Mubarakpur’s weaving tradition dates back to the 14th century, appearing in Ibn Battuta’s travel diaries, where he marvelled at the fabrics of the region. During Sultan Muhammad bin Tughlaq’s reign, records mention some 4,000 weavers in the town. Known for weaving pure silk sarees with zari work, the artisans developed looms that still rival mechanised versions in quality and finish.

For decades, however, weavers have suffered from under-representation, exploited by middlemen who blurred the distinction between Banarasi and Mubarakpuri products. Many were forced to accept inferior raw materials and unfair loans, producing fabrics that demanded long hours yet yielded little return. Religious riots drove away workers, while erratic state policies—such as scrapping fixed electricity tariffs and replacing them with metered bills—pushed fragile households out of the loom sheds. The “One District One Product” scheme failed to meaningfully uplift Mubarakpuri sarees, while GI tagging and transport connectivity with Varanasi and Gorakhpur—essential trade hubs—remain inadequate. Even a completed shop market complex in Alinagar, built under the Samajwadi Party, stands locked and unused.

Despite intermittent political support, weavers have largely been left to innovate and survive. Some modified looms with motors to mimic power looms. Others migrated to cities like Hyderabad. For those who stayed, dignity came slowly through organisations such as the All India Artisans and Craftworkers Welfare Association (AIACA). Beginning in 2014, “Mubarakpur Weaves” revived skills, trained artisans in business and design, and secured Craftmark certification for authenticity. Wages rose, ownership and profit-sharing returned dignity, and the brand gained visibility. The effort proved that even a marginalised cluster could reimagine itself with collective organisation, certification, and a distinct identity.

Yet these hard-won gains now face an external shock. In August 2025, the United States sharply raised tariffs on Indian goods. A prior 25% reciprocal tariff was joined by a new 25% punitive tariff, bringing total duties to 50% on a wide swath of exports, including garments, textiles, carpets, and jewellery. The stated reason—India’s continued purchase of Russian oil—was geopolitical. The effect on artisans was immediate. Sarees, carpets and handicrafts destined for diaspora customers in the US suddenly, became uncompetitive. Exporters reported cancelled or delayed orders.

Rajan Bahl, vice president of the Banarasi Textile Industry Association, stated: “Exports of Banarasi sarees will decline by 15 to 20 per cent due to these tariffs. Handloom products will be the most affected. Though the current losses may appear small, the future impact will be severe. Every year, exports worth Rs 200 to Rs 300 crore were sent to the US, which is now under threat. Orders are being cancelled, and no new orders are coming in. This is not a minor loss; it is a major blow to Banaras and its industry.” Traders in Varanasi staged protests, burning posters of US President Donald Trump and warning of widespread disruption. For the Banarasi and Mubarakpuri clusters, the US market is vital: not the largest in volume, but among the most lucrative, especially for high-end consignments. A 50% tariff makes Indian products far more expensive than those from Bangladesh, Vietnam or Turkey, who now stand to capture price-sensitive segments.

The ripple effects are harsh. In the dispersed handloom economy, even a short spell of cancellations means idle looms, depleted working capital and migration away from craft. International and Indian outlets estimate that thousands of jobs across labour-intensive textile sectors are at risk. For communities already surviving on thin margins, the blow is existential.

To its credit, New Delhi responded with stop-gap relief. The government extended an 11% import duty exemption on raw cotton until the end of 2025, aiming to lower input costs across the textile sector. While Mubarakpuri sarees are primarily silk, blended ranges, linings, and broader supply chains do benefit indirectly. Branding initiatives such as the “Silk Banarasi” trademark, complete with QR-linked authenticity and Silk Mark certification, are also being scaled. Uttar Pradesh to establish showrooms in Varanasi, Lucknow, Ayodhya and Delhi, where digital codes link customers to weaving videos and details of artisans.

Still, tariffs test more than cost structures. They expose a strategic weakness: over-reliance on a single overseas market. For Mubarakpur and other clusters, the way forward lies in diversification. Industry bodies urge exporters to pursue Japan, the UK, Australia, the UAE and Europe, while strengthening domestic retail linked to tourism. Digital direct-to-consumer platforms offer another path, enabling weavers to bypass middlemen and reach diaspora buyers in lower-tariff markets.

Raw material resilience is another critical factor. Assam’s silks—muga, eri, pat—have long inspired designers, adding richness and exclusivity to sarees. Yet Assam’s sericulture has recently suffered from cocoon shortages, administrative instability and logistical disruptions. In 2024–25, yields fell, imports rose, and prices spiked, reducing availability for experimental blends in Mubarakpur and beyond. Without reliable supplies of specialty silks, innovation suffers, and artisans are pushed towards inferior fibres that diminish quality and reputation.

The danger is not only economic but cultural. If tariffs drive buyers towards cheaper mechanised alternatives, the painstaking artistry of handloom risks erosion. Once artisans leave the loom, their skills rarely return. The emotional economy—pride, identity, heritage—is as fragile as the financial one. As one weaver noted, a saree may sell for ₹5,000, but the artisan’s share amounts to only ₹500–600 a day, while intermediaries capture the rest. When shocks like tariffs or raw-material shortages arrive, the imbalance becomes unsustainable.

And yet, resilience persists. Mubarakpur’s weavers continue to innovate. Their sarees remain sought after for bridal wear, ceremonial occasions, and heritage collections. Urban elites and diaspora buyers still pay for authenticity when they can recognise it. The challenge is ensuring that recognition translates into sustained demand in markets beyond the US.

The story of the Mubarakpuri saree today is one of survival amid compounded pressures: historical neglect, domestic policy missteps, raw material shortages, and now punitive tariffs. But it is also a story of possibility—of artisans reclaiming identity through certification, of NGOs building weaver-led enterprises, of governments experimenting with branding and provenance. Whether these interventions can withstand the storm of tariff-driven market loss remains to be seen.

The lesson is clear. Cultural resilience requires economic strategy. The saree may be timeless, but its survival depends on choices made in boardrooms, ministries, and export councils. If India diversifies markets, strengthens branding, secures raw materials, and provides genuine support to its artisans, the Mubarakpuri saree can navigate the tariff era and emerge stronger. If not, one of India’s most ancient weaving clusters risks becoming another casualty of global trade politics.

In the end, tariffs are more than percentages; they are reminders of fragility in heritage economies. For Mubarakpur, the challenge is not only to endure the present shock but to convert it into an opportunity—preserving a craft that is both identity and livelihood, and ensuring it thrives for generations to come.

(The author is a writer in English and Urdu, with a focus on literature, politics, and religion.)

Related:

Urgent need to revive and sustain Banarasi weaving industry

Purvanchal: Silence of the Looms

Curtain raiser: The Warp and Weft of Despair in Purvanchal

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The region’s Muslim community has historically contributed richly to India’s culture, politics, and intellectual life, but remains educationally and socially disadvantaged in contemporary times. Their contributions to education in Uttar Pradesh stretch back centuries. During the Delhi Sultanate and Mughal period, UP’s cities like Lucknow, Agra, and Fatehpur Sikri emerged as centers of Persian scholarship, Islamic jurisprudence, and cultural refinement. Later, in the nineteenth century, reformers responded to the colonial encounter in distinct ways.

One of the most influential responses was led by Sir Syed Ahmed Khan, whose Aligarh Movement recognized the urgency of reconciling tradition with modernity and championed Western-style modern education as the path to progress, establishing the Muhammadan Anglo-Oriental College in 1875 (later Aligarh Muslim University, AMU). This institution created a generation of lawyers, administrators, and professionals who shaped Indian politics and society both within India and abroad. The institution symbolised a community deeply engaged in self-reflection and reform.

The Sachar Committee Report (2006) was a watershed in documenting Muslim marginalization in India. For Uttar Pradesh, the findings were stark: Muslims had lower literacy rates, higher school dropout rates, and weaker access to higher education than even Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes in some cases. Subsequent surveys (NSS 2017–18) confirm that progress has been uneven. The literacy gap between Muslims and the state average remains significant, and Muslim representation in higher education institutions—particularly in technical and professional courses—remains disproportionately low.

The major question remains unanswered: what drives this persistent backwardness?

Poverty and economic marginalisation are considered the prime reasons. Muslim-dominated districts like Rampur, Moradabad, Bijnor, and Azamgarh often rank poorly on human development indicators. Families struggling to survive cannot (always) prioritize education. For some families, mainstream schooling appears costly and uncertain in its returns; they prioritise earning over learning. Moreover, many Muslim-majority localities lack sufficient government schools, especially for girls. Travel distance, poor-quality teaching, and inadequate facilities exacerbate dropout rates may also be deemed a factor. Subtle biases in schools and colleges also discourage Muslim children, reinforcing feelings of exclusion. This crisis is not merely statistical; it perpetuates a cycle where Muslims remain concentrated in low-income, informal-sector jobs, with little upward mobility.

Uttar Pradesh has over 16,000 registered madrasas, with numerous unregistered ones. These institutions, while essential in preserving Islamic learning and identity, face critiques. Most madrasas follow a traditional curriculum focused on theology, Arabic, and jurisprudence, with limited integration of science, mathematics, or social sciences. Graduates often find few opportunities outside religious vocations. They need to be upgraded and integrated with modern educational curricula to provide sustainable livelihoods for graduates.

Attempts at madrasa modernization—introducing computer labs, English, and vocational training—have met with mixed success. Some clerics fear dilution of religious content, while bureaucratic inefficiencies hinder consistent reform. Yet, abandoning madrasas is neither realistic nor desirable. They serve millions of the poorest children. The challenge is to integrate them with mainstream education without undermining their religious mission. For example, partnerships with state universities, digital learning modules, and parallel certification could open new doors for madrasa graduates.

If education is the most powerful tool for social reform, women’s education is doubly so. In UP’s Muslim community, gender gaps in literacy and school completion are among the widest. Social norms, early marriage, and safety concerns often restrict girls’ education, especially beyond primary school. Women’s empowerment must be at the heart of reform. A single educated mother can transform the trajectory of her entire family. Scholarships, hostels, safe transportation, and female teachers in rural schools are concrete measures that can make a transformative difference.

Education cannot succeed in isolation; it must be linked with economic empowerment and social reform. In UP, where Muslims dominate certain artisanal trades—like weaving, brass work, and handicrafts—the decline of traditional industries due to globalization has deepened economic vulnerability. To break the cycle, vocational training should be embedded within schools to prepare students for modern markets. Digital skills and entrepreneurship can help Muslim youth participate in India’s growing service economy. Microfinance and start-up support in Muslim-majority districts can create employment opportunities, reducing dependence on informal work. Without such economic linkages, education risks being a dead end—producing degrees without jobs.

Since the Sachar Committee, several schemes have targeted Muslim educational uplift: scholarships, free coaching for competitive exams, and skill-development programs. Yet implementation has been patchy in UP. Awareness about schemes is low in rural Muslim communities. Bureaucratic hurdles and political polarization often dilute impact. Too often, focus remains on token measures rather than systemic reform of schools in Muslim-majority areas.

The post-Sachar period illustrates a broader problem: policy intent without political will. Unless the UP government adopts a non-partisan, long-term vision for minority education, interventions will remain fragmented. While state responsibility is paramount, community leadership cannot be ignored. Historically, Muslim reformers—from Sir Syed Ahmed Khan to Maulana Abul Kalam Azad—understood that renewal required both government support and internal reform. Today, Muslim civil society in UP must prioritise education over identity politics in community mobilization, establish local education trusts and scholarship funds, encourage parents to enroll children in quality schools rather than settling for minimal literacy, promote a culture of reading, critical thinking, and gender equality at the family level.

The recently launched “40 Under 40” Muslim leadership initiative by the All India Muslim Development Council (AIMDC) is a positive step in grooming young leaders in law, medicine, entrepreneurship, and academia who can serve as role models. But such leadership must trickle down to village schools and mohalla committees.

Institutions like AMU, Darul Uloom Deoband, and Nadwa continue to symbolise Muslim intellectual life in UP. Yet they must ask: are they adequately serving the wider community? AMU has expanded with outreach centers, but it remains prestige-focused and geographically concentrated. It should invest more in community schools, digital platforms, and partnerships with state education boards. Deoband and Nadwa must revisit their curricula to balance religious and modern education. Global Islamic universities (e.g., in Iran, Malaysia, and Egypt) have achieved such blends more successfully. These institutions must move beyond being islands of excellence toward engines of mass uplift.

Three pathways are crucial for meaningful change in UP’s Muslim educational and social landscape:

Integration and Innovation in Education:

Merge religious and modern curricula. Use technology (EdTech platforms, mobile learning) to overcome infrastructure deficits. Introduce compulsory vocational and digital literacy in high schools.

Gender-Centered Development:

Scholarships, safe schools, and mentorship programs for Muslim girls. Role models and visibility of educated Muslim women in public life.

Community-Led Social Reform:

Campaigns against early marriage and child labour. Encouragement of critical inquiry, interfaith dialogue, and pluralism as part of Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb (the syncretic culture of UP).

The challenges of Muslim education and social reform in Uttar Pradesh are undeniable: low literacy, poverty, inadequate access to higher education, and gender disparities. Yet these challenges are not insurmountable. History demonstrates the resilience and creativity of UP’s Muslim community—from the grandeur of Mughal institutions to the reformist zeal of Aligarh, Deoband, and Nadwa.

Today, the task is to translate that legacy into universal empowerment. This requires a synergy of state policy, community initiative, and institutional reform. Without it, Muslims in UP risk being trapped in a cycle of marginalisation. With it, they can reclaim their place as full partners in India’s democratic and developmental journey. Education is not just a pathway to jobs; it is a vehicle for dignity, equality, and citizenship. For UP’s Muslims, it is the cornerstone of social reform—and the promise of a brighter future.

(The author is a student of Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi)

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