Book Review: Velvet Jihad

Name of the Book: Velvet Jihad—Muslim Women’s Quiet Resistance to Islamic Fundamentalism


Author: Faegheh Shirazi


Publisher: University of Florida Press, Gainesville


Year: 2009


Pages: 277


ISBN: 978-0-8130-3354-9



Central to Islamic scripturalist assertion, or ‘Islamic fundamentalism’ as it is often referred to, is the notion of the ideal Muslim woman, whose status, roles and functions are defined by rules and norms deriving from a narrow, restrictive and patriarchal reading of the Islamic scripturalist tradition. The ‘ideal’ Muslim woman in Islamic ‘fundamentalist’ discourse is defined as being submissive to male authority, while being modest and virtuous in a patriarchally-defined sense. She is to be carefully controlled and monitored, at all times, by patriarchal authority. The spread of Islamic ‘fundamentalism’ throughout Muslim communities has had seriously negative consequences for Muslim women’s rights and status. Not surprisingly, groups of Muslim women across the world have begun mobilizing against Islamic ‘fundamentalism’, some on a secular basis, using secular human rights arguments, others, working within a broadly-defined Islamic tradition, employing Islamic arguments for achieving gender equality and challenging patriarchy and misogyny in the name of Islam.



This fascinating book provides a general picture of the status and conditions of women in Muslim communities around the world faced with the challenge of Islamic scripturalist assertion. Shirazi admits that patriarchy is, of course, not a Muslim-specific phenomenon, but argues that the forms that it takes in Muslim communities and Muslim-majority countries makes it particularly problematic and difficult to oppose in that it is generally sought to be legitimised in the name of religion. Hence, challenging such patriarchy is a particularly arduous task as it is easily branded as a challenge to religion itself.

The book catalogues a long list of hurdles and restrictions that millions of Muslim women across the world are subjected to in the name of Islam. These includes stern restrictions on their physical mobility, on their acquiring education, on taking up jobs of their choice, on selecting their spouses, on controlling their own bodies, on choosing their marriage partners, on deciding how to dress, and even on thinking for themselves. They are subjected to deeply patriarchal family laws in most Muslim countries, all legitimised in the name of Islam and enforced by the state, such as those that provide Muslim men the right to arbitrarily divorce their wives, to take additional wives at will without the permission of their existing spouses, to control almost completely the lives of their wives, and even, as in some countries, to take the law into their hands and beat their wives and even and kill them on grounds of infidelity. Shirazi shows how radical Islamists, mouthing slogans of religious and cultural ‘authenticity’ and calling for their brand of what they call ‘shariah rule’, have sought to deny Muslim women a whole range of rights that are afforded to them in some countries, and to scrap progressive laws and replace them with a medieval, patriarchal code which they define as being based on the shariah or divine law. In addition, numerous cultural practices that heavily impinge on Muslim women’s lives that are widespread in certain Muslim communities and that sometimes derive from pre-Islamic practices—the most notorious of these being female genital mutilation and forced child marriages—are often sought to be projected as mandated by Islam. All in all, then, Shirazi very persuasively argues, Islamic ‘fundamentalism’, combined with local forms of patriarchal culture, pose a major threat and challenge to the quest for equality and justice for Muslim women across the world, particularly the poor.



With abysmal levels of education, and being economically heavily dependent on their men folk, it is not surprising that vast numbers Muslim women simply have no choice but to accept their lot. Many, as Shirazi tells us, even accept this as mandated by Islam itself. Yet, Shirazi tells us there is what she colourfully calls a ‘velvet jihad’ astir in across numerous Muslim communities spearheaded by bold Muslim women who are now vocally and stridently challenging all forms of oppression in the name of Islam. She likens it to the ‘velvet revolution’, a peaceful movement of resistance that brought down ‘communist’ dictatorships in eastern Europe in the late 1980s.



What, then, are the means that assertive Muslim women (and there are many, as Shirazi documents) are today adopting to fight patriarchy and misogyny in the name of Islam? They fall into two broad categories. Some Muslim women, who may be defined as ‘Muslim feminists’, are seeking to oppose patriarchal laws, rules and practices using modern human rights arguments, such as secularism, freedom, justice and democracy, linking up with reformers, both men and women, both within their communities and countries and at the international level, to highlight the oppression of women in the name of Islam. Shirazi describes numerous such Muslim women’s groups across the world which are using this approach, with varying degrees of success. This strategy might not, however, have much resonance with religious-minded Muslims, who could easily be made to be believe that such arguments for women’s rights are not just ‘un-Islamic’, but, rather, represent, as it is often put, an ‘anti-Islamic, Western conspiracy’. Indeed, that precisely is what Islamic conservatives and radicals never tire of arguing.

A more culturally-rooted, and, therefore, for many practising Muslims, perhaps a more acceptable way of shaping demands for gender equality and of critiquing misogyny and patriarchy in the name of Islam, Shirazi points out, is represented by the phenomenon often labeled as ‘Islamic feminism’. Not all the women (and men) who are engaged in articulating an Islamic feminist discourse and politics might, however, identify with that label, given the political and ideological baggage associated with the term ‘feminism’. Be that as it may, Islamic feminism, Shirazi shows by drawing on empirical evidence from extensive fieldwork in Africa, Asia, Europe and America as well as a massive corpus of literature available on the Internet, is today a growing challenge to the authoritarian, deeply-patriarchal versions of Islam zealously upheld both Islamic conservatives and ‘fundamentalists’, who, despite their differences, are almost unanimous on the ‘women’s question’.



Islamic feminism, as Shirazi describes it, seeks to recover what its proponents controversially argue is the ‘true Islam’, one which is based on compassion, equality and justice for all—including, most crucially, women and non-Muslims. In this it forcefully challenges conservative and ‘fundamentalist’ versions of Islam that are premised on the subjugation and repression of women and non-Muslims, not withstanding the pious proclamations of their proponents to the contrary. Shirazi describes the various strategies advocates of Islamic feminism employ as they go about their task of seeking to dismantle patriarchy in the name of Islam. A major focus of their efforts is critiquing certain fiqh or juridical rules that harshly impinge on women that were developed by medieval jurists. Islamic feminists insists, contrary to what the ulema or Islamic clerics, and hardliner Islamists, argue, that these are a later development, a human invention, and not part of the shariah or divine law. They point out that these fiqh prescriptions were developed by a class of male clerics who were heavily influenced in their understanding of Islam by the feudal, patriarchal context of their times, and so cannot be said to consist of divinely-revealed edicts. They argue that fiqh must remain dynamic if Islam is to retain its relevance, and that Muslims must come up with new, gender-just fiqh perspectives to conform to the demands and needs of Muslim women today. They see themselves as taking the lead in this task, recovering the lost agency and legacy of Muslim women scholars who, in early Muslim history, played a crucial role in the field of Islamic scholarship.

In dealing with the other principal sources of legislation and beliefs about women—the Quran and Hadith (statements about or attributed to the Prophet Muhammad)—Islamic feminists, as Shirazi shows through her analysis of a number of Islamic feminist texts—adopt a range of positions. In the face of certain Hadith reports that clearly militate against contemporary notions of gender equality and justice, some contend that the Quran is the only text that Muslims need to follow, and that, in any case, the corpus of Hadith is replete with fabricated traditions wrongly attributed to the Prophet by later Muslims simply in order to sanctify patriarchy and the subjugation of women. Hence, they argue, it is not reliable. Others argue that the seemingly patriarchal prescriptions contained in the Quran and the Hadith need to be viewed in the particular historical context of their revelation, in seventh century Arabia, and as relevant to that context but not as being binding and normative for all times. Yet others argue for distilling what they call the spirit of the Quran and focusing on core values that they discern in the text, such as compassion, justice and equality, rather than being bound by a strictly literalist understanding of the scripture.

Citing the works—both literary as well as practical—of a vast number of Muslim women scholars and activists as they seek to counter patriarchy in the name of Islam, Shirazi concludes that their valiant efforts, derided and fiercely opposed by powerful patriarchal forces, truly herald the arrival of a ‘velvet jihad’, one that can play a key role in not just championing Muslim women’s rights but also in fashioning more compassionate and just understandings of Islam while critiquing and standing up to violent, authoritarian, patriarchal mullahs and Islamists who claim to represent Islamic authenticity. That, in short, is what this inspiring book is all about.

Islam and Multiculturalism: Report on a Conference

Much has been written about conflicts involving religious communities across the world by journalists, academics and security ‘experts’. Although these conflicts have local roots, and owe to a host of causes, some locally-specific, others regional and even global, a common factor that links all of them are supremacist notions of the religious ‘self’ and, associated with these, negative images of the religious ‘other’ that are deeply-rooted in dominant understandings of religion. Efforts to resolve these conflicts must, some time or the other, necessarily address head-on the notion of the ‘other’ in religious thought, to critique understandings that brand all non-believers as ‘enemies’ and dismiss their faiths as of no worth at all. This critique needs to go hand-in-hand with efforts to promote more positive understandings of the religious ‘other’ and of other faith traditions and belief systems. In short, while most conflicts involving people of different religious communities are rooted in political and economic factors, they cannot be reduced entirely to them. The crucial role that negative, exclusivist, intolerant and supremacist understandings of religion and the religious ‘other’ play in creating and in fanning these conflicts cannot be denied.



That, in short, was what I learnt at a conference in Singapore that I recently participated in. Organised by the official Islamic council of Singapore, the Majlis Ugama Islam Singapore (MUIS), the conference brought together several dozen academics and activists, Muslims as well as others, from across the world to deliberate on the vexed issue of Islam, Muslims and multiculturalism in our globalised world.



‘Islam is not simply about Muslims alone,’ stressed the well-known Oxford-based Islamic scholar Tariq Ramadan in his opening remarks. ‘Rather, it is about us and others working together constructing our common future. We need to dialogue—not just to talk to the other but also to listen to the other and to learn from the other.’ And, he went on, it was not enough just for Muslims and others to talk and listen to each other, but it was also necessary to be open to the possibility of changing and growing as a result of being in dialogic conversation with each other.



That inspiring message was echoed by Ustad Fatris Bakaram, Deputy Mufti of Singapore, who pointed out that multiculturalism was by no means a new experience for Muslims. Medina, where the Prophet and his companions shifted from Mecca, was a thriving multicultural and multi-religious society, as was Christian-ruled Abysinnia, where the Prophet instructed several of his companions to seek shelter, and where, for the first time, Muslims were able to practice their faith free from oppression. Critiquing the claims of radical Islamists (who are, of course, not known for any but the most stern views about non-Muslims and their religions), the Ustaz argued that the intention of the Prophet in migrating to Medina was not to set up ‘Islamic rule’ or Islamic political supremacy, as is often claimed. Rather, it was simply to seek a place where Muslims could practice their faith freely. It was thus wholly erroneous to argue, as Islamists do, the Ustaz explained, that only in an ‘Islamic state’, ruled according to shariah laws, and where Muslims were politically dominant, could Muslims willingly accept multiculturalism.



‘Muslims must learn to live with, and relate to, others amicably,’ the Ustaz insisted, arguing that unless this happened conflict, violent or otherwise, was inevitable. Muslims simply could not afford to continue to live in denial of the extremist tendencies that existed, he added, arguing that it was necessary for Muslims to critique and denounce radicalism and supremacism in the name of Islam that has now emerged as a global menace. ‘We cannot remain isolationist by seeking refuge in the comfort of our own communities,’ he argued. He lamented the fact that many Muslims, even in ‘progressive’ Singapore, hesitated to have close interaction with people of other faiths, with some even fearing that this was prohibited by Islam and that it was a threat to their identity as Muslims. A major issue that urgently cried out to be addressed in this regard, he said, was the widely-prevalent notion that Islam seeks or demands Islamic or Muslim domination over others. This powerful tool in the repertoire of self-styled Islamic radicals, he said, was a potent threat to multiculturalism.



The Ustaz was, likewise, critical of the marked tendency among Muslims to romanticize their past through which they implicitly sought to deny the very real problems in traditional Muslim thought and historical practice about the place and role of the religious ‘other’. In this regard, he insisted that several fiqh or juridical rules developed by the classical Islamic scholars in the early and medieval period with regard to non-Muslims urgently needed to be revised as not only were they not relevant to today’s context but they also conduced to conflictual relations with people of other faiths. The classical notion of non-Muslim territories or lands not ruled by the shariah as dar ul-harb or ‘land of war’, he opined, was, in today’s age, ‘unrealistic and archaic’. Arguing against those who might claim that his stance was tantamount to distorting the shariah, he pointed out that the notions of dar ul-islam and dar ul-harb find no mention at all in the Quran. Rather, he said, they were the product or ijtihad of later jurists, whose readings were based on the particular social and historical context in which they lived and to which they responded. To blindly accept their views, he opined, was sheer ‘ignorance’. The division of the world into dar ul-islam and dar ul-harb, so favoured by Islamists, he insisted, represented a binary thinking that had no basis in the Quran. It was also, he added, a major challenge to Muslims living as minorities, who were made to feel ‘guilty’ for living in what was termed dar ul-harb.



The Ustaz spoke about the need to understand Islamic injunctions by focusing on what are called ‘the intentions of the shariah’ (maqasid-e shariah), which would facilitate a much-need shift from a sternly literalist approach to legal matters. Accordingly, certain fiqh rules might need to change in changing contexts to uphold the underlying aims of the law. Critiquing scripturalist and legal literalism, he argued that numerous fiqh rules to do with relations with people of other faiths needed to be subjected to ijtihad or creative reasoning and re-interpretation in a contextually-appropriate manner in order to promote inter-community and inter-faith relations. This, he cautioned, was not a means to discard scripture, unlike what some Muslims might claim, but, rather, to re-read the scripture in today’s context in ‘an enlightened manner’. It was not tantamount to abandoning the shariah. Rather, it was a plea to realize the underlying aims of the shariah, which included justice, equality and friendly relations with others, in a contextually-sensitive manner.



While rethinking fiqh rules and received notions of other faiths and their adherents was a crucial task for Muslim scholars and activists to engage in so as to improve relations between Muslims and others, the Ustaz added that it was also crucial for Muslims to think beyond their own communities and work for the general good, collaborating together with people of other faiths in this task. In this way, he said, Muslims would learn to accept, even celebrate, religious diversity, to contribute to the welfare of the entire society (and not just of their own community), and to be, as he put it, ‘inclusive and adaptive, no matter in which environment they live in.’



Further dwelling on the importance of the task of critiquing supremacist notions of Islam and Muslim communal identity and of promoting alternate, more open interpretations of the religious ‘other’ in Islamic thought, Abdullah Saeed, Director of the National Centre for Excellence in Islamic Studies, Melbourne, Australia, pointed out that no religious tradition, Islam included, was a fixed, permanent and homogenous entity that had not undergone any transformation since its inception. Rather, he said, religious traditions are like living beings that emerge and grow over time and adapt to different contexts—although, of course, this is not how religious literalists and other ‘fundamentalists’ imagine them to be. In this regard, he added, in today’s context, where communities are in closer proximity than ever before, it was imperative for Muslims to develop new, and more positive, understandings of people of other faiths and their belief systems and of relations with them. A marked feature of today’s global context was the notion of common and equal citizenship, which is something entirely new. This, he said, necessitated the revision of several traditional Muslim understandings of the ‘other’, because these were rooted in a context of fundamental inequality between Muslims and other people. Mere tolerance of other faiths and their followers would no longer suffice, for it was not based on a positive value for engaging with the religious ‘other’. Rather, he argued, Muslims need to move beyond, to accept the ‘other’ and to champion religious pluralism based on common citizenship, while at the same time recognizing and respecting cultural differences. Yet, he said, multiculturalism has its clear limits, for, if stretched too far, it could lead to religious ghettoisation. It should be tempered, he suggested, with active engagement with people of other faiths for the common good.



Multiculturalism must not mean or lead to freezing communities into separate boxes or reifying religious traditions, argued Reuven Firestone, a trained Rabbi, who heads a centre for Jewish-Muslim Understanding in the USA. It must go beyond respecting cultural and religious differences to actively learning from and sharing with people of different faiths and cultures. This, he said, was precisely what the early Muslim Arabs did, because of which they were able to make marvelous strides in various fields of human activity. One of the major reasons for the later decline of Arab-Muslim civilization, he pointed out, was the shift to more exclusivist notions of the religious ‘other’ that did not conduce to learning from or interacting with them.





Lived Islam is a diverse discursive tradition, understood and expressed in diverse forms, and thus offers a variety of responses to, and interpretations of, other faiths and their adherents and relations with them, stressed the noted Indonesian scholar Azyumardi Azra, Professor at the Syarif Hidayatullah State Islamic University, Jakarta. These responses ranged from sternly exclusivist and hostile to open and inclusive, each of which presented itself as authoritatively and authentically ‘Islamic’. Critiquing exclusivist and hostile notions of the other in Muslim thought was a necessary task, Azra said, and there were tools available within the broader Islamic tradition, such as tajdid (renewal) and islah (reform) that could be used for this, although not in the strictly literalist manner as advocated by self-styled Salafis and the Wahhabis. This task needed to go along with attempts to ‘indigenise’ Islam to make it part of, and responsive to, local cultures instead of appearing to be a foreign, specifically Arab, cultural import. What he was probably hinting at was the tendency of Muslims to conflate Islam with Arabic language and culture. In this way, he opined, Muslims would be able to understand and live their faith in a manner suitable to the local cultural context that they shared with people of other religions and thus be culturally more integrated with them. Alongside this task of the ‘indigenisation’ of Islam in local cultures what was also required, Azra suggested, was for Muslim scholars to promote the Quranic concept of Muslims as the median or balanced community (ummatan wasatan), followers of the ‘middle path’. This ‘wasatiya Islam’, as Azra termed it, could serve as a powerful counter to Muslim or ‘Islamic’ exclusivism and supremacy.



The thrust of Tariq Ramadan’s presentation was a plea for rethinking fundamental categories in both secular as well as Muslim/Islamic thought. Dwelling on the latter, he argued that ‘reform’ (for which he used the terms islah and ihya) in Muslim/Islamic thought on the question of the religious ‘other’ is an indispensable necessity, although many might balk at this. While the Islamic texts could not be changed or ‘reformed’, what could, he said, were our understandings of them on certain matters. This is because religious understandings are a human product and so can change in response to changing social and historical contexts. Religious traditions, he noted, are a ‘moving reality’ and one’s understanding of one’s tradition is—or should be—also dynamic and open to being transformed with shifts in time and context. The ‘reform’ in Muslim thought with regard to the religious ‘other’ and the fact of religious pluralism that Ramadan suggested was, he said, not to adapt to standards set by others or to be accepted by them but, rather, to make the world a better place for all—for Muslims and for others. Hence, he clarified, what he was advocating was what he called ‘transformational reform’, which was distinct from ‘adaptational reform’. Arguing against those who see the shariah as a closed, fixed body of laws incapable of change and reform, he appealed for a fundamental reform in fiqh rules about people of other faiths and religious pluralism and a concomitant shift in focus in Islamic thought from the rules of fiqh to the basic ‘principles of fiqh’ (usul al-fiqh), through which more appropriate and positive fiqh rules could be formulated to promote inter-community dialogue and solidarity in accordance with today’s context of religious pluralism.



Echoing what several speakers before him had stressed, Ramadan called for the Islamic texts to be read in context and for what he called a new ‘Islamic applied ethics’ that would conduce to better relations between Muslims and others. Again, like numerous other speakers, he indicated the crucial need to critique and challenge certain classical ‘Islamic’ definitions and terms (most notably, the concept of the dars) that, he argued, were a product of a historical context that no longer exists and that militate against better relations with others. He also suggested that Muslims needed to broaden their imagination of what was ‘Islamic’: for instance, a just, egalitarian law could not be branded as ‘un-Islamic’ or ‘anti-shariah’ simply because it was formulated by a non-Muslim political authority. If it was indeed just and egalitarian, it must also be regarded as in accordance with the shariah or even as part of it.



A similar widening of approach and perspective was needed, Ramadan suggested, in Muslims’ understanding of the notion of the ummah. The Prophet Muhammad, he noted, included the Jews of Medina as part of the same ummah as the Muslims, thus suggesting that widely-held Muslim understandings of the notion were restrictive and narrow in a manner not warranted by the Prophet’s own practice. Likewise, he said, Muslims needed to broaden their horizons and be concerned not only for and about themselves but, indeed, for the whole of humankind. ‘Muslims will be respected by others if they contribute and work for not just themselves but for others as well, working for and with them, for siding with the poor, for struggling for freedom and justice for all,’ he very rightly remarked.



For me, the highlight of the conference was hearing the arrestingly charismatic Imam Feisal Abdul Rauf, head of the New York-based Cordoba Initiative, speak. The soft-spoken but extremely articulate Egyptian-born and Britain-educated Imam has been in the forefront of efforts to promote dialogue between people of different faiths, inspired by a truly universalistic—and, so, to me, powerfully attractive—understanding of religion. He began by pointing out that Muslims are today perceived as a ‘problem’ the world over. Owing to the actions of self-styled Islamists, Islam is now regarded by many as a security threat. This perception, he said, cannot be denied or wished away simply through apologetic exercises. Across the world, Muslim groups, using the vocabulary of Islam, have spearheaded violent political movements in the name of Islam. This is why, he said, many non-Muslims perceive Islam to be synonymous with violence and even terror. This undeniable fact, he went on, is a challenge to Muslims concerned about their faith, who must act to rescue it from terrorists who use it to give it a bad name.





The Imam debunked certain key myths that many Muslims, wedded to a narrow, communal understanding of Islam, zealously uphold. He pointed out that the Quran addresses itself not to Muslims as a communal group, but, rather to what it calls ‘believers’ or muminun. And this, he argued, is what the companions of the Prophet Muhammad saw themselves as. Based on his interpretation of certain key Quranic verses, the Imam pointed out that the category of muminun was not limited to those who call themselves by the Arabic term ‘Muslim’, and who generally construe the term as referring to a particular community. Rather, he persuasively argued, the muminun that the Quran talks about, for which any other suitable term could be used in other languages, included everyone, no matter what rituals he followed, what language he worshipped in, or whatever name he called himself by, who believed in the one God and in divine accountability after death and practiced good. This, he said, was the basic religion taught by all the prophets of God. Various prophets might have had their own methods of prayer and rituals, but these should be seen not as separate religions or as the bases of separate communities. Rather, they were more like different schools of thought or, in Arabic, mazhabs, of the same religion, or different sunnahs or paths. ‘The various prophets had different signatures, but they shared the same message’, he explained. All the prophets, the Quran says, were of the same status, and, critiquing Muslim claims to supremacy, he argued that nowhere does the Quran declare the Prophet Muhammad to have been the best among them or the most superior—contrary to what many Muslims contend. In actual fact, he pointed out, the Quran warns people not to make any distinction between the prophets. To imagine that the ‘believers’, in the Quranic sense, referred to a particular community that practiced a particular set of rituals in a particular language, as most Muslims do, was, the Imam argued, not at all in accordance with what the Quran says.



The universalistic understanding of religion and the notion of ‘believer’ that he argued the Quran actually preached (which is in marked contrast to how many of those who call themselves ‘Muslims’ understand them), the Imam suggested, was a powerful counter to the communalistic interpretations of Islam that have been, and still are, powerfully dominant and that inherently conduce to conflict. It was, he contended, also a firm basis to bring together the muminun in different communities, no matter what communal label they defined themselves with, to work together for a better world.



A host of other speakers addressed the two-day conference, which was easily one of the most engaging and enriching that I have attended so far.

Lost Legacy of South Asia’s Leading Centre of Islamic Learning

Lost Legacy of South Asia’s Leading Centre of Islamic Learning




In the mid-seventeenth century, Aurangzeb, Emperor of India, granted a mansion in the city of Lucknow to one Mullah Qutubuddin Ansari, a scholar of Islamic law who had sided with him against his brothers in his war of succession for the Mughal throne. The mansion was named Firanghi Mahal after its previous occupant, a French (or Firangi, in Persian) trader.

One of Mullah Qutubuddin Ansari’s four sons, Mullah Nizamuddin Ansari, rose to become one of the most influential ulema of his times, combining mystical, rational as well as scriptural Islamic learning. Under Mullah Nizamuddin, Firangi Mahal, new home of the Ansari family, emerged as India’s leading centre of Islamic studies. Mullah Nizamuddin, and, after him, his descendants, attracted hundreds of seekers of knowledge—mostly, like them, Sunnis, but also several Shias and Hindus—many of who took up employment in various royal courts across the Indian subcontinent. Interestingly, most of them became government bureaucrats rather than professional ulema. Students stayed, some for several years, in buildings located around the Firangi Mahal, attracted by the fame of the scions of this illustrious family, many of who were regarded as accomplished scholars—not just of the Islamic sciences but of ‘rational’ sciences as well.

Mullah Nizamuddin prepared a reformed syllabus of study, which combined Sufi treatises, Islamic texts as well as books on the ‘rational’ sciences such as geography, logic, medicine, philosophy, literature and mathematics. The syllabus that he prepared, named after him as the Dars-e Nizami (‘The Syllabus of Nizami’) is still used by almost all Sunni madrasas across South Asia today, albeit in modified forms. In that sense, Mullah Nizamuddin and the ulema of his Firangi Mahal family can be said to be the founders of the existing madrasa system in India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh and among most South Asian diasporic communities.

Today, almost nothing of that past grandeur of Firangi Mahal remains. The Firangi Mahal—or whatever is left of it—is located off a busy road constantly clogged with slow-moving traffic. A narrow lane, lined on either side with overflowing open drains and strewn with garbage, winds through run-down unpainted barrack-like houses with broken windows and walls festooned with posters of rival political parties. Goats sniff through piles of vegetable peels and rotting fruit. Ahead, an enormous mound of bricks and mud squats like a crumbling pyramid. A thin slice of wall peeks out from the rubble. The serpentine roots of a peepul tree grow out of what was once a delicately-carved dome. This was once the grand Firangi Mahal.

A board tagged on to a layer of bricks announces the now non-existent ‘Madrasa Nizamia’. This madrasa was set up in 1913 by one of the most well-known members of the Firanghi Mahal family, Maulana Abdul Bari, best known for being the first President of the Jamiat ul-Ulema-i Hind, an association of Indian ulema who played a leading role in India’s struggle for independence. Prior to this, learning at Firangi Mahal had been informal, with students studying with individual members of the Firangi Mahal family or in rented houses while studying in the teachers’ homes. Abdul Bari had sought to transform his family’s tradition of teaching and instruction into something resembling a modern school. But of that nothing now survives save for this rusted tin board. A few unlit, crumbling rooms remain from the original structure. These are now occupied by half a dozen families of weavers and embroiderers. Washing hangs from rafters poking out skeletons that remain of the walls. Hand-looms click and clack where once learned maulvis lectured.

35 year old Khalid Rashid Firangi Mahali, Imam of the Lucknow Eidgah, is struggling to revive the lost tradition of learning of his forefathers. A student of the Christ Church College, Lucknow, he went on to finish the fazilat degree from Lucknow’s renowned Dar ul-Ulum Nadwat ul-Ulema, and then acquired a Ph.D. in Arabic from Lucknow University, where he worked on the contributions of his ancestors to Islamic education. The youngest member of the All-India Muslim Personal Law Board, he is known for his moderate, progressive views: he is the Convenor of the Lucknow-based Movement Against Terrorism, and is an ardent champion of girls’ education. Not surprisingly, he has his share of critics among the Muslims of Lucknow. He has even received death-threats for his outspoken views. Some months ago, he barely escaped death when he was fired upon by some disgruntled Muslim youth.

‘Our madrasa was once a leading centre of Islamic learning,’ Maulana Khalid says. ‘Numerous leaders of India’s independence struggle, including Gandhi, would stay in the madrasa when they visited Lucknow.’ The Partition of India, however, had spelled its doom. With Partition, most of the Muslim landed gentry of northern India left for Pakistan, and the madrasa, like so many others, lost a valuable source of patronage. Although several members of the Firangi Mahal family staunchly opposed the Partition—many of them were pro-Congress and some were even associated with the Communist Party—many others were fervent supporters of the Muslim League and the Pakistan demand. With the Partition, most of the family shifted to Pakistan, and some from there to the Gulf and the West, taking with them most of the precious books and other documents that had been the family’s prized possessions. None of them continued the family’s tradition of Islamic scholarship. Only two members of the extended family—Khalid Rashid himself, and his brother, Tariq Rashid, both sons of Maulana Ahmad Miyan Firangi Mahali—are qualified ulema.

Some years ago, Khalid Rashid explains, the family tried to revive the madrasa at Firangi Mahal. His brother Tariq Rashid, also a graduate of the Nadwat ul-Ulema, Lucknow, managed to have a single room in the crumbling ruins of the madrasa vacated from the illegal tenants who occupy the complex. Here he began giving lessons, but his experiment proved short-lived. Five months later, the classes were discontinued, and shortly after Tariq Rashid left for the United States, where he now manages an Islamic Centre in Florida.

In 2000, Khalid Rashid acquired a large plot of land in the heart of Lucknow, adjacent to the city’s Sunni Eidgah, where he set up the Madrasa Nizamia, named after his illustrious forefather. The madrasa, housed in an impressive three-storey structure, offers a seven-year alim course, structured on the Dars-e Nizami, along with certain ‘modern’ subjects such as English, Hindi and Computer Applications. Presently, some 150 students are pursuing the course. The madrasa also conducts a full-time six year alim course for girls, and now has some fifty girl students on its rolls. Khalid Rashid has opened a similar madrasa in Sihali, the ancestral home of the Ansaris of Firanghi Mahal.

In addition to the madrasa, Khalid Rashid also operates the Lucknow Islamic Centre, which is located within the madrasa campus. It has an ambitious publishing programme, Khalid Rashid explains, focussing particularly on printing books and fatwa collections of generations of Firangi Mahal scholars that are no longer available in the market, some of which exist only in manuscript form. The Centre organises haj orientation camps for would-be hajis, training courses for imams, and occasional lectures on communal harmony, to which people of other faiths are also invited. It also has a dar ul-ifta, manned by a team of three qazis. So far, it has issued some 300 fatwas, including, recently, a fatwa that met with considerable opposition from certain hardliners because it insisted on universal education for girls.



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After my interview with Khalid Rashid, I stuffed myself into a cycle-rickshaw and headed down, two kilometres away, to Bagh-e Maulvi Anwar, the ancestral graveyard of the Firangi Mahal family. The area was fringed with scores of ancient structures—mosques, mausoleums and palaces—almost all in advanced stages of disintegration, that date to the times of Lucknow’s erstwhile Shia rulers. Nothing in this squalid sea of filth and poverty even remotely resembled the image of Tourism Department posters that tirelessly extol the ‘exotic Lucknow of the Nawabs’ for the benefit of gullible would-be tourists.

Inside, the graveyard was littered with hundreds of graves, some simple mounds of mud, others elaborate marble mausoleums topped with carved gravestones. In a corner of the graveyard was a large canopied complex—it contained, among others, the grave of Mulla Nizamuddin himself. It was a Thursday evening, when pilgrims flock to Sufi shrines. A party of women—Hindus and Muslims—squatted at the entrance of the grave, mumbling their prayers and fiddling prayer beads. I stepped inside, settling down on the bare floor in front of the grave of Mullah Nizamuddin—a slender structure draped in a fading green cloth and lined with rose petals. An ancient man with an unpleasant face hobbled about busily, placing bottles of water in front of the grave and spreading out bunches of incense sticks and packets of popcorn-shaped sweets. A woman poked her head in through the door—women are not allowed to enter—and asked him for some ‘holy water’. The man grabbed a bottle, murmured some mantras and blew his breath into it, and then passed it to her. She handed him a five rupee note, which he stuffed into his pocket. He turned to me and asked if I wanted a similar bottle, ‘blessed’, he added, ‘with the baraka of Mullah Nizamuddin’. I politely refused, and he seemed somewhat offended at that.



Mullah Nizamuddin was, of course, no acclaimed Sufi saint, and he was certainly no miracle-monger, but that is how the awe-struck devotees who flock to his grave think he was. When I met Khalid Rashid again later that evening, he lamented how the grave of his ancestor had been changed into what he called a centre for un-Islamic ‘corruption’ (khurafat). The men who controlled the grave were not members of the Firangi Mahal family, he said. They had turned the grave into a centre of a cult simply to fleece the credulous, he explained. ‘We’ve tried to stop this, but we couldn’t. It would have led to sectarian conflict’, he said.



Mullah Nizamuddin, I could not help imagining, must certainly be groaning in his grave horrified at what it has now turned into. And also at what has happened to the Firangi Mahal itself, at one time the leading centre of Islamic learning in all of India.

Deoband’s Fatwas on Women

Visibly embarrassed by the angry reaction of the media, women’s groups and noted Muslim critics to its fatwa delivered more than a month ago on working Muslim women, the Dar ul-Uloom, Deoband, India’s largest seminary, has hastened to announce that the fatwa in question does not forbid Muslim women working outside their homes, as some have alleged. Rather, Maulvi Adnan Munshi, spokesperson of the Deoband madrasa, has claimed, it only insists that working women be ‘properly covered’.



Maulvi Adnan is not entirely wrong, for the fatwa, issued on 4th April 2010, reads (the clumsy English may please be excused):



‘It is unlawful for Muslim women to do job in government or private institutions where men and women work together and women have to talk with men frankly and without veil.’



In other words, what the fatwa suggests is that Muslim women can work only in such places where they can fully veil themselves and where they cannot ‘frankly’ (whatever that might mean) talk with men. These would, presumably, be women’s-only jobs, which involve entirely women staff and clients and which hermetically seal off women from any contact with males that require ‘frank’ conversation with the latter.



Obviously, though without explicitly stating this, this fatwa effectively debars Muslim women from all jobs in the public sector in India today—where they cannot veil fully and where, in order to fulfil their duties, they would need to ‘frankly’ converse with males, including their male colleagues. It effectively disallows them from working as elected representatives at various levels, from the panchayat to the Lok Sabha. In the context of moves to reserve a third of all electoral bodies in India for women, the disastrous implications of this for the already marginalised and beleaguered Muslim minority can scarcely be imagined. The fatwa also effectively bans Muslim women from a whole range of jobs in the private sector as well. After all, how many jobs in the private sector are there (even in the small Muslim-controlled sector of the Indian economy) which require fully-veiled women who cannot speak ‘frankly’ with males? In practical terms, the fatwa thus reduces the opportunity for jobs for Muslim women to just few girls’ schools and maktabs, tailoring centres and the like, where they can work fully covered-up and where they need not interact with male colleagues or clients. Hence, although Maulvi Adnan is technically right that the fatwa does not explicitly ban women from working outside their homes, in effect it certainly does rule out most jobs, and certainly the most well-paying, to Muslim women.



The disastrous implications of the fatwa for Muslim women from desperately poor families can hardly be imagined. The maulvi sahebs might not require their women to work outside and might easily afford to have them stay cloistered within their homes, for they are usually fairly well-off or else survive on zakat, chanda, sadqa and other forms of donations of the pious. But what about the millions of Muslim families whose economic conditions are so pathetic that their womenfolk are compelled, by sheer economic necessity, to toil outside their homes—as agricultural workers, labourers, petty retailers and so on? Covering-up completely and remaining confined within their homes is no option for them at all. The fatwa-hurling maulvis, it would seem, simply do not know about them and the harsh realities of their economic conditions (such things are, of course, not taught in the madrasas) , or, if they do, they probably could not care less. The fatwa can have brutal implications for the self-esteem of such women (that is, supposing they know about the fatwa and take it seriously), at least some of whom are bound to be constantly haunted by the fear that the work outside the home that they are compelled, by the demands of sheer survival, to engage in might actually be haram or completely forbidden in Islam.



That restricting to the maximum possible extent Muslim women’s access to jobs outside the home is indeed what the Deobandi clerics intend, Maulvi Adnan’s pious posturing to the contrary notwithstanding, comes out clearly if the above-mentioned fatwa is seen in conjunction with a host of other fatwas related to women issued over the years by the Deoband madrasa. Taken together, they effectively reduce women’s access to the public sphere, including jobs, to an absolute minimum. One such fatwa, issued on 25th June 2008, completely belies the claim of Maulvi Adnan. It explicitly states (using rather clumsy English again, which may be pardoned):



‘It is not a good thing for women to do jobs in offices. They will have to face strange men (non-mahram), though in veil. She will have to talk and deal with each other which are the things of fitna (evils). A father is committed to provide maintenance to his daughter and a husband is asked to provide maintenance to his wife. So, there is no need for women to do jobs which always pose harms and mischief.’



This and other fatwas, all hosted on the Deoband madrasa’s fatwa website, insist that Muslim women must fully cover themselves, including even their faces, in front of all non-mahram males (males other than certain close relatives whom they cannot marry); that it is ‘better’ to cover even their eyes, if they can; that they cannot travel alone, other than in the vicinity of their homes, without a mahram accompanying them; that they cannot drive in a vehicle alone driven by a non-mahram male; that they cannot drive cars; that they must observe purdah even with fellow women, Muslim and non-Muslim; that they cannot ‘speak loudly, read out something in melody and talk softly’; that their voices should be considered satr or something that must be concealed from non-mahram males; and that they and their spouses are forbidden from practising family planning on the alleged grounds that it is ‘haram and unlawful in Islam.’ Taken together, these fatwas clearly deny almost every avenue for employment outside the domestic sphere to Muslim women.



*

Deoband’s recent fatwa, as well as others that I have referred to above, can be critiqued on both Islamic as well as secular grounds. For instance, a fatwa issued by the Deoband madrasa that claims that ‘The Quran and Hadith have commanded women to cover their faces due to fear of mischief’ is quite untenable. The fact of the matter is that nowhere does the Quran command Muslim women to veil their faces. In fact, during the Haj pilgrimage, women are not meant to cover their faces, and they pray together in Mecca with men. In his published collection of fatwas, the world-renowned and widely-respected Egyptian Islamic scholar, Allama Yusuf al-Qaradawi, has adduced numerous instances of women who appeared before the Prophet without covering their faces. Nor does Islam prohibit women from working outside their homes, provided, of course, they can maintain their modesty. At the time of the Prophet, numerous Muslim women did so. Some even participated in battles. Others tended to the wounded, as nurses. The third Sunni Caliph, Umar, appointed a woman, Shifa bint Abdullah, as overseer of the market of Medina. Obviously, her job entailed not just coming out of her home but also interacting in a male-dominated space. As for Deoband’s fatwa declaring a Muslim woman’s voice as satr, or something to be concealed, the less said the better. The Quran discusses in considerable detail the conversation between Moses and a daughter of Shoeb, and that between the Queen of Sheba and the prophet Solomon. How would these women have talked to these unrelated men if their voices were ‘veiled’, as the Deobandi Muftis insist they should be? Much of the corpus of Sunni hadith, reports attributed to, or purportedly about, the Prophet Muhammad, were transmitted by a woman—his youngest wife Ayesha—who is said to have narrated them to a whole host of almost wholly male listeners.



An accepted principle of Islamic jurisprudence (usul al-fiqh) is that rulings might need to change with change in time (zaman) and space (makan). In other words, fatwas must be related, and responsive, to the social and temporal context which they intend to address. Based on this principle, numerous Islamic scholars outside India have unambiguously allowed for women to work outside their homes and to leave their faces uncovered, while also stressing that they must preserve their modesty. It is because the Deobandis, being hardened followers of the Hanafi school of Sunni jurisprudence, insist on blind imitation (taqlid) of past juridical precedent that they seem totally unwilling to understand the need for contextually-relevant fatwas on women’s issues. The training that they receive in their traditional madrasas leaves them simply unaware of the complexities and demands of the outside world, including the changing conditions and concerns of women. As numerous Muslim scholars have pointed out, a basic requirement for one to be considered a Mufti—an Islamic scholar qualified to issue fatwas—is deep knowledge of the social context that his fatwas are meant to apply to. Sadly, this quality seems missing in the authors of Deoband’s many patently patriarchal fatwas.



The fatwas I have referred to above not only greatly restrict Indian Muslim women’s access to employment but also effectively debar them from quality higher education. Almost all good institutions of higher learning in India are co-educational, and they would most certainly balk at admitting fully veiled Muslim women who cannot freely interact on an intellectual level with their male teachers—which is what the fatwas issued by Deoband insist they should be. Higher education and access to jobs thus largely ruled out for them, the ulema of Deoband would, it seems from their fatwas, ideally like Muslim women to remain cloistered within the four walls of their homes. Denied the space to harness and develop their skills and minds and to contribute to the overall development of their community, their potentials totally wasted, these brutally incapacitated women can hardly expect to become mothers of bright, talented Muslim children who can help bring their community out from the terrible morass it finds itself in today.

A Flurry of Fatwas from Misogynist Mullahs

For over a decade now, I have been writing on the hotly-debated subject of madrasas or Islamic seminaries that train Islamic religious specialists. What ignited my interest in the subject was what I considered to be the wholly unfair charges against the madrasas of being ‘factories of terror’.



Over the years, I have read much material by and about the madrasas, and have visited several dozens of them across India and even abroad. Although charges about Indian madrasas being involved in training terrorists are unfounded and unfair, the allegation that, generally speaking, they teach, preach, and foment obscurantist and ultra-reactionary beliefs on a wide range of issues in the garb of Islam certainly cannot be dismissed easily. Nor can the assertion that, under certain circumstances, such beliefs can indeed lead to extremism and even violence, as the case of Pakistan so tragically illustrates, be ignored. Likewise, the argument that such beliefs, projected by the mullahs as normative and binding, constitute a major hurdle to Muslim progress and that they play a vital role in keeping Muslims shackled under the sway of a class of self-serving, patriarchal narrow-minded clerics, largely ignorant of the demands of the contemporary world, has to be recognized as legitimate.



Based on my reading of madrasa-related literature and personal observations, I must unhesitatingly state that certain views widely-shared among the ulema regarding such matters as women’s rights and relations with non-Muslims are simply unacceptable in any civilized society, and constitute a major challenge to Muslim advancement and to efforts to promote decent relations between Muslims and people of other faiths. Reformist Muslims might argue that these views represent a complete distortion of ‘true’ Islam, that they are based largely on fake stories wrongly attributed to the Prophet or patriarchal inventions of the fuqaha, specialists of fiqh or Islamic jurisprudence, but the ulema have a ready answer to shut them up: In accordance with a hadith which they attribute to the Prophet, it is they, so they insist, who are the ‘heirs of the prophets’ (waris-e anbiya), and, hence, entitled to speak on and about Islam. The madrasas that they run are, as they put it (note the militant metaphor) ‘the fortresses of the faith’ (deen ke qile). Hence, they pompously insist, they have the sole right to arbitrate on Islamic affairs. This they do through their pronouncements and a steady stream of fatwas, which, although technically only opinions, are taken as gospel Islamic truth by the hordes of their unthinking followers.



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Probably the largest traditional madrasa not just in India but, indeed, in the entire world, the Dar ul-Uloom at Deoband styles itself as the Umm ul-Madaris or ‘The Mother of the Madrasas’, having birthed several thousand madrasas associated with the Deobandi school of thought across India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Afghanistan, and in various countries home to sizeable South Asian Muslim diasporic communities. The Deobandis are the most organized of all ulema groups, running a vast number of maktabs, madrasas, and publishing houses. They also control tens of thousands of mosques and other community institutions. In Pakistan and Bangladesh they are organized as political parties, while in Afghanistan they are represented by the Taliban. They present themselves (in the same manner as all the other, rival Islamic sectarian communities) as the sole upholders of what they regard as ‘true Islam’, considering other Muslim sects as deviant or, quite simply, outside the Islamic pale. Political parties vie with each other to appease the mullahs of Deoband, recognizing the immense political clout that they command among the largely illiterate Muslim electorate. In India, the Congress Party has for years enjoyed a cozy relationship with the Deobandis, and some Deobandi mullahs have even become Members of Parliament on Congress tickets. The All-India Muslim Personal Board, which styles itself as the authoritative body of all the 200 million or more Muslims of India, is almost completely under Deobandi hegemony.



*



Surfing the Internet last night, I chanced upon the website of the Dar ul-Ifta, the ‘House of Fatwas’ of the Deoband madrasa (http://darulifta-deoband.org). This fatwa-dispensing site hosts almost 4000 fatwas in English issued by the official Muftis of Deoband. The fatwas cover a wide range of topics. A special section of the website is devoted to fatwas about ‘Women’s Issues’. That there is no similar section for ‘Men’s Issues’ is hardly surprising. After all, men are not seen to need to be minutely monitored and carefully controlled.



A random search of the almost 90 fatwas listed in this section reveals some blood-curdling ‘gems’ of Deobandi ‘wisdom’ (the nauseatingly pathetic English of both the questioners and the Deoband Muftis may please be excused):



Question 1: Asalamu-Alikum: Can Muslim women in India do Govt. or Pvt. Jobs? Shall their salary be Halal or Haram or Prohibited?



Answer: It is unlawful for Muslim women to do job in government or private institutions where men and women work together and women have to talk with men frankly and without veil.


Question 2: Mufti Saab, please guide me on the issue that why woman have to cover the face? Kindly provide with proofs. May Allah reward you in abundon.



Answer: If a young lady comes in front of ghair mahram with open face there is fear of fitnah, hence it is necessary for her to cover her face.



Question 3: Can a man along with his mahram travel with a ghair mehram? If yes, upto what distance? Can a women travel with a male servant (driver) who is a ghair mehram in the city for educational reasons etc..? If yes, upto what distance?



Answer: She can travel within 78 kilometres observing hijab. She is not allowed to travel alone with non-mahram driver, even if it is within 78 km, then also it is unlawful; since she will be in privacy with a non-mahram.



Question 4: (a) Is it permissible for a woman to leave her house while unaccompanied by a mahram? (b) Is it permissible for a woman to drive a car?



Answer: (a) She can go in nearby places without a mahram observing hijab provided there is no fear of fitnah (evil/mischief). But for a journey, she should be accompanied by any mahram.

(b) It is not allowed.



Question 5: Is covering the face compulsory for women while wearing burqa?. In Malaysia it is a hot issue. Please give a detailed reply.



Answer: If she fears fitnah she should cover her face. In this age, there is no doubt that it causes fitnah, therefore it is regarded necessary.



Question 6: Is it compulsory to observe purdah when with another Muslim woman? Is it compulsory to observe purdah when with a non-Muslim woman?



Answer: It is necessary to observe purdah with the women whether Muslims and non-Muslims.



Question 7: Assalamualaykum. Please can you tell me is it fardh (compulsory) to cover the face of females when they go out? Or, if relatives come home, do they have to cover the face as well? I am confused on that. Wassalam.



Answer: When outside, it is absolutely obligatory; since the face is centre of attraction, the verses of the Holy Quran (Surah Ahzab 33:59, Surah Noor 24:31) indicate to the same. What do you mean by relatives? The non-Mahram relatives have the same ruling as mentioned in No 1.


Question 8: Assalamualeikum, I am a working woman and my job is compulsory for my family. I used to wear salwar-kameez with full sleeves, scarf fully covered my hair and neck,dupatta till stmouch. according shariah can i go out like this?



Answer: It is allowable for you to do job observing full hijab (with covering face) and provided you do not talk and mingle with non-mahram men unnecessarily.


Question 9: Assalamu alaykum w.w mufti shab My quistion is here in south africa they is radio station called radio islam and it is very beneficial for evry one.but my qustion is on that radio station evry hour women read out the news is that permissible?it is permissible for ger mahram man to listen to here voise ?because thru out the world 1000 of litsener and many of them ger mahram?so plz replay me with answerd as soon as possible is it permisseble for women to broadcast on radio whey she is not invoved with man or camera?please please replay me soon i'm waiting for your replay. Salam.



Answer: Women have bee prohibited to speak loudly, read out something in melody and talk softly. The scholars of Fiqh say that voice of a woman is also satr [something that needs to be ‘covered-up’ or ‘veiled’—YS]. That is why women have been stopped to call Azan and recite talbia loudly in Hajj. Yes, in cases of necessity, they can talk as they can have some words with a doctor etc. However, without any need, it is not right for women to broadcast news at radio stations as well it is not permissible for non-Mahram men to hear their voice without a need.


Question 10: I would like to know the views of the different school of thoughts regarding ladies covering their face in front of non-mahrams. If a school of thought different from the one i am following does not think it is necessery is that reason enough for me to say that its not really necessery for me either?



Answer: The Quran and Hadith have commanded women to cover their faces due to fear of mischief. This is what Hanafis believe. If you are a Hanafi then it is unlawful for you to follow other Fiqhi schools.


Question 11: As salamu alaikum, I would like to know if it is permissible for a muslimah to work as a translator for the tribunal. JazakAllah,



Answer: It is not a good thing for women to do jobs in offices. They will have to face strange men (non-mahram) though in veil. She will have to talk and deal with each other which are the things of fitna (evils). A father is committed to provide maintenance to his daughter and a husband is asked to provide maintenance to his wife. So, there is no need for women to do jobs which always pose harms and mischief.


Question 12: As-salmualykum I wanted to find out does a muslim women have to cover(cover arms etc) infront of a non muslim women?how much is she alowed to show? please answer my question in the light of qur'an & sunnah, and is there any strong prrof and evidence? jazzakallah may Allah reward you!



Answer: A woman should cover her entire body except her face, palms and feet, the matter of treatment is exceptional.



Question 13: How far is it permissible for a woman to go without a mehram? Can she go?



Answer: The Prophet (صلی اللہ علیہ وسلم) said: "Any it is now allowed for a woman who has belief in Allah and His messenger that she travels to a destination of more than 78 kms alone. Yes, she can travel this distance or more with a mehram (immediate relatives like father, son, husband, nephew). Some traditions refer to a distance of only three miles while some absolutely prohibit from traveling. All these traditions differ as per the worsening conditions of different ages and times. As much the fitna (mischief, evil) will prevail as much the cautiousness will be required.


Question 14: I am married for 4 years and we are having a family planning as my wife is not doing well , she has got an injury in the head and the injury is 10 years old, she gets severe pain very frequently. Please advice.



Family planning is haram and unlawful in Islam. You should apprise your wife of the commandment of Shariah and get her head injury treated. If she faces unbearable pain due to conception or she fears her life or the life of the baby in case of pregnancy then in such conditions she can adopt any contraceptive measure temporarily.



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Faced with mounting protests from women (including Muslim women, too) against the torrent of anti-women fatwas they have been churning out over the years, the mullahs of Deoband have the temerity to insist in their defence that [their peculiar version of] Islam not just guarantees women’s rights but, more than that, stands for the best and most perfect form of gender justice. If imprisoning women in their homes, grudgingly permitting them to step out only under very severe conditions, compelling them to spend their entire lives simply manufacturing children, forcing them to veil from head and face to toe, ‘veiling’ even their voices and thereby totally silencing them, insisting that they observe purdah even in front of other women—in short, reducing them to invisiblised, servile, repressed and hyper-sexualised beings—is Deobandi-style ‘Islamic justice’, is it any wonder if hardly any educated Muslim women take the Deobandi mullahs seriously? That non-Muslims, in general, are forced to think that Islam stands for raw, untamed patriarchy and male chauvinism? That increasing numbers of Muslims now consider the mullahs are a heavy burden on Muslim society and the major cause for Muslim backwardness the world over? That a whole new class of Muslim women (and some men) believe that they need to study and interpret Islam from a distinctive feminist perspective, cleansing it from the deep-rooted patriarchal, indeed misogynist, tradition of mullah scholarship?





*



Being now a hardened skeptic in all matters of religion (for which I must thank the mullahs, in particular) I am not in a position to opine on whose version of Islam as it relates to women—that of the mullahs or that of the progressive Islamic feminists—represents the sole ‘true’ or ‘authentic’ version or vision of the faith. As far as I am concerned, that question simply cannot be answered at all. For me it is meaningless, although, still, academically interesting. The same holds true with regard to the larger question of the Deobandi mullahs’ claims (as reflected in the numerous fatwas in the section on the Dar ul-Ifta’s website titled ‘Deviant Groups and Sects’ that brand other Muslim sectarian groups, both Sunni as well as Shia, as deviants or even as out of the Islamic fold) that they alone represent ‘true’ Islam. The Deobandis and their Muslim sectarian rivals will, one expects, continue to hurl fatwas of infidelity against each other and bandy about their respective claims of being the sole true Muslims till the Day of Judgment comes upon us. Given the nature of their absolutist claims, no consensus as to what precisely ‘true’ Islam is, and what exactly this ‘true’ Islam has to say about Islam, is ever possible.



Be that as it may, I would still argue that it is vital for Muslims concerned about their faith and its image and also about their co-religionists and their ability to function in the modern world to take the mullahs by their horns and immerse themselves in the discursive battle to promote more meaningful, humane and just understandings of Islam. There is simply no other way.

My Friend, The Maulana

It was around a decade ago that I first met Maulana Waris Mazhari or Waris-ji as I now call him) when I was researching for a book on madrasa education in India. Winding my way through the warren of clogged, narrow lanes in the congested Muslim ghetto of Batla House in New Delhi, I chanced upon a board planted outside a modest one-storeyed building. ‘Dar ul-Ulum Deoband old Boys’ Association’ it announced in bold Urdu and English letters. Hesitatingly, I knocked on the door.

‘Salam’, said the young man who opened the door and welcomed me in. He was not the grave-looking, white bearded maulvi I had expected. He was young—then hardly thirty—of middle-height and of slight built. He was dressed in a neat white kurta-pajama, and a neatly-clipped beard. ‘What can I do for you?’, he asked politely, as he ushered me to a sofa in a room cluttered with wooden cupboards stacked with Urdu and Arabic tomes.

I explained to him my project. I was visiting madrasas across India, I said, to personally meet with traditional Islamic scholars or ulema to see what they had to say on a whole host of issues to do with current debates about madrasa education that the mass media, political parties, and entire governments and international bodies seemed to be so worked up about. In contrast to some other ulema whom I had met in the course of my research, who, probably because of my Hindu or Sikh sounding name, assumed my intentions to be completely malafide, Waris-ji patiently heard me out, displaying no sign of doubt or suspicion. Moreover, and much to my pleasant surprise, he seemed to agree with me that while allegations about Indian madrasas being involved in terrorism were wholly bogus, there was much about the present system of madrasa education in India that was urgently in urgent need of change. Not stopping at that, he even went to the extent of insisting that in his own community of Deobandi ulema there was much that needed to be reformed. Unlike most of the ulema I had till then met, he insisted that the ulema urgently needed to introspect and engage in serious self-critique, and not take all criticism against them, whether by fellow Muslims or others, as motivated by ulterior motives of what they readily branded as ‘enemies of Islam’.

Waris-ji’s deep knowledge of his own faith and the tradition of madrasa-based Islamic learning, his large-heartedness (he provided me dozens of books and articles, which proved to be indispensable for the book I was writing), his open-mindedness about his own tradition and simply his being a wonderful human being soon won him a special place in my heart. It is truly an honour and a privilege for me to be his friend.

Over the years I have sought Waris-ji’s help for various articles and books on Muslim and Islamic issues that I have worked on. We have also collaborated on some specific projects, including a study of opinions about madrasa education of madrasa graduates now studying in universities (which we did for the short-lived Centre for Indian Muslim Studies at the Jamia Hamdard where I had worked for a while); an Urdu book that we jointly authored rebutting allegations about Indian madrasas as ‘dens of terrorism’; and an Urdu translation of a book of mine on Indian ulema and madrasa reforms. Waris writes in Urdu, and in order that his views on various issues of contemporary relevance relating to Islam and Muslims gain a wider audience, I have, over the years, translated several of his writings into English and hosted them on a blog that I have created for this purpose: www.warismazhari.blogspot.com

Through Waris-ji I have come to know of several other younger-generation Indian ulema, including graduates of some madrasas that are seen as extremely conservative, who are aware of the desperate need for reforms within the wider Muslim community and within the ulema class and their madrasas. They are cognizant of the urgent imperative to develop contextually-relevant understandings of Islam to deal with a host of issues of great importance today, such as women’s rights, relations with people of other faiths (or of no faith at all), politics, democracy, the state, international relations, war, peace and jihad, and so on. Unfortunately, their voices are not heard outside a very limited circle. Existing Islamic organizations might consider, and might even readily brand, their views as nothing short of heretical. Not surprisingly, they have no space in such organizations, or, if they do, they cannot voice their opinions on controversial subjects in their forums. Often, they are simply too afraid to speak out, fearful of losing their jobs, their reputations in the ulema community or even worse. Since it caters to public taste and prejudice, it is exceedingly rare, if not impossible, for their voices to find any place in the existing Muslim media. There are no Muslim institutions anywhere in the country to financially support such individuals to engage in research and outreach work. Many of them barely manage to eke out an existence, and so engrossed are they in seeking to do so that they cannot give the task of reforms that they regard as so vital today the attention that it sorely deserves.

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Waris-ji is a self-made man. Born in Rampur, a remote village in Bihar, he lost both his parents and eldesr brother when he was barely six months old, in a fire that engulfed their home. Brought up by his sisters, he was the only one among his siblings to study in a madrasa and the only hafiz, someone who was memorized the entire Quran. He graduated from the Dar ul-Uloom at Deoband, possibly the largest traditional madrasa in the world, in 1994, after which he enrolled for a Master’s degree programme in Arabic at New Delhi’s Jamia Millia Islamia, where he is presently engaged in doctoral work in the Department of Islamic Studies on the issue of madrasa reforms in contemporary India. Since 2000, he has been the editor of the Urdu journal ‘Tarjuman Dar ul-Uloom’, the official organ of the Deoband madrasa’s Graduates’ Association.

People like Waris-ji would be considered a precious asset elsewhere, but, it would seem, existing Muslim organizations or institutions have little or no need for such people. Bereft of any institutional backing, he earns a modest income doing sundry translation work from English and Arabic into Urdu, from which he earns barely enough to provide for his family—his wife and two children. But, despite this, he has been able to produce an impressive body of knowledge over the last decade that is of immediate relevance to many of the issues about Islam and Muslims that are so heatedly debated and discussed all over the world today.

Although Waris-ji is a graduate of the Deoband madrasa, and edits the official journal of the Deoband Graduates’ Association, I would hesitate to call him a ‘Deobandi’, an appellation that perhaps he himself is not comfortable with, preferring to call himself a ‘Muslim’ pure and simple. In fact, on a great many issues he appears to depart considerably from the traditional Deobandi position. Admittedly, the Deobandi tradition is not a homogenous entity. For instance, in the years leading up to the Partition of India in 1947, a section of the Deobandi ulema, led by Shabbir Ahmad Usmani, Ashraf Ali Thanvi and Mufti Mohammad Shafi, lent their full-hearted support to the Muslim League’s demand for a separate Muslim state of Pakistan, based on the untenable thesis of the Muslims and Hindus of India constituting two wholly different, indeed antagonistic, ‘nations’. On the other hand, and based on their reading of the same set of Islamic texts, another group of Deobandi ulema, led by the then rector of the Deoband madrasa, Husain Ahmad Madani, passionately opposed the Pakistan scheme and called for a united India, insisting that the so-called ‘two nation; theory had no merit in Islam itself. According to their understanding of Islam (and in contrast to that of Usmani, Thanvi and Shafi), all Indians, including Hindus, Muslims and others, were a single nation. On the basis of this, they argued the case for a ‘united nationalism’ (muttahida qaumiyat) that would form the basis of an independent India, where all religious communities would have equal rights and duties. This faction of the Deobandi ulema, although in many ways socially conservative (especially as far as women were concerned) was remarkably politically progressive for its times.

Waris-ji’s deep concern for inter-faith dialogue, unity and solidarity, in particular between Hindus and Muslims in India, can be said to reflect the tradition established by Husain Ahmad Madni and his Deobandi followers. But, on a number of points he differs from them considerably. This is reflected particularly in his insistence on the need to revisit and reformulate, and even, if need be, reject prescriptions of the corpus of fiqh, the cumulative legal tradition developed by the ulema over the centuries, on a number of matters, including on peace, war and jihad, women’s rights and status, relations with non-Muslims and so on. In this regard, he is closer to various modernist Muslim scholars, who are generally regarded with scant regard, to put it mildly, by the traditionalist ulema. Some of his views on madrasa reforms and the ulema class, too, are in distinct contrast to those of many, if not most, ulema.

The chief merit of Waris-ji’s copious writings is that they offer sound Islamic arguments to pursue a socially progressive agenda on a whole range of fronts. At the same time, they offer valuable resources to develop and engage in an internal Islamic critique of the ideology and politics of extremism and violence, on the one hand, and Islamic traditionalism or conservatism, on the other, both of which are equally debilitating as far as the Muslim community at large is concerned. If voices like Waris-ji’s could get wider a wider hearing and acceptance, and even begin echoing in the portals of the madrasas, the fortresses of the ulema (a phrase that many ulema use to describe their institutions), it would be nothing short of revolutionary in enabling Muslims to deal in a more meaningful and productive way with some of the most crucial issues that they (and others, too) are confronted with today.

One need not agree with everything that Waris-ji writes. I, for instance, do not. But that much, indeed most, of what he writes is interesting, refreshing, valuable and of extreme relevance in today’s world, where Islam and Muslims are such a hotly-debated issue, cannot be denied.

Interview: Akhtarul Wasey on Indian Muslim Leadership

Profesor Akhtarul Wasey is the head of the Department of Islamic Studies and the Director of the Zakir Husain Institute of Islamic Studies at the Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi. Editor of three Islamic journals, and member of numerous Muslim committees and organisastions, he is the author of numerous books on issues related to Islam and Muslims. In this interview with Yoginder Sikand, he discusses the vexed issue of Muslim community leadership in contemporary India.

Q: In pre-Partition late nineteenth and twentieth century India, the Muslim middle-class played a key role in providing leadership to the Indian Muslims in various spheres. This is in contrast to the situation, today. How do you account for this?

A; The Revolt of 1857 was a disaster as far as the Indian Muslims were concerned, and so was the Partition in 1947. But it also saw the emergence and development of the modern Muslim middle class, which proved to be a powerful motor for social change. This was best represented by Sir Syed Ahmad Khan and the movement that he spawned. Not all of those who were influenced by, or agreed with, him on the need for modern education agreed with his pro-British politics. Indeed, some of them were forceful champions of both modern education as well as Indian independence. Raja Mahendra Pratap, head of the first Indian government in exile, was from the Aligarh school, as were other confirmed anti-imperialists such as Hasrat Mohani, Syed Mahmud, Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, and the Ali brothers. It is true that many Aligarhians were vociferous supporters of the Muslim League and its Pakistan demand, but there were many others who were with the Congress and even with the Communist Party as well.

It was not just in politics that this new Muslim middle class, largely a product of Syed Ahmad Khan’s Aligarh school, played a key role. It also made a powerful impact in the fields of literature, culture, and economic development.

But, with the Partition things changed drastically. It led to an exodus of a large section of the Indian Muslim middle-class that had been a crucial motor for social change to Pakistan. Their vested economic interests had made them firm backers of the Pakistan scheme, because they felt that there they would face no competition from the Hindus.

Partition was nothing short of a tragedy of momentous proportions for the Muslims, not just of India but of Pakistan as well. The Muslims who were left behind in India faced three choices. Firstly, they could forfeit all their rights since, as right-wing Hindutva forces argued, with the creation of Pakistan they had ‘got their due’. Secondly, they could have the rights of ‘tenants’ as concessions, which is to say they could live in India but not be co-owners of it and would have no role in its development, because it ‘belonged’ to others. Thirdly, they could be equal citizens, with the same rights and duties as other Indians. This third view was, and still is, we must recognize, shared by a large number of Hindus. Indeed, the Indian Constitution gave numerous guarantees to all its minorities, including Muslims. This, we must never forget, was possible only in India. Despite all the provocations of the Hindutva forces and the opposition of some Hindus, the Indian leadership did not agree to declaring India a Hindu state, although it could easily have done that as a reaction to the creation of a so-called ‘Islamic’ Pakistan.

Q: But my question was about the role of the Muslim middle-class in providing leadership to the community at large.

A: I am coming to that point. In post-47 India, Muslims were faced with a unique predicament, one that they had never faced before. They were not a ruling community, but nor were the a ruled community. Rather, they were, in theory, co-rulers, along with other communities. This new status, which they had never enjoyed before, demanded a new sort of community leadership.

Our leaders have a host of issues to tackle, some of which they have failed to address at all. One of these is the lamentable level of Muslim representation in various government services. There is an urgent need for the government to turn its attention to this. It must also do away with the discriminatory provisions that deny Muslim (and Christian) Dalits Scheduled Caste status. Today, Muslim youth want to have their share in the country’s development. They want to participate in the task of building the country. When you speak to government officials, they will tell you that Muslims have all the freedom to do so, but the ground realities are quite different. The Indian Muslims are like the twelfth player in a cricket team, who is kept simply as a ‘reserve’. He is part of the team but is not brought out onto the field along with the other eleven players. He simply sits in the dressing room in the stadium. The Indian Muslim is like that. He is forced to sit in a corner. Ignored, indeed shunned, he spends his time praying that at least one of the eleven players gets hurt so that he can then be called into the field where he can display his talent and make his team win.

But, the point is, we Indian Muslims are no longer willing to be non-playing or ‘reserve’ players in the process of building our country. We demand to be included in the team. And, whenever and wherever we have been included, we have proven our mettle beyond any shade of doubt.

Q: To come back to my question, how do you think that the marginalization of the modern Muslim middle-class in the wake of the Partition, especially in north India, where the bulk of the Indian Muslims live, impacted on the nature of the Indian Muslim community leadership?

A: The vacuum created by the exodus of a sizeable section of the north Indian Muslim feudal and middle class was filled by the ulema of the traditional madrasas. Many of these ulema, particularly a large number of Deobandis, had forcefully opposed the Partition. They condemned the Pakistan scheme and the so-called ‘two-nation theory’ it was based on as un-Islamic. They were passionate advocates for a united India. Following the Partition, they sought to lead the community. They were also the only forces who were able to do so, as they had a strong base among the Muslim masses. The first task they were faced with was to set aside the fears of the Muslims who remained behind in India, to persuade them not to migrate to Pakistan, to rehabilitate tens of thousands who had been displaced in the violence in the wake of the Partition, and to help them build bridges with the rest of the Indian society. This task they did with considerable success, despite the grave odds they faced. One has only to go through the records of the Jamiat ul-Ulema-i Hind in the late 40s and early 50s to see how valiantly these ulema struggled to do all this.

Another issue of immense concern to the Muslims who stayed behind in India after the Partition were the threats to their religious and cultural identity and their religious institutions. The ulema gave a great deal of attention to this vital task. This is something that we just cannot ignore. We cannot ignore the immense sacrifices the ulema made at such a critical juncture in our history. It would be uncharitable to ignore all of this.

Different periods of history have their own requirements and their own priorities. So, from the mid-1960s onwards, you have the emergence of a different set of people who sought to lead the Muslims, including many non-ulema. Many of their demands were also different. This process was reflected, for instance, in the short-lived experiment of the Muslim Majlis, led by Dr. Faridi. At the same time, Hyderabad witnessed the growing influence of the Majlis-e Ittihadul Muslimeen, again a largely non-ulema Muslim formation. This was a time when the Muslims were coming out of their ghettos, less encumbered by the burden of the Partition that had been thrust on them. They were no longer mesmerized by the Congress, which had failed to protect their interests and even their lives.

Q: And what about today? How do you see the role of the Muslim middle-class in terms of leading the community in various fields?

A: The Muslim middle-class in western and southern India is way ahead of its counterpart in the north. In western and southern India, middle-class Muslims are providing a more progressive, socially-engaged and socially-relevant form of leadership. They have set up a large number of institutions for a variety of purposes. Opportunities to do so exist in other parts of the country, but the initiative for doing so is less marked. And, then, the state also often does not provide enough such opportunities. In many places, it prefers to build police stations rather than schools in Muslim localities.

Today, even in ‘backward’ north India, there is a visible demand for modern education among Muslims. In a sense, this was a consequence of the destruction of the Babri Masjid in 1992, when Muslims were forced to realize that their extreme backwardness on the educational front had rendered them weak and ineffective, bereft of influence in the corridors of power. If you go to any Muslim ghetto today, you will be surprised at the number of Muslim-run ‘convent’ or so-called ‘English-medium’ schools that flourish there. Some people quickly dismiss them as ‘teaching-shops’ of woeful quality. Admittedly, their standards may be low and may leave much to be desired, but, then, from quantity comes quality in due course. As a minority, we must strive even harder than others to achieve quality in our institutions, for only then will we gain the respect of others. And only then, of course, can we survive and thrive in the market, which is now characterized by such fierce competition.

Q: What, in your view, should be the main issues that Muslim leaders should concentrate on?

A: Economic and educational advancement should be top priorities of the emerging Muslim leadership. This does not, however, mean that we should ignore politics. Rather, we must be politically active, but in a sensible way. We can’t, and shouldn’t, go it alone in the political sphere. We have to work with others for common interests and concerns. Even on the issue of countering Islamophobia and the targeting of Muslims, it has been found that brave non-Muslim activists, such as Teesta Setalvad and Manisha Sethi (both women) can be better spokespeople for Muslims than many of our so-called leaders.

On this let me add a point that we tend not to think about. Just as non-Muslim fellow Indians like Teesta and Manisha and many others are struggling for justice to Muslims, we Muslims, too, must raise our voice for, and work for and with, non-Muslims who face similar problems—Dalits, workers, Adivasis, and so on. Our leadership must not remain obsessed with specifically ‘Muslim’ issues, very narrowly defined. We need to wholeheartedly participate in movements on general issues, issues that affect everyone, as well as in the movements of other marginalized people. Only then can we be in a position to give, rather than just take. Only then can we win the respect and regard of others. We can’t keep demanding things and not helping others, or even ourselves. We have to recognize the urgent need to be much more inclusive and open.

Our Muslim organizations also need to be much more professional than they are. They cannot afford to carry on being individual-centric or starkly sectarian. The feudal ethos that characterizes most them is really appalling.


That said, I can somewhat understand why Muslim organizations tend to focus solely on Muslim-specific issues, although I do not condone this attitude. If your own house is on fire and our own life is under threat, you are simply unable to help others even if you want to. You can’t expect me to come rushing to douse the flames engulfing your house if my house, too, is on fire.

Q: What do you feel about the Muslim media’s role, if at all, in promoting a more relevant and progressive Muslim leadership?

A: It has done precious little at all in this regard. It has remained confined only to Muslim issues and has an impact only on some sections of the Muslims themselves. It does not have a wider, cross-community appeal or influence. Often, Muslim papers serve as vehicles for the personal economic and political interests of their owners and editors.

Q: And what about Muslim elected representatives in the Parliament and state assemblies?

A: On the whole, they do not appear very vocal about Muslim issues. Maybe this is because they are bound to follow the whip of their political parties. They cannot be called ‘Muslim’ leaders unless they are elected from exclusively Muslim constituencies, and even then they would themselves not, and indeed should not, claim that they represent Muslims alone. We do, however, have a new breed of Muslim political leaders who might be able to play a more meaningful role in highlighting issues that concern Muslims—people such as Omar Abdullah, Mahmooda Mufti, Salman Khurshid, Rashid Alavi, Haroon Yusuf and so on. I don’t expect or advocate that they should come on one platform and concern themselves solely with Muslim issues. After all, they are meant to respond to their constituencies, which include non-Muslims, too. However, I feel they should have a common minimum programme for the Muslim community across party lines. This programme should be based on the understanding that India’s interests coincide with those of its Muslim citizens and that as long as Muslims remain backward the country as a whole cannot advance as it should.

Q: How do you account for the fact that while the ulema (despite their limitations) are deeply involved in community issues, middle-class Muslims (notable exceptions notwithstanding) are not?

A: Our university-educated Muslims are so engrossed in their own personal issues and concerns that they simply don’t have any time for others. I think this seriously needs to be critiqued and changed. They, too, must be actively involved in community affairs, instead of leaving this task just to the ulema and some self-appointed Muslim politicians. I think universities such as the Aligarh Muslim University and the Jamia Millia Islamia must play a leading role in this regard. Their researchers must seriously study Muslim issues, to come up with prescriptions and to dialogue with agencies of the state and civil society groups. This is something that they have, I must say, largely failed to do.

Q: The lament is often heard that the ulema and modern-educated Muslim leaders and others are divided by a yawning gulf and that this dualism is a major problem that urgently needs to be solved. This is said to be one of the principal factors for the absence of a proper community leadership. What do you feel about this?

A: I think this issue of the divide between the ‘old’ and the ‘new’ systems of knowledge, represented by two different sets of leaders, is becoming increasingly irrelevant today. This is a very heartening development. We need both forms of education and both types of leaders. We need religious as well as modern education, because Islam is not just about the Hereafter. Rather, it gives equal stress to the this-world or duniya. As the Prophet Muhammad remarked, the world is the field of the Hereafter. This is to say, one will sow in the Hereafter what one reaps in this world. Islam stresses both worship (ibadat) and social affairs (muamilat).

The notion that in Islam there is a rigid distinction between ‘religious knowledge’ (ilm-e din) and ‘worldly knowledge’ (ilm-e duniya) is wholly tenable. It is the product of the period of Muslim decline. Admittedly, it has ruined us. The only distinction that Islam countenances in knowledge is between what is ‘useful’ (nafe) and ‘useless’ (ghair nafe). So insistent was the Prophet Muhammad that his followers should gain proper education that he even offered to release non-Muslim prisoners of war, taken in the aftermath of the battle of Badr, if they educated those of his followers who were illiterate, Now, these were no ordinary non-Muslims. Rather, they were fierce enemies of Islam and the Prophet, who had waged war against them. Obviously, not only did they know nothing about Islam, they were wholly against Islam. Naturally, therefore, what they taught the illiterate Muslims was not the Quran or the Hadith, but worldly knowledge, or what we today call ‘secular’ knowledge. So, if the Prophet considered this sort of knowledge perfectly legitimate, how can it be considered impermissible?

Let me end this by mentioning the Quranic story of the creation of Adam. When God told the angels that he was going to create Adam, the angels, who otherwise were always obedient to Him, objected. He asked them to explain the names of things, but they could not. However, Adam did so. Then, God ordered the angels to bow down before Adam. Accordingly, the rule was established that those who do not know must always defer to those who do. God decided this on the very day Adam was created. This is why till Muslims ‘knew’, till they embraced and promoted all forms of useful knowledge, others respected them. But, ever since they stopping ‘knowing’ and began wallowing in ignorance, they were forced to be subordinate to others. So, if today Muslims find themselves bowing before others, it is their own fault for having abandoned the pursuit of knowledge.

Hence, we must stop blaming others for all our ills and realize that for much of our present sorry plight we are ourselves responsible. The point, therefore, is that the pursuit of knowledge, including what is called ‘secular’ knowledge is indispensable if we Muslims are to drag ourselves from out of the morass we find ourselves stuck in today—not just in India, but all across the globe.