The issues arising from the decision of India’s Sufi Muslims to provide a platform to the ‘Hindu Nationalist’ Prime Minister Narendra Modi at the World Sufi Forum in Delhi in mid-March has earlier been addressed by SabrangIndia. But that apart there is another dimension to the Sufi angst which has to do with the petro-dollar funded, aggressive promotion in India, as elsewhere in the world, of a version of Islam which is extremely rigid, highly intolerant and hostile not only to other religions but even other sects within Islam. The All India Ulema Mashaikh Board is the response of Sufi-minded Sunni Muslims at this ongoing attempt to monopolise Muslim space in India.        
 
Exporting fundamentalist Islam (Wahhabism) to Muslims across the world emerged, particularly from the 1970s onwards, has been a major preoccupation of the Saudi regime in order to gain legitimacy for the Saudi Arabian monarchy. In India this has meant the growing clout of puritanical and rigid sects like the Ahl-e Hadith and the Deobandis. This is bad news for all those concerned with bridging the growing Hindu-Muslim divide.

Reproduced below are excerpts from a paper by written by Yoginder Sikand in 2005. If anything, its contents are even more relevant today.

Its claim of representing Islamic ‘orthodoxy’ is the Saudi regime’s principal tool in seeking ideological legitimacy. Saudi Arabia prides itself on being, as it calls itself, the only ‘truly’ Islamic State in the world, although this claim is stiffly disputed by many Muslims. Official Saudi Islam, or what is commonly referred to as ‘Wahhabism’ by its opponents, is the outcome of the movement led by the 18th century puritan Muhammad bin Abdul Wahhab (1703-91), who, along with Muhammad ibn Saud, was the chief architect of the Saudi State.

Exporting Wahhabi Islam to Muslims elsewhere in the world emerged, particularly from the 1970s onwards, as a major preoccupation of the Saudi regime. This was seen as a vital resource in order to gain legitimacy for the Saudi Arabian monarchy. Transnational linkages are thus crucial in the project of contemporary global Wahhabism. Since Wahhabism is seen by its proponents as the single, ‘authentic’ and ‘normative’ form of Islam, it has an inherent tendency of expansionism, seeking to impose itself on or replace other ways of understanding and practising Islam.

As home to a Muslim population of over 150 million, India has been an important target of Saudi Wahhabi propaganda. Private as well as semi-official Saudi Arabian assistance has made its way to numerous Indian Muslim individuals and organisations.

Photo Courtesy: Clarion Project

The sort of Islam that the Saudis began aggressively promoting abroad, including in India, in the aftermath of the 1979 Iranian Revolution, had a number of characteristic features. It was extremely literalist; it was rigidly and narrowly defined, being concerned particularly with issues of ‘correct’ ritual and belief, rather than with wider social and political issues; it was viciously sectarian, branding dissenting groups, such as Shias and followers of the Sufis as ‘enemies’ of Islam; and, finally, it was explicitly and fiercely critical of ideologies and groups, Muslim as well as other, that were regarded as political threats to the Saudi regime. Accordingly, these were routinely castigated as ploys of the ‘enemies of Islam’.

Intra-Sunni rivalry and the emergence of the Ahl-e Hadith

The establishment of British rule in India had momentous consequences for notions of Muslim and Islamic identity. The widely shared perception of Islam being under threat helped promote a feeling of Muslim unity transcending sectarian and ethnic boundaries. Yet, at the same time, British rule opened up new spaces for intra-Muslim rivalry. It was in this period that serious differences emerged within the broader Sunni Muslim fold, leading to the development of neatly-defined and on numerous issues mutually opposed sect-like groups, the principal being the Deobandis, the Barelvis and the Ahl-e Hadith. Each of these groups claimed a monopoly of representing the ‘authentic’ Sunni tradition, or the Ahl al-Sunnah wal Jamaah, branding rival claimants as aberrant and, in some cases, even as apostates. This brought to the fore the deeply fractured and fiercely contested nature of Sunni ‘orthodoxy’.

The pioneers of the Ahl-e Hadith saw themselves as struggling to promote what they believed to be the ‘true’ Islam of Muhammad and his companions. Like most other Sunni ulema, they considered the Shias to be outside the pale of Islam and therefore, kafirs. In addition, they believed that the other Sunni groups too had strayed from the path of the ‘pious predecessors’ (salaf).

Overall, they saw their mission as rescuing Muslims from what they saw as the sin of shirk and guiding them to the ‘pure monotheism’ (khalis tauhid) of the Prophet and his companions. Most of them were inspired by the example of Muhammad bin Abdul Wahhab and his companions, particularly appreciating the Wahhabis’ criticism of popular custom. Yet, they did not identify themselves as such, refusing the label of Wahhabi that their detractors used to dismiss them.

Many Hanafi ulema saw the Ahl-e Hadith as a hidden front of the Wahhabis, whom they regarded as ‘enemies’ of Islam for their fierce opposition to the adoration of the Prophet and the saints, their opposition to popular custom and to taqlid, rigid conformity to one or the other of the four generally accepted schools of Sunni jurisprudence.

Further, they also saw the Ahl-e Hadith as directly challenging their own claims of representing normative Islam. Numerous Hanafi ulema issued fatwas branding the Ahl-e Hadith as virtual heretics, contemptuously referring to them as ghair muqallids for their opposition to taqlid, which they believed to be integral to established Sunni tradition. Hanafi opposition to the Ahl-e Hadith was fierce. In many places Hanafis refused them admittance to their mosques, schools and graveyards. Marital ties with them were forbidden, and in some places followers of the Ahl-e Hadith even faced physical assault.

In recent years Ahl-e Hadith scholars have penned scores of books and tracts sternly denouncing customs that many Indian Muslims share with their Hindu neighbours, a legacy of their pre-Islamic past. These also include customs, such as those associated with popular Sufism and the cults of the saints, which enabled Islam to take root in India and to adjust to the Indian cultural context. As Ahl-e Hadith writers see it, these are all ‘wrongful innovations’, having no sanction in the Prophet’s sunnah, and hence must be rooted out.

The Saudi-Ahl-e Hadith connection: Wahhabism as an external policy tool

The 1970s witnessed a growing involvement of certain Arab states, institutions and private donors in sponsoring a number of Islamic organisations and institutions in India. This was a direct outcome of the boom in oil revenues, particularly following the hike in oil prices by OPEC members in the wake of the 1973 Arab-Israeli war.

Although the precise magnitude of Arab assistance to Indian Muslim organisations cannot be ascertained, it was certainly significant, although the Indian press routinely exaggerated it, leading to a scare of petrodollars flooding the country as part of an alleged grand conspiracy to convert poor, particularly ‘low’ caste, Hindus to Islam.

In actual fact, few Muslim organisations actually engaged in missionary work among Hindus received such money. Instead, most Arab, including Saudi, financial assistance went to Muslim organisations to establish mosques, madrassas and publishing houses. To a lesser extent, money was channelled to Muslim organisations to set up schools and hospitals in Muslim localities and to provide scholarships to needy Muslim students.

Saudi funds for Muslim institutions in India have come through a range of sources, including the Saudi State, various Saudi-sponsored Islamic organisations such as the Mecca-based Rabita al-Alami al-Islami (World Muslim League) and the Dar ul-Ifta wal Dawat ul-Irshad, as well as private donors, mostly rich sheikhs, some with close links to the Saudi ruling family. Several Indian Muslims working in Saudi Arabia in various capacities also send back money to fund Islamic institutions, based mainly in towns and villages where their families live.

Monetary assistance to selected Islamic institutions is only one method through which the Saudis have sought to patronise and influence key Muslim leaders and opinion makers in India. Other forms of assistance include sponsored Haj pilgrimages for Muslim leaders, including ulema, patronising of selected publishing houses, scholarships for madrassa students to study in Saudi Islamic universities and jobs for such graduates in both the private as well as public sector within Saudi Arabia.

The largest beneficiary of this largesse is believed to be the Ahl-e Hadith, although the Jamaat-i Islami and the Deobandis are also said to have benefited to some extent. The Barelvis and the Shias, both of whom regard Wahhabism as wholly heretical, have received little or no financial support at all from Saudi sources. This itself suggests that Saudi finance to Muslim institutions in India is intended to serve and promote a particular ideological vision of Islam, one that ties in with the interests of the Saudi regime and its official Wahhabi ulema.

Saudi Arabia emerged as a significant sponsor of Islamic institutions internationally, including in India, only in the 1970s. This was a period of intense ideological struggle in the Arab world. Arab socialism and pan-Arab nationalism under Nasser in Egypt and the Baathists in Syria and Iraq and various communist parties active in numerous Arab states all called for the overthrow of monarchical regimes in the region, which they saw as lackeys of the United States and as helping the Zionist occupation of Palestine. Within Saudi Arabia itself voices of dissent and protest emerged, including from those who had been influenced by socialist trends elsewhere in the region.

The literature produced by several Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses in India helps promote a version and vision of Islam that is almost identical to that of the Wahabbis of Saudi Arabia, and hence one that fits in with the interests of both the Saudi Wahhabi ulema as well as the Saudi State. The claim of the Saudi monarchy as representing the sole ‘authentic’ Islamic regime in the world is repeatedly stressed in several Ahl-e Hadith writings, and reflects the close links, ideological as well as financial, between several Indian Ahl-e Hadith leaders and the Saudi State and its official Wahhabi ulema.

Then came the Islamic Revolution in Iran in 1979, which led to fears of an export of revolutionary, anti-monarchical Islam to the Arab world, including to Saudi Arabia. Ayatollah Khomeini vehemently denounced the Saudi kingdom, insisting that Islam had no place for monarchical rule. He also bitterly attacked the Saudis for being American stooges and for willingly acquiescing in American support for Israel.

In his will, made public in 1989, he denounced the Saudi regime as ‘anti-Islamic’, claiming that it was in league with ‘Satanic powers’. He argued that Wahhabism represented ‘anti-Koranic ideas’ and a ‘baseless, superstitious cult’, and was aimed at destroying Islam from within. Radical appeals emanating from Tehran, including anti-Wahhabi and anti-Saudi sentiments soon captured the imagination of Muslims all over the world.

The Iranian Revolution played the role of a major catalyst in moulding Saudi foreign policy, in which the export of its official Wahhabi form of Islam emerged as a key instrument. The anti-monarchical thrust of the revolution was seen by the Saudi regime as a menacing threat. If the Shah of Iran, America’s closest and strongest ally in the region, could be overthrown as a result of the passionate appeals of a charismatic Imam, the Saudi rulers, it was painfully realised, could well meet the same fate. Consequently, the Saudis, backed by the Americans, began investing heavily in promoting Wahhabi Islam abroad in order to counter the appeal of the Iranian Revolution, both within Saudi Arabia itself and abroad.

Stressing the regime’s ‘Islamic’ credentials now came to be relied upon as the principal tool to strengthen it and to stave off challenges from internal as well as external opponents, from Muslims opposed to the regime’s corrupt and dictatorial ways and its close alliance with the imperialist powers, principally the United States. Saudi export of Wahhabism was given a further boost with the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, when the Saudis, supported by the Americans, pumped in millions of dollars to fund Wahhabi-style schools and organisations in Pakistan in order to train guerrillas to fight the Russians. While such assistance, in Afghanistan and elsewhere, was presented as a sign of Saudi Arabia’s professed commitment to ‘true’ Islam, it also functioned as a thinly veiled guise for promoting the interests of the Saudi regime. In exporting this brand of Islam abroad, India, home to the second largest Muslim community in the world, received particular importance.

The sort of Islam that the Saudis began aggressively promoting abroad, including in India, in the aftermath of the 1979 Iranian Revolution, had a number of characteristic features. It was extremely literalist; it was rigidly and narrowly defined, being concerned particularly with issues of ‘correct’ ritual and belief, rather than with wider social and political issues; it was viciously sectarian, branding dissenting groups, such as Shias and followers of the Sufis as ‘enemies’ of Islam; and, finally, it was explicitly and fiercely critical of ideologies and groups, Muslim as well as other, that were regarded as political threats to the Saudi regime. Accordingly, these were routinely castigated as ploys of the ‘enemies of Islam’.

Saudi patronage and the Indian Ahl-e Hadith

A hugely disproportionate amount of Saudi aid to Indian Muslim groups in the decades after the Iranian Revolution is said to have gone to institutions run by the Ahl-e Hadith. This is hardly surprising, given the shared ideological tradition and vision of the Ahl-e Hadith and the Saudi Wahabbis. One result of the generous Saudi patronage of the Indian Ahl-e Hadith has been that there has been a growing convergence between the latter and the Saudi Wahhabi ulema, so much so that today there is hardly any difference between the two groups.

Saudi finance to Indian Ahl-e Hadith institutions has heavily influenced the contents of the vast amount of literature that they produce and distribute. In the last two decades there has been a mushroom growth in the number of Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses in India. Several of them are said to receive Saudi funds, directly or otherwise. Many of them produce low-priced books, and, now, audio tapes, video cassettes and compact discs, and some even operate their own web sites. Most of the authors whose works they publish are Indian and, to a lesser extent, Pakistani Ahl-e Hadith ulema who have received higher education in various Saudi universities.

Several of them are currently working in various official as well as private Islamic organisations in Saudi Arabia itself. Their vision and understanding of Islam is indelibly shaped by their own experiences in Saudi Arabia. They see the Saudi Wahhabi version of Islam as normative and other forms of Islam as deviant.

Much of the literature produced by Indian Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses focusses on the minutiae of ritual practices and beliefs. This is a reflection, in part, of the overwhelmingly literalist understanding of Saudi Wahhabi Islam. Scores of books penned by Ahl-e Hadith ulema are devoted to intricate discussion of what they regard as the ‘correct’ methods of praying, performing ablutions and offering supplications, as well as rules and regulations related to food, dress, marriage, divorce and so on.

A principle purpose of these publications is to attack rival Muslim, including Sunni, groups, and to sternly condemn them as ‘aberrant’ on account of differences in their methods of performing rituals and their rules governing a range of issues related to normative personal and collective behaviour.

Another interesting feature of the literature produced by Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses in India, and one that is directly linked to the close association between the Ahl-e Hadith and the Saudi Wahabbis, is a fierce hostility to local beliefs and practices. This hostility, while having been a defining feature of the early Ahl-e Hadith, has been further exacerbated with the growing Saudi-Ahl-e Hadith nexus. In recent years Ahl-e Hadith scholars have penned scores of books and tracts sternly denouncing customs that many Indian Muslims share with their Hindu neighbours, a legacy of their pre-Islamic past.

These also include customs, such as those associated with popular Sufism and the cults of the saints, which enabled Islam to take root in India and to adjust to the Indian cultural context. As Ahl-e Hadith writers see it, these are all ‘wrongful innovations’, having no sanction in the Prophet’s sunnah, and hence must be rooted out. In their place they advocate an adoption of a range of Arab cultural norms and practices which are seen as genuinely ‘Islamic’.

The publication of Urdu translations of the compendia of fatwas of leading Saudi Wahhabi ulema by Indian Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses is a reflection of this cultural alternative that they seek to provide to take the place of what they see as ‘un-Islamic’ practices widely prevalent among many Indian Muslims. This has added to the conflict with other Muslim groups, most particularly with the Barelvis, who are associated with the cults of the Sufis. The ‘Saudi Arabisation’ of Islam and Indian Muslim culture that the Ahl-e Hadith seeks to promote also inevitably further widens the cultural chasm between Muslims and Hindus.

As many Ahl-e Hadith ulema see it, and this is reflected in their writings as well, Hinduism is hardly different from the pagan religion of the Arabs of the pre-Islamic Jahiliya period. Although most of them do not advocate conflict with Hindus, some Ahl-e Hadith scholars insist on the need for Muslims to have as little to do with the Hindus as possible, for fear of the ‘deleterious’ consequences this might have for the Muslims’ own commitment to and practice of Islam.

Like other Muslim groups, Indian Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses have also paid particular attention to combating their Muslim rivals. This cannot be understood without taking into account the Saudi connection. Scores of books have been penned by Indian Ahl-e Hadith ulema, branding Sufis, Shias and Deobandis as heretical.

Tirelessly claiming in their writings to being the sole representatives of ‘normative’ Islam and, in the process, identifying themselves with the Saudi Wahhabi ulema, enables the Indian Ahl-e Hadith ulema to present themselves as faithful allies of the Saudis, which in turn helps earn them recognition as well as monetary assistance from Saudi sponsors. In addition, such publications also serve the purpose of presenting the Saudi Wahhabi version of Islam as normative, and in putting forward the claim of the Saudi regime to being the only one in the world sincerely and seriously committed to ‘genuine’ Islam.

The Iranian Revolution played the role of a major catalyst in moulding Saudi foreign policy, in which the export of its official Wahhabi form of Islam emerged as a key instrument. The anti-monarchical thrust of the revolution was seen by the Saudi regime as a menacing threat.

Access to Saudi funds has therefore led to heightened conflict between various Muslim sectarian groups in India, as Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses produce and distribute literature on a large scale bitterly attacking their rivals of being Muslim only in name.

Heightened intra-Muslim polemics within India are not unrelated to the interests of the Saudi regime. Thus, the virulently anti-Shia and anti-Sufi propaganda material churned out by various Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses in India, some of this said to be sponsored by Saudi patrons, serves the purpose of denouncing as outside the pale of Islam Muslim groups who are opposed to Wahhabism and the Saudi State, these often being branded as ‘enemies’ of Islam. In this way the literature produced by several Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses in India helps promote a version and vision of Islam that is almost identical to that of the Wahabbis of Saudi Arabia, and hence one that fits in with the interests of both the Saudi Wahhabi ulema as well as the Saudi State.

The claim of the Saudi monarchy as representing the sole ‘authentic’ Islamic regime in the world is repeatedly stressed in several Ahl-e Hadith writings, and reflects the close links, ideological as well as financial, between several Indian Ahl-e Hadith leaders and the Saudi State and its official Wahhabi ulema.

Numerous books penned by Indian Ahl-e Hadith scholars discuss in detail the ‘great’ contributions of the present rulers of Saudi Arabia to the ‘Islamic cause’, inevitably concluding with the claim that Saudi Arabia under its present masters represents the only ‘truly’ Islamic State in the world today. They also make it a point to call on God to bless the Saudi king and pray for his continued rule. The Saudi monarch is invariably presented as a pious, fully committed Muslim, whose sole concern is, so it is sought to be argued, the protection and promotion of ‘authentic’ Islam. Support for this ‘authentic’ Islam and for the Saudi rulers are presented as indivisible.

Interestingly, there is no reference at all in Ahl-e Hadith writings to the widespread dissatisfaction within Saudi Arabia itself with the ruling family. Nor is there any reference to the rampant corruption in the country, the lavish lifestyles of the princes, and to Saudi Arabia’s close links with the United States.

Nor, still, is there ever any mention of the claim, put forward by many Muslims, that monarchy is ‘un-Islamic’, particularly one like the despotic and corrupt Saudi regime. This is added evidence of the fact that Saudi-sponsored propaganda abroad is tailor-made to suit the interests of its ruling family.

Ahl-e Hadith-Deobandi polemics and the Saudi nexus

As a claimant to Sunni ‘orthodoxy’, the Ahl-e Hadith is not alone in denouncing the Shias as heretics and therefore outside the pale of Islam. In fact, many Deobandi and Barelvi ulema share the same opinion. Hence the virulent opposition to the Shias on the part of the Ahl-e Hadith is hardly surprising. Given its commitment to what it sees as ‘pure’ monotheism and its fierce opposition to ‘wrongful innovations’, its denunciation of the Barelvis, who are associated with the cults of the Sufis, is also understandable.

What seems particularly intriguing, however, is the fact that, of late, Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses in India have been devoting particular attention to denouncing the Deobandis who, while being muqallids as well as proponents of a reformed Sufism, share with the Ahl-e Hadith a commitment to strict compliance with the Shariah and the extirpation of what they describe as bidaah. In that sense, the Ahl-e Hadith are closer in doctrinal terms to the Deobandis than to any other Indian Sunni group. Despite this, it appears that in recent years Indian Ahl-e Hadith scholars have been focussing considerably more attention on combating the Deobandis than critiquing their Barelvi and Shia rivals. This seemingly puzzling development begs an explanation.

One possible reason for this is that the Deobandis in India are far more organised and influential than the Barelvis. The Deobandis manage a number of influential organisations, madrassas and publishing houses all over India. Consequently, they have probably been more effective in critiquing the Ahl-e Hadith than their other rivals, which in turn has forced the Ahl-e Hadith to pay particular attention to the challenge they face from the Deobandi front. In addition to this factor are other developments, related to struggles over money, influence and authority, which have made for a sharp intensification of rivalries between the Ahl-e Hadith and the Deobandis in recent years. The Saudi connection seems to have played a major role in abetting these conflicts.

The Deobandis, by and large, seem to have maintained the somewhat ambiguous attitude of their elders towards the Ahl-e Hadith and the Wahabbis till at least the late 1970s, when the situation began to change with new access to Saudi funding. In the course of the Afghan war against the Soviets, the Saudis recognised that the Deobandis were far more influential and had a far larger presence than the Ahl-e Hadith in both Pakistan as well as Afghanistan. Consequently, much Saudi funding began making its way to Deobandi madrassas in Pakistan in order to train guerrilla fighters armed with a passion for jehad against the Russians. A shared commitment to a Shariah-centric Islam made such assistance acceptable to both parties.

Islam is conveniently marshalled and often interpreted in diametrically opposing ways by the Saudi regime to suit its own strategic and ideological purposes abroad. Saudi Arabia is said to have been the largest financier of radical Islamist groups abroad, some of whom, as in the Philippines, Chechnya, Bosnia and Kashmir, have taken to armed struggle and terrorism against non-Muslim States. Saudi-funded literature routinely extols such groups as mujahids engaged in a legitimate Islamic jehad.

Impact of recent developments on Saudi links with Indian Muslim groups

The 1990s were characterised by fierce polemical battles between the Ahl-e Hadith and the Deobandis in India, with each group charging the other of being ‘anti-Islamic’ and as hidden fronts of the ‘enemies’ of Islam. Although the two groups continue to regard each other as fierce rivals, the sharp polemical exchanges between them now seem to have dampened somewhat. One factor for this is probably the strong need that many Muslims feel to present a united front to combat the challenge of aggressive Hindu groups in the country.

Another important factor for the apparent decline in overt strife between the Ahl-e Hadith and the Deobandis in recent years is what seems to be a significant shift in Saudi strategy. Following the events of September 2001, Saudi Arabia came under tremendous pressure from the United States to clamp down on Wahhabi militants at home and abroad. The Saudi strategy of sponsoring radical Wahhabism seemed to have boomeranged, as a new generation of Islamist radicals emerged within Saudi Arabia itself, critiquing the Saudi regime for its corruption and for its close links with the United States. Consequently, the Saudi Arabians were forced to take action against their own internal radical Islamist opponents, realising the major challenge that they posed to the Saudi monarchy.

Simultaneously, and because of these developments, Saudi aid to Wahhabi groups abroad, including India, is said to have declined somewhat. This will naturally have a major impact on relations between different Muslim groups in India, and will most notably impact on the expansion of the Ahl-e Hadith, who have been the major recipient of Saudi assistance in recent years.

Another possible indication of the shift in Saudi strategy is the fact that of late certain Ahl-e Hadith publishing houses in India have brought out books praising the Saudi State and critiquing what they describe as the ‘terrorists’ who wish to weaken it. These books argue that the ‘correct’ method of the political ‘reform’ that Islamist opponents of the regime seek is not through violence but rather through ‘guiding’ the political authorities to follow the path of God by providing them with ‘Islamic’ advice.

This shows how Islam is conveniently marshalled and often interpreted in diametrically opposing ways by the Saudi regime to suit its own strategic and ideological purposes abroad. Saudi Arabia is said to have been the largest financier of radical Islamist groups abroad, some of whom, as in the Philippines, Chechnya, Bosnia and Kashmir, have taken to armed struggle and terrorism against non-Muslim States. Saudi-funded literature routinely extols such groups as mujahids engaged in a legitimate Islamic jehad. Yet, faced now with its own internal and increasingly vocal Islamist opposition, it considers similar movements within Saudi Arabia as major sources of ‘strife’ and as clearly ‘un-Islamic’. Whether, as a result of increasing international pressure, the Saudis will be willing to extend the same logic to Islamist groups abroad whom they have been patronising for many years is a moot point.

(This article is an excerpt from the writer’s monograph, "Intra-Muslim Rivalries in India and the Saudi Connection" which can be accessed from his web site www.islaminterfaith.org. Archived from Communalism Combat, March 2005, Year 11, No. 106).  
 

The post Saudi Funding of Intolerance: The Other Face of the Indian Sufi’s Angst appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Signs of the despair and rage of the ‘Arab street’ that have finally burst out into angry protests across the region were in ample evidence when I visited Egypt last year although I must confess I did not expect they would take the form that they now have. Forty days traversing the country, including a fortnight in Cairo and trips to the Mediterranean coast, isolated oases in the Sahara and down the Nile to Abu Simbel and to Aswan near the Sudanese border, were, to put it politely, no relaxed vacation. Egypt, despite being a favourite holiday destination that attracts hundreds of thousands of foreign tourists every year, is not quite an easy country for a lone tramp on a shoestring budget to navigate. 

Cairo, home to almost half of Egypt’s population, is a rapidly decaying city. I chose to stay in a dirt cheap funduq, a lodge frequented by travelling Egyptian and other African door-to-door salesmen which was located in the heart of the old city, also called ‘Islamic Cairo’. It was situated in a narrow lane just off the grand Al-Hussain mosque which, according to local lore (although this is contested), contains the severed head of Imam Hussain, grandson of the prophet.

My Cairene friends were horrified at my decision. A cafeteria in the area, which was once popular with foreign tourists, had been bombed recently and numerous people, including some tourists, had been killed. “All sorts of shady characters lurk in these parts,” they warned. Hardly any foreign tourists, they said, dared to stay there now, preferring hotels in the more upmarket parts near the Nile for safety. The area, they added in order to dissuade me, was filthy. But I had to save money for the long stay I had intended and this miserable funduq was all I could afford. Besides, I wanted to see life in ‘Islamic Cairo’ first-hand. My ramshackle rat-infested inn, which charged me the equivalent of 300 rupees a night for a diminutive room, was the best place to be based in for that purpose. 

Densely populated ‘Islamic Cairo’ consists of a maze of lanes that envelops a dazzling number of ancient Islamic monuments – mosques, madrassas, tombs and Sufi lodges – some of which go back to as early as the eighth century. At the heart of this sprawling quarter is the grand Al-Azhar, considered to be the world’s most influential seat of Sunni Muslim scholarship. Despite its historical importance, ‘Islamic Cairo’, like much of the rest of the city, and indeed all of Egypt, had, as I saw it then, all the telltale signs of despair and discontent that are now being excitedly discussed in the media. Most of the houses in the area, narrow and dingy and built cheek by jowl, were rapidly collapsing; garbage piled up in enormous pyramids along the lanes and even basic civic amenities were conspicuous by their absence.

Overburdened with a rapidly expanding population, with only two per cent of the country’s land area inhabitable (the rest being desert), vast numbers of Egyptians had flooded into Cairo in recent years. Over half a million of them had made the ancient tombs in the City of the Dead adjacent to the ‘Islamic City’ their home where they lived in miserable poverty. Only some isolated parts of Cairo, such as leafy neighbourhoods across the Nile where the country’s minuscule elite, many of them tied to the Mubarak regime, lived, were cheery.

And as for the people, not just in this part of Cairo but across Egypt, I must confess (at the risk of political incorrectness) that I found them rude, gruff and aggressive, with notable exceptions, of course. The country’s dismal economic conditions may have had something to do with that but I suspect that this was not the only factor. There were simply not enough jobs for the ever increasing number of graduates. Prices were skyrocketing although, unlike India, almost everyone I saw, including hordes of beggars who thronged outside mosques, seemed reasonably well-fed. Inequalities were rapidly mounting and the government apparently had done precious little to address the issue. It was apparent that the massive amounts of money that America was supplying Egypt to bolster the Mubarak regime – Egypt is the largest recipient of American aid after Israel – was certainly not benefiting Egypt’s poor millions. Rather, most of it was probably spent arming Mubarak’s army, to be used to quash any dissent, and to prod Egypt to stay at peace with Israel. 

Outside Cairo the situation seemed to be even grimmer. Berbers in the remote Siwa oasis near the Libyan border complained of how they were forcibly denied their cultural rights and how the state was hell-bent on Arabising them in the name of Islam although they insisted they were better Muslims than the ‘Arab’ Egyptians. The more visibly ‘African’ Nubians, denizens of largely impoverished ‘upper’ Egypt near the Sudanese frontier, too suffered neglect at the hands of the government and racial prejudice at the hands of the more Arabised and politically dominant northerners. Violent attacks on Coptic Christian churches in the area (two such incidents were reported during my stay) by suspected Islamist radicals were propelling large numbers of Copts, who long predated the Muslims in the country, to flee to Cairo or, preferably, to the West.

The rapid depletion in the ranks of the country’s religious minorities was having a devastating impact, I was told by Egyptians concerned at where their country was heading, on the country’s economy and on its long-standing progressive traditions, shrinking the liberal space and making the task of those who wanted Egypt to be ruled in strict accordance with a literalist reading of the Shariah all the more easy. 

That task was also being impressively assisted by Mubarak’s dreaded repressive rule. Government informers, I was repeatedly warned, were on the prowl everywhere. Mubarak had brutally crushed all dissent and I was told to stay clear of any political discussions with the people I met. Even mosques, often the refuge of those who have no other space in Muslim societies to vent their opposition, were tightly controlled by the government. Mosque imams had to fall in line with state diktats. To ensure their compliance, they were paid by the state and were thus for all practical purposes its agents. Their Friday sermons were prepared by the governmental authorities. Their task was simply to read them out, whether or not they personally agreed with their contents, without adding or deleting a dot. If they dared to disobey and spoke their minds, they easily risked being thrown into prison, branded as rabble-rousing ‘fundamentalists’.

A young man I met at the Al-Azhar mosque told me how he was summarily dismissed from his job at a book booth located inside the mosque simply because he had stocked some titles other than those strictly prescribed by the authorities. Islamically assertive men feared to sport beards, for, as some of them who dared to do so told me, they could easily be branded as ‘fundamentalists’ and be carted off to jail. That explained why even in Al-Azhar, which churns out would-be ulema in their thousands every year, almost every student was beardless. The vast majority of them, like their teachers (widely respected ulema), wore western clothes and not the flowing ‘Islamic’ djellaba, in many cases not through choice but rather because of fear. “Muslims have more religious freedom in your India than here in Egypt,” many an Azharite told me. It was clear that Mubarak, like many other pro-American Arab dictators, found the spectre of radical Islamists useful even as he sought to crush it, it being just the handle he needed to extract crucial western backing for his hugely unpopular regime by projecting himself as a bulwark against ‘Islamic fundamentalists’.

 It was also apparent that as people grew increasingly restive against Mubarak’s rule, which he had hoped to turn hereditary by passing the mantle to his son, Islam was assuming the form of a potent vehicle to articulate opposition to his regime. The increasing public display of ‘Islamic’ religiosity that I observed was clearly a form of defiant assertion of identity, a political statement in the face of a dictatorial regime that was seen as having bartered away Egyptian, Arab and Muslim interests to its western overlords.

The much touted ‘Islamic revival’ I witnessed in Egypt (and I suppose the same could be said of the phenomenon in much of the rest of the ‘Muslim world’) was deeply conservative and in many senses frighteningly obscurantist. Hundreds of ‘private’ mosques, defying the law that sought to place mosques under close government surveillance, had sprouted up all over the country. Satellite television had effectively demolished the state’s monopoly on Islamic discourse, with dozens of ‘Islamic’ channels, many of them peddling a deeply conservative neo-Wahhabi brand of Islam, now being beamed into almost every home. Saudi-funded publishing houses did brisk business, the Islam they advertised being profoundly supremacist and anti-western but without being politically revolutionary. The Muslim Brotherhood continued to exercise a pervasive influence through its many frontal organisations. The hijab had become so ubiquitous, donned even by women who were not particularly pious themselves, that it was said that girls and women without hijab were automatically assumed to be Christians.

 All of these were signs not, I believe, of a sudden mass burst in piety, as is sometimes alleged by poorly informed journalists, although no doubt this might have been true in some individual cases. Corruption and brutality continued undiminished in civil society, even among the more visibly ‘Islamised’ sectors of it. Becoming more visibly ‘Islamic’ did not necessarily mean becoming more socially engaged or even more purist when it came to money matters.

To cite a telling instance, in the vast market just across the street from the Al-Azhar Seminary, the ‘Islamic’ hub of Cairo, over a hundred smart shops (scattered among dozens of ‘Islamic’ bookstores) specialised in shimmering bras and skimpy belly-dance costumes, specimens of which they slung tantalisingly outside their windows and which adorned rows of buxom mannequins. Some of these shops were run by veiled women, others by bearded men with large prayer callouses on their foreheads. This blatant defiance of Islamic morality had not sufficiently stirred the ulema and students of Azhar – who, one supposes, are the backbone of the ‘Islamic’ revival across the country – to protest. It was not just fear that had forced them into silence and indifference. It was probably also that such blatant sexism did not provoke their righteous anger in quite the same way that, say, hounding ‘heretical’ writers – in which the Azharites have taken a leading role – has. 

The public face of the ‘Islamic’ revival that was directed against the Mubarak regime (implicitly in some cases, overtly in the case of underground radical Islamists who have been subjected to harsh repression), which I saw all around me, was by no means a positive one even though its target – toppling Mubarak and his cronies – may have been a laudable objective. The dominant version of Islam that informed this revival seemed to me to be harsh, fun-less and punitive and at the same time thoroughly incapable of providing a progressive alternative to Mubarak’s regime although it definitely had the potency to challenge it.

It sat in the growls, scowls and permanent frowns of the vast numbers of men propelling it. It lay in voluminous tomes and fatwas that prescribed medieval laws for dealing with contemporary problems. It was definitely anti-intellectual, as reflected in the enormous number of books I spotted in Cairene bookstores that (so I learned from an Indian student at Al-Azhar who translated their titles and tables of contents for me) spoke of Islam in terms of empty slogans, offering no sensible guidance for running the affairs of a modern society and economy deeply networked into a globalised world. It was reflected in graffiti scribbled on street walls exclaiming in triumph, ‘East or West, Islam is the best’ and ‘Islam is THE solution’. It was also incarnated in waves of bombings of churches and the growing demonisation of local Christians as alleged conspirators against Islam. 

Mubarak certainly deserved to go, about that there is no doubt, but as to whether those who will now replace him, including possibly the Islamists, will prove to be any better, I am not so sure.

Archived from Communalism Combat, March 2011,Year 17, No.155- Revolution

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Islamisation of Pakistani Social Studies Textbooks
By Yvette Claire Rosser
Publisher: Rupa & Co
Pp: 109
ISBN: 81-291-0221-8

Contrary to what professional historians might claim, there is really no such thing as an objective, unbiased and completely accurate writing of history. After all, not everything, even of significance, of what happened in the past can possibly be included in a text and history book writers have to pick and choose from past events that they deem fit be recorded. The very process of picking and choosing from the past is determined, among other factors, by the subjective biases of the history writer as well as his or her own social and institutional location. Then history writing is not simply about narrating the past but also involves a certain element of evaluating it. Here again this is strongly determined by the personal biases and preference of the individual historian.

The element of bias is greatly exacerbated when history textbooks are – as they are in almost every country today – commissioned by the state. The state wishes to mould its citizens in a particular way, to make them what it considers ‘good’ and ‘law-abiding’ citizens who have completely internalised the underlying logic and ideology of the state. The state, in its capacity as representative of a country’s ruling class, seeks to impose through state-sponsored history texts the hegemonic ideas of this class upon its citizenry. It is thus not surprising that such texts generally parrot the state-centric view of history that seeks to bestow legitimacy on the state and the country’s ruling class and ‘normalise’ their logic and world view.

This incisive critique of state-sponsored social science textbooks in Pakistan highlights the convoluted politics of historiography and what this means for the production of a ‘social commonsense’ for a state’s citizenry. Although Rosser does not say it in so many words, the current turbulent political scenario in Pakistan, in particular the rise of radical Islamist forces in the country, cannot be seen as inseparable from the narrow political agenda that the Pakistani state, ever since its formation, has consistently sought to pursue as is reflected in the social science textbooks that it has commissioned and through which it has sought to impose its own ideology on its people.

Rosser’s study focuses on the textbooks used in Pakistani schools for the compulsory subject called ‘Pakistan Studies’ which was introduced in the reign of the American-backed military dictator, General Zia ul-Haq, in the mid-1970s. Pakistan Studies replaced the teaching of history and geography and was moulded in such a fashion as to instil in students an undying and unquestioning loyalty to the official ‘ideology of Pakistan’ (called the nazariya-e-Pakistan in Urdu). This ideology, questioning which is considered a punishable crime in the country, is based on the far-fetched and completely bankrupt notion of the Muslims and Hindus of the pre-partition Indian subcontinent as constituting two homogeneous and wholly irreconcilable ‘nations’. (Incidentally, this is the same perverse logic that underlies radical Hindutva in India.) It claims that Muslims and Hindus have never been able to live amicably together, that they have always been opposed to each other, that they share nothing in common and that hence it was but natural that Pakistan should come into being for the sake of the Muslims of South Asia.

There are several defining and characteristic features of the Pakistani social science textbooks that Rosser examines. Firstly, as she notes, their extreme anti-Indianism. This is a reflection of the fact that the ‘Ideology of Pakistan’, indeed the very rationale for the creation and continued existence of the state of Pakistan, is premised on the notion of undying and perpetual hatred of and opposition to India. India thus comes to be presented as viscerally opposed to Pakistan and as constituting a mortal threat to its very existence. In this way a form of Pakistani nationalism is sought to be fostered through the texts that is hyper-chauvinistic and one that is based on a constant reinforcement of an almost crippling sense of being besieged by what is projected as an ‘evil’ neighbour.

Secondly, and linked to the anti-Indianism that pervades these texts, are the repeated negative and hostile references to the Hindus and their faith. Hinduism is portrayed and projected in wholly negative terms, as if lacking any appreciable elements at all. Its followers are presented in a similarly unflattering way: as allegedly mean and cruel and constantly scheming against Muslims and their faith. Hindus, like Muslims, thus come to be presented in strikingly stereotypical terms: the former as virulently hostile enemies and the latter as brave soldiers in the path of god. They are portrayed as two solid, monolithic blocs and as being without any internal differences whatsoever, of class, caste, gender, region, language, political orientation and ethnicity. The only identity that they are projected as possessing is that of religion which is presented in starkly reified terms that often have little resonance with empirical reality. In the process the diverse, often contradictory, interpretations, expressions and the lived realities of Islam and Hinduism in South Asia are completely ignored in favour of extreme literalist, ‘orthodox’ and textual understandings. ‘Popular’ religious traditions, such as certain forms of Sufism and Bhakti, that bring people of diverse communal backgrounds together, are totally ignored because they obviously stridently contradict the claims of the ‘two-nation’ theory.

Thirdly, the textbooks present Pakistani history as synonymous with the history of political conquests by successive Muslim rulers, starting with the Arab commander, Muhammad bin Qasim, in the mid-seventh century. All these invaders and rulers, so the books piously claim, were goaded by a powerful sense of religious mission to establish ‘Islamic’ rule in the region. This alleged religious aspiration of theirs is presented as having finally culminated in the creation of Pakistan in 1947. Contrary to what is popularly known about him, Mohammad Ali Jinnah, the ideological founder of Pakistan, is presented as an ‘orthodox’ Muslim allegedly inspired by the vision of establishing an ‘Islamic’ state run by Muslim clerics – something which was not the case at all.

The fact that most of the Muslim rulers and conquerors that these texts lionise might actually have been inspired by less noble motives – to plunder or rule – is, of course, conveniently ignored. Religion – in this case Islam – thus comes to be seen and projected as the sole motor of history with other factors, such as power and economics, having at best only a minor role to play. The history of South Asia before Muhammad bin Qasim is hardly mentioned at all although it was in what is Pakistan today that the Indus Valley civilisation flourished, that the invading Aryans composed the Vedas and that Buddhism led to a great flourishing of various arts and sciences.

In other words, every effort is made in the textbooks to present Pakistan as an extension of ‘Muslim’ West Asia instead of a part of the Indic-dominated South Asia. Not surprisingly, as Rosser observes, the texts single out particular historical figures who are known for their battles against Hindu rulers as heroes, among these the most important being Muhammad bin Qasim, Mahmud Ghaznavi and Aurangzeb. Other Muslim rulers, most notably Akbar, who sought to reconcile Hindus and Muslims and promote a generous ecumenism, are either totally ignored or else reviled as alleged ‘enemies of Islam’. Furthermore, these figures, of both ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’, are isolated from their historical contexts, leading to biography turning into hagiography or demonology, as the case might be, in order to serve the agenda of the advocates of the ‘two-nation’ theory.

The same holds true in the texts’ depictions of certain key Muslim religious figures. Thus ‘orthodox’ ulema or Islamic clerics who stressed the claim of the inferiority of the Hindus and advised Muslim rulers to take harsh measures against them are hailed as heroes of Islam while others, including many Sufis, who sought to preach love and tolerance between Muslims and others and preached an ethical monotheism transcending narrowly inscribed boundaries of community, are conveniently left out or else branded as ‘un-Islamic’.

A fourth characteristic feature of these textbooks is their distinctly anti-democratic character. They purport to tell the story of the Muslims of South Asia from the point of view of Pakistan’s ruling elites. In the process history comes to be presented as simply a long list of battles and other ‘achievements’ (whether real or imaginary) of a long chain of Muslim rulers. ‘Ordinary’ people have no voice, being completely invisiblised in these texts. It is as if history is made only by rulers and that the histories of ‘ordinary’ people are not worth recording or commemorating. It would seem as if the writers of these books are wholly ignorant of new developments in writing ‘people’s’ or ‘subaltern’ histories.

The starkly elitist bias of the texts is also reflected in the fact that they almost completely ignore perspectives of ethnic groups other than Pakistan’s dominant Punjabi and Muhajir communities. This is hardly surprising since, as Rosser notes, most of these texts have been penned by authors who belong to these two communities. She writes that the absence of the perspectives and historical experiences of the numerically smaller ethnic and regional communities of Pakistan, such as the Balochis and Sindhis, also has serious implications for policymaking, for the demand for smaller provinces for regional peace in South Asia and equitable local development is not sufficiently appreciated and incorporated in national policies. This, Rosser comments, is reflected in the great "tension between official history manufactured in Islamabad and the historical perspectives of regional ethnic groups" (p. 4).

The anti-democratic thrust of these texts is also reflected in what Rosser describes as "a radically restrictive brand of Islamic exclusivism" that they project and propagate. The sort of Islam that these texts seek to promote is premised on the notion and dream of Muslim political hegemony and a deep-rooted sense of the innate inferiority of people of other faiths. This is – and this is important to note – just one version of Islam among many and one which Muslims who believe in an inclusive version of their faith would vehemently oppose. However, the texts present this, what Rosser calls ‘authoritarian’, ‘legalistic’ and ‘ritualistic’, brand of Islam as normative and defining, and completely reject alternate, competing, more democratic and humanistic interpretations of the faith (p. 9).

Rosser’s findings are of critical importance, particularly in the context of present developments in Pakistan which is witnessing the alarming growth of radical Islamist groups impelled by a version of Islam very similar to the one these texts uphold. Obviously, explanations of the growing threat of radical Islamism in Pakistan cannot ignore the crucial role of these texts which are compulsory reading for all Pakistani students thus playing a central role in moulding their minds and world views. The texts are also a reflection of, as well as a cause for, the pathetic state of social science research and discourse in present-day Pakistan.

Rosser’s Indian readers need not have much cause to be self-congratulatory, however. Although historiography in India is certainly more sophisticated in many senses than in Pakistan, a significant section of Indian history writers, particularly of the Hindutva brand, are no different from those Pakistani writers whose texts Rosser examines. Indeed they speak the same language of hatred and communal supremacy, propelling the same tired, debunked myth of Hindus and Muslims being perpetually at odds with each other. Likewise, they are both profoundly anti-democratic, having no space for the voices and aspirations of socially, culturally and economically oppressed groups upon whose enforced silence is premised the artifice of the ‘nation’ (‘Islamic’ or ‘Hindu’, as the case might be), whose sole representative ruling elites claim to be.

Courtesy: www.countercurrents.org

Archived from Communalism Combat,  May 2009 Year 15    No.140, Taliban 1

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The argument that the practice of triple talaq in one sitting is an integral part of the Shari’ah is hotly contested by a minority among the ulema, such as those belonging to the Ahl–i–Hadith, among the Sunnis, as well as by the Shi’as. This clearly points to the diversity of understandings of what precisely constitutes the Shari’ah, and to elements of human effort in the construction of notions of the Shari’ah itself, a fact that the conservative ulema themselves are reluctant to acknowledge. The refusal of the AIMPLB to ban the practice of triple talaq clearly suggests that one can hardly expect the ulema associated with the Board to take any bold steps in the future that might threaten to undermine the patriarchy that is sought to be provided with a suitable ‘Islamic’ gloss. The Deobandi ulema who dominate the Board are carefully groomed in a tradition of extreme patriarchy, as is evident from even a cursory reading of the fatwas and writings of their leading scholars. Hope for reform, therefore, lies in the writings and arguments of Islamic scholars from other schools of Islamic thought and jurisprudence.
 

One such school is the Ahl–i–Hadith, representing a small minority among Indian Muslims. In contrast to the Deobandis and the Barelvis, the Ahl–i–Hadith insist that Muslims need not be bound by the jurisprudential precedent of the early ulema, but, instead, should rely solely on the Koran and the genuine (sahih) prophetic traditions. They are rigid scripturalists and extreme literalists, sharing much in common with the Wahhabis of Saudi Arabia. Although their position on a range of issues is thoroughly reactionary and obscurantist (leading Ahl–i–Hadith scholars are on record as hailing the Wahhabi rulers of Saudi Arabia as representing the only ‘true’ Islamic regime in the world), on the question of triple talaq they adopt a somewhat progressive stance, declaring the practice as unequivocally illegal.
 

The Mumbai–based Maulana Mukhtar Ahmad Nadvi is a leading Indian Ahl–i–Hadith scholar. In his recently published Urdu book titled Talaq: Kitab-o Sunnat Ki Roshni Mein Tafsili Jai’za (‘Divorce: A Detailed Study in the Light of the Koran and the Prophetic Practice’), he writes that the practice of triple talaq was sternly condemned by the Prophet himself. The Prophet, he says, declared divorce to be the ‘most hateful’ of things allowed by God. He argues that Islam lays great stress on harmonious conjugal relations, and quotes a Hadith, or saying of the Prophet, in which Muhammad is said to have told his followers that the best among them was he who was best for, or towards, his wife.
 

He then goes on to describe the method of divorce laid down in the Koran and enforced by the Prophet. In case a dispute arises between husband and wife, Nadvi writes, they should first try to solve it through dialogue. If this does not work, the Koran instructs them to appoint one arbiter each from the family of the husband and the wife, who can try and resolve their differences. Only when this fails should they take the drastic measure of divorce.
 

In the Prophet’s time, Nadvi explains, divorce took the form of the husband uttering the word talaq three times, spaced over three consecutive menstrual cycles of the wife. During this period, the husband was to abstain from sexual intercourse with his wife, but was to keep her in the house and provide for her. In this way, the husband was given adequate time to seriously reconsider his decision to divorce. The first two talaqs could be revoked by the husband, but if the third talaq was pronounced during or at the end of the third menstrual cycle, the divorce was considered final and irrevocable. If the husband had sexual intercourse with his wife before uttering the third talaq in the third menstrual cycle, the previous talaqs were nullified.
 

Likewise, if he uttered the talaq at a time when his wife was menstruating, it would not be considered valid. In this regard, Nadvi relates that on one occasion a companion of the Prophet gave talaq to his wife while she was in menstruation. On learning of this, the Prophet ordered the man to take back his wife, and did not recognise the talaq. Nadvi also writes that at the time of the Prophet if a man uttered the word talaq more than once in one sitting, it was considered as just a single talaq.
 

This being the method of divorce at the time of the Prophet, it is considered to be in accordance with his sunnat, or practice, and hence is called talaq–i–sunnat. Since Muslims consider the prophetic practice a normative model for them to follow, Nadvi says, this is the method of divorce that they should adopt. No other method of divorce, he writes, can be considered binding, as that would be a violation of the sunnat. Nadvi devotes considerable attention to the practice of triple talaq in one sitting, arguing that it has no sanction in the Koran and in the traditions of the Prophet. Being, in Islamic legal parlance, a bida’at, or wrongful innovation, it is not part of the Prophet’s sunnat and hence cannot be considered as sanctioned in accordance with the Shari’ah.
 

In this regard, Nadvi refers to a saying of the prophet in which he strongly condemned all forms of bida’at, suggesting that those who created innovations in the faith were accursed by God. Since the practice of triple talaq in one sitting is a bida’at, he argues that those who practise or sanction it actually do so in violation of God’s will and hence are condemnable in God’s eyes. In fact, he stresses, the Prophet explicitly condemned the practice of triple talaq.  He writes that once, when the Prophet heard that one of his companions, or sahaba, had sought to divorce his wife in this way, he was enraged and sternly admonished him, saying, "What, shall God’s book be played around with and I am present among you?"

Since the practice of triple talaq in one sitting is a bida'at, or wrongful innovation, Nadvi argues that those who practise or sanction it actually do so in violation of God's will and hence are condemnable in God's eyes. In fact, he stresses, the Prophet explicitly condemned the practice of triple talaq.

Nadvi refers to another Hadith, according to which Rukana, a companion of the Prophet, once pronounced three talaqs in one sitting but later repented. He approached the Prophet for help and the Prophet told him that the three talaqs he had given amounted to only a single talaq and therefore he could go back to his wife if he wanted to. To bolster his argument about the illegality of three talaqs in one sitting, Nadvi further adds that not a single instance is reported of such a form of talaq being accepted by the Prophet as constituting a final, irrevocable divorce.
 

The talaq–i–sunnat method, Nadvi writes, was followed in the Prophet’s time, and this was continued under his successor and the first Caliph of the Sunnis, Abu Bakr. The second Sunni Caliph, ‘Umar, too, followed this rule, but in the third year of his reign he is said to have modified it and to have made three talaqs in one sitting as legally binding and as constituting an irrevocable divorce. If the couple divorced in this fashion wanted to reunite they could only do so by resorting to what is called halala: the woman would have to marry another man, this marriage would have to be consummated, the woman would have to take a divorce from her second husband and only then could she remarry her first husband. The ulema who continue to insist on the legality of this method of talaq, and who also sanction the practice of halala, rely essentially on this decision of ‘Umar.
 

As a Sunni, Nadvi does not challenge ‘Umar’s decision directly, but in order to argue that this method of divorce has no sanction in Islam he insists that this innovation was simply ‘Umar’s own personal opinion, or ijtihad, which cannot be held to supersede or overrule the explicit commandments of the Koran and the Prophet on divorce. He argues that ‘Umar intended this modification to be only a temporary measure, and simply as a means to address a novel situation that had arisen in his time when men were misusing their prerogative to divorce their wives.
 

It was, he writes, in order to stop men from abusing their right to talaq that ‘Umar decided to make three talaqs in one sitting a final, irrevocable divorce. By doing so, he intended to warn men of the grave consequences of the break-up of their families if they misused their right to divorce. ‘Umar’s ruling was thus intended to protect women rather than harass them although today this ruling is being used precisely to serve the latter purpose. Nadvi insists that this constitutes a flagrant violation of Islam and here quotes the Prophet as imploring for God’s wrath on those men who misuse their right to divorce.
 

Nadvi opposes the view of many traditionalist scholars who claim that ‘Umar’s decision was unanimously agreed upon by all the sahaba, or companions, of the Prophet present. He insists that ‘Umar’s decision does not constitute an ‘ijma, or collective consensus, of the sahaba, which is evoked as a principal source of law by the ulema. He cites the instances of several leading sahaba who dissented from ‘Umar’s decision in this regard, including, and most importantly, ‘Ali, the fourth Caliph of the Sunnis and the first Shi’a Imam, ‘Abdullah ibn Abbas, Zubair ibn Awam and ‘Abd ur–Rahman ibn Awf. Following them, several of their followers, too, differed with ‘Umar on this issue. In fact, Nadvi writes, there has never been any ‘ijma on three talaqs in one sitting as constituting a final, irrevocable divorce.
 

Numerous ulema down the ages to the present day have opposed this position, strongly criticising those ulema who hold the contrary opinion for upholding what they consider as a bida’at. Nadvi writes that among those who dissented from ‘Umar’s decision of considering three talaqs in one sitting as constituting a final divorce were such leading Islamic jurisprudents as Imam Ahmad ibn Hanbal, founder of the Hanbali school of Sunni jurisprudence, several followers of Imam Malik and Imam Abu Hanifa, founders of the Maliki and Hanafi schools of jurisprudence respectively, the influential scripturalist reformist Ibn Taimiyah and his disciple Imam Ibn Qayyim al–Jawziya.
 

Having thus proved the absence of any ‘ijma on ‘Umar’s decision, Nadvi writes that Muslims must accept the sunnat of the Prophet and the practice of Abu Bakr rather than ‘Umar’s opinion on the matter of talaq. The Prophet’s sunnat, and not that of his Caliphs, has normative authority for Muslims, and if any of the Caliphs departed from the Prophet’s tradition, Muslims must follow the Prophet and not the Caliphs in this regard. Furthermore, as the first Caliph of the Sunnis, Abu Bakr had more authority than ‘Umar, and so his practice in the matter of talaq, which was identical to that of the Prophet, must be followed, instead of ‘Umar’s opinion.

The conservative ulema, Nadvi observes, depart from the sunnat (practice) of the Prophet not only on the issue of triple talaq but also on a range of other issues related to talaq that impinge on the rights of Muslim women.

Umar’s ijtihad cannot be considered, Nadvi stresses, as constituting a permanent modification of the Shari’ah, which cannot be changed. The only unchangeable sources of law, he says, are the Koran and the genuine Hadith, and both these set out the sunnat method of talaq, which, therefore, must be strictly adhered to. Since ‘Umar’s opinion on talaq departs from the Koran and the genuine Hadith, it cannot be accepted as a legally binding decision. Furthermore, Nadvi writes that since it is argued by those who defend ‘Umar’s rule that it was intended as a punishment (ta’zir) for erring husbands, one must raise the question as to whether this decision has proved to be adequate or suitable for the purpose. Since it is today being used largely to harass hapless wives instead of punishing oppressive husbands, it does not serve its original purpose at all and hence must be banned, Nadvi insists.
 

The conservative ulema, Nadvi observes, depart from the sunnat of the Prophet not only on the issue of triple talaq but also on a range of other issues related to talaq that impinge on the rights of Muslim women. Thus, he notes, many ulema (and these include most Barelvis and Deobandis) insist that talaq uttered by the husband while drunk or while asleep, in a fit of anger or while under coercion, is binding. This, Nadvi insists, is completely at odds with the teachings of the Prophet. He writes that talaq given under coercion has no recognition or validity, for the Koran explicitly lays down that there can be ‘no coercion in religion’. Just as if a person is forced to utter ‘words of infidelity’ (kalimat-i kufr) he is not considered to have become a disbeliever, or if a non-Muslim is forced to utter the Islamic creed of confession he is not considered a Muslim, so, too, if a man is coerced into pronouncing talaq, it has no validity in law.
 

Similarly, Nadvi writes, if a person pronounces talaq in a state of drunkenness or insanity, it is not to be considered valid, for he is at that time not in possession of his senses. To back his argument, he refers to a Koranic verse which warns people not to pray while drunk, and to worship only when they know what they are saying. This implies, he says, that God does not regard a drunken man’s utterances of any value. Similarly, using the same logic, Nadvi opposes the argument of those ulema who claim that talaq uttered in a fit of anger, when the man does not know the consequences of what he is saying, is binding.  
 

On the question of halala, too, Nadvi stiffly opposes the Deobandi and the Barelvi ulema. He writes that the practice is abominable, and goes so far as to equate it with adultery (zina). He says that it has no sanction whatsoever in Islam, quoting the Prophet as having invoked God’s anger on those who engaged in the practice. He adds that there is an urgent need to promote popular awareness about halala and its seriously deleterious consequences, especially for hapless women who are sometimes subjected to this practice.
 

The practice of talaq–i–bida’at and the associated practice of halala, Nadvi writes, are sought to be legitimised by influential sections of the ulema by evoking the notion of jurisprudential precedent. They claim that since the founders of the schools of Sunni jurisprudence and several of their followers upheld these practices, they cannot be rescinded. This, indeed, is the position taken by most Deobandi and Barelvi ulema in India today. Nadvi stiffly opposes this argument, arguing that the founding Imams of the four schools never claimed infallibility for themselves. Indeed, he adds, they went so far as to insist that if any of their opinions violated the Koran and the genuine Hadith, they were to be rejected, and the latter were to be followed in their place.
 

Since the practice of accepting triple talaq in one sitting as constituting a final divorce and the associated practice of halala violate the Koran and the genuine Hadith, Nadvi says, those who claim to be faithful adherents of the established schools of jurisprudence, and this includes the Deobandis and the Barelvis, must follow the position of the Koran and the genuine Hadith in this regard if they are to be considered true followers of their Imams. To refuse to do so, Nadvi asserts, is absolutely forbidden (haram). Those who continue to uphold the practice of triple talaq in one sitting and justify halala are thus, he says, ‘grave sinners’ (sakht gunehgar) in God’s eyes. Leading ulema in several Muslim countries, such as Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Kuwait, Egypt, Sudan and Syria have outlawed triple talaq in one sitting and halala on Islamic grounds, and Nadvi insists that there is no reason why the Indian ulema should not do the same.
 

Another Indian Ahl–i–Hadith scholar who has written on the vexed issue of triple talaq in one sitting is the Kuwait-based Hafiz Muhammad Ishaq Zahid. In his Ahl-i–Hadith Aur Ulema-i Harimayn Ka Ittefaqi Ra’i (‘The Consensual Opinion of the Ahl–i–Hadith and the Ulema of the Holy Cities’), Zahid makes much the same arguments as Nadvi. He adds that ‘Umar’s opinion has no legal status since ‘Umar himself later revoked it. On the question of the alleged ‘ijma of the sahaba on ‘Umar’s ruling, he follows Nadvi in dismissing this claim, and goes so far as to label it ‘baseless propaganda’. He writes that even the conservative ulema who claim an ‘ijma of the sahaba on ‘Umar’s opinion agree that prior to ‘Umar there existed an ‘ijma on Abu Bakr’s opposition to triple talaq in one sitting and on his insistence on the talaq-i sunnat method. The ‘ijma of the sahaba in Abu Bakr’s time has more legitimacy than the alleged ‘ijma in Umar’s time, says Zahid, for the Sunnis believe Abu Bakr to have been superior to ‘Umar. Hence, the ‘command’ (hukm) of ‘Umar cannot be held to overrule the ‘ijma of the sahaba in Abu Bakr’s time on the matter of divorce, especially since it was identical to the Prophet’s own opinion.
 

Likewise, Zahid, adds, the fourth Caliph of the Sunnis, Hazrat ‘Ali, did not accept ‘Umar’s ruling on triple talaq, and hence the alleged ‘ijma cannot be said to have been accepted after ‘Umar as well. In actual fact, says Zahid, ‘Umar’s decision was his own personal ijtihad, not a legal order based on the Shari’ah. The ijtihad of a person is not binding on anyone else and has no validity if it goes against the explicit commandments of the Koran and the genuine Hadith. Furthermore, a person’s ijtihad cannot be regarded as permanently binding, for a rule derived from ijtihad changes with change of time or place (zaman-o makan), and lacks permanent status, unlike the Koran and the sunnat of the Prophet. For these reasons, Zahid writes, the ruling of ‘Umar has no legal binding. Instead of following it, Muslims must follow the method of divorce laid down in the Koran and enjoined upon by the Prophet.
 

The Ahl-i Hadith are not alone in their opposition to the stance of many Deobandi and Barelvi ulema and the AIMPLB on the question of the practice of triple talaq in one sitting. Numerous Muslim reformers have lent their voice to the demand that the practice be outlawed. Yet, blind adherence to the established schools of jurisprudence as well as deeply entrenched patriarchy continue to pose a major hurdle in coaxing the conservative ulema to agree to ban the practice. As the refusal of the AIMPLB to condemn the practice suggests, the conservative ulema seem to be in no mood to listen to the voice of reason or even to arguments that insist that their own position on the issue has no legitimacy in Islam itself.
 

Archived from Communalism Combat, July 2004 Year 10   No. 99, Cover Story 10

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harmonious blending of various different traditions
 

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Over the last fifty years, Hyderabad has witnessed large–scale violence. Although deliberately engineered by political parties and vested interests in mot cases, they have been sought to be projected as ‘Hindu–Muslim riots’. Hyderabad is home to numerous Sufi dargahs, where people of all faith traditions come together to worship collectively. Such indigenous shared cultural and spiritual resources need to be further researched and promoted. In what follows, 74–year old Ranoji, from a Hindu Rangrez family, a resident of Hyderabad, speaks to Yoginder Sikand about his long association with a famous Qadri Sufi dargah of the city.
 

My name is Ranoji, I am 74–years–old. I belong to the Marathi Rangrez caste. Our ancestral profession is dying cloth. Although I know that art, I used to work as a tailor. I was born and have lived all my life in Hyderabad.

I am a poor man and have not even been to school. Yet, I have always been in search of a guru. My first guru was a swami from my own caste. Then, I became a disciple of a Brahmin and after that of the head of a Lingayat math. I have been coming to this dargah for almost forty years now. Nowadays, I spend the whole day here helping visitors. At night I sleep at the foot of the tomb of the late pir, who was my guru. All my four gurus taught me the same wisdom (gyan). Only the forms (roop) and language (bhasha) were different.

Some people ask me, "You were born in a Hindu family, then why do you live in a dargah and eat and sleep with Muslims?" But I tell them that just as the sun shines on everybody and the winds blow across every one’s fields, so also the same God has created and looks after every human being. The third eye of Shivji is the same as what Muslims call the nazar–i–nur (the eye of light), in whose sight there is no Muslim or Hindu or anything like that.

I never used to go to dargahs before. Once, when I was around forty and was working in a tailoring shop, the pir of this dargah, who passed away three years ago, came to the shop. He spoke to the seth (owner) of the shop and said that someone had told him that Ranoji makes good caps. My seth was a very short–tempered person. He told the pir sahib, ‘Caps? Who makes them nowadays?’ The pir sahib then turned to leave, but I entered the room and said to him, "Sahib, were you looking for the seth of the shop or for Ranoji?" He looked at me and said, "I was asking for Ranoji, my son". Then I told him, "Sahib, I am the Ranoji you are looking for. Tell me, of what service can I be to you?"

The pir sahib told me that he wanted me to make a cap for him. I drew various designs for him, but he kept saying, "No, no, not this one". Then I folded my hands and said, "Forgive me sahib, I am an uneducated man, but can I ask you a question?" He said, "Certainly, by all means". I said, "Sahib, please tell me, where did you get the idea of making this special sort of cap, whose design is so difficult for me to draw?" He replied that he had recently gone on the haj to Mecca Sharif, and there he was told in a dream that he should make a cap of a particular design for him to wear.

My pir was a devout Muslim, but he never asked me or any of his other Hindu disciples to become Muslim. He used to say if you realise yourself you will realise God. He used to tell me that all the Sufis had only one teaching: love (ishq). Love not only for God but also for all of His creatures.

I was so astonished on hearing that! Well, after that we managed, together, to design the cap he wanted. I asked him what colour he wanted it to be and he said the blue of the throat of a peacock (mor ki kanthi). So, I made the mor ki kanthi colour cap and he was very pleased.

That is how I first came in touch with the pir sahib and the dargah. Oh, that was so many years ago! After that I used to go sometimes to thedargah to meet the pir sahib, especially when I was not well or had somepersonal or family problem and he would pray for me.

One evening, I went to the dargah to meet the pir sahib. He had gone to another dargah for urs, so I waited for him to return. He returned at two in the morning after the qawwali was over. I thought he was tired, so I did not want to disturb him. I just sat on a bench in the porch of the dargah.

In the morning, I suddenly awoke to find people running here and there, shouting loudly. I asked them what the matter was. Somebody told me that the pir sahib had had a heart attack and he had been rushed to the hospital. When I heard this I went running to the hospital. The guard at the door told me I couldn’t enter because the pir sahib had been prohibited from speaking to anyone. So, I stood outside the door, crying. Just then the pir sahib told the nurse, ‘My disciple (chela) is outside, tell him to come in’. She tried to reason with him, saying that the doctors had given strict orders that he should not speak to anyone. But he would not listen and insisted that I be let in. So, the nurse relented and allowed me to come inside the chamber.

When I entered, the pir sahib sat up in his bed and embraced me. I helped him to the toilet and then changed his clothes for him. The nurse brought him some soup, but he refused to eat. His wife and daughter were there. They, too, tried to convince him to eat but he wouldn’t listen. Finally, I took some bread, soaked it in the soup and said, "Sahib, please eat, for my sake". He agreed and I fed him with my own hands. After finishing his food, he looked around and asked me if anyone else had come to see him. There was no one else apart from his family and me. He asked his daughter to give him a notebook and a pencil. He wrote my name on a piece of paper and gave it to me. I think what he wanted to say was that I was the only one who had come to him in his hour of need. This world is really selfish, brother, what can I tell you?

The pir sahib remained in the hospital for several weeks till he recovered. Every evening, after finishing my work in the shop, I would go to the hospital to be with him. That is how I became so close to him and he accepted me as his chela.

One day, when the qawwals were singing at the dargah, the pir sahib took me in front of the main grave and said a dua, praying to God for me. At that time I was keeping the fast (vrat) of Narsimha Dev and so had grown my hair long. After that I said to him, "Sahib, can you please show me a place here where I can recite the name of God (ishvar ke nam ka jap karna)?" He took me to the main chamber of the dargah, where the graves of the founder of this dargah and his wife are located. He pointed to the gap between the two graves and said, "Sit here and do your meditation".

He let me pray in whatever way I wanted to. He used to say that the Sufis believe that though different people use different names for God, it’s all the same thing. In my zikr I generally recite the kalima, ‘lailaha ilallaha, muhammadur rasul allah’ (‘There is no God but Allah and Muhammad is His Prophet’).You know, that is the same as Ram nam satya hai (‘Ram’s name is the Truth’) or Om namah Shivaye.

My pir was a devout Muslim, but he never asked me or any of his other Hindu disciples to become Muslim. He used to say if you realise yourself you will realise God. He used to tell me that all the Sufis had only one teaching: love (ishq). Love not only for God but also for all of His creatures.

My pir would treat me like his own son. He would hug me and say, "Ranoji is my very life" (Ranoji meri jaan hai). He would tell me, "Son, this world is a toy which lasts only for a few days. The real life, which shall never end, comes only after death". He would constantly think of death. In fact, he dug his own grave eighteen years before his death. He told me that I must be present at his burial.

The pir sahib passed away three– years–ago. We do not believe that pirs die. Their spirits continue to guide us. That is why I spend all my time in the dargah at my pir’s feet. I am a poor illiterate man, I have never been to school. But, my pir was a spiritual university by all by himself.

You know, my brother, all this talk about Hindu–Musalman is really wrong. Love alone is true religion (saccha dharm).

Mandir dhoya masjid dhoya

mal mal ke ang dhoya

dil ka mayl na dhoya

tu kya paya?

(You cleaned the temple, you cleaned the mosque

You scrubbed all the parts of your body clean

But if you didn’t remove the dirt in your heart,

Then, what have you achieved?)

Archived from Communalism Combat, July 1999, Year 6  No. 51, Ethos

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