who imitates members of another
community would be raised along with that community on the Day of Judgment.
The suggestion is obvious: if a Muslim 'imitates' non-Muslims by following
or adopting 'their' dress, habits, cultural norms, practices and institutions,
he or she would be raised along with those non-Muslims (and not with
Muslims) on the Final Day. In other words, he or she would be sent to
Hell. The message, then, is clear: Muslims must shun aspects of their
culture that they share with non-Muslims, particularly those that seem
to militate against the sunnat of the Prophet. Every effort must be
made to distinguish Muslims from non-Muslims, including in such minor
matters as dress, so that boundaries are clearly drawn and the notion
of a homogenous, well-defined Muslim community is thereby manufactured
or solidified.
Significantly, this identity
is sought to be constructed by drawing, deepening and reinforcing differences
and contrasts with non-Muslims, who are routinely depicted as the 'other'.
In the process, many aspects of what Muslims share in terms of culture
with non-Muslim Indians come to be condemned as 'un-Islamic', 'Hinduistic'
or 'Shi'a', as the case might be. Sometimes these may be aspects of
culture that clearly militate against Qur'anic prescriptions, such as
praying to buried saints, celebrating their birthdays or visiting in
temples. But, equally often, these may include such aspects of popular
Muslim culture that, while not directly opposed to Islam as such, have
no sanction in the understanding of the shari'ah that the literalist
'ulama uphold, such as listening to or performing qawwali at Sufi shrines,
attending the death anniversaries of Sufi saints, commemorating the
martyrdom of Imam Husain, grandson of the Prophet, using the Persian/Urdu
word khuda in place of Allah, the use of saris by Muslim women instead
of the 'Muslim' shalwar-kameez or their use of the 'Hindu' bindi, and
so on. The fact that it was precisely by accommodating themselves to
pre-existing local norms, cultural forms and institutions that the early
carriers of Islam to India were able to register successes in their
missionary successes is lost on these advocates of Arabisation in the
name of Islam.
A more clear 'Arab' identity, based, at the same time, on opposition
to local customary practices, is a sure means for several madrasas and
their 'ulama to garner funds from rich prospective Arab donors. Advocacy
of strict shari'ah-centric Islam, based on unrelenting hostility to
local customary practices that are seen to conflict with the shari'ah,
can often help promote personal material advancement for numerous 'ulama
associated with leading madrasas, winning for them trips abroad, invitations
to international Islamic conferences, posts in international Islamic
organisations and committees and funds for themselves and their madrasas.
Financial links are key to
this process of limited cultural 'Arabisation' promoted by some madrasas.
It is hardly surprising that madrasas and Muslim organisations, such
as the Ahl-i Hadith and the Jama'at-i Islami, that are most vehemently
opposed to local customs (branding these as 'un-Islamic'), get the most
funds from Arab patrons, while madrasas associated with the Barelvi
tradition, centred on the traditions associated with the Sufi shrines
and vehemently critical of the 'Wahhabis', get almost none at all. Financial
assistance for promoting new, shari'ah-centric, often heavily 'Arabised',
forms of Islam is also provided by some Indian Muslims working in Gulf
states who are exposed to new, particularly 'Wahhabi', forms of Islam,
which they come to believe are more 'authentic', primarily because these
are practised by many Arabs themselves, who are seen somehow as representatives
of a more 'authentic' version of Islam. This, in turn, further reinforces
the process of limited cultural 'Arabisation' that some madrasas that
receive such assistance (admittedly, a minority) are consciously engaged
in. This impacts not just on the madrasas that receive such financial
assistance, but has wider consequences. Local mosque architectural styles,
reflecting remarkable local cultural syntheses, disappear and are replaced
by what many see as unaesthetic, even ugly, 'Wahhabi' equivalents; dargahs
or Sufi shrines fall into ruin, being condemned as centres of 'idolatry';
men begin to sport beards and shave their mustaches and some even start
to wear the thoub, the long flowing Arab gown; and women are forced
or themselves willingly adopt the veil.
Appeals to shari'ah-centric
Islam by the 'ulama of the madrasas are often related to internal rivalries
between different schools of Muslim thought, each claiming the mantle
of Islamic normativity. Thus, Ahl-i Hadith denunciations of popular
customs practised by many Muslims are often presented as a condemnation
of 'Hinduistic' and 'polytheistic' practices, but at the same time they
also represent a powerful and shrill condemnation of the rival Barelvi
school of thought and of the Shi'as, with whom many of these customs
are associated. Claiming to represent the sole normative Islamic tradition,
rooted in an Arab-centric cultural matrix and worldview, Ahl-i Hadith
denunciations of popular custom are inextricably linked to fierce contestations
between them and their Shi'a and Bareilvi rivals as to who represents
the single authentic Islamic tradition. In some cases, shari'ah-centric
Islam and associated Arab cultural practices are used by rival Islamic
groups as rhetorical devices and symbolic resources both to condemn
each other as well as to compete with each other to seek the patronage
of prospective donors, often in oil-rich Arab states. Thus, for instance,
over the last decade or so, Indian Deobandi and Ahl-i Hadith 'ulama
have been at fierce loggerheads, each claiming to represent the tradition
of Muhammad bin 'Abdul Wahhab and branding the other as virtually apostates,
thereby hoping to win the favour of prospective Saudi patrons. In the
process, naturally, the compromises that both these groups have made
with local traditions and contexts are sought to be downplayed as they
come to present themselves as virtual carbon copies of the Saudi 'Wahhabis'.
Limits of Cultural
'Arabisation'
In his Among the Believers:
An Islamic Journey, the Trinidad-born writer V.S. Naipaul argues the
case for 'Arabisation' as an integral part of the Islamisation of non-Arab
peoples historically. If he were to be believed, Islam and Arab culture
are inseparable. To become Muslim, he would argue, non-Arabs have perforce
to relinquish all elements of their pre-Islamic culture and become,
to put it baldly, Arab clones. This thesis is, however, far-fetched,
conjuring up the image of a monolithic pan-Islamic ummah and of Muslims
as inherently advocates of pan-Islamism, which, although it might reflect
the understanding of Islam of some 'ulama and Islamists, on the one
hand, and Orientalists and contemporary Islamophobes, on the other,
is far from being the case. The tremendous variety of expressions of
Islam, historically as well as today, as well as the rich cultural diversity
of multiple Muslim communities is ample testimony to the falsity of
this argument.
The extent of cultural 'Arabisation'
being promoted by madrasas is, it must be recognised, limited, and must
not be exaggerated. Exaggerating this phenomenon is a danger that must
be guarded against, for facile assumptions of 'Arabisation' being allegedly
promoted by madrasas can be used as an argument to legitimise anti-Muslim
policies and stances. True, many madrasas employ Arabic as a medium
of instruction, but there is nothing to be alarmed about this. If English,
which is more 'foreign' to Indian history and tradition than Arabic,
can be used as a medium of instruction in elite schools all across the
country, what, one must ask, is wrong if Arabic is used as a medium
in madrasas? To further puncture the alarmist thesis is the related
point that even after undergoing years of supposed Arabic-medium education,
most madrasa students are unable to speak or understand the language
properly. But even if this were not the case, and suppose if madrasa
students were able to speak and write in Arabic fluently, what, one
must ask, is wrong with that? The positive aspects of this prospect
must also be recognised—if India could boast of madrasas that
produced great Arabic and Islamic scholars, it could only work to enhance
the prestige of the country in Muslim lands and help salvage India's
image among Muslims in other countries, which is today badly tarnished
by anti-Muslim Hindutva fascists.
True, madrasas do propagate
understandings of Islam that, being rooted in the historical shari'ah,
draw heavily on aspects of early Arab Muslim culture and traditions.
But to argue against this, as many do, is to seek to restrict the freedom
of religion and choice that the Constitution of India provides every
citizen. Those alarmed by the promotion of cultural 'Arabisation' through
the madrasas need to be reminded that advocacy of shari'ah-centric Islam
need not necessarily lead to 'anti-nationalism' or 'pan-Islamism', just
as advocacy of popular Sufi traditions need not necessarily lead to
'national integration'. After all, Abul Kalam Azad and the vast majority
of the 'ulama of the Deoband school were firm supporters of a free and
united India and of 'composite nationalism' and fiercely opposed the
concept of Pakistan, the Muslim League's 'two nation theory' and the
Partition of India. On the other hand, the majority of the Barelvi 'ulama,
defenders of the cults of the Sufi saints, solidly backed the Muslim
League and its Pakistan scheme.
The sort of cultural change
that the madrasas seek to promote is, it must be recognised, limited
in its scope. Most 'ulama, barring some of the most literalist, make
pragmatic adjustments to existing cultural traditions and institutions,
opposing only those that are seen to be clearly opposed to the central
teachings of Islam, such as monotheism and the finality of the prophethood
of Muhammad. This adjustment they seek to do through recourse to the
notion of 'adat or 'custom', which has historically been accepted by
the 'ulama as a valid source of law. 'Adat consists of the entire gamut
of local customary, including pre-Islamic, traditions, and many aspects
of 'adat that do not militate against what are seen as the central teachings
of Islam have been accepted as valid by the 'ulama. This has historically
enabled Islam to spread outside the Arab world, inculturating itself
in local forms in order to make itself intelligible and appealing to
a host of non-Arab peoples. This pragmatic adjustment to local cultural
contexts through acceptance of 'adat remains the hallmark of many Indian
'ulama by and large, except for some fringe groups like the Ahl-i Hadith,
who preach a stern literalism.
Related to this is the distinction
made by many Indian 'ulama between the sunnat-i 'adat or 'habits' of
the Prophet's practice or sunnat and the sunnat-i 'ibadat or methods
of 'worship' associated with the Prophet's sunnat. While the former
are not regarded as essential to the faith but, rather, as aspects of
seventh century Arabian culture, the latter are considered to be central
to Islam. The former include such things as the exact dress the Prophet
wore, the animals he ate or rode on, the language he spoke, and so on.
The latter include the entire gamut of ritual actions, such as methods
of prayer, fasting, pilgrimage and charity associated with the sunnat
of the Prophet. This distinction between the sunnat-i 'adat and the
sunnat-i 'ibadat, provides, once again, room for pragmatic adjustment
to pre-Islamic as well as local traditions that do not conflict with
the central beliefs and practices of shari'ah-centred Islam, as it is
diversely interpreted. However, although the 'ulama may not insist that
all 'habits' of the Prophet, the entire range of 'adat associated with
him, must necessarily be followed by every Muslim in order to qualify
as a Muslim, many of them would argue that a Muslim who does exactly
as the Prophet did is a better Muslim than one who does not do so. In
this regard, they would admit to the distinction between what is farz
or compulsory (such as regular ritual prayer, fasting during Ramadan,
etc.) and actions considered to be sunnat (aspects of the Prophet life
that are not compulsory for Muslims to adopt but, nonetheless, are recommended),
such as using the sort of tooth-stick the Prophet used or the animals
he ate or rode on, much of which, of course, is specific to the context
of seventh century Arabia. They would recognise that all aspects of
the latter need not be strictly followed in order to be classified as
a true Muslim. At the same time, however, they would insist that a Muslim
who follows the latter in addition to abiding by the farz is probably
a better Muslim than one who abides solely by the minimum farz rituals
and duties.
Another concept that is marshalled
by some 'ulama, particularly those associated with the Shi'a and popular
Sufi traditions, to sanction local cultural practices that are, as the
more literalist of the 'ulama see them, 'un-Islamic', is that of the
bidd'at-i hasanah or the 'praiseworthy innovation'. The extreme literalist
'ulama, such as those associated with the Jama'at-i Islami and the Ahl-i
Hadith, brand all innovations in ritual practice from the path of the
Prophet as 'condemnable' and as leading those who practice them to hell.
In the Shi'a case, the practice of mourning the martyrdom of Imam Husain,
grandson of the Prophet, and in the case of a range of popular Sufi
traditions, performing and listening to qawwali at dargahs and touching
the feet of Sufi preceptors, are clearly not part of the sunnat of the
Prophet and, hence, are, technically speaking, bidd'at, being a product
of local cultures. Yet, defenders of these practices would argue that
far from being 'condemnable innovations' (bidd'at-i sayyah), they are
'praiseworthy innovations' because they aid in one's religious life,
complementing the sunnat of the Prophet, rather than replacing it.
A third and related conceptual
tool that is sometimes used in order to defend departures from a strictly
literalist approach to the sunnat of the Prophet, and justifying adjustments
to local social and cultural contexts, is that of the maqasid-i shari'ah,
'the aims of the shari'ah'. This tool has been historically used by
the 'ulama to engage in what is known in Islamic legalistic parlance
as qiyas or 'analogy'. Thus, for instance, the Qur'an explicitly forbids
the consumption of wine but does not mention a similar prohibition of
a range of other intoxicating substances. By taking recourse to the
analytical tool of maqasid-i shari'ah, early Muslim jurists were able
to expand the Qur'anic prohibition of wine to include all other intoxicating
substances. They argued that he maqsad or aim of this particular Qur'anic
prohibition was more general—to restrain people from consuming
not just wine but, in fact, all other intoxicating substances as well.
Today, some 'ulama and other Muslim intellectuals, concerned about the
petrifaction of traditional fiqh and the insistence on the part of many
'ulama on taqlid or rigid conformity to medieval fiqh and the literalism
with which this is associated, are arguing for the use of maqasid-i
shari'ah as a means for justifying rethinking on a range of fiqh-related
issues, such as democracy, secularism, the nation-state, the reality
of Muslims in India living as a minority, women's rights and so on.
Many traditional 'ulama are, of course, opposed to the use of maqasid-i
shari'ah to depart from established fiqhi precedent, believing that
the consensus of the early 'ulama on a range of fiqh-related issues
must be firmly adhered to. They fear that unrestrained use of maqasid-i
shari'ah would ultimately subvert the shari'ah, as they understand it.
Yet, today several Muslim modernists and a small, yet significant and
growing, number of 'ulama trained in the madrasas, are advocating a
reformulation or expansion of fiqh rules on several matters, using the
tool of maqasid-i shari'ah for this purpose. A good example of this
is the work of the Islamic Fiqh Academy, New Delhi, which recently organised
a conference on maqasid-i shari'ah and published its proceedings in
the form of a book.
If taken further, it is possible
that the concept of maqasid-i shari'ah can be used as a tool to fashion
Islamic perspectives that are more contextually-grounded and appropriate
for the Indian context, making a clear distinction between Islam per
se and the Arab cultural trappings that are, in the eyes of some, associated
with it. Thus, for instance, it could be used to argue that it is not
necessary for Muslims to wear exactly the same dress worn by the Prophet
and his seventh-century Arab companions. It can be argued that purpose
or maqsad of the long, flowing gowns that they wore was to preserve
their modesty, and if any other dress can serve the same purpose then
it, too, is Islamically legitimate. Likewise, in the case of a range
of other matters associated with culture on which traditionalist 'ulama
have taken a rather literalist, Arab-centric approach when seeking to
understand and interpret the sunnat of the Prophet and the shari'ah.
Related to the concept of
maqasid-i shari'ah is that of ijtihad or independent reasoning in the
light of the primary sources of the Islamic scripturalist tradition,
particularly the Qur'an and genuine Hadith. The traditionalist 'ulama
have all along sought to restrict the scope of ijtihad, if not to ban
it altogether, although they also recognise that the Prophet had insisted
on it. Today, a number of Muslim scholars are advocating the 'opening
of the gates of ijtihad', although it must be recognised that, contrary
to what is often claimed, the 'gates' were never firmly closed. Ijtihad
can be, and has been, applied in matters of culture, too, in the same
way as the concept of maqasid-i shari'ah can, to enable Muslims living
in India today to formulate more contextually relevant Islamic perspectives
on a wide range of matters related to culture, including language, food,
dress, relations with other communities and so on.
What the above discussion
points to is the fact that there exist within the broader framework
of the historical shari'ah, the forte of the 'ulama of the madrasas,
adequate conceptual tools that can be employed to help deconstruct Arab-centric
notions of the shari'ah, thereby enabling many non-Arab Muslims to adjust
to the realities of their cultural surroundings. Interestingly, this
is precisely what has happened historically, enabling the emergence
and flourishing of a multiplicity of rich Muslim cultures, each different
in many respects from all others, sharing much with the cultural worlds
of neighbouring non-Muslim peoples, but being Islamically valid to those
who partake of them.
This, in turn, points to
the fact that the cultural 'Arabisation' that madrasas are alleged to
promote must not be exaggerated. For one thing, as numerous scholars
have pointed out, only a very small minority of Indian Muslim children
study in madrasas to train to be professional religious specialists.
Further, the 'ulama of the madrasas are not the only recognised authority
on Islamic matters, being increasingly challenged by a rage of alternate
voices, 'modernists', Islamists and self-taught scholars. Such voices,
understandably, are looked at with suspicion and hostility by many traditionalist
'ulama, who insist that they cannot speak for or about Islam because
they lack a traditional madrasa education. But, increasingly, many Muslims
in India are hearing these voices and recognising them as authoritative
spokesmen of their faith. Several of them are ardent defenders of 'Arabised',
forms of Islam, but there are others (the Mumbai-based Asghar 'Ali Engineer
and the New Delhi-based Rashid Shaz are two of the most notable of these,
but there are several more) who call, in effect, for inculturated and
contextually relevant understandings of Islam suited to the reality
of contemporary India.
In discussing the cultural
consequences of madrasa education, it must also be noted that the sort
of cultural 'Arabisation' that most madrasas (barring the most literalist,
such as some associated with groups such as the Ahl-i Hadith) aim at
promoting is somewhat limited in its scope. The 'cultural package' that
madrasas offer to their students is, admittedly, often heavily Arab-centric.
Yet, to brand the entire 'package' as wholesale 'Arabisation' is fallacious.
The 'package' also includes aspects of 'high' Indian Muslim culture
traditionally associated with the Muslim ashraf elite, such as the Persian
and Urdu languages, rules of adab or deportment and so on, that are
not specifically 'Arab' in origins or inspiration. Even if they were,
this is unexceptionable and hardly different in nature from the Sanskiritisation
or Hinduisation that is so aggressively promoted among the 'low' castes
by Hindu organisations and even by the Indian state.
That said, what must be recognised
as a matter of concern is the fact that a few Islamic organisations
in India, some with links to Arab patrons do, in fact, seek to promote
new forms of culture and identity that militate against harmonious relations
with people of other faiths, and, in a few cases, firmly oppose 'non-Islamic'
rule and exhort their followers to struggle to establish an 'Islamic
state'. These, however, are a fringe minority and are, mercifully,
not taken seriously by the vast majority of the Indian Muslims.
Cultural 'Arabisation',
Multiple Identities
and the Myth of a Muslim Monolith
A powerful source of resistance
to the cultural 'Arabisation' that is soughtto be promoted by some madrasas
are the deeply rooted multiple identities of Muslim communities living
in different parts of the country. The rhetoric of Islamic unity that
the 'ulama and their madrasas constantly stress is accepted at one level
by most Muslims, but has proved to be unable to destroy or render invisible
their other identities, such as those based on caste, ethnicity and
language.
A good example of this is
the case of Kashmir, where groups such as the Lashkar-i Tayyeba, associated
with a branch of the Pakistan-based Ahl-i Hadith, and the Jama'at-i
Islami have been among the most vehement critics of Kashmiri nationalism,
which is based on the notion of a unique Kashmiri identity or Kashmiriyat.
These groups argue that nationalism has no place in Islam, which, they
say, preaches the religious as well as political unity of all Muslims,
transcending man-made national identities. The only identity a Muslim
must have, they argue, is that of being Muslim. Other identities cannot
be tolerated for they threaten that primary identity in a variety of
direct as well as subtle ways. In place of the nation, they advocate
the concept of the worldwide Muslim ummah, a seamless pan-Islamic monolith.
They go so far as to argue that nationalism is an invention of non-Muslim
'enemies of Islam' in order to divide Muslims and thereby conquer, subjugate
and rule over them. The nation, including the notion of the 'Kashmiri
nation', they claim, is yet another 'idol' invented by the 'enemies
of Islam'. Since Islam is fiercely opposed to idol-worship, they contend,
the Muslims of Kashmir must, accordingly, reject the Kashmiri nationalist
agenda of groups such as the Jammu and Kashmir Liberation Front. Hence,
it follows from this argument, Kashmiris should not struggle for establishing
an independent Kashmiri nation-state. Rather, in order to pursue the
agenda of pan-Islamism, they should join Pakistan. This is described
as the first step towards dissolving themselves in the world-wide Muslim
community, the initial move in the direction of establishing a single,
monolithic Islamic Caliphate that would rule over all Muslims, no matter
where they might live. This opposition to Kashmiri nationalism by strict
Islamist literalists has gone hand-in-hand with fierce denunciations
of a range of local customary practices, many of these associated with
popular Kashmiri Sufi traditions.
Yet, it appears that despite
decades of active presence and missionary work in Kashmir, the Jama'at-i
Islami and the Ahl-i Hadith remain a minority. The vast majority of
the Kashmiri Muslims still refuse to deny their separate Kashmiri ethnic
identity while at the same time proudly claming to be Muslims. Unlike
the Ahl-i Hadith and the Jama'at-i Islami, they do not see any fundamental
contradiction between the two, arguing that it is possible to be both
a good Kashmiri and a good Muslim at the same time. For this they take
recourse to resources contained within the Islamic scriputural tradition:
for instance, to the Qur'anic dictum that God has created people into
different 'nations' so that they might know each other and to the Hadith
report according to which the Prophet is said to have declared that
love for one's motherland is part of the faith.
A similar example to illustrate
the same argument relates to caste identities among the Indian Muslims.
The rhetoric of Muslim unity and pan-Islamism that some fringe Islamic
groups mouth has been unable to transcend and destroy local caste identities.
Despite the straightjacket, monolithic Muslim identity that madrasas
seek to promote, caste distinctions remain significant among Muslims,
especially in north India, including among the 'ulama and madrasa students
themselves. The marginalisation and subordination of the 'low' caste
Muslims, who form the vast majority of the Indian Muslim population,
has been sought to invisibilised through the rhetoric of Islamic unity
and egalitarianism which is presented through discourses of shari'ah-centric
Islam. Yet, today, particularly in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, 'low' caste
Muslims are independently mobilising themselves on the basis of their
caste identities, arguing that the shari'ah-based discourse of Muslim
unity has been used by 'upper' caste Muslim elites to deny them their
rights. This does not mean, they argue, that they are opposed to Islam
or Muslim unity. Rather, they stress, genuine Muslim unity can only
come about when internal caste divisions and the subordination of the
'low' castes are recognised and effectively tackled, something that
the proponents of the notion of a seamless Muslim monolith are loathe
to do. This mobilisation on the basis of caste identities effectively
undermines and limits the appeal of the agenda of 'Arabisation' and
the related notion of a monolithic Muslim identity that the 'ulama of
the madrasas seek to promote.
Finally, in discussing resistance
to cultural 'Arabisation' wrought by the madrasas it must be recognised
that Muslims do not differ from others in being pragmatic or ideologically
programmed, as the case might be, in their approaches to religion. There
can be no case for Muslim exceptionalism in this regard, as in any other.
If a limited cultural 'Arabisation' is sought to be promoted by certain
madrasas and Islamic groups in India today, countervailing forces, including
secularisation, 'modernisation', democratisation, national 'integration',
economic development and the sheer need to adjust to empirical realities
are also operative, effectively challenging and undermining the limited
cultural 'Arabisation' that some Islamic institutions in India seek
to promote. Consequently, multiple identities coexist in a state of
creative tension, although, admittedly, not always in harmony, but still
pervasive enough to render impossible the agenda of destroying these
identities in favour of just the Islamic, as advocated by the advocates
of cultural 'Arabisation'.
It is obvious that the appeal
of the limited cultural 'Arabisation' promoted by madrasas among some
Indian Muslims owes, in large measure, though not entirely, to the sense
of siege, fear, insecurity and marginalisation that Muslims in parts
of the country face. It serves as a defence mechanism, helping to draw
clear boundaries between Hindus and Muslims and stressing the links
between Muslims in India and elsewhere. Obviously, therefore, a principal
task before those concerned with promoting inter-community harmony and
solidarity and 'composite culture' in India today is to address the
fundamental issue of Muslim marginalisation and insecurity. Mindless
berating of the madrasas for allegedly being actively engaged in promoting
'Arabisation', without looking at the phenomenon as, at least in part,
a reaction to Hindutva and to the homogenising agenda of the Indian
state that defines itself in Brahminical Hindu terms, is hardly fair
and can only further reinforce the insular, exclusivist character that
most madrasas are today identified with. That said, the task of concerned
Muslim activists is hardly less onerous. To them falls the responsibility
of evolving ways of understanding their faith that are relevant to the
contextual realities of contemporary India.
* The author works with the
Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi