Arshad Amanullah is a graduate of the Jami‘a Salafia, Varanasi, the apex madrasa of the Ahl-i Hadith in India. A graduate in Mass Communications from the Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi, he is presently a freelance documentary film maker.
(Interviewed by Yoginder Sikand)
Q: Could you tell us something about your background?
A: I am from Jharkhand, in eastern India, and that is where I grew up. I did well in the matriculation examinations, so my father wanted me to join engineering college. But by this time I developed an interest in Islamic studies. It all started when, once, I happened to pray in a mosque belonging to the Barelvi sect that follows many customs associated with popular Sufism. Since my family belongs to the rival Ahl-e Hadith sect similar to the ‘Wahhabis’ who denounce Sufism and many popular practices as ‘un-Islamic’, we pray in a slightly different way, and when the Barelvis saw me praying they drove me out of the mosque! The imam of the mosque insisted that if I wanted to pray in the mosque I would have to do so the way the Barelvis do, but I refused and I stopped going to that mosque. This set me thinking about the different understandings of Islam and the sectarian problem. I began reading about Islam, and then decided to go in for Islamic studies instead of engineering. I took admission in an Ahl-e Hadith madrasa in Keonjhar in Orissa and spent a little more than a year there. After that I shifted to the Jamia Salafiya in Varanasi, which is the apex madrasa of the Ahl-e Hadith in India, where I spent seven years, from 1994 to 2000. Barring in one year, I consistently topped the class.
After I finished the course at the madrasa I was told that I might be able to get a scholarship to study in Saudi Arabia but I refused, because I did not want to live in a kingdom where there is no freedom of expression. Besides, I had grown increasingly opposed to the conservative ‘Wahhabi’ Salafism that is taught in the Saudi universities. Instead, I decided to come to Delhi, and enrolled at the Jamia Millia Islamia, a Central Government university, for a BA degree, after which I did an MA in Mass Communications from the same university.
Q: Looking back on your years in the madrasa, how do you think you have gained from the sort of education that you received there?
A: Well, I did manage to learn about the Quran and the Traditions attributed to the Prophet, which I probably would not have had I not joined the madrasa. However, I must say that my interest was more in Muslim philosophy and literature, about which we were taught relatively little. Instead, enormous stress was paid to the nitty-gritty of legal and ritualistic issues or fiqh, such as the proper length of the beard, the proper way of wearing one’s trousers or styling one’s hair. I am not saying that these are unimportant, but what is the use of having a beard but harbouring evil in your heart?
In many madrasas the focus is on these external things, which are really not such fundamental issues that we should be obsessed with them. Most people in the madrasas, teachers as well as students, are not exposed to the world around them. They have a very different way of thinking. And, like in many other madrasas, in our madrasa, too, there were some people who were fiercely sectarian. Almost every madrasa is associated with one sect or the other, and many ulema associated with the madrasas see as one of their principle tasks the rebuttal of other sects.
Q: Was the rebuttal of other sects actually taught to you as a subject?
A: Well, we were made to believe that only our sect—the Ahl-e Hadith—is correct, while the other Muslim groups are deviant in some way or the other. To begin with, I was a hardcore Ahl-e Hadith, too, so much so when the police raided the Nadwat ul-Ulama madrasa in Lucknow I secretly rejoiced since I thought that the Nadwis followed a deviant sect.
This belief in the superiority of the Ahl-e Hadith was sought to be constantly reinforced in the classroom. So, we were taught that our way of praying is correct and that of the other Muslims, such as the Hanafis, is not valid. But, gradually, I realised that this approach, of rebutting other groups through forceful polemics, is pointless. You can’t force others to change. If you think you are right that’s fine, but others also have a right to do what they think is correct, provided it does not create any social problems.
Q: How did your own views on inter-Muslim sectarian differences begin to evolve?
A: After a while at the madrasa, I got fed up with the obsession with the details of rituals, and began reading up on social issues and history. I also started studying the works of the ulema of other schools with an open mind, in order to learn from them, rather than simply to rebut them, as is the normal fashion. At this time I also started writing for the Jamia Salafiya’s students’ fortnightly wall-magazine al-Manar, of which I was the editor, and for the madrasa’s journal, Muhaddith. I tried to broaden the scope of the wall-magazine to include new sorts of issues, such as Orientalism, the musical aspects of the recitation of the Qur’an, various social problems and so on.
Q: There has been some talk about the need for introducing social science teaching in the madrasa syllabus. How do you respond to this proposal?
A: I think it is very important. Madrasa students, as well as most of the ulema, imagine that if you internalise the Qur’an and the teachings of your sect all your personal and social problems will be automatically solved. And then, to make matters even more complicated, there is a certain trend among many ulema to attribute all the problems of the Muslims to what they insist is a Zionist-Hindu-Christian conspiracy, without carefully analysing the real roots of the problems, thereby absolving Muslims of any responsibility in the matter.
This approach of looking at all questions and offering solutions simply in terms of theology and jurisprudence, divorced from empirical social reality, is also reflected in the writings of many ulema. Thus, for instance, some Indian Ahl-e Hadith scholars are translating and publishing the fatwas of Saudi Arabian ulema and seeking to impose their views on us in India, although we live in a very different context, which calls for different responses on a range of issues. Blindly following the fatwas of a certain scholar just because he is a Saudi is bizarre.
Q: It has been suggested that the Ahl-e Hadith in India are today seeking to present themselves as a carbon copy of the Saudi ‘Wahhabis’, primarily to gain Saudi money. Do you agree?
A: Well, that seems to be the direction in which some, though not all, Indian Ahl-e Hadith are moving, and in this the lure of Saudi petrodollars also has some role to play. In the past, there were some Indian Ahl-e Hadith leaders who differed from Saudi scholars on certain issues, and they exercised their own judgment or ijtihad. For instance, Maulana Daud Ghaznavi, one of the pioneers of the Ahl-e Hadith movement in India, was influenced by Sufism, although the official Saudi scholars are opposed to Sufism. The Maulana used to perform some ritual practices that are considered to be Sufistic by the Ahl-e Hadith. He was convinced that these practices had their origins in the Quran and the genuine Prophetic traditions.
Today, however, efforts are being made to make the Indian Ahl-e Hadith a replica of the Saudi Salafis. So, now some of them prefer to call themselves ‘Salafis’, rather than ‘Ahl-e Hadith’ in order, perhaps, to stress their closeness with the Saudis. Several of them preach a sort of understanding of Islam that has no room for interpretation, one that is extremely literalist and intolerant of other understandings. In turn, this has led to a growing distance from ordinary people and their problems, and to a distinct sense of elitism.
I think this has a political dimension as well. The early Ahl-e Hadith was a progressive movement in many senses. Their opposition to the blind following of traditional jurisprudence, stressing genuine Prophetic traditions over fiqh, was a progressive stance. But now, partly due to the Saudi connection, sections of the movement are growing increasingly reactionary, raising minor issues of difference with other Muslim sects in order to condemn them. Because of this, the moderates in the Ahl-e Hadith are being increasingly silenced.
Another result of this increasing sectarianism, in which some Ahl-e Hadith ulema are playing a leading role, is that many problems of the community—education, communalism, poverty and so on—are being sidelined as rival sects fight over petty issues of ritual or doctrinal differences. Just to cite one instance: a fatwa of the late Shaikh Bin Baz, who served as chief official Saudi mufti, condemning the lifting up of one’s hands to ask for prayer as an ‘innovation’ has been translated and published by an Ahl-e Hadith scholar in India, and this has led to much acrimony among the different Muslim groups who differ with the Ahl-e Hadith on this issue. Aren’t there more pressing things to think about?
Q: How exactly do you think some sections of the Ahl-e Hadith in India are actually serving Saudi interests?
A: When the Soviet Union was still around, American anti-communist propaganda was actively promoted by the Saudis, who arranged for this to be translated and published in Urdu and distributed or sold in India. The Saudi ulema sought to promote a very narrow and ritualistic sort of Islam, one that was silent on the question of social justice, which is really a fundamental pillar of the faith. And even today the Saudis are seeking to export a very conservative sort of Islam, which is obsessed with minor details of ritual. I think this sort of Islam is deliberately calculated to lull people into submission, so that they do not speak out against the Saudi monarchy, its corruption and its links with American imperialism.
Many of the pioneers of the Ahl-e Hadith were involved in the anti-colonial movement in India and some of them led uprisings against the British Raj. But today you have a situation where the ulema associated with the Saudi monarchy are not willing to speak a word against American imperialism! And you have a number of Ahl-e Hadith scholars in India who praise the Saudi monarchy for being what they call the only genuine Islamic government in the world today, a ridiculous claim that they tirelessly repeat in their writings and speeches.
Q: You mention the ‘moderates’ among the Ahl-i Hadith being somewhat sidelined by ‘hardcore’ elements. Is it really possible to make such a distinction?
A: I think so. In the Jamia Salafiya, for instance, we had some teachers who were rather liberal and others who were really hardcore. There were some teachers who were very conservative, most of whom had studied in universities in Saudi Arabia. On the other hand, the rector of the madrasa, Dr. Muqtada Hasan Azhari, was what would call a moderate, in the tradition of the Egyptian Salafis such as Muhammad Abduh. He received an award from the President of India for his services to the Arabic language, and he has also been involved in dialogue efforts with Hindus and Christians.
I recall a small incident that took place when I was a student in the madrasa in Varanasi. Just across the madrasa is a graveyard belonging to the Barelvi sect. One day some Barelvis were lighting candles on some graves. Seeing this, some students of our madrasa began pelting them with stones, shouting out that this practice was an unlawful innovation. When Dr. Azhari came to know about this he scolded the students, and told them that even if they believed that the practice was un-Islamic, throwing stones was not the way to make their point. He told them that they should seek to convince the Barelvis through dialogue rather than through violence or extremism, or else their efforts would be counterproductive.
I think this sort of approach ought to govern relations between the different Muslim sects and between Muslims and others as well. Aad to say, however, it is completely lacking in the case of the Saudi ‘Wahhabis’ and their Indian followers.
Q: How did studying at a regular university—the Jamia Millia Islamiya, New Delhi—change your own way of looking at the world?
A: My years at the madrasa in Varanasi did help me to think differently about social problems, although this was not the focus of the syllabus as such. The approach in the madrasa was definitely elitist, based on the assumption that one has access to the absolute truth and that those who think differently, such as ‘ordinary’ people and even graduates of universities, are ignorant. But in my years at the Jamia Millia I came in touch with several Marxists, who taught me to think in different terms—in terms of the general masses, the suffering and the poor. It enabled me to think in broader, humanistic terms. So, I would say, Jamia Salafia trained me to think about society and social problems, but my coming into contact with Marxist friends at Jamia Millia added a new perspective to my thinking and made it more humanitarian.
For instance, my views on relations between the genders has also been gradually transformed as a result of coming to the university. I now have many friends who are girls, and that is not an issue for me any longer. Some ulema say that girls should not be sent for higher education, and that they should sit at home instead or else they will go astray. I would like to ask them if simply sitting at home will prevent them from straying! I personally feel that Muslim girls, too, should go in for higher education, and there is nothing in Islam to stop them from doing so. If they chose to go on to work outside the home, preserving their modesty, as indeed men must, too, I think that is fine. In the Prophet’s time, too, women worked outside the home. The Prophet’s first wife, Hazrat Khadijah, was herself a trader.
Q: Have your views on other religions and their followers also undergone any change over the years?
A: In the madrasa we did not really go out, and few of us had any Hindu friends. In any case, Varanasi is a communally sensitive area, so we generally stayed to ourselves. After coming to Delhi, however, I made several Hindu friends. Earlier, I used to think that the Hindus’ Ishvar and the Muslims’ Allah can never be one, but now I think that there is only one God, who is called by different names. Having now made several Hindu friends I think it is wrong to think that all non-Muslims are somehow ‘enemies of Allah’, which is a claim that some Ahl-e Hadith extremists, such as the Lashkar-e Tayyeba in Pakistan, make.
The Quran very clearly says that to kill a single innocent human being—it makes no distinction here between Muslims and others—is tantamount to killing the whole of humanity, so how can I ever agree to what the Lashkar claims? Killing innocent people is a crime, and is not an Islamic jihad by any stretch of imagination. I think Muslim organisations must explicitly condemn killings of innocent people, no matter what the religion of their perpetrators or their victims. If you want others to be sympathetic to your problems you must also reciprocate. Just as Muslim organisations condemn right-wing Hindu groups for killing Muslims, they must also speak out against the killings of non-Muslims, such as is happening in Kashmir.
Q: You mentioned having made some Marxist friends in university. How has Marxism influenced your way of thinking? Some Muslims would argue that Marxism and Islam simply do not go together.
A: In the madrasa I was taught to believe that all Marxists are necessarily enemies of God and religion, but when I came into contact with Marxists in Delhi I realised that the ulema, in general, are silent about class differences, imperialism, social oppression and so on, which are basic social realities. I learnt to think about society and social problems in a different way after coming into contact with Marxist friends. I started reading up whatever I could on Marxism and on great Indian revolutionaries. I even took part in leftist demonstrations but I did not become a member of any Marxist students’ organisation as such.
Q: What changes would you like to see introduced in the madrasa syllabus in order to make it more relevant?
A: I think madrasas need to think in terms of the employment potential of their students. After all, there is a limit to the number of imams and preachers that our society can afford. Now, some ulema would counter this argument and claim that the students should study simply for the sake of the faith and should not be concerned about their worldly prospects. I don’t agree with this argument at all. As I see it, Islam tells you to think about your worldly conditions also. If you ignore or are indifferent to this aspect, as some ulema say we must, you are only further reinforcing the vicious cycle of poverty. This sort of socially disengaged ‘Islam’ is not really truly Islamic at all, and actually works to further entrench existing social elites.
Another issue that needs to be thought about is reform in teaching methods. Presently, the focus is simply on the learning, even memorising, of books, rather than actually understanding a discipline, as a result of which many students can hardly follow their lessons. Some madrasas have introduced blackboards, but these are rarely used. The teaching of Arabic is meant to be one of the major aims of the madrasa, but this is done in the traditional bookish manner, and little stress is given to conversational Arabic, and audio-visual methods are generally not used.
Equally importantly, I think madrasas must also introduce departments of social work. Unlike many Christian seminaries, for instance, madrasas make no proper arrangement for training the ulema to be social workers as well. They teach the students to be emotionally charged orators, but not to do concrete social work, in the mistaken belief that simply by lecturing to their congregations all our problems can be solved. What they don’t realise is that the world does not work that simply.
Another issue that desperately needs to be looked into is the sectarian approach of many madrasas. Some ulema have a vested interest in promoting and reinforcing sectarian differences, because in this way they can claim to be religious authorities and leaders of their own respective sects. Now, we cannot do away with sectarian differences, but surely we can learn to live with each other despite our differences. The ulema have to realise that there are more pressing issues confronting the Muslim community and India as a whole than the peripheral issues that they keep harping about. Unfortunately, however, there is no organised effort being made to promote intra-Muslim dialogue. The approach that some people adopt—of seeking to unite Muslims against a perceived external threat, whether real or imaginary—might work in the short run but cannot have any lasting impact, because ignoring internal differences in this way does not actually do away with them and they are bound to resurface once the perceived threat has been met. I think this question is related to the broader issue of the need to be able to critique our own selves, which is not something that many ulema are willing to do.
Q: Some advocates of madrasa reform have called for the introduction of modern social science disciplines in the madrasa curriculum. Do you feel this is important?
A: I think this is really crucial if you want the students to know about how the world is heading and if they are to play a relevant role as religious authorities. As of now, however, most ulema do not realise the importance of this, because they have little or no interaction outside their narrow circle. There is such a gap between the ulema and others that if at all when people speak to the ulema it is almost invariably about religious issues, narrowly understood. The ulema are not really aware of the world around them and so they cannot offer relevant opinions on other issues. As a result of this, they cannot counter anti-Islamic propaganda even if they want to, because their links with non-Muslims are almost non-existent. They may not even be able to communicate with them in a mutually intelligible language, because most of them read and write just Urdu and Arabic. They have little or no idea of how non-Muslims think, so their logic fails to convince them because they are not equipped to answer their questions. In response to their questions the ulema will quote from the Qur’an and the Hadith, to which their non-Muslim detractors will respond that all this is in the books but the way Muslims behave is very different. The ulema won’t be able to convincingly answer this point, of course, because they have little knowledge of the world outside. The point I want to make is that if the ulema are to be at all relevant they have no choice but to properly understand the context of India in the twenty-first century.
The absence of modern social sciences in the madrasas creates other problems, such as warped notions of Muslim identity. When I was at the madrasa I learnt history, but this was only the story of various Muslim kings and religious scholars. That sort of political history is, of course, very elitist, and so history comes to be reduced simply to the story of the ulema and the nobility, and the masses do not figure in this picture at all. If Muslim kings ruled India for a thousand years, so what? What do the Bengali Muslim peasants or impoverished Bihari Muslim weavers have to do with that? Why should it make them proud at all? After all, these Muslim kings who ruled for a thousand odd years were all from the ‘upper’ castes or ethnic groups who claimed to be superior because of their foreign origins. From the sort of history that many madrasas teach the message that is sought to be conveyed is that Islam is inseparable from political power, and that just because a Muslim happened to rule a certain country it was a blessing for Islam. This claim is fallacious. After all, although some ulema may wish to deny this, it is a fact that Muslims, too, have castes, at least in India, and the plight of the downtrodden Muslim castes was hardly different from that of their ‘low’ caste Hindu brethren in the entire period of so-called Muslim rule in India.
Another reason why we need to introduce social sciences in the madrasas is simply to make the understanding of the scriptures and Islamic jurisprudence more relevant in today’s context. Fiqh occupies a major part of the madrasa syllabus, and the majority of the Indian ulema, who belong to the Hanafi school, believe it is some sort of holy cow that cannot be touched or changed. But this, I believe, is wrong. The word fiqh actually means ‘understanding’, and is the outcome of the inferences or ijtihad of the jurisprudents, who tried to solve the problems of their times in accordance with their own understanding of the Qur’an and the Traditions attributed to the Prophet. That being the case, why can’t we do the same today and develop fiqh perspectives that are relevant in our own context? Fiqh, as it is taught in most madrasas, focuses mainly on the details of rules regarding worship, but very few madrasas teach their students about fiqh perspectives on issues of contemporary concern, although such books have been prepared by scholars. For this, I think it is necessary for madrasa students to have a good grounding in the social sciences. Introducing social sciences in the madrasas would also help them gain affiliation with universities, so that the students can go on to study a range of subjects once they graduate. This, in turn, will help them expand their career choices, which are presently very narrow and restricted.
Q: What are your own views about the ongoing debate about madrasas and ‘terrorism’?
A: Madrasas are meant to be centres of religious learning. They provide free education, and often free boarding and lodging, to a vast number of poor children, thus saving the public exchequer of a large burden. They are also playing a crucial role in promoting literacy. In the Indian context, I think that although they may be conservative they are certainly not militant and are not involved in any sort of terrorism. However, if people are pushed to the wall such conservatism can take other forms in self-defence, although this has not happened in India. I think the charge against the Indian madrasas of being ‘terror dens’ is ridiculous. Madrasa students do not even get proper food, so how can they obtain high-tech weapons?
Q: How, then, do you think that the anti-madrasa propaganda in India can be countered?
A: Some ulema have sought to defend the madrasas of the charges against them by writing books, but these are almost all in Urdu and so go unread by most non-Muslims, few of whom can read the language. I think Muslims who are in the mass media ought to work along with the ulema to counter the propaganda, and this has started to happen in some places. But because of the enormous gulf between the ulema and modern-educated Muslims this is not happening on the scale that it should.
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