 |
 |
Meet The
Muslim Thackerays and Muslim Togadias:
Along with a vast
majority of people in his constituency, we too had enormous faith...
Read Full |
|
|
Last week, tens of thousands of
men—this was a strictly all-male gathering—descended on the town of
Deoband in Uttar Pradesh’s Saharanpur district to attend the 30th
annual convention of the Jamiat Ulema-I-Hind, a leading body of
Muslim clerics of the ultra-conservative Deobandi sect. Sources
claimed that the gathering numbered over five hundred thousand,
brought in from across India. Impassable crowds clogged the narrow,
dusty pathways leading to the venue of the rally, and so, although I
had traveled all the way from Bangalore to report on the event, I
had to content myself by listening to the speeches relayed by
loudspeakers while sitting a mile away, in the portals of the Darul
Uloom, possibly the world’s largest madrasa and the nerve-centre of
the Deobandi movement.
The event commenced with a maulvi
reciting an Urdu poem extolling the sacrifices of the ulema of the
Jamiat in India’s freedom struggle. ‘Were it not for us’, he burst
forth, ‘you’—by which he probably meant the Hindus of India—‘would
still be labouring under the yoke of the British.’ ‘We stiffly
opposed the creation of Pakistan. We have sacrificed our lives for
the country. We condemn all forms of terror. We love our India,
whether or not you believe this’, he went on. The men sitting around
me—dressed, like the rest of the crowd, in white kurta-pyjama, and
sporting unkempt beards and white skull-caps—enthusiastically shook
their heads in agreement. Like the maulvi-poet, they laboured under
the burden of being forced to prove their patriotism, their
anti-Pakistani credentials, and their opposition to terrorism—an
unenviable predicament they were compelled to share with the rest of
their co-religionists at a time of heightened Islamophobia the world
over.
More than the speeches delivered at
the rally it was the response of some of those who attended the
event, including a number of students and graduates of the Darul
Uloom, that interested me. And, among these, it were the cynics who
impressed me the most. ‘This is just a political stunt orchestrated
by the self-styled head of the Jamiat, Maulana Mahmud Madani’, said
Akram, a peasant from a village near Saharanpur. ‘The rally is
simply a show of strength, to impress upon the Congress his claim to
be the leader of the Muslims, and to curry favour with Congress
bosses’.
Akram spoke of murky goings-on within
the Jamiat. ‘These selfish mullahs can never agree, though they keep
harping on Muslim unity. They love nothing more than fighting among
themselves.’ The Jamiat had split into several rival groups, he
explained. One was led by the recently deceased Maulana Fuzail. The
other two were headed by Maulana Arshad Madani and his nephew,
Maulana Mahmud Madani, respectively. Maulana Arshad had recently
organized an anti-terrorism conference, which had invited much media
attention. Not to be outdone, Akram explained, Mahmud, who had
emerged as his principal rival, had now arranged for this mammoth
rally. ‘A petty game of one-upmanship’, Akram remarked. Mahmud’s
branch of the Jamiat, he claimed, had splurged vast sums of money
for this purpose, subsidizing train fares to the men who had been
brought in, lured by the prospect of a free holiday in Deoband and
free chicken biryani—‘neither of which’, Akram joked, ‘a true
Deobandi could ever refuse’. ‘How can these mullahs unite the
Muslims and speak for us, when they cannot even unite among
themselves?’, he angrily spluttered.
‘You won’t spot a single
modern-educated Muslim in this huge carnival’, said Faisal, the
owner of a bookshop located adjacent to the Darul Uloom. ‘The
maulvis shun them, not just because they don’t find them religious
enough but also because they fear that they will challenge their
hegemony’. He indicated the crowd surging past his shop. Their
features, dress and mannerisms all revealed, he said, that they were
all poor peasants, madrasa teachers or maulvis. ‘The maulvis have
little or no understanding of the modern world, so how can they
provide us Muslims with proper leadership?’, he continued. ‘But
because the Muslim middle class remains indifferent to community
issues, engrossed in their pursuit of material acquisition or simply
too scared to speak out against the mullahs’ obscurantist views, the
mullahs’ hold on the community continues unchallenged’. ‘That’s why
lakhs of Muslims have so easily been mobilized by the Jamiat for
this mela’.
Bilal, a student of the Darul Uloom,
decried the opposition of the Jamiat leaders to madrasa reforms,
which was reflected in the resolution they passed at the conclusion
of the conference decrying the suggestion that the Government set up
a national madrasa board. ‘These politically influential maulvis
send their sons to modern schools and even abroad, but they won’t
let us madrasa students, most of who come from very poor families,
learn anything about the modern world. They want us to remain
ignorant so that they can continue to play politics in our name.’ He
pointed to an open drain that ran along the wall outside the madrasa,
clogged with grey water, plastic bags and blobs of fresh human
refuse, out of which emerged an overpowering, nauseous sulphurous
stench. Ahead, built into the outside wall of a mosque, a door-less
toilet was littered with excrement that spilled out onto the street.
‘According to a saying attributed to the Prophet, cleanliness is
half of faith. And so, as you can see, here half our faith is in the
gutters!’
Bilal took me around the hostels of
the madrasa, into dark, dingy airless rooms, each shared by more
than half a dozen students. Cobwebs hung like thick curtains in
corners, and the floors were strewn with filth. The scenario was
even more pathetic at the nearby Darul Uloom Waqf, a madrasa set up
by a rival group of Deobandi maulvis in the wake of a coup
engineered by the Madani family that forcibly ousted the then rector
of the Deoband madrasa, Maulana Qari Tayyeb, in 1980. Vegetable
peels and waste daal and rice law thrown around in large puddles
outside the students’ rooms, under vast armies of flies. ‘The
maulvis here, who never tire of claiming to be heirs of the Prophet,
simply don’t care about all this. All they hanker after is power and
fame’, Bilal rued.
The next morning’s newspapers gave
wide coverage to the Deoband rally, focusing particularly on one of
the many resolutions that the Jamiat had passed—its opposition to
the compulsory singing of the Vande Mataram song. Rizwan, a graduate
of the Dar ul-Ulum, now teaching in a Deobandi madrasa in Agra,
summed up what seemed to be a widely-shared feeling among the
participants at the rally. ‘We love India, but it is ridiculous to
demand that our loyalty be tested on the basis of our attitude to
this song.’ The song, originally contained in a book that openly
spewed hatred against Muslims, had generated a major stir even in
pre-independence days, he explained. It was also, he pointed out,
unacceptable not just to Muslims but to other monotheists, for it
spoke of the worship of the motherland as a deity. At the same time,
he added, there was simply no need for the Jamiat to have raked up
the issue that had been lying dormant for years. ‘It’s probably a
deliberate tactic of Maulana Mahmud and his cronies to leap into the
limelight by igniting a controversy and then presenting themselves
as leaders of the Muslims’, he mused.
Rizwan was equally critical of the
media coverage of the rally. ‘The media has pounced on the Vande
Mataram issue, conveniently ignoring the other resolutions passed at
the rally—the Jamiat’s condemnation of terrorism, its demand for the
implementation of the recommendations of the Sachar Committee
report, its call for combating communalism and providing security to
Muslims and so on’. ‘Like our self-styled leaders behind this Jamiat-sponsored
drama’, he added ‘the media, too, is simply not interested in the
welfare of the Muslim masses. They both revel in stirring wholly
avoidable controversies, while it is the hapless Muslim masses who
continue to suffer, and whose voices continue to go unheard.’
|