Muslim Introspection

In the context of the horrific bombing in Sri Lanka last month, it is vital Muslims across the world unite against violence which is perpetuated in the name of Islam. There are episodes in recent history which give a clear indication of the malice and hostility. Amjad Sabri -- the famous qawal was killed in June 2016 by Pakistan Taliban. The Sabri family have sung devotional songs using Sufi music -- essentially aiming at bridging the gap between different faiths. Few months later 75 devotees were killed in a shrine in Sindh Pakistan in January 2017, where a specific part of the shrine was bombed where women were praying. More than 25 shrines have been targeted since 2005 in Pakistan.

There is a growing mislaid trend in Muslim world, to brush everything before the birth of Islam in 7th century, under an era of ignorance ‘jahaliya’ as it is referred to commonly. The term ‘jahaliya’ has many overtones, however, it doesn’t infer what some Muslims take as gospel truth- that the people of the era were uncivilized and philistine.

The modern charter of democracy and civil liberties is directly copied from the Roman’s, who ruled 1000 years before Islamic civilization was found in Arabia. The Roman Republic didn’t have a King by lineage. The Romans rather elected senate who in turn elected a Consul- the ruler of the time. Julius Caesar for example was a consul. Roman assemblies would meet in the Forum arena, which is somewhere close to where the current Colosseum exists. The point being that knowledge, learning and progress is never an inheritance of one civilization. Rather it is an ever flowing river from which every civilization over the course of mankind’s history has drawn ways of improving living and set forth progress.

Islamic civilization in its apogee for about 600 years was a sparkle of social justice, knowledge and equality. The Bayt-ul-Hiqma at Baghdad, House of Wisdom, attracted philosophers, scientists and theologists from many places, notably Greece. Prophet Muhammad in Arabia had set precedence. The prisoners of wars of ‘Badr’ who could teach ten Muslims to read and write were set free by him. The Muslim caliphs of the later Islamic times, like the great Harun-al-Rashid, carried the tradition and invited Greek scientists to Baghdad for teaching Muslim scholars in their universities. This led to an era of enlightenment in Muslim world. Debates, discussions and lectures on a wide range of religious, scientific and philosophical issues of the day were common at the houses of worship, which also served as centres of judicial proceedings. The role and concept of a mosque wasn’t just to pray and deliver sermons from pulpits, encouraging youngsters to throw their lives and critique an economic system which is the backbone of current world, as is the norm these days.  

Subsequently, Europe and west in the renaissance period, read the works of Muslim scholars, teachers and scientists. The works of Avicenna, Ibn Arbi, al-Idrisi, Beruni, al-Khwarizmi over a course of time were translated into French, English, and Portuguese. The ideals of European Renaissance were directly derived from Muslim theologians and scholars. It is fair to say that Arab science altered medieval Christendom beyond recognition. For the first time in centuries, Europe opened its eyes to the world around it.

With the decline of Muslim civilization beginning from the 16th century, West advanced in areas of science and philosophy. The clash was obvious. However it’s very important for us to read the nuances in between. The Islamic revivalism that began in late 19th century and carried across the next century stressed on the tales of west’s sinister ideas, and its larger plan of indoctrinating Muslims; driving them away from puranitical Islam- the one in the times of Prophet Muhammad.

One just needs to step back a bit and read about the enlightenment and differential views exhibited by Muslims in 18 and 19th centuries before these revivalist movements even began. Since transport had greatly advanced, the mobility of political movement with many number of Muslims taking the pilgrimage to Mecca and technologies of printing and telegraph carried ideas in all directions. The Muslim world wasn’t imperious to the developments around. The civil liberties post French Revolution and American civil war resonated ideals amongst Muslims. The Muslims in the Middle East reconstituted thanks to anti-slavery, emancipation of women and decline of polygamy. New ideas were not rejected, but embraced. Books were translated into Arabic, Turkish as soon as they were published in west. Darwin’s much controversial work Origin of Species in particular piqued a keen interest in Lebanon. Clerical boasting was punctured readily and the picture of a greedy ignorant mullah was visible in many journals and pamphlets.

One of the ways forward is to read about Prophet Muhammad in a theological sense rather than just spiritual or religious. His life is a living practical example of social justice and equality, abhorring violence. To relegate Prophet’s life as an epiphany and a divine programme revealed by God, and Islamic society being the only properly oriented society is a grave error we make. The aftermath to this is evident and so is our knee jerk reaction. Merely closing our eyes on the monster and committing it so as Zionist conspiracy shall not do. This notion of natural birth right on knowledge and moral up holdings is misplaced. World is shrinking. Societies and civilizations are drawing new borders. Muslims must rise up to it with introspection and correct factual reading of history.  

Faheem is an IT Engineer based in Dubai UAE, with interest in travel, history and culture.
This blog was carried by Quint. 

Of Kashmir Summers and Tennis

The sun hung over the breast shaped clouds of purple hued Zabarwan Mountains, shining brightly into our young eyes. Summers in Kashmir were always a reason for joy when we were kids, stretching out beyond the edges of our lives, the bright sun taunting us with endings, marked by long shadows thrown in the backyard by the end of it.  Long days and sunny weather meant lots of outdoor activities; the usual play games kids in 80s and 90s would indulge in— an age much before the advent of smart phones and internet.  The cousin sleepovers, was something no less than a celebration of good times. We would visit them and they would visit us in turns. Life was good, a long joyous vacation. We were the merry souls, playing accordion, a Joan Baez song on our supple lips- ‘I never dreamed this summer would end.’ 

In addition to all the wonted stuff, summers brought with it the tennis infatuation. From late May to early July, two of the four Grand Slams played in the far off European cities of Paris and London: The French Open and The Wimbledon would catch us in the turf of its magic. Over cold lemon ‘Squash’ -- stored in Kelvinator refrigerator: the Manmohan Singh economic liberty being still a few years away and the consumerist products that we take for granted these days, were a luxury back then - the summer evenings brought our entire family together in the old part of the Srinagar city- a crumbling collection of brown and grey houses, whose tattered rusty shingles of the rooftops rose behind each other glittering in the summer evening sun. The only channel, Doordarshan, telecasting the semi-finals and finals.

My earliest memory goes back to the 1988 Wimbledon final. The German prodigy Steffi Graf playing a legend in her own right- Martina Navratilova. It was a cracking final; the sighs and grunts of the players across thousands of miles reverberated in our living room. The love for the game and summers grew over years and was carried into the 90s. I notably remember the ’91 summer. Gabriela Sabatini- the Argentinian sensation of the times was a craze amongst us all. To put things in perspective, she was a Eugenie Bouchard on Columbian cartel coke. She played a great final match and probably had a championship point as well. However, the resilient German again got better of her opposition. I was crestfallen. To make matters worse, my favorite in men’s- Boris Becker lost the final to an unknown Michael Stich.

The women folk in my family- my sisters, cousins and aunts would be engaged with men, in these stiff battles fought over clay and grass. We all picked our favorites and supported them to tee. The gamesmanship was evident from both genders. Contrary to the general belief, downtown Srinagar was a very liberal alcove to grow up in, where men were not necessarily misogynists. It had perhaps something to do with how the city had shaped over years, its urban silhouette evident on the blurred freckles of its dwellers—an exiguous social circle of people who clinged together because they couldn’t stand to be alone. To imagine it now is unthinkable. It’s sad when a city loses its intrinsic spirit and culture to the bauble of times, and while its corners no longer smell of urban olfactory.

The slipshod poor telecast by doordarshan had little dampening effect on our spirits. I and any cousin, who was almost my age, were hooked to the game, picking our favorites for every tournament over 90s. Our year was divided on lines of the four Grand Slams. We looked forward to the coverage on Sportstar Magazine every week. Decking up our walls with posters and cuttings. I took part in one of the contests in the magazine. I won and was mailed a life size poster of Gabriela Sabatini, written in bold italics ‘from Madras.’ The joy was unbridled.

Sadly we never got to play the real thing. The hostilities of war had gripped Srinagar under its hideous veil. There were people on both sides of Jhelum busy loading their guns. The city had lost its only tennis court to war and uncertainty. In childhood you remain isolated from the political developments. It matters little. While the city fell in perpetual grief of conflict, we did our little improvisation. I and my cousin played our version of tennis on a concrete yard that faced my ancestral home in downtown Srinagar. In a way we had stepped into our make believe magical realm. A copper wire acted as a net and our hands as racquets. We would leap in the air, serve with our palms. Drop shots, volleys, angle lobs, we had it all. We would re-enact entire tournaments, where he’d think himself as Edberg and me as Becker. Our rivalries were as tense if not more, as on real courts.

On one of the evenings these days, while watching French Open, it threw me down a gale of nostalgia and the meaning it holds to my generation, my city and my own awning memory. My city is an antique paper, but my memories are those that time couldn’t erase. Sometimes it is all you have from a city you so love. You roll back the clock and you extol all grief away which life brings with it. But I have a feeling that if I did, the joy would be gone too. A fulfilled life like a great tennis match never finishes on a Deuce! 

Mecca- The citadel of faith

Pilgrims en route Mecca would attend smaller fairs and festivals before arriving at the Sanctuary for the main ceremony. A poetry competition would be held in nearby oasis town of Taif, where poets across Hejaz and other parts of Arabia would assemble and demonstrate their oratory skills. Desert fables, homages to Gods and odes to mistresses were narrated in huge gatherings. The best poem would be mounted on the Kaaba. After the contest the poets would join other pilgrims— a swarm of shaman dancers dancing in trance, some sorcerers juggling their skills, enchanters rolling their bodies along the dusty paths leading to Kaaba; the festive liturgy running till late in the night —the fire lighting up the horizons of Mecca and its surroundings. The markets would be buzz with Arabian dyes, perfumes and rugs from far off Nabatean lands. Musicians with their tambourines loose hair flying in wreath would fill the tiny alleys of Mecca. Heretics perched on nooks and corners of Meccan markets mumbling within. The city abuzz with life and trade.

Mecca has a long history. Gibbon in his seminal work ‘Decline and Fall of Roman Empire’ mentions how Greeks knew about Kaaba. Greek historians have claimed to write about a temple in Arabia which is sacred to Aribis- the desert dwellers- a name Greeks gave to the people of Arabia.

Mecca has had numerous names. The earliest known name is the biblical ‘Baca’.Baca in Arabic transforms to ‘lack of stream’. Indeed Mecca has always been a dry place.

Jurham was a tribe into whom Prophet Abraham’s son Ishmael had married into. Over the years after prophet Ishmael ,Jurhams controlled Mecca and the sanctuary. This had continued for few centuries, before Khuza another tribe took over Kaaba. It is in the reign of Khuza, Amr of Luhayy that paganism began in Kaaba. It began when Amr received a deity of Hubal as a gift. He ordered to place the deity in the Kaaba. Other families also proceeded to place their idols in the Kaaba including the Arab pantheon and three daughters of God: al Lat, Manat and al-Uzzat. This was around at the beginning of Christian era.

Consequently after next 400-500 years, in 5th century AD, Quraysh — a tribe of Ishmael’s descendants come into the picture. Zayd bin Kilab who was fondly called as Qusayy ‘the little stranger’ married into an elite Khoza family in Mecca and took over its reins. He was very intelligent and entire Mecca had grown fond of him. Qusayy regarded himself as the direct descendent of Ishmael and as such someone who was born to look after Kaaba. Qusayy is also regarded to have re-discovered the Zam Zam well, after being in oblivion for centuries. Qusayy was the direct forefather of a man who in another hundred years was to change the destiny of Meccans and entire Hejaz.

The journey to Mecca and Haj is compulsory to all Muslims. Religious obligation aside, one can find a numerous reasoning logic for such an arduous pillar of faith. For how I see it, the main pilgrimage- Haj or the lesser pilgrimage- Umrah, is meant to instil travel bug in Muslims. To travel across thousands of kilometres and experience the diversity of God’s creation in His own house. Mecca is probably the first city every Muslim hears of. Right from our childhood it is one city and place that finds a way into our consciousness. The sight of cuboid swathed in a black cloth is imprinted in our minds. What it exactly meant was not known to me.

Over the years I’ve carried my battles with faith and questions that surround me. By no means being someone very religious. The inner strife has always followed me in matters of faith and belief. Amongst this was the many time retold rundown which I had somehow convinced myself of. The ostentatiousness craze led by Saudi government had defiled the value of Kaaba. I believed the spiritual sacredness no longer exists in Mecca. I couldn’t understand. Early this month when I visited Mecca on account of Umrah, I carried these premonitions and biases with me. I performed my first Umrah late into the night when we first reached Mecca.

I was largely unfazed, still grappling with scepticism. What brings a sea of men and women to this landscape, which is not only harsh but unwelcoming too? The Hejaz mountains which surround Kaaba have the harshest terrain; sharp knife edged rocky surface. In course of my time at Mecca I realized, Kaaba gives you what you bring to it. My subsequent trips to Kaaba and Haram over the next few days did something to me. What exactly, I’m not sure. Perhaps, it is those in explainable feelings that have no physical reality to it. Standing tall one afternoon, under bright mid Arabian sun, in front of this cuboid, which has been there at that place since thousands of years, the sweat and belief of Prophets mixed in its foundation, the stillness of hot smudgy air around it broken by a pigeon flight, the circumambulating devotees chanting holy verses, in those tiny fleeting seconds Kaaba revealed itself to me. The magic under its sanctuary was well and truly over me. The noor of an omnipresent God. HE lights it up in the heart of his devotee, and what is unseen is disclosed. The nothingness of God’s radiance and the soul of a pilgrim are alight. HE and you become ONE.