Inside A Madrasa Knowledge, Power and Islamic Identity in India

Inside a Madrasa
Inside a Madrasa
Knowledge, Power and Islamic
Identity in India
Arshad Alam
First published 2011 in India
by Routledge
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© 2011 Arshad Alam
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To
My Mother
Contents
List of Tables ix
List of Maps and Plates xi
Glossary xiii
Acknowledgements xvii
Introduction 1
1. History and the Present in Mubarakpur:

The Ethos 35
2. Knowledge, Power and Politics 55
3. Institutionalising ‘Authentic’ Islam 80
4. The Financial Organisation of Islamic Piety 111
5. The Madrasa and its Hinterland 133
6. The Madrasa Regime and its Effects 158
7. The Enemy Within 181
Conclusion 202
Appendix I: Constitution of Madrasa Ashrafiya 211

Appendix II: Curriculum of Madrasa Ashrafiya 222
Bibliography 228
About the Author 241
Index 242
List of Tables
4.1 Income and Expenditure of Madrasa

Ashrafiya, 1949–67 116
4.2 Income and Expenditure of Madrasa

Ashrafiya, 1979–90 120
4.3 Main Sources of Income and Expenditure,

1979–90 121
4.4 Regional Distribution of Donations to

Madrasa Ashrafiya 125
5.1 Regional Distribution of Successful

Students 134
5.2 District- and Standard-wise Distribution

of Aided Madrasas (Boys and Girls)
in Bihar 141
5.3 District- and Standard-wise Distribution

of Unaided Madrasas (Boys and Girls)
in Bihar 142
List of Maps
1. Uttar Pradesh, with details of various districts xix
2. Azamgarh, showing Mubarakpur and adjoining areas xx
3. Purnea emphasising Amaur and Baisi xxi
List of Plates
3.1 The entrance of Madrasa Ashrafiya 81
6.1 Students and alumni congregate during the urs of

Abdul Aziz against a background of some of the
buildings of the Madrasa Ashrafiya 167
6.2 Recent madrasa graduates with their

family members in their hostel rooms 168
6.3 Wall posters in one of the hostel rooms 169

Glossary
adab: etiquette, proper behaviour (be-adab: without adab; ba-adab:

with adab)
alim (pl. Ulama): a learned man, in particular one learned in Islamic
legal and religious studies
anjuman: committee
ashraf: the well-born, in India comprising the four upper castes of
Syed, Shaikh, Mughal and Pathan
bad-mazhabi: one who does not follow the correct practices of
religion
baraka (or barkat): literally ‘blessing’, power inherent in saintly
persons or sacred objects
bida: reprehensible innovation, opposite of sunna
dar ul-ulum: house of learning , usually advanced religious learning
dargah: literally ‘court’, the seat of spiritual authority represented by
Sufi shrines and tombs
dars (plural durus): lectures
dars-e nizami: a syllabus taught in Indian madrasas since the
eighteenth century
dastarbandi: literally ‘tying of the turban’, during a ceremony which
marks the students’ completion of any stage of dars-e nizami
syllabus
dastur: constitution
dawah: invitation, usually to Islam
deen: faith
deeni talim: religious education
fiqh: jurisprudence
gaddi: seat of authority at a dargah
gaddi-nashin: a person occupying the seat of authority at a dargah
xiv ò Glossary
hadis: the sayings of Prophet Muhammad based on the authority

of a chain of transmitters
hafiz: a person who has memorised the Quran
hazir o nazir: normally understood by the Barelwis as a quality of
the Prophet by virtue of which he could be at many places at
one given time
hifz: the art of memorising the Quran, usually a course in a madrasa
to become hafiz
ijaza: certificate issues by a shaikh/teacher, authorising his disciple
to teach certain books
ilm-e ghaib: knowledge of the unseen, a form of knowledge
considered by many Muslims to be the special prerogative of
Allah alone, but claimed by the Barelwis to have been gifted by
Allah to Prophet Muhammad
ilm-e kiyamat: knowledge about the end of the world and judgment
day
istigaza: writ
jalsa (plural julus): a procession or a gathering
jihad: spiritual struggle against one’s baser instincts; legitimate war
against non-Muslims
kafir: one who practices kufr, infidelity
khanqah: Sufi hospice, usually a large compound where a pir and
his family as well as the devotees live
kufr: see kafir
la-deeni: a-religious
majlis-e intezamia: an organizing or working group
majlis-e shura: a consultative body
maktab: a writing school, where basics of religion are taught to
young children
manqulat: the transmitted subjects, Quran and Hadis, as disting-
uished from maqulat, which are products of human reasoning
maslak (plural masalik): way or creed; an interpretative community
Glossary ò xv
milad: literally birthday, used particularly for celebration of the

Prophet’s birthday
muballig: a preacher
muhalla: a locality in a town
Muharram: the first month of the Muslim calendar, when the death
of Prophet Muhammad’s grandson Husain and his companions
is mourned
muhtamim: one who manages; also used for the principal of a madrasa
munafiq (plural munafiqin): hypocrite, one who outwardly professes
Islam concealing his unbelief
munazara: oral debate, usually between ulama but also used for
inter-religious debates
murid (plural muridin): a disciple of a pir
mutawalli: the official appointed to care for a shrine
naath: poetry in praise of Prophet Muhammad
naturi: a pejorative term, usually refers to a person who gives natural
explanations for divine phenomenon
nur: divine light
pir: Sufi master
qari: one who can recite the Quran from memory with correct
pronunciation
qirat: a specialized course, usually in a madrasa, of becoming a
Qari
radd: refutation
safir: literally ambassador, also used for specific functionaries of a
madrasa
sahiyul aqida: a person with correct belief
sajjada-nashin: successor to a pir
sanad: diploma or a degree
sarbarah-e ala: literally president; in the context of a madrasa, a
person who combines in himself all administrative, executive
and academic powers
xvi ò Glossary
sarparast: patron of an institution, usually in an advisory role

sawab: merit
shirk: idolatry, associating partners with Allah
silsila: chain linking an individual through his or her Sufi master
ultimately to Prophet Muhammad
sunna: the way or path of Prophet Muhammad, as known to
Muslims through Hadis literature
tabligh: to preach
takrir: speech
talib: student
tarawih: a special sunnat prayer during the month of Ramzan
tarbiyyat: character, upbringing
tazia: replica of a tomb of Hasan and Husain, Prophet Muham-
mad’s grandsons, carried in public processions during Muharram
urs: celebration of a saint’s death anniversary when his soul is
believed to unite with Allah
waqf (plural auqaf): an Islamic endowment created specifically for
religious purposes
zakat: mandatory alms tax on accrued wealth
Acknowledgements
It is with great pleasure that I acknowledge the help and guidance of

individuals and organisations who have enabled my research and
the publication of this book. First, I would like to thank Professor
Karuna Chanana under whose suggestion I starting working on
madrasas. My sincere thanks to Dr Srinivasa Rao and Professor
Geetha Nambissan for their critical engagement with and
constructive suggestions on my research work. Two years with
Professor Jamal Malik at the University of Erfurt have been
immensely enlightening and helpful. I sincerely thank him for all he
did during my stay there. In Erfurt, I would also like to thank Ina,
Ai, Imke, Vikas and Moez, for various reasons including Indian
food! I would like to express my deep sense of gratitude to Dr Regina
Otto for all her help and support.
Months spent at Madrasa Ashrafiya have been a great learning
experience for me. I wish to acknowledge that this book would not
have been possible without the enthusiastic support that I received
from the students of this madrasa. Their diligence, hard work,
humility and intelligence have never failed to impress me.
Parts of the present work were presented in various seminars and
conferences. While all inputs have been helpful, in particular I wish
to thank Professor Satish Saberwal for his constructive remarks on
some of my chapters. I also take this opportunity to thank the
anonymous reviewer whose suggestions have been of immense help
in shaping up some of the arguments of this book.
This work would have been difficult to finish without the financial
support of UGC Senior Research Fellowship and Ford Foundation’s
International Fellowship Programme and I thank them both.
My family has always been a source of great strength. In many
ways this work is theirs: a testimony to their perseverance, faith and
confidence in me. My wife Nidhi and son Raihan have been the
xviii ò Acknowledgements
source of much joy and happiness which made the work of writing
so much lighter and easier.
My sincere thanks to the Editorial Department at Routledge,
New Delhi, for shepherding this book through to print. They have
made the experience of publishing my first book thoroughly
enjoyable.
Map 1: Uttar Pradesh, with details of the various districts.
Source: Author. Map not to scale.
Map 2: Azamgarh, showing Mubarakpur and adjoining areas.
Map 3: Purnea emphasising Amaur and Baisi.
Introduction
Discourses on Madrasa
The mention of the word madrasa conjures up images of
Kalashnikov-totting Taliban, more than willing to be sacrificed
for establishing the rule of Allah on earth. Since the Taliban rolled
into Kabul, the media (especially the western media) has grappled
with the question of the nature of Islamic radicalism and its relation
to religious education.1 Several commentators were quick to place
much of the blame for the rise of radicals on madrasas — religious
schools devoted to the Islamic traditions of knowledge. A widely
cited article in the New York Times Magazine reported that in
Pakistan ‘there are one million students studying in the country’s
10,000 or so madrasas, and militant Islam is at the core of most of
these schools’.2 Other commentators suspected that an equally
militant spirit might lie at the heart of madrasa education
everywhere. In India, even before 9/11, madrasas were made
infamous by Hindu Right wing parties. The Bharatiya Janata Party
(BJP), the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) and their ideological
fountainhead, the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), all blamed
the madrasas for teaching hatred towards the majority (Hindu)
community and engaging in what they claimed were anti-national
activities. In 1995, the VHP declared that it would not tolerate
the nefarious designs of madrasas as their teachings were ‘anti-
Hindu’. The Hindu right termed the madrasas ‘dens of terror’,
training jihadis to massacre Hindus and turn India into an Islamic
nation.3 During the BJP-led government regime, a ministerial
committee report of 2001 stated that madrasas were engaged in
systematic indoctrination of Muslims in fundamentalist ideology
which was detrimental to communal harmony. 4 The report
2 ò Inside a Madrasa
suggested that modern education be imparted in madrasas in an

effort to bring them into the ‘national mainstream’. While in power,
the BJP could persuade only a handful of madrasas to introduce
modern subjects for which grants were made available by the state.
Most of the madrasas were suspicious of the state’s intention and
rejected the offer.5 Such ideas on madrasa education were not the
monopoly of the Hindu right alone, but were voiced on different
occasions even by the Left-led government in West Bengal.6 It is
true, however, that it was the BJP and its ideological partners which
consciously tried to foster the terrorist image of madrasas as it
suited its larger design to portray Indian Muslims as the belligerent
‘other’.
Most of such literature, both Indian and foreign, have been
written from the point of view of security. Usually a connection is
made between religious extremism and religious education, and
the task then becomes one of counting up the number of madrasas
or madrasa students in order to measure the Islamist threat. This
is not to say that madrasas have nothing to do with religious
extremism. After all, the Taliban leadership did emerge from
madrasas located near refugee camps along the Pakistan–
Afghanistan border. In the 1980s, madrasas in these territories
grew rapidly in size and influence.7 What is, however, problematic
is that most of the literature does not take into account the many
factors that went into producing the Taliban from these madrasas.
Their growth was the result of several factors: continuing influx of
Afghan refugees; the inability of poor Pakistanis to get access to
affordable education; and donations from patrons in Pakistan,
Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States — gifts sanctioned, it should be
remembered, by American officials intent on rallying support for
their anti-Soviet cause.8
Accusations that madrasas are producing religious extremists
spawned another kind of literature: that of defending madrasas.
In India, this discourse emanates largely from within the Muslims
as well as some ‘secularists’. They argue that till now there has
been no conviction of anyone from within the madrasa system in
Introduction ò 3
terror-related activities. They are also quick to point out that Indian
madrasas, particularly Deoband, have been at the forefront in the
fight against the British and, as such, they cannot harm their own
countrymen. They also argue that madrasas step in where the state
has failed to provide basic education to millions of poor Muslim
children. Rather than seeing the good that madrasas do, they are
often accused of fomenting terror without enough reason, more
so because they are an easy target. A subset within this discourse
accepts that madrasa are a bit outdated and that they are in need
of reform. Coming mostly from Muslims, some of whom are
products of madrasa education themselves, they argue that its time
to change the syllabi of madrasas as it does not equip its students
to negotiate the operative structures of modern life. Some of these
criticisms have been taken seriously by the madrasas themselves
and they have of late claimed to introduce modern subjects in
their curriculum, including English. However, the extent of this
appreciation of modernity is not known since there is no
comprehensive study which details the curricular reform of
madrasas. One would not be off the mark to say that most of these
changes are cosmetic in nature. Nor is there is any clear thought-
out pattern as to how madrasas which are already overloaded in
terms of their religious curriculum would also be able to teach
modern subjects. For the madrasas however, appointing one or
two teachers for modern subjects or advertising about these even
without having teachers acts as a face-saving device in view of
mounting criticism from within the community. But the more
important question here is that both the critics and defenders of
madrasa education are unanimous that the institution needs to be
reformed. Between these competing discourses, scholarly works
on madrasa have been few and far between, especially in the Indian
context. The Indian debate on madrasas remains oblivious to the
complexities of this age-old institution, its adaptability and
plurality. Both liberal as well as right wing commentators assume
that madrasas are the same across India and that they reproduce a
monolithic Muslim identity which is antithetical to other religious
traditions as well as secularism. As I show in this study, nothing

can be far from the truth. Indian madrasas represent a diverse
array of ideological orientations which are most of the times
opposed to each other’s interpretation of Islam. If madrasas are
about the dissemination of Islamic knowledge, they problematise
and compete over how best to approach that knowledge; in the
process they create and sustain a wide variety of possible
interpretations of Islam.
Towards a Preliminary Review of Literature

As stated earlier, there are still very few scholarly works on Indian
madrasas, especially on the contemporary scenario. However,
scholarship on madrasa in general has a long history. Most of the
earlier works have been concerned with questions relating to the
origin of the madrasas. Goldhizer argued that the foundation of
the madrasas in eleventh-century Baghdad was a triumph of Sunni
Asharism over Shia Islam. Similarly, Hodgson observed that the
spread of madrasas was part of a larger ‘Sunni revival’ that sought
to counteract a growing Shia advance.9 In the face of this threat,
Hodgson argued, Sunni madrasas trained individuals for service
in the state establishments. Other scholars have taken exceptions
to Hodgson’s claim, pointing out that there is little evidence that
madrasas were directly involved in the training of state officials.10
Makdisi regards madrasas as specialised colleges of law which arose
in Baghdad along with a number of other educational institutions
such as the masjid and the majlis.
The importance which the madrasas gained in the following
years was mostly due to the importance attached to law by early
Muslim theologians. This interpretation has been challenged and
madrasas came to be regarded as religious educational institutions
which taught all the religious sciences of the day except for
Philosophy/falsafa.11 Despite the differences, scholars generally
agree that madrasas started as religious endowments/waqf.12
Differences still remain over the nature of the religious endowment:
Introduction ò 5
whether it meant autonomy for the madrasas or it remained

subservient to the will of the state. While scholars like Huff have
denied the existence of the legal concept of the autonomous
corporation in Muslim societies, others have argued that the
institution of waqf provided a framework for the emergence of
something like a civil society.13
Whatever the precise origin of madrasas and the training therein,
another set of recent scholars argue that what is important is that
the rise of the madrasa in the Muslim medieval world was part of
a far-reaching reorientation and disciplining of religious knowledge
and authority. As Berkey, Chamberlain and Bulliet have shown,
the spread of the madrasa was part of a great ‘recentering and
homogenisation’ of Islamic knowledge and authority.14 According
to these authors, the signs of this change were visible in several
fields. First, jurisprudence (fiqh) became the centrepiece of ulama
learning and the queen of religious sciences. Second, even if most
learning continued to take place in informal study circles under
the guidance of a revered Shaikh, a written canon came to play an
increasingly important role in a young scholar’s training. Heavy
emphasis on the mastery of this canon did not do away with the
emphasis on voice and orality so critical to the study of Quran and
traditionalist commentaries. These have remained key features of
traditionalist Islamic education to the present day. 15 The
significance of the change lay instead in what it implied for the
definition and control of religious knowledge. In other words, one’s
status within the ulama community was now more directly
dependent on one’s command of a written canon, learned under a
recognised master, and demonstrated through textual and oral
performance.16 The persistently informal and fluid character of
Islamic education, talked about by Eickelman,17 was slowly being
replaced by certain fixity in terms of canonical knowledge, though
madrasas, as understood today — as a specific set of pedagogical
relationship occupying a particular loci — were still to emerge.
Another important dimension of work on madrasas has been what
the anthropologist Gregory Starrett has called ‘functionalisation’, which
describes the process whereby elements of Islamic tradition like the

madrasa, with their own histories and discourses, ‘come to serve the
strategic or utilitarian ends of another discourse’.18 Starrett illustrates
his concept of functionalisation with reference to Islamic education
in contemporary Egypt. Therein, state sponsored programmes of the
religious education disseminate a ‘synoptic and systematised Islam’,
compatible with the interests of the government, even if at variance
with the views of some religious scholars.19 There have been other
works which remind us of the functionalisation of Islamic education
in different contexts.20 Kings and civilian elites patronised madrasas
to demonstrate their own high standing and to ensure that the scholarly
community remained on their side. Medieval rulers’ interest in
madrasas, however, was not limited to narrow political ends. The
eleventh-century Seljuk vizier, Nizam al Mulk, founded his network
of madrasas to strengthen Sunni orthodoxy against a newly ascendant
Shiism. In other lands and in other times, court officials used their
patronage of madrasas to promote one sectarian school against its
rivals. At the frontiers of Muslim expansion, rulers and other elites
patronised madrasas to promote orthodoxy among Muslim converts.
In the nineteenth and twentieth century, rulers in Iran and the
Ottoman Empire attempted to functionalise Islamic education for a
new and distinctly modern end: creating a broadly shared public culture
for the purposes of nation building.21 Some of the measures were
meant to intervene directly in madrasa affairs. Anxious not to
antagonise the madrasa establishment, other leaders tried to outflank
the ulama by founding elementary schools of their own. Whatever
the option pursued, as Ringer and Fortna remind us, the modern
state ended the ulama monopoly on education and raised questions
about schools and authority that have still remained at the heart of
Muslim politics to this day.
Works on madrasas in South Asia in general and India in
particular have been relatively fewer. Yoginder Sikand, one of the
few who have commented on the Indian madrasa scene, states
that while there are quite a few books on ulama and the schools of
thought they represent, all of them happen to be in Urdu or Persian.
Introduction ò 7
Moreover they are penned by disciples or scholars who claim their

legacy and are largely hagiographic, which makes their value as
balanced accounts limited. Sikand goes on to say that there is hardly
any work on madrasa in India in the English language.22 Sikand’s
own work is highly informative and presents a detailed picture of
the contemporary issues confronting madrasa education in India
today. Nevertheless, the book lacks a central theme and looks like
a survey conducted of various madrasas across India. Qualitatively
rich, the book relies too much on the ulama for its information,
making it somewhat biased in its approach. Of the many arguments
that the book makes, some of it has to do with the rebuttal of the
claim that madrasas in India produce militancy, the urge to reform
madrasas from within the Muslim community and the new
experiments in madrasa education. However, Sikand treats
madrasas in isolation; one does not get the feeling, much less an
analysis of its relationship with the wider Muslim society, something
which is so important for the work to be sociologically relevant.
Sikand’s work, minus its richness in terms of extensive interviews,
reminds us of a previous survey on madrasas.23
Metcalf, Robinson and Zaman have produced seminal works
on madrasas in the South Asian context.24 Metcalf focuses on a
single but one of the most important madrasas in the Indian
subcontinent: the Dar al-Ulum at Deoband. She brings out in
detail the historical conditions under which this madrasa came
into existence and the important role that it has played in the
history of the subcontinent. According to Metcalf, Deoband gave
Indian Muslims an identity after the gloomy years of British
repression following the events of 1857, and at the same time it
created changes in the self-perception of Muslims through fostering
a common language in Urdu and a standardised sharif culture.25
Robinson also deals with just one influential family of Indian ulama
and their madrasa: the Firangi Mahal at Lucknow. Robinson’s
work is significant for its insistence that we consider how religious
ideas and norms shape politics instead of treating them as mere
symbols employed by the political elite.26 He explores how religious
identities and institutions have themselves evolved in the nineteeth

and twentieth century. However, both Metcalf and Robinson limit
their discussion to the colonial period and do not look at
transformations within madrasas in postcolonial India. The recent
contribution of Muhammad Qasim Zaman takes the debate further
in order to understand how the ulama and their institutions —
the madrasas — have negotiated their claims of authority in the
modern period. Zaman’s focus is on the ways in which a section of
the ulama, in British India and then in Pakistan, sought to construct
and maintain their own claims to authority. His work is also
important because of its critique of Robinson’s view of changes
within Indian Muslim society. In Robinson, there is a certain
Webereanism through the prism of which he seeks to understand
the Indian ulama and their madrasas. For Robinson, much like
Weber, the increasing rationalisation of the Indian society will
also affect Islam and will lead to their secularisation and
democratisation.27 Zaman, in cautioning against, such Protestant
underpinnings of Robinson’s thesis, argues that the activities of
the ulama suggest that this is hardly happening. By burying deep
into their texts, Zaman is able to show how the madrasas themselves
accept certain notions of modernity which enhances their authority.
However, Zaman’s own work mostly talks of the colonial period
and most of the contemporary discussions about madrasas are about
Pakistan. In effect, the valuable contribution of Zaman has very
little light to shed on the contemporary madrasa scenario in India.
Another significant work, but again on Pakistan, is by Jamal
Malik.28 Rich in empirical detail, Malik adopts a political economy
perspective which argues that madrasas and their students will get
radicalised if they are not properly integrated into the Pakistani
economic structure. In his work, the Pakistani state is understood
as the ‘incarnation of colonial values’ which consolidates its power
by incorporating formerly untouched parts of society.29 Madrasas
as repositories of autochthonous cultures resist the Pakistani state’s
universalising world culture. Malik argues on similar lines in his
edited volume on South Asian madrasas.30 Much the same kind
Introduction ò 9
of reasoning also runs in another work, specifically focussing on

Indian madrasas, by Jan-Peter Hartung and Helmut Reifeld.31 As
the title suggests, the work is an attempt to understand madrasas
in India after 9/11. However, most of the papers in the book are
historical in nature and do not shed much light on contemporary
events within madrasas.
Thus while we do find scholarly works on madrasas in India on
the medieval times and the colonial period,32 there is hardly
anything on the conditions of madrasas today. Some books in
English on madrasas do exist in contemporary India, mainly written
by Indian scholars and journalists. These are, by and large, based
on secondary literature and are not grounded in detailed empirical
investigation. 33 Many of them are poorly researched, often
propagandist in tone and content, some fitting neatly within the
current discourse on madrasas from the point of view of internal
and external security.
The Subject/Object of Study

I take it to be axiomatic that Muslim societies are not outside
history. Against a powerful body of work which privileges the text
and freezes the social context in order to understand Muslim social
structure, this study privileges the context and the processes.
Madrasas as religious, social and educational institutions are as
prone to social change as any other part of Muslim society. This
study throws light on such changes and even argues against textual
essentialism, a practice which is rampant when it comes to the
study of Muslim societies and cultures. Thus for the present work
on madrasas, the Quran and Hadis are not important but people
and their practices. Since the work is concerned with contemporary
madrasas, I understand them in their present meaning, something
which has evolved and changed over the years. What I mean by
madrasas is modern or ‘new’ madrasas, which is qualitatively
different from the madrasas of pre-modern times. Since the work
understands and uses the modern understanding of madrasas, it is
worthwhile to differentiate it from the pre-modern ones.
The madrasas of today are modern in the sense that they are the
products of colonial times and should not be confused with the
madrasas of the precolonial era such as those of the Firangi Mahal
variety.34 The modern/new madrasas have their own agenda which
is very different from their predecessors. It is different from the
older ones in its aims and contents as well as in its methods. Let us
first look at the way in which the older or precolonial madrasas
were constituted. Broadly, there were two types of educational
institutions in medieval India — the maktabs attached to mosques
that imparted elementary education, particularly the teaching of
Quran and subsisting mostly on local charity, and the madrasas
that were centers of higher learning. These latter institutions were
also of different kinds. Some were established by private scholars
while others by the collective efforts of the locality and subsisted
mostly on charity provided by the residents of the area. Others
were established by the nobles or the rulers and thrived under
affluent circumstances. Endowments were made to institutions
run by the state. The state sometimes gave madad-e-mash grants
to scholars to relieve them of their financial worries.35 It was
inevitable that the orientation of these institutions widely differed
from each other and scholars and students who thronged these
institutions pursued different ideals. A scholar of repute, even if
he functioned under conditions of penury, attracted students from
far and wide. On the other hand, those who were desirous of a
career in government or in the revenue and administrative
departments turned to institutions of the state where they were
provided education in a variety of subjects.36 Thus there was
provision in the syllabi of the madrasas for the teaching of
mathematics, geometry, etc.
Precolonial madrasas hardly had any fixed syllabus.37 The
inclusion of books in the curricula depended on a number of factors
such as the personal predilection of a teacher, the availability of
books and the adherence to a traditional approach or utility in
some specific context. There were teachers who were known for
their special insight in certain classical works and students came to
Introduction ò 11
them to receive education in that particular book and obtained

certificates (sanads), which entitled them to teach that particular
book to others. Great emphasis was laid on memorising the Quran
as well as certain key texts on fiqh and Hadis. Instruction up to one
level was imparted in Persian but higher education was in Arabic.
The curriculum was generally divided into four distinct grades
or stages. Elementary or basic education consisted of teaching
of the reading and recitation of the Quran. It was designed to
give students basic minimum religious awareness. They learnt to
offer obligatory prayers at this stage. The second stage slightly
broadened the area of study by instructing them to read and write
also. The third stage was for one who wished a place in the cultural
set-up of the day or for those who aspired for government service.
These aspirants had to acquire the art of drafting documents,
writing letters, maintaining registers, accounts, etc. This was
Persian-based education. The content of religious studies at this
stage was confined to certain basics relating to religious obligations
like ritual prayers, fasts, hajj, zakat, etc. Most people finished their
educational career at this stage.38 Those who aspired for academic
careers or positions in judicial or religious departments adopted
the fourth level of Arabic-based instructions on a variety of
subjects. Only after going through the fourth stage could a person
be competent to give fatwas, instructions in religious sciences and
to act in a judicial capacity or pursue further studies pertaining to
the Quran, jurisprudence, astronomy, mathematics, geography,
etc. It was this stage which produced jurists, physicians,
astronomers, mathematicians, theologians and others. Thus we
see that precolonial madrasas had a functional relationship with
the broader medieval society. They not only produced ulama, but
also trained personnel for managing the medieval state apparatus.
It would, therefore, be wrong to assume that madrasas in the
medieval times were purely theological seminaries. Rational subjects
were also taught along with the purely religious ones in these
institutions.39 That religion was something separate, concerned
only with the personal life of an individual, was an idea alien to
the medieval educational system. This distinction was the specific

contribution of the colonial period.
In their effort to understand and regulate systems of education
prevalent in India, to relate them to their own ideas of how
education ought to be imparted and to what end, and to reform
the local system in view of their own perceptions, colonial officials
routinely invoked what were to them familiar and often self-evident
concepts and categories. The significance of these categories lies
not only in their defining of the British understanding of Muslim
education, but also in their subsequent influence on the ulama.
The most important category which has shaped all discussions on
madrasas, as indeed of many other institutions of Indian society,
is the notion of religion itself. As Talal Asad argues, the impact of
the Enlightenment in Europe, led not merely to the subordination
of religion to the state or confinement of the former to the sphere
of ‘private’ life, but also to
the construction of religion as a new historical object: anchored in

personal experience, expressible as belief statements, dependent on
private institutions, and practiced in one’s spare time. This construction
of religion ensures that it is part of what is inessential to our common
politics, economy, science and morality.40
In India, the British constantly encountered situations and

institutions where no clear distinction between the religious and
secular was made. To many, this situation was reminiscent of
Europe’s own medieval history, where such distinctions were
generally blurred, often to the advantage of the church. Viewing
India as dominated or determined by religion meant that Indians
could be seen not only as different from the post-enlightenment
Europeans, but also as inferior to the colonial rulers, and therefore
in need of the latter’s enlightened governance. However, the British
were ambivalent as to whether all life was in fact governed by
religion in India. It was imperative, mostly for reasons of practical
administration, to make a distinction between the religious and
non-religious, the personal and the public. Such distinctions were
Introduction ò 13
also commonly made in the sphere of education. In government

schools, a policy of religious neutrality was adopted, which meant
the exclusion of all formal religious instructions from the school
curriculum. This policy suggested that religion could be confined
to a definite sphere which in turn ought to be excluded from the
course of general education. The madrasas were of course regarded
as religious institutions and in many cases, especially in the
aftermath of the 1857 uprising, were abolished or their existence
effectively jeopardised. Yet many of these madrasas continued to
be administered or financially supported by the government. What
concerns us here is the fact that the familiar distinctions between
religious and secular learning continued to be invoked in the
colonial analyses of madrasas, quite as much as in other educational
institutions.
Medieval Muslim scholars often distinguished between what
was called ‘traditionally transmitted’ sciences like those of Quran
and Hadis as well as the so-called ‘rational sciences’ such as
philosophy and logic. We have seen above that that rational sciences
were also studied in earlier madrasas. Zaman argues that the
standing of the sciences in relation to one another was frequently
discussed and many scholars were opposed to the study of such
foreign, rational sciences such as Aristotelian logic and philosophy.
There were also complaints that the sciences, such as the Quran
and Hadis, which were worth studying for their own sake, were
sometimes given less attention than the ancillary subjects like
morphology and syntax, which were meant to assist in the study
of the former. Yet discussions on topics such as madrasas
representing and guarding the religious sphere in society; on what
is purely religious in the curriculum of the madrasa; or on religion
as occupying a distinct sphere in society, are eminently modern
debates with little precedent in medieval Indian society.
Interestingly enough, this colonial category was internalised by
the ulama of the times.41 In contemporary debates on the reform
of madrasas, the ulama oppose any state intervention in the name
of defending the private sphere. The acceptance of this colonial
dichotomy was in the interest of the ulama as they positioned

themselves as the gaurdians of the personal sphere in which state
intrusions were sought to be resisted. Within this sphere they were
able to engage in the hegemonic representation of Muslim masses.
Madrasas served as the most important tool for this hegemonic
activity. The establishment of the Deoband Madrasa in 1867
exemplifies the changes noted above. Deoband, although one of
the many denominations among Indian Muslims, served to become
the model for all madrasas established after it.
The madrasa at Deoband was novel in its curriculum and
organisation, which was supposed to serve social purposes such as
education. Its founders, emulating the British bureaucratic style
of educational institutions, dispensed with the ‘informal’ pattern
of education that was earlier practised. A professional staff ran it,
its students were admitted for a fixed course of study and required
to take examinations for which prizes were awarded at a yearly
convocation. Gradually an informal system of affiliated madrasas
emerged. The schools’ own graduates ultimately staffed many of
these madrasas and the students were examined by visiting
Deobandis.
Financially, the school was wholly dependent on public
contributions, mostly in the form of annual pledges and not on
fixed holdings of wakf or pious endowments contributed by noble
patrons. In the medieval times, the ulama depended primarily on
revenue from their endowments or on the largesse of princes whose
courts they graced and for whom they trained government servants.
The Deobandi Ulama, in contrast, could not depend on a court
to provide a framework of patronage or to take responsibility for
Muslim law and education. Following Waliullah’s concept of ‘inner
caliphate’,42 they took upon themselves to serve the daily legal
and spiritual needs of their fellow Muslims. For this purpose, one
of the leading founders, Maulana Muhammad Qasim, enunciated
eight principles dealing with institutional characteristics. These
eight principles today serve as the Constitution of Deoband. Five
of these principles deal with the new system of financing. One of
Introduction ò 15
the principles clearly states that the participation of state and the
wealthy is harmful for the madrasa. They stress the obligation of
all associated with the madrasa to encourage donations of cash
and food. These principles stress the need to institute a system of
conscious popular financing.
This system of popular financing arose in part because the
founders had no option but to find an alternative to the increasingly
insecure princely grants. The Muslim princes of states such as
Hyderabad, Bhopal and Rampur did patronise learning, as did
the large landlords in the United Provinces, but such contributions
were never as substantial as those of the days of Mughal rule, nor
could they be as steady in a period of economic, social and
administrative flux. The Deobandi Ulama were also unwilling to
accept British grants-in-aid for such help was precarious and carried
with it the taint of its non-Muslim source. Moreover, it would
have meant state intrusion into the private affairs of the Muslims.
Instead, they created a network of donors who formed a base not
only for financial support but also for the dissemination of their
teachings. This network, which was being created, was fundamental
to the ways in which the madrasas would later define the
community. This novel tool — the reliance on the masses/popular
support — was something that had not existed in the past. Metcalf
has suggested that the system of popular support was a search for
an alternative patron, but it needs to be understood that it was at
the same time also a tool for hegemony and control over the masses.
The network of Deobandi madrasas was henceforth in direct
contact with the Muslim masses. The contact language was Urdu
and not Persian, as was the case during the medieval period. It
must be noted here that Persian was generally the language of the
refined or the upper-class Muslims. Urdu during this period was
fast becoming the link language for the Muslims of the country.
Students came from places as distant as Afghanistan and
Chittagong, Patna and Madras, and all were to return with a
common grounding in Urdu. Deoband, therefore, was instru-
mental in establishing Urdu as the language of communication
among the Muslims of India. Such a change was obviously central

to enhanced bonds among the ulama and between them and their
followers. Urdu as the link language not only bound an otherwise
multilingual ‘community’, but it also helped to disseminate
ideologies which would not have been possible otherwise.
During the medieval period, it were mostly the upper-class
Muslims who accessed madrasa education. However, in a
fundamental sense, what was happening now was that madrasa
education was being taken to the Muslim masses which consisted
of the low-caste and the poor. However, as we have noted earlier,
the content of this education had changed. The madrasas claimed
to teach the Dars-e-Nizami, the curriculum evolved in the Firangi
Mahal during the eighteenth century. The Deobandis, however,
reversed the emphasis on ‘rational studies’ in favour of an emphasis
on the Hadis that was to be the basis of their popular teaching.
Undoubtedly, this was the influence of the writings of Shah Wali-
ul-llah. They greatly expanded the offerings of the nizami
curriculum that required only one text selection from the Hadis
and instead they included in its entirety the six classical collections
of the precedents of the Prophet.43
One reason advanced for this stress on Hadis studies was that
traditional learning was on the verge of extinction in India.
However, it is also true that there was actual opposition, led by
Rashid Ahmad Gangoh, to teaching the rational sciences of logic,
philosophy and jurisprudence. These subjects were ‘rational’ in
the sense that they represented the exercise of men’s minds on the
materials provided by the revealed sources. As such they were felt
to be trivial in comparison to the basic texts and the only merit in
studying them was the preparation for their refutation. There was
another reason why Hadis study gained such prominence in the
Deobandi curriculum. This was due to the so-called syncretic
practices within Indian Islam, which were interpreted as Hindu
influences on Muslims by the Deobandi Ulama. It was precisely
to arrest this ‘syncretic’ tendency that the ulama went back to the
pristine purity of the Quran and Hadis. With the Mughal State
Introduction ò 17
no longer present, the ulama’s power would solely depend upon

the influence that they would yield over the masses. But for this,
the masses (read ‘lower-caste Muslims’) had to be cleansed of all
the ‘fuzzy’ identities they had. They had to be made into personally
responsible and what Clifford Geertz has called ‘scriptural
Muslims’.44 The teaching of Hadis was, therefore, designed to
create personally responsible Muslims. This also becomes clear
when we see that the Deobandis’ second specialty, ‘fiqh’, was of
similar importance for popular teaching, since they stressed on the
correct performance of ritual and ceremonial duties.
It should also be noted that a large number of Deobandi fatwas
tried to explain the ‘correct’ Islamic practices in the light of their
interpretation of Hadis. These fatwas condemned what they
considered ‘Hindu’ influences in the matters of dress and all other
so-called syncretic practices such as the celebration of Prophet’s
birthday or paying visit to shrines. Terming all of these as
reprehensible Islamic innovations (bida), they came down heavily
upon anything which they considered as antithetical to their version
of Islam. Two important conclusions emanate from the above
discussion. The first is that madrasas today are not the caricature
of their earlier self, they have changed in terms of their content,
goal and method. To continue calling them outmoded and
traditional misses this historical transformation that this institution
has undergone. The second is that reform is inbuilt within the
rationale of modern madrasas and one of the important aspects of
this reform is to cleanse the Muslims of all the supposedly non-
Islamic accretions which have crept up in their beliefs. It is this
understanding of madrasas which informs the present study.
An important but unfortunate aspect of scholarship on Indian
madrasas has been that it has mostly concerned itself with what
Francis Robinson would have called ‘the rationalist’ traditions
within Islam. Apart from the seminal work of Metcalf on Deoband,
the volumes edited by Hartung and Reifeld and Jamal Malik also
have the same problem. The Deoband, not only as a Madrasa but
also as a movement, the Ahl-e Hadis, the Jamat-e Islami, have all
been variously commented upon in the Indian context. Part of the

reason seems to the perceived propensity of these ideologies/
movements to political Islam or Islamism as it is now known. In
the specific context of madrasas, about which we are concerned
here, Deoband and Firangi Mahal have generated the interest of
both Indian and Western scholars. It would be an understatement
to write that in contrast to this, the Barelwis,45 who are the
numerical majority not only in India but also in the subcontinent,
remained under-researched.
Part of the problem, I think, is methodological. Being
predominantly rural in case of India, the Barelwis are remote from
the structures of power. Thus the All India Muslim Personal Law
Board, considered as a representative body of Indian ulama by the
Indian state, is domiated by the Deobandis and Ahl-e Hadis.
Moreover, as compared with the Barelwis, the Deobandis and the
Ahl e Hadis have since long built an impressive network of madrasas
and allied institutions, thus organising themselves on a firmer
foundation as compared to the Barelwis. Since they have been
engaged with education for long, they have managed to document
their knowledge and represent themselves through books,
periodicals, etc. Thus it is easy for a researcher to build upon an
existing corpus of knowledge. On the other hand, the Barelwis
have been late entrants into the field of education and till now
they are not as organised as the Deobandis, thus making them a
difficult subject to work on. Moreover, their remoteness from the
structures of power hardly makes them interesting as subjects of
study. That’s why perhaps, apart from the seminal work of Usha
Sanyal, there is hardly anything on the Barelwis in India.46 Being
a work on the personality of Ahmad Riza Khan and the ideology
he defended, this work tells us very little about the institutional
work of the Barelwis such as their network of madrasas. Moreover,
the treatment is again historical and the book ends with the start
of the twentieth century, thus telling us very little about the
contemporary affairs of Indian Barelwis.
Introduction ò 19
The present study is an attempt to fill this gap in the extant

knowledge about the Barelwis and their institutions in
contemporary India. This study is a detailed description of the
history and sociology of a Barelwi madrasa (Ashrafiya Misbahul
Ulum), located in the qasba of Mubarakpur, Eastern Uttar Pradesh.
For purposes of deepening the understanding of this particular
madrasa, this study contrasts it occasionally with a Deobandi
madrasa (Ehya ul-Ulum), located in the same qasba. This is not a
comparative study between two different madrasas, rather the
contrast is brought out only to elucidate the arguments being made
with regard to the Barelwi madrasa, most importanly about how
identities are being formed within the institutional space of the
madrasa. The comparison becomes inevitable as both the madrasas
share a common geneology. In doing so, the study steers clear of
the dominant discourses on madrasas. Thus, I do not question
whether there can be a corelation between Islamic education and
religious violence. What I do is to describe the madrasa in as much
detail as possible within the context of the present study and arrive
broadly at some understanding of how this kind of education is
related to changes in the broader Muslim society within which it
is located.
In the first chapter, I describe the locale, which is Mubarakpur,
in an attempt to capture the ethos of the place and to try to
understand the way in which the development of madrasas has
shaped the local history and memory of Mubarakpur. Chapters
two and three are socio-historical chapters in the sense that they
tell us how the two madrasas (Ashrafiya and Ehya ul-Ulum) were
established, the forms of earlier traditions of learning in the qasba
and how it changed, and the politics of establishing educational/
religious institutions. I have sought to correlate changes within
the fortunes of a particular madrasa with the changes in the fortunes
of its followers. These chapters are necessary to understand that
madrasas are much more than just religious institutions and that
considering them in conjunction with authority patterns of the
local society gives us interesting and valuable results. These chapters
establish that education and more so religious education is hardly

a neutral enterprise. Chapter four talks about the financial
organisation of Madrasa Ashrafiya: where it receives donations
from, the strategies of collection and the changes in pattern of
donations over the years. Chapters 2–4 should be read as a
continuous text since in all these chapters, I have tried to show
how madrasas have changed both functionally and structurally
over the years. The next three chapters are about students, their
locale and their relationship with the madrasa. Chapter five traces
students of Ashrafiya to their respective homes in various villages
of north Bihar. In this chapter, I have tried to understand the
reason why families send their children to this particular madrasa
and why they do not ‘choose’ the school system. Travelling back,
chapters six and seven detail the effects of madrasa pedagogy on its
students. In chapter six, I see how the students learn to adjust to
their new environment, away from their homes and within the
madrasa. I describe how notions of discipline and respect for
authority are internalised by the students so as to make it part of
their habitus. The last chapter read along with chapter six is a
continuation of this concern. It shows how identity structures get
replicated in students during their time at the madrasa while at
the same time making the point that identities are always contested.
Ulama, the product of madrasas and bearers of this identity,
replicate it wherever they find it fit; be it in their homes or the new
madrasa of which he becomes a part.
Theoretical Influences
This study has been influenced by a number of theoretical insights
which have been developed by sociologists of education. It was
Durkheim who stated that ‘changes in ideas of knowledge in
complex societies and the means by which such ideas are
transmitted result from continual struggles among competing
groups within society, each of which seeks domination or
influence’. 47 Making it clear that education is not a neutral
Introduction ò 21
enterprise, Durkheim sought to link systems of ideas with the

activities of groups in society. Echoing much the same view is
Foucault when he states that society is an arena for a struggle to
establish and pass on a regime of truth and develop techniques
and procedures to inculcate and transmit values considered being
true.48 Societal discourse mediates its power and control through
institutions and elite who are charged with saying what counts as
true. Hence the creation of educational institutions like madrasas
is part of the power struggle to establish, expand and sustain a
particular notion of truth through control over the power of
legitimacy, which is one of the important aspects of the present
work.
I have also immensely benefited from what has been called the
theory of social reproduction within sociology of education. Within
this tradition of knowledge, education has long been considered
pivotal in the reproduction of social relations. An earlier generation
of theorists analysed how education was ‘functional’ for society.49
For Parsons, schools were necessary for the stabilisation of adult
personality. It socialised the students into leading responsible adult
lives. It was thus a necessary institution in order that modern
societies function properly. The school inculcated in the students
the value system of society which was necessary for the harmonious
functioning of social life. Similarly, Davis and Moore assigned
cardinal importance to schools for distributing scarce symbolic
commodities in society. It was the mechanism through which the
most important positions went to the most deserving persons in
society. As was later pointed out, these theories completely ignored
the presence of differential power structures in society. In their
zeal to present a harmonious picture of society, they forgot the
existence of classes in society, an analysis of which could lead to a
different evaluation of the role of schools in society.
In the 1970s, critical class analysis shifted the focus to class
structures and the way in which schooling was related to these
structures. In short, the relationship between schooling and class
inequality was increasingly investigated. Thus, Bowles and Gintis
argued that the educational system was an integral element in the

reproduction of the prevailing class structure of society.50 Defining
the reproduction process as ‘those mechanisms, which maintain
and extend the dominant pattern of power and prestige’; they
argued that education maintains this power and prestige of the
dominant class in two ways. First, it justifies or legitimises the
class structure and inequality by fostering the belief that economic
success depends essentially on the possession of ability and the
appropriate skills or education. Second, it prepares young people
for their place in the world of class-dominated and alienated work
by creating those capacities, qualifications, ideas and beliefs that
are appropriate to a capitalist economy. The function of education
is reproduction and this takes place by means of legitimisation
and socialisation. Althusser, classifying education as an Ideological
State Apparatus (ISA), argued that schools maintained and
reinforced the capitalist relations of production, which were
relations of exploitation.51 For Althusser, no class could hold state
power over a long period of time without, at the same time,
exercising its hegemony over and in the ISA. The educational ISA
combined with the family had a central place in disseminating the
ruling ideology. Althusser contends that the class character of the
capitalist system is concealed from public view by the universal
reigning ideology of the school which suggests that a school is
neutral and provides an environment free of any ideological
influence. These analyses consider education as pivotal in
reproducing the existing class relations in society. However, they
give us little understanding of how it is done. What are the
mechanisms through which schools reproduce the class relations?
What are the strategies adopted for this purpose. Moreover, this
kind of a structural analysis leaves little room for social change to
occur in society, nor is it very helpful in understanding the politics
of schooling without reference to the capitalist system and state.
It is in this context that the works of Bourdieu become significant
in enhancing our understanding of the ways in which a society
reproduces itself and the contribution of education in such a
Introduction ò 23
reproduction. Since the work uses some of the concepts of

Bourdieu, it is important to say something about them. Despite
the façade of the egalitarian agenda of modern education, Bourdieu
argues that,
credentials contribute to ensuring the reproduction of social inequality

by safeguarding the preservation of the structure of the distribution of
power through a constant redistribution of people and titles
characterised, behind the impeccable appearance of equality and
meritocracy, by a systematic bias in favour of the possessors of inherited
cultural capital.52
However, it was through his concepts of habitus, cultural capital

and field, that he allowed us to think of the reproduction of power
relationships in society in newer ways without being overtly
concerned with structuralist penchant for rules. For Bourdieu, the
critical practices of a society are to be found not in the rule but in
the practical sense or the practical logic by which people seek to
understand the world. Attention to strategy rather than the rule is
not a replacement of structure by consciousness as a subject of
interpretation, rather it is a means of understanding how the
structural and individual interact. ‘Habitus is the partly unconscious
taking in of rules, values and dispositions which is the durably
installed generative principles of regulated improvisations…which
produces practices’.53 In other words, habitus can be understood
as the values and dispositions gained from our cultural history
that generally stays with us across contexts. These values and
dispositions allow us to respond to cultural rules and contexts in a
variety of ways, but the responses are largely regulated by ones’
position in the cultural setup. Habitus tends to shape individual
action so that existing opportunity structures are perpetuated.
Chances of success or failure are internalised and then transformed
into individual aspirations and expectations; these are in turn
externalised in action that tend to reproduce the objective structure
of life chances. Thus habitus embodies the attitudes which we
inherit but it does not constitute a stimulus which conditions how
we must behave. It is the habitus which immanently transforms

situations into positions. For Bourdieu, situations are given or
received whereas positions are actively made. The position-taking
which occurs within the objective situation of larger groups brings
about social change and it depends on the way in which the habitus
is placed in relation to forms of cultural capital.
Bourdieu outlines three forms of cultural capital: incorporated
cultural capital, objectivated cultural capital and institutionalised
cultural capital. Incorporated cultural capital is indistinguishable
from the habitus. Thus, cultural dispositions of individuals are
not wholly artificial constructs — mere pawns in strategic position-
taking, acting in accordance with the dispositions of an essentially
social habitus. Rather, certain cultural dispositions are also
embodied. The key factor about incorporated cultural capital is
that it is confined to the physical life span of individuals. Every
incorporated culture is the unique product of unique dispositions.
Objectivated cultural capital, on the other hand, exists
independent of persons possessing different incorporated cultural
capitals. Objectivated cultural capital acquires autonomous market
value over time and the present position-takers deploy, second- or
third-hand, the value created by earlier position-takers. As such,
the objectivated cultural stock accumulated in one generation can
crash in the next. The value of the objectivated cultural capital of
the past has to be renewed and reactivated in the contemporary
market. Thus objects such as books or pictures, can be said to be
the repositories of objectivated cultural capital. However, they have
no value unless activated strategically in the present by those seeking
to modify their incorporated cultural capital. All those objects on
which cultural value has ever been bestowed lie perpetually
dormant, waiting to be revived, waiting for their old value to be
used to establish new value in a new market situation. Therefore,
objectivated cultural capital is permanently potent but always
dependent on the selection of individuals.
Institutionalised cultural capital, by contrast, has an objective
existence, which is instrumental in constituting individuals.
Introduction ò 25
Institutions are consolidated social groups which have the power

to prescribe or pre-empt the ways in which individuals might try
to use objectivated cultural capital to modify their own incorporated
cultural capital. Bourdieu refers particularly to educational
institutions, which embody value systems. Institutionalised cultural
capital such as educational institutions have the power to enforce
conceptions of ‘truth’. In Bourdieu, all forms of capital acquire
value in relation to a field. A cultural field can be understood as a
series of institutions, rules, rituals, conventions, categories and
appointments, which constitute an objective hierarchy and produce
and authorise certain discourses and activities. However, it is also
constituted by, or out of, the conflict which is involved when groups
or individuals attempt to determine what constitutes capital within
that field and how capital is to be distributed. Social reproduction
can then be understood as the ongoing interaction between habitus
and field using various forms of cultural and social capital.
Following Bourdieu, we can understand Islamic education as a
field located within a greater field of the Indian Muslim society.
The demarcation of the field is not limited to the institutional
setting of the madrasa but also incorporates the social milieu from
which the students come to study in the madrasa. The field for the
present study is thus composed of structural and valuational social
facts which influence a group of people to access madrasa education.
Madrasas can then be considered as institutionalised cultural capital
which has value only in relation to the demarcated field. The
individual or group habitus (of the teachers, the students, etc.)
can then be placed within the institutional space of madrasas.
Madrasas can be considered both as structured (organisationally,
ideationally) and structuring (in terms of their constitutive effects
on local activities). These individuals or groups shape the
institutions as well as are shaped by them. The habitus uses various
cultural capitals to define a field and to change their situation into
positions. At the same time, the cultural and social capital of
individuals and groups seek to maintain the objective conditions
of their own social reproduction.
Doing Fieldwork Under Suspicion

Fieldwork for the present study was conducted during 2004–2005.
Methodologically, the work lies between history and social
anthropology. The nature of work and the objectives of the study
necessitated adopting the method of non-participatory observation,
something which could only be done from close quarters. One of
the fist things I did was to meet the committee members of both
madrasas — Ashrafiya and Ehya ul-Ulum. After that I met the
Principals of the respective madrasas and told them the reason for
which I was there. Against the backdrop of 9/11, Muslim societies
have come to look upon anyone trying to research their institutions
as potential spies. They were highly inquisitive about the source of
my funding and on whose direction I was doing this research.
They were also apprehensive that I might negatively portray the
madrasas which would show the Muslims in bad light. Over
numerous short visits to their offices and shops and after many
cups of tea, I was granted access to these madrasas. In both these
madrasas, a separate room (called guest house) that was at one end
of the madrasa was allotted to me. I met the students during day
time and returned to my room during the night. However, this
arrangement was not giving me the opportunity to observe and
interact with the students in an informal manner which was
necessary for my work. When I requested that I be allowed to stay
with the students, the authorities told me that it would create lot
of problems for me such as lack of a proper bed and privacy.
Fortunately for me, they relented after I managed to convince one
of the local influential Muslims who put in a word for me. My
stay within the hostel rooms gave me access to the everyday lives
of its inhabitants, many of whom have become my friends.
While I was living with them, the students opened up gradually,
but once they did, they were more than willing to put me at ease
and see to it that I get all the information that I wanted. The
authorities, however, were never convinced about my ‘purpose’ of
research and were mostly uncooperative whenever I wanted access
Introduction ò 27
to some documents. While they were suspicious of me, they also

had certain expectation from me as a Muslim. They wanted me
not to write anything obverse about the madrasa. As one of them
put it: ‘It is a big organisation…. running it requires considerable
effort. If you find any anomaly in its functioning or finances, being
a Muslim you should ignore it.’ On top of all this, both the
authorities and students wanted to know whether I was a Deobandi
or a Barelwi. I was offered advice and counsel about their respective
interpretations of Islam. It is not easy for a Muslim to work on
Muslim institutions; that the political context was not conducive
is beside the point.
During my stay in Mubarakpur, I met a lot of local people,
some influential and some ordinary, who provided vital clues for
my research. While I met some of them with prior appointments
and conducted in-depth interviews; I met others in more informal
contexts. As always, the tea shops were important places of
socialisation and meeting people. Targeted interviews were also
conducted with students and authorities of madrasas. Personal
biographies of students, which I had collected prior to going to
their villages, came in handy and built a degree of confidence while
interviewing their parents.
The choice of Mubarakpur in Azamgarh as the field of study
was dictated by several factors. First and foremost, it is a Muslim-
majority qasba in which one could understand the dynamics of
intra-Muslim politics without seeking recourse to the majoritarian
context. Second, but more importantly, Mubarakpur has the
biggest madrasa of the Barelwis in North India. It also has most of
the denominations (maslak) of Indian Islam, thus making some
comparative references possible. Moreover, Muslims of eastern
Uttar Pradesh have hardly received much scholarly attention. Most
of the important Muslim towns happen to be in Western Uttar
Pradesh, as a result of which there is considerable literature on
them. This study is aimed to partly fill this academic void. My
interest in Mubarakpur was also due to the fact that it was a lower-
caste Muslim qasba and I hope that the educational history and
social anthropology of the Ansaris of this qasba would be a

corrective to the prevalent writings on Indian Muslims which have
mostly been about the upper-castes or Ashraf Muslims.
Notes
1 Although the Taliban put Islamic education back in the western
media’s spotlight, scholarly interest in madrasas dates further back.
For some pathbreaking studies, especially in the wake of the Iranian
revolution, see, Roy P. Mottahedeh, The Mantle of the Prophet: Religion
and Politics in Iran, Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 2000; David
Menashri, Education and the Making of Modern Iran, Ithaca and
London: Cornell University Press, 1992; Dale F. Eickelman,
Knowledge and Power in Morocco: The Education of a Twentieth-Century
Notable, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985; Michael M. J.
Fischer, Iran: From Religious Dispute to Revolution, Cambridge MA:
Harvard University Press, 1980.
2 Jeffrey Goldberg, ‘Inside Jihad U.: The Education of a Holy Warrior’,
The New The New York Times Magazine, 25 June 2000.

3 For a sense of Hindutva’s tirade against the madrasas, see Yoginder
Sikand, Bastions of the Believers: Madrasas and Islamic Education in

India, New Delhi: Penguin, 2005, pp. 267–77; Manjari Katju, VHP
and Indian Politics, Delhi: Orient Longman, 2003, pp. 109–10;
Madhav Godbole, ‘Madrasas: Need for Fresh Look’, Economic and
Political Weekly, 36(41), 2001, pp. 3889–90; Yoginder Sikand,
‘Targeting Muslim Religious Schools’, 36(35), 2001, pp. 3342–43;
P. Kumar, ‘UP Religious Places Bill’, 35(12), 2000, pp. 977–78.
4 Sikand, Bastions of the Believers, p. 271.
5 Indian madrasas argued that in the name of introducing modern
subjects, the government wanted to control their functioning. More

recently they have also rejected the state’s demand to constitute a
Central Madrasa Board. This also seems to be the case in Pakistan.
The madrasas see themselves as guardians of the Muslim ‘public sphere’
and resist interference within it. See Muhammad Qasim Zaman,
‘Religious Education and the Rhetoric of Reform: Madrasas in British
India and Pakistan’, Comparative Studies in Society and History, 41(2),
1999, pp. 294–323.
Introduction ò 29
6 See ‘Bengal CM Bites Dust’, The Milli Gazette, 16–28 February, 2002.
7 The authoritative book documenting the rise of Taliban is Ahmed
Rashid, Taliban: Militant Islam, Oil, and Fundamentalism in Central
Asia, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000.
8 See International Crisis Group, ‘Pakistan: Madrasas Extremism and
the Military’, Asia Report 36, 29 July 2002; Muhammad Qasim

Zaman, The Ulama in Contemporary Islam: Custodians of Change,
Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002, p. 136.
9 Marshal Hodgson, The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a
World Civilisation, vol. 2, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1974,

pp. 45–49.
10 See Micheal Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice in Medieval
Damascus, 1190-–1350, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,

1994, p. 70; George Makdisi, The Rise of Colleges: Institutions of
Learning in Islam and the West; Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press, 1981.
11 See A. L. Tibawi, Arabic and Islamic Themes London: Luzac, 1974.
12 See Makdisi, The Rise of Colleges; Tibawi, ‘Muslim Education in the
Golden Age of the Caliphate’, Islamic Culture, 28(3), 1954, pp. 418–
38.
13 See Toby E. Huff, The Rise of Early Modern Science: Islam, China and
the West, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993, pp. 79–90.

For a contesting view, see Jan-Peter Hartung, ‘Die Fromme Stiftung:
Eine islamische Analogie zur Korperschaft?’ (The Pious Foundation:
An Islamic Analogy for Corporation?), Tubingen: Mohr Siebeck,
2004, pp. 308–12; Said Amir Arjomand, ‘The Law, Agency, and
Policy in Medieval Islamic Society: Development of the Institutions
of Learning from the Tenth to the Fifteenth Century’, Comparative
Studies in Society and History, 41(2), 1999, p. 268.
14 See Berkey, The Formation of Islam: Religion and Society in the Near
East, 600-–1800, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003, p.

189; Richard Bulliet, Islam: The View from the Edge, New York:
Columbia University Press, 1994; Berkey, The Transmission of Knowledge
in Medieval Cairo, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992;
Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice in Medieval Damascus.
15 See John Bowen, Muslims Through Discourse: Religion and Ritual in
Gayo Society Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993; Brinkley

Messick, The Calligraphic State: Textual Domination and History in a
Muslim Society, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993.
16 Robert Hefner, ‘Introduction’, in Schooling Islam, in Robert W. Hefner

and Muhammad Qasim Zaman (eds), Schooling Islam: The Culture
and Politics of Modern Muslim Education, Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 2007, p. 10.
17 See Eickelman, Knowledge and Power in Morocco: The Education of a
Twentieth Century Notable, p. 105. Islamic education was fluid and

informal in the sense that it was not based on loci but rather on
personae. Students sought to gain education from those teachers who
had a high degree of social honour or prestige. More often, the
relationship formed with the Shaikh was life-long and was beneficial
to the students in ways which were more than educative. It was through
these relationships that students would later gain access to ritual and
worldly positions. To study at the feet of a reputed master, a student
would travel hundreds of miles in search of the shaykh. What this tells
us is that education was diffused and informal. There were no fixed
curricula which had to be finished in a particular time. Neither was
education confined to the institutional setting and regarded as a
specialised institution as suggested by scholars like Makdisi. Although
students might be awarded a degree (ijaza) of sorts, this was neither a
certification of courses taken nor a title conferring membership in
some corporate community of scholars. The ijaza was first and foremost
an emblem of a bond to a Shaikh, further underlying the informal
and networked quality of Islamic education of the times. For further
corroboration, see Chamberlain, Knowledge and Social Practice; Berkey,
The Formation of Islam.
18 Gregory Starrett, Putting Islam to Work: Education, Politics and
Religious Transformations in Egypt, Berkeley: University of California

Press, 1998, p. 9.
19 Ibid.
20 See Brenner, Controlling Knowledge: Religion, Power and Schooling in
a West African Muslim Society; The Peasantren Tradition, Bloomington:

Indiana University Press, 2001; Dhofier Zamakhsari, The Role of the
Kyai in the Maintenance of Traditional Islam in Java, Tempe: Arizona
State University, 1999; Nicole Grandin and Marc Gaborieau,
Madrasa: La transmission du savoir dans le monde Musulman, Paris:
Editions Arguments, 1997.
21 For Iran see Monica Ringer, Education, Religion and the Discourse of
Cultural Reform in Qajar Iran, Costa Mesa: Mazda Publishers, 2001,

Introduction ò 31
p. 245; Menashri, Education and the Making of Modern Iran, p. 29.

For the Ottomans see Benjamin Fortna, Imperial Classrooms: Islam,
the State and Education in the Late Ottoman Empire, Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2000, p. 85.
22 Cf. Sikand, Bastions of the Believers, p. xxvii.
23 Probably the first comprehensive survey of madrasas was by Kuldip
Kaur, Madrasa Education in India: A Study of its Past and Present,

Chandigarh: Center for Research in Rural and Industrial
Development, 1990.
24 Barbara Daly Metcalf, Islamic Revival in British India: Deoband 1860–
1900, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002; Francis Robinson,

The Ulama of Firangi Mahall and Islamic Culture in South Asia,
Pherozesons: Lahore, 2002; Zaman, The Ulama in Contemporary Islam.
25 Usually translated as genteel, but in India, they were the upper-caste
and urban Muslims who were the repositories of this culture. In trying
to replicate this caste and class specific culture on all Indian Muslims,
Deoband indulged in what can be termed as symbolic violence, an
aspect which does not receive much attention in Metcalf’s work.
26 Robinson’s work critiques the earlier perspective of Paul Brass which
argued that religious symbols were tools in the hands of the Muslim
elite and they manipulated it to serve their instrumental ends of
political mobilisation. See Paul Brass, Language, Religion and Politics
in North India, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974.
27 See Francis Robinson, Islam and Muslim History in South Asia, New
Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2000; Robinson, ‘Technology and

Religious Change: Islam and the Impact of Print’, Modern Asian
Studies, 27(1), 1993, pp. 229–51.
28 See Jamal Malik, Colonialization of Islam: Dissolution of Traditional
Institutions in Pakistan, Delhi: Manohar Publications, 1998.

29 Ibid., p. 3.
30 Jamal Malik (ed.), Madrasas in South Asia: Teaching Terror? London:
Routledge, 2008.
31 Jan-Peter Hartung and Helmut Reifeld, Islamic Education, Diversity
and National Education: Dini Madaris in India Post 9/11, New Delhi:
Sage, 2006.
32 For madrasas in medieval India, see Muzaffar Alam and Sanjay
Subramanian, ‘The Making of a Munshi’, Comparative Studies of South

Asia, Africa and the Middle East, 24(2), pp. 61–72, 2004; K. A. Nizami,
‘Development of Muslim Educational System in Medieval India’,

Islamic Culture, Oct. 1996, pp. 27–54; N. N. Law, Promotion of
Learning in Indian During Muhammadan Rule (By Muhammadans),
Delhi: Idarah-i Adabiyat-i Delli, 1973 ; S. M. Jafar, Education in
Muslim India, Delhi: Idarah-i Adabiyat-i Delli, 1972.
33 See for example, Manzur Ahmad, Islamic Education: Redefinition of
Aims and Methodology, New Delhi: Institute of Objective Studies,

1995; Sharif Khan, Education, Religion and the Modern Age, New
Delhi: Ashish Publication House, 1990.
34 Firangi Mahal was a madrasa in Lucknow run by a family of men
who were famed for their religious learning. Family members taught
students individually and there was no concept of separate classes. It
was supported by the Mughal court for a long time and later by the
Awadh Nawabs. It was an illustrious son of this lineage called Mulla
Nizamuddin who had framed the famous madrasa curriculum called
Dars-e-nizami. Dars-e-nizami had become the standard madrasa
curriculum of the times. It stressed the importance of rational studies
such as logic, jurisprudence, philosophy and mathematics. Quran and
Hadis were only marginally studied. The Quran was studied through
only two commentaries while Hadis through just one abridgement.
Clearly this kind of curriculum was designed to produce bureaucrats
for the courts. Thus many of the Firangi Mahallis served in the Mughal
court and later in Awadh court. With the decline of these courts,
these kinds of madrasas rapidly declined. As we shall see later, this
would not happen in the case of new madrasas such as Deoband,
which would operate independent of any patronage. Its foundational
aims would be very different from madrasas like Firangi Mahal. For
details, see Robinson, Firangi Mahall.
35 Madad-i-mash grant was given to scholars or institutions for the services
provided to the community in general. It was also a tool for controlling

ulama as it could be withdrawn anytime if it went against the interest
of the emperor.
36 Nizami, ‘Development of Muslim Educational System in Medieval
India’.
37 For a discussion on the medieval syllabus, see G.M.D. Sufi, Al Minhaj:
Being the Evolution of Curriculum in the Muslim Educational Institutions

of India, Delhi: Idarah-i Adabiyat-i Delli, 1941; Robinson, The Ulama
of Firangi Mahall, especially pp. 42–45.
Introduction ò 33
38 According to Aziz Ahmad, those who went for higher studies in Arabic
were generally from upper class families. Invariably they also happened
to be from the four upper-caste Muslim groups, viz, Syed, Shaikh,
Pathan and Mughals, collectively known as Ashrafs. See Aziz Ahmad,
Studies in Islamic Culture in Indian Environment, New Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 1999.
39 In this context it is worthwhile mentioning that Mir Shirazi, the spirit
behind Akbar’s Din e Ilahi, was the intellectual ancestor of Mulla

Nizam al-Din Sihlawi, the author of Dars-i-Nizami, which eventually
became the standard syllabus of Deoband.
40 Talal Asad, Genealogies of Religion: Discipline and Reasons of Power in
Christianity and Islam, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press,

1993, p. 207.
41 Zaman, Ulama in Contemporary Islam.
42 On Shah Wali-ullah, see G. N. Jalbani, Teachings of Shah Waliyullah
of Delhi, Delhi: Idarah-i Adabiyat-i Delli, 1980.

43 Metcalf, Islamic Revival, p. 101.
44 The term ‘scripturalist Muslims’ is used by Clifford Geertz to denote
Muslims who have repudiated their customary way of life in favour

of a more fixed way of life as enunciated in the Quran and the Hadis.
See Clifford Geertz, Islam Observed: Religious Developments in Morocco
and Indonesia, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1971.
45 Important differences between the Deobandis and the Barelwis will
be made clear during the course of this work. Briefly they represent
the two main maslaks/paths among the Indian Muslims.
46 Usha Sanyal, Devotional Islam and British Politics in India: Ahmad
Riza Khan Barelwi and His Movement, 1870-–1920, New Delhi:

Oxford University Press, 1996.
47 Durkheim quoted in Dale Eickelman, ‘The Art of Memory: Islamic
Education and Its Social Reproduction’, Comparative Studies in Society

and History, 20(4), 1978, p. 486.
48 Michel Foucault, ‘Afterword: The Subject and Power’, in H. Dreyfus
and P. Rabinow (eds), Michel Foucault: Beyond Structuralism and

Hermeneutics, Sussex: The Harvester Press, 1982, pp. 210–13, p. 101.
49 See for example Talcott Parsons, ‘The School Class as a Social System’
in A. H. Halsey, J. Floud and C. A. Anderson (eds), Education,

Economy and Society, New York: The Free Press, 1961, pp. 434–455;
K. Davis and W. E. Moore, ‘Some Principles of Stratification’, in
R. Bendix and S. M. Lipset (eds), Class, Status and Power: Social

Stratification in Comparative Perspective, London: Routledge and
Kegan Paul, 1967, pp. 47–52.
50 See, Bowles and Gintis, Schooling in Capitalist America, London:
Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1976.

51 Louis Althusser, ‘Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses’, in B.
R. Cosin (ed.), Education: Structure and Society, Harmondsworth:

Penguin Books, pp. 242–80, 1972.
52 Pierre Bourdieu and Jean-Claude Passeron, Reproduction in Education,
Society and Culture, trans. Richard Nice, London: Sage, 1990, p. xi.
53 See Jen Webb, Tony Schirato and Geoff Danaher, Understanding
Bourdieu. London: Sage, 2002.

1
History and the Present in Mubarakpur:
The Ethos1
Mubarakpur is a qasba/small town located in the administrative

district of Azamgarh, eastern Uttar Pradesh. From the district
headquarters of Azamgarh, Mubarakpur is at a distance of around
11 km towards the north. According to the 2001 census, the total
population of the qasba was 51,080;2 although during the time of
the fieldwork in 2004, local estimate of the population was around
70,000. The qasba is predominantly Muslim and, according to its
residents, Muslims comprise around 80 per cent of the total
population. In the 2001 census, the literacy rate of the qasba was 49
per cent,3 male literacy being 56 per cent and female literacy rate 43
per cent, which compares unfavourably with the overall district
literacy rate of 56.15 per cent.4 In terms of spatial division, the qasba
is divided into 25 municipal wards, having an income of <20 lakh
per annum. The total voter strength of the qasba is around 31,000.5
To the outside world, Mubarakpur is a ‘Muslim area’. On my
way to this ‘Muslim area’, I came to know that it is also referred to
as mini-Pakistan. But this outsiders’ perception of Mubarakpur, as
I would come to know eventually, was not only misleading, but
said more about the people who called it mini-Pakistan rather than
about Mubarakpur itself. Indeed it is not unusual for a city or a
section having sizeable Muslim population to be designated as
another mini-Pakistan. However, as one enters Mubarakpur, one
cannot escape the Islamic symbolism with which the qasba is replete.
Even before the actual habitation area starts, one is greeted by the
imposing building of Madrasa Ashrafiya. In the main qasba itself,
there are a number of madrasas, mosques and imambaras. While
some of them are around a century old, others are much more recent,
and still more are in the process of being constructed. The Islamic
symbolism can also be discerned at the local tea shops where Islamic/
Muslim calendars and posters announce the dates of important
religious occasions. To add to this sense of coming to a ‘Muslim
area’ is the sheer absence of women from the streets. The occasional
woman one sees is always accompanied by some male relative; in
some cases, they are seen in small groups, but never alone and never
unveiled.
Moreover, in mundane conversations, one also comes to know
that Mubarakpuris take great pride in recalling that the area that
they inhabit was once known as the Shiraz of the East.6 As a
continuation of Islamic predominance, they stress the fact that
Mubarakpur is known as the birthplace of various Islamic scholars
who earned great fame not only in India but also abroad. More
contemporaneously, they talk of various madrasas that the qasba
has and about their popularity which attracts students from all over
India. It is this pride of belonging to the qasba which also reflects in
the title ‘Mubarakpuri’, which some notables of the qasba, particularly
those belonging to the older generation, append to their names.7
Religious significance is also underlined in the local history of the
qasba. In popular memory, the establishment of the qasba is
associated with a Sufi saint of neighbouring Manikpur, whose
descendants settled in the qasba and gave it the present name.8 Going
further down in history, the people of Mubarakpur are proud to
state that Islam came very early in this area, around the fifth century,
and relate it to the exploits of Salar Masud Ghazi,9 who on his way
to Bahraich had stopped in a place called Bhagatpur, just eight miles
north of Mubarakpur. For the people of Mubarakpur, the grace
(baraka) of these early ‘holy men’ of Islam, still pervades the area.
However, as colonial history notes, this self-perception of the
people of Mubarakpur is not reciprocated by official records. The
Gazetteer of Azamgarh notes that ‘no references are made to it
(Mubarakpur) in the Mohammedan history’.10 This sense of being
ignored has also been a source of complaint of one of the more
famous Mubarakpuris, who agonizingly notes that ‘Mubarakpur
History and the Present in Mubarakpur ò 37
has hardly been mentioned for its achievements’. 11 The

‘achievements’ that Athar Mubarakpuri is talking about has to do,
among other things, with the presence of men of religious learning
in the qasba who contributed to the strengthening of various schools
of Islam present in this area. Among others, Athar Mubarakpuri
mentions the name of Abdur Rahman,12 who went on to become
the foremost proponent of the Ahl e Hadis, not only in the qasba
but also internationally.
Notwithstanding the paucity of early references to Mubarakpur,
a sense of its establishment may be derived from the history of its
neighbouring district of Mau. Mau was part of a jagir that was gifted
to Jahan Ara by her father, Emperor Shah Jahan. It was Jahan Ara
who built a katra or market place in the town of Mau.13 This market
place served as a trading centre for the silk produced in the area.
Mubarakpur may have served as a centre for cotton and silk weaving
and trade. The eastern limits of the Sharqi Sultanat, whose capital
Jaunpur was known for silk and cotton production, included present
Mubarakpur. It must be noted, however, that as a producer for silk
and cotton textiles, Mubarakpur ranked much below its neighbours
like Mau and Muhhamadabad. The only exclusive mention of
Mubarakpur in the Gazetteer is for being a producer of special mix
of cotton and silk fabric called tasar silk.14
Administratively, the area of Mubarakpur came under the
suzerainty of the British East India Company much earlier as
compared with other areas of United Provinces. Under the Treaty
of Friendship, Nawab Sadat Ali Khan of Awadh surrendered
Ruhelkhand, Etawah, Kanpur, Fatehgarh, Allahabad, Azamgarh,
Basti and Gorakhpur to the East Indian Company in November
1801.15 These areas were made part of Gorakhpur the same year by
the East India Company. In 1832, when a new district of Azamgarh
was formed, Mubarakpur was joined with it and a new collector
was appointed. In 1813, the population of the qasba was estimated
at between 10,000 and 12,000 comprising various labouring and
service sections and those dependent on the expropriation of
surplus.16 According to the Gazetteer, one-fourth of the population
consisted of Muslim weavers. The important elements of the qasba

were the zamindars, weavers, trader and moneylenders. In 1881,
the population rose to 13,157 (9,066 Muslims and 4,091 Hindus).17
Among the principal divisions recorded were 143 landholders and
1,877 weavers. By 1901 the population was estimated to be 15,433,
with 11,442 Muslims and 3,991 Hindus.18
Muslims therefore, have had a substantial presence in the history
of the qasba. Among Muslims, it has been the weavers who have
always been the numerical majority and have given this qasba an
identity of its own. More requires to be said about the weavers and
the particular way in which their own history has been linked up
with the history of the qasba. That will be taken up in a later section.
For the time being, let us continue with the relationship that the
people have with the qasba. The present-day qasba is divided into
12 muhallas and its various divisions form the 25 municipal wards
of the qasba19. It is interesting to note that the names of the muhallas
carry some religious significance. Thus the Pura Sufi mohalla is said
to be named after a Sufi Bahadur who is said to have captured a fort
during the rule of Shahjahan.20 Similar reasons are ascribed for the
naming of other mohallas. The area of the qasba is roughly nine sq.
km and is densely populated. The main road to the qasba starts
from what is called the Roadways Chauraha and goes all the way up
to the end of the qasba, roughly dividing it into two.21 There are no
separate areas that can be demarcated as residential spaces or markets,
but it is in the middle of the qasba that one finds the maximum
number of shops. The Pura Rani mohalla therefore serves as the
economic fulcrum of the qasba. Mubarakpur is famous for saris and
the shops in Pura Rani sell these to buyers from Gujarat, Varanasi,
Mumbai, etc.22 (Although the shops are open throughout the day,
most of the business happens during the evenings.) Other areas of
Mubarakpur do not have the same number of shops as the central
area so that bazaar (market) here means the centre of the city. But
this in no way should lead to the conclusion that this area is exclusively
a space for economic exchange. In fact, most of the shops are housed
on the ground floors of what are otherwise normal households. The
family resides on the first or second floor, while the ground floor
serves a number of functions, including that of being a shop. Often
this shop also serves as a space for social interaction. It is here that
guests are welcomed, refreshments are served and local politics
discussed. Often the shop owner is assisted by a bevy of close family
members, brothers or sons, which leaves him free to engage in
conversations of social importance. He would be consulted by the
less experienced family members prior to any sale, but will be directly
involved in any sale involving substantial amount, which is the case
during the festival season. During these times, the guests do not
expect him to be too involved in conversation, or if the shopkeeper
really gets busy, they would simply leave.
Not all shops, however, are housed within family quarters. For
some, residence and place of work are separated. But even here, the
ideal type of market relations is typically absent. Shop floors in these
cases too often serve as a space for meeting friends and are an
important place to talk about the affairs of the qasba. Mubarakpur,
therefore offers a contrast to the typical representation of modern
cities, where the place of work and residence are supposed to be
physically separated. In the Indian context though, Mubarakpur
shares this feature of mixed space use with most other small towns.
An average trader here need not imagine himself as performing
different roles suiting different situations. Here a shopkeeper is
simultaneously a friend or a father, thus not compartmentalising his
social relationships or himself. Economic and social relationships go
hand in hand and the same physical space can be used for a variety
of purposes.
This, however, is not to suggest that all spaces are permeable and
fluid in the qasba. Rather there are fixed social boundaries when it
comes to relations of gender. We have already referred to the physical
segregation of gender space. Women are considered to be the ‘jewel’
of the household (ghar ki zeenat). Their place ‘properly’ speaking, is
within the house, and like ‘jewels’ their preciousness is underlined
by keeping them hidden from public gaze. Accordingly, the houses
in the qasba are invariably divided into male and female spaces. A
male guest will be entertained in a room just near the entrance.

Those who cannot afford a room exclusively for this purpose, often
entertain guests in the room that also serves as their work room for
embroidering saris or working at the loom. If there is a man present
in the house, women seldom answer the door. In the absence of
men, women are not supposed to open the door and talk to men
who are not related (ghair mahram) and visitors just have to choose
another time. One of the ways in which the goodness of women is
measured here relates to her not being seen in public spaces, such as
the market. So although sari is a women’s dress, women are not seen
buying it for themselves, rather it is the men of the house who buy
it for them. Women of course have the choice of either accepting or
rejecting the selections made by the men of the household. Except
during festivals — Eid, Urs or Muharram — when the pressure of
business on men is high, women are seldom seen in the bazaar. And
even when they are seen, they are often accompanied by a male
relative or move about in groups. The meandering lanes and bylanes
of the qasba afford some privacy to the women, where they can be
seen crossing from one house to another or generally chatting away
with neighbours standing on the entrance. However, as soon as a
man passes by, they hide behind the doors and resume the chat
once the man has gone by.
Muslim men of Mubarakpur argue that this segregation is expected
from their religion, which enjoins the observance of parda on women.
In their conversation, the segregation of men and women is construed
as an important marker of their Islamicity. Stating that the larger
society is ‘corrupt’,23 women need to be safeguarded from the
advances of men. It is for this reason that they need to be protected
and guarded from the evil eye of the larger society. This
understanding of women as fragile and in need of protection has
produced the gender segregation practiced in the qasba.
Yet not everyone seems to be happy about the existing state of
affairs here. In a conversation with a local Alim, considerably
advanced in age, I realised that the older generation thinks that moral
standards of the qasba have declined. Morality, among other things,
is related to the state of women and their honour (izzat). On my

prodding, the Alim told me that these days he saw many women on
streets, which was an indication of the moral decline of the qasba.
On being reminded by me that all the women were properly covered
according to the ‘Islamic norm’, he said that in earlier times one
could hardly see any women outside the house! The mere presence
then, of women in public spaces, even though they wear the burqa,24
gave enough cause to this Alim to ponder about the existing morality
of the qasba. But as stated earlier, this is only one of the many voices.
Other voices, especially those coming from the younger generation,
take pride in the fact that the girls of their qasba now go to school,
while earlier this was not the case. They mention with emphasis,
that some girls commute to Azamgarh daily since there are no
graduate colleges in Mubarakpur. But in the same voice they also
articulate that women should always be in purda.
There is, therefore, a consensus on how women should appear in
public. According to this reasoning, it is better for women to stay
indoors and look after the household. However, since times are
changing, women should also take to education, but this should not
mean that they take undue advantage of this ‘freedom’ and start
going astray. While it is being acknowledged that women should be
encouraged to go for higher education, yet there is fear that this
opportunity may tempt them to try things that are regarded
unIslamic. There is also the fear that modern education has a
‘corrupting’ influence since it does not teach respect of elders and
how to relate to other men and women in an Islamic way. In short,
there is anxiety about modern education being alien and having the
potential to subvert the existing hierarchy of codes and honours in
the everyday life of the qasba. But this fear is more pronounced
when it comes to women. Part of the reason for such an
understanding might lay in the fact that women have been considered
as frivolous and ‘given to their nature’. It was perhaps this anxiety
that drove the famous Deobandi Alim, Ashraf Ali Thanwi, to caution
Muslims against educating girls beyond the basics of reading and
writing so that they may just be able to read the Quran and other
elementary religious books.25 Although ideologically opposed to the

Deobandis, the most famous Barelwi Alim of Mubarakpur, Abdul
Aziz, echoed the same view, arguing that women hardly had any
intelligence.26
Abdul Aziz gave the above statement sometimes in the early 1970s.
Much has changed between then and now. Today there are at least
three inter colleges, especially for the education of girls in
Mubarakpur. One of the earliest in this field, Ansar Girls School,
was founded in 1976 and developed into an inter college in 1999.
Another recent entrant is the Millat Girls Higher Secondary School.
And more importantly, Ashrafiya Girls High School, which is run
by the same madrasa of which Abdul Aziz was the principal. What
is more, according to the present nazim (manager) of this madrasa,
there are plans to build a degree college for girls for which land has
already been acquired.27 During 2004–05, while there were 1,336
Muslim girls studying in Ansar Girls High School, their number in
Millat Girls High school, which officially started only in 1997, was
around 540.28 Given the fact that the latter school is not even funded
by the state, it shows the growing demand for girls’ education in the
qasba. This was certainly not the case earlier. According to the
principal of Ansar Girls High School, there was active opposition to
the founding of this school by the people of the qasba. It was argued
then that there is no need to educate girls and it was feared that they
will become be-purda (literally without parda/immodest).29
It was the weight of notables of the qasba such as Qazi Athar
Mubarakpuri which saw the opposition eventually peter away.
M. P. Inter College, the oldest school in the qasba, which started in
1970 and eventually became an inter college in 1970, needs a special
mention. This is a minority coeducational school having 3,500
students, out of which 1,300 are girls.30 This school has an equal
proportion of Hindu and Muslim students although increasingly
Muslim girls are outnumbering Hindu girls from neighbouring areas.31
It is interesting to note that the single sex girls’ schools mentioned
above, despite being advocates of girls’ schooling, do not have a
favourable opinion about the coeducational character of M. P. Inter
College. They argue that girls after a certain age should not study
along with boys as it may lead to moral degradation. However, the
M. P. Inter College is not coeducational in the strict sense of the
term. Girls’ classes from class eighth onwards are held separately
from boys, for which there is a separate building. In this institution
also, Muslim girls come burqa-clad and there are strict rules for
segregation of boys and girls.
Part of the reason for such a low assessment of this college has
also to do with the fact that it caters to a different social class. The
M. P. Inter College is a government college and hence charges
considerably lower fees as compared with the Girls High School,
which charges a considerably higher fee since it is not fully aided by
the state. As the principal of Girls’ College said, ‘students there come
from poor families and are not aware of the Islamic tenets.’32
Awareness of being Islamic and conducting oneself Islamically
therefore, has also to do with one’s economic location in society.
For the all girls’ institutions, this Islamic awareness translated into
closing the gates of the school when the school started in the morning
and only opening them when the day ends. Islamicity here is
inculcated through teaching of ‘appropriate’ Islamic books.
According to the principal of Ansar Girls High School, apart from
modern education, they also teach the ‘true’ teachings of Islam and
its etiquettes.33 It is not just important to know Islam but also learn
about what Islam says about husbands, the duties of being a Muslim
wife, respect to elders, etc. It is argued that the government syllabus
does not teach such tenets and, as a result, Muslim children do not
know anything about Islam. One of the important points which
came out of the discussion with the principals of these schools was
their insistence that education does not make women rebellious.
Rather it makes them obedient and more respectful of authority,
since they are taught the ‘command of Allah’.
Despite the claims that girls’ education is not making them
rebellious, these institutions do provide the girls of the qasba upward
social mobility. For example, most of the teachers in these colleges/
schools were themselves students of the respective schools.34 Some
have also gone for higher education to the district headquarters of

Azamgarh. Again, being a teacher in a school brings prestige in this
qasba as well as a certain amount of economic independence. For
women’s education in the qasba, this is considerable progress from
the time when mothers used to teach their daughters the basics of
religion within the household. More importantly, this has helped in
the self-image of these women and their confidence has, at times,
threatened the existing gender relationship and authority structure
within the town. One of the important reasons for educating girls
from the parents’ point of view is that it becomes much easier to
find a husband. Nowadays, says a parent, ‘the boys’ family expects
that the girl should be educated’35. It is also argued that the education
of the children depends on the education of the mothers. So ‘if the
mother is educated, she will guide the children and will see to it that
they perform well in school’36. Both the arguments are related and
it seems that one of the prime reasons for educating girls seems to be
to better their chances in the marriage market.
Again the search for educated brides and consequently educated
mothers appears to have a class component behind it. It is argued
that since men have to provide for the finances, they hardly have
time to look into their children’s education. Partly this explanation
holds true since the majority of the workforce of the qasba either
sells its labour, or engages in trade or combines both.37 But this is
not a forte of men alone. Women often contribute, especially at the
household looms, where they employ their own labour. The
Municipal register records the presence of 4,527 women as family
workers, 1,634 as marginal workers and 3,356 as main workers in
the qasba.38 Paradoxically, however, the presence of women workers
carries with it the sense of low social status.39 Families that work at
the looms are invariably poor and as such cannot afford to pay the
fees for educating their girl children. They remain content with a
modicum of religious education. It is only for this other reason that
only the relatively poor families send their daughters to M. P. Inter
College. Despite this, more than 50 per cent of the girls of this
institution are not from the qasba. It seems more likely then, that
the new demand for girls’ education is still not universal in its appeal,
but is confined to the higher class who can afford such education.
As shopowners and traders, the men have to spend considerable
amount of time outside the house. It is understandable then that
they would prefer women who would also take the responsibility of
looking after the education of children, thereby leaving them with
more free time to engage in his business.
However, there are some unintended consequences of this
action, which is putting gender relations within the qasba under
some strain. Although the male literacy rate is higher than that of
the females, there appears to be too few boys willing to continue
their education after standard tenth. One indication of this is that
whereas there are three inter colleges in the qasba exclusively for
girls, there is only one for boys and that too is coeducational. The
reason why males do not continue their schooling is related to the
occupational structure of the town and the cultural role assigned
to men. The majority are self-employed. For a shopowner, a trader
or a loom worker, it is always better to have an additional hand
and the family provides it without added costs. Moreover, initiating
a son into the business also means that the apprenticeship so given
would sharpen his acumen and the sooner it is done, the better it
will be for the son’s future. The patriarchal ideological structure
puts additional pressure on the sons to join the business soon since
the norm dictates that a man’s worth is related to his income. This
creates a situation, in families that can afford education, where
boys in the family drop out early while the girls continue their
education till they find a suitable groom.
The qasba, therefore, finds itself in a piquant situation where
girls are more educated than boys and the difference in numbers is
rising. Education has raised the expectation of girls also and they
demand grooms commensurate to their educational qualifications.
But this is getting increasingly hard to come by. During my fieldwork,
I came to know about two cases where girls refused to marry because
their prospective husbands were not as educated as themselves.40
This challenge to the existing authority pattern has started making
the qasba uneasy. It is perhaps for this reason that the principal of
the one of the girls’ school emphatically asserted that they also taught
their students to obey their husbands; but how far they will be
successful is an open question. In the meantime, families with
educated girls are increasingly looking outside the qasba in search of
grooms. This kind of exogamy creates another set of problems. An
outsider to the qasba brings new ideas and opinions and is bound to
have an effect on the existing normative structure.
To be sure, consensus within the qasba has always been fragile
and in the last 150 years, there have been various competing groups.
These groups have sometimes articulated their differences in class
terms and sometimes in religious terms. The traditional division
between zamindars, trader moneylenders and labourers of the early
twentieth century, as elucidated by Gyan Pandey, no longer exists.41
The zamindars have either been obliterated or have migrated to
urban areas and changed their strategies of social reproduction.
Families that were earlier much respected and wielded religious or
secular clout in the qasba have undergone changes in fortune.
The communal riots of the nineteenth and twentieth century
that Pandey so brilliantly excavates have also changed its character.42
The principal antagonism in the qasba is no longer between Hindus
and Muslims; rather it is between different social groups of Muslims
themselves. During the course of my fieldwork, I was time and again
reminded of the riots in Mubarakpur that took place during 2001.
While the popular media referred to and understood this riot as a
Shia–Sunni problem,43 the reality was more complex. It made more
sense to understand the 2001 riot as a Deobandi versus Shia problem
rather than a Shia–Sunni problem. The presence of sectarian groups
is not new in the qasba as the next chapter will show, sectarian groups
have had a long presence here and their rivalries have had a bearing
on the history of the place. Yet social everyday relationships were
hardly affected by such competitive religiosity. However, over the
years, sectarian discourse seems to have a bearing on the way the
people of the town conduct their social relations. Thus, despite the
polemics against the Shias, intermarriage among the Sunnis and the
Shias was common.44 Today one hardly hears of such marriage

alliances.
Within the Sunnis themselves, sectarianism manifests in derision
of each other, trying to prove that one’s own interpretation of Islam
is necessarily superior to the other. So although the qasba may appear
to be following plural notions of Islam, the attitude does not translate
into one of pluralism, which would imply a certain level of dialogue
and sharing. Although intra-Sunni religious polemics have not
affected social conduct to the extent that it has affected the Shia–
Sunni social exchange, yet denominational identities have hardened.
While it is quite common to see a Barelwi sipping tea with an Ahl e
Hadis or a Deobandi, yet they do not pray in the same mosque. No
wonder then that Mubarakpur has nearly 100 big and small mosques,
which is a sure reflection of the widening divide on sectarian lines
among the people of Mubarakpur.
It is also important to understand that in Muslim societies,
mosques combine within them the role of community space, a place
for prayer, religious instruction and political discussion.45 The many
mosques of Mubarakpur serve to consolidate such sectarian identities
through their institutions such as the Friday sermon or special
congregation, which details the finer points of differences of each
denomination (maslak). The strength and size of the mosque also
becomes a matter of pride for these denominations. Thus, two of
the biggest mosques in Mubarakpur belong to the dominant
denominations of the qasba, the Barelwis and the Deobandis. The
mosques of other denominations are much smaller in size which
shows their relative weakness within the qasba. Much of this
denominational competition is couched in religious terms. During
my fieldwork, the construction of a Deobandi mosque was in full
swing. Overseen by the management of a famous Deobandi madrasa
in the qasba, the secretary took pride in telling me that the minarets
of the mosque will be the highest in Mubarakpur, if Allah so wishes.
Arguing that Deobandis are the correct followers of Islam, he said
that the true light would shine from these minarets and dispel the
darkness of those who are steeped in ignorance.46
However, resources need to be mobilised for such work and rather

than being an affirmation of the true faith, the height of the minaret
depends more on the economic clout of the Deobandis and the
finances that they can muster. Such competitive religiosity among
various maslaks has created a situation where the public debate is
mostly on matters of religion and the rightness or wrongness of
various maslaks in the qasba, to the detriment of issues like access to
health and education. Literacy levels have remained low and health
services remain woefully inadequate. This is not to suggest that
Mubarakpur is unique when it comes to the state delivering these
basic facilities. Yet as we have seen, this has also to do with the kind
of priority that the town seems to have set for itself. The only visible
markers of ‘development’ are related to religious signifiers, be it
mosques or madrasas. This is not to suggest that the state has been
altogether absent here, but even the state seems to be able to
perpetuate its agenda through religious institutions. Thus educational
schemes run by the government seem to be implemented by madrasas
in the Muslim localities.47 It seems that for the government, madrasas
provide the only agency here through which it can implement its
various educational programmes. The fact that madrasas are willing
to implement such programmes also suggests that they see some
merit in modern education. How it will impact the educational and
ideological moorings of the qasba is an open question.
What is more certain, however, is the surge in demand for ‘school’
rather than traditional education of the madrasas. We have already
seen the demand for girls’ education and the way in which madrasas
have responded to cater to this demand. Although not on the same
scale, but in the last decade or so, Mubarakpur has witnessed the
growth of English medium primary level schools. Although, it is
stressed that these schools also teach ‘Islam’, the emphasis does not
seem to be as pronounced as in the case of the girls’ school as
mentioned above. As we noted earlier, the boys in Mubarakpur
seldom take to higher education, owing partly to the occupational
structure of the place. However, during interviews with respondents,
I became aware that now they were keen to educate their sons as
they felt that the security that the loom provided them was no longer
there. There were various reasons given for the decline of business
in Mubarakpur. Some had to do with globalisation, particularly the
large-scale dumping of Chinese silk and cotton that is considerably
cheaper than those produced by the looms of Mubarakpur.48 Added
to this were the sectarian clashes of 2001 referred to earlier, which
seems to have scared away prospective buyers from Mubarakpur.
Residents of Mubarakpur told me that earlier buyers from Gujarat,
Mumbai, Varanasi, etc. used to come directly to Mubarakpur to
buy finished products, but they no longer do so. As a result, traders
in Mubarakpur take bookings from bigger merchants in these cities
and then get the work done. Payments, therefore, have become
mostly deferred as merchants insist on paying only after the goods
have been sold. For the worker at the loom, this has meant decreasing
profit per sari, though part of the reason is also import of Chinese
silk.
In the historical memory of the qasba, this economic uncertainty
is unique. They fondly refer to ‘those days’ when business was
conducted till midnight and profits brought a degree of prosperity
in the qasba. Almost all the respondents agreed that the business
was at an all-time low. Interestingly, some argue that the spread of
educational awareness in the town is a result of its economic decline.
They argue that since the profit margins have become low, people
have started looking for other avenues and education is one of them.
As in other parts of India, education is seen as a lever to employment.
There seems to be some truth in this assertion. For if we look at the
girls’ education, three out of four Inter colleges were started after
1999, just after the outbreak of sectarian clashes.49 As commented
earlier, we do not see the same level of commitment when it comes
to boys’ education.
The tana-bana (the vertical and horizontal weaving pattern which
goes into the making of any piece of cloth) of Mubarakpur is thus
ever evolving, and this study is an attempt to chart this evolution of
the qasba. While in this chapter we have seen the emerging faultlines
along the dimension of gender, other chapters highlight fractures
within the qasba along the question of caste and denomination.
The Muslim qasba is therefore not just about mosques and madrasas
but carries within itself various other stories; stories which are the
common heritage of most ordinary Indians.
Notes
1 By ethos I mean ‘the tone, character and quality of people’s life, its
moral and aesthetic style, and mood; it is the underlying attitude
toward themselves and their world that life reflects’, following Clifford
Geertz, quoted in Richard T. Antoun, ‘Themes and Symbols in the
Religious Lesson: A Jordanian Case Study’, 1993, p. 623.
2 Male: 26048, Female: 25032.
3 The corresponding literacy rate for 1991 Census was 42.39 per cent.
4 In the Census of 2001, the literacy rate for Azamgarh as a whole is
56.15 per cent. However, while the male literacy is way above the
Mubarakpur rate at 70.5 per cent, there is not much difference when
it comes to female literacy rate which for the district stands at 42.4
per cent.
5 Interview: Ameer Singh, Mubarakpur Municipality.
6 Athar Mubarakpuri, Tazkira Ulama e Mubarakpur, Mubarakpur:
Daira Millia Mubarakpur, 1974, p. 5.

7 The most prominent of them being Qazi Athar Mubarakpuri, author
of an important work on religious scholars of Mubarakpur. For a

historical narrative of some of the reasons of the development of such
pride in one’s qasbas, see C. A. Bayly, Rulers, Townsmen and Bazaars:
North Indian Society in the Age of British Expansion, New Delhi: Oxford
University Press, 2003, pp. 353–54.
8 The name of the Sufi is Saiyyid Raja Shah Mubarak. The title of Raja
may suggest that he had considerable land under his disposal. The
earlier name of Mubarakpur seems to be Qasimabad which lay in
ruins until it was re-populated by the descendants of the above
mentioned Sufi. The Sufi is also mentioned in D. L. Drake-
Brockmann, Azamgarh: A Gazetteer, being vol. xxxiii of District
Gazetteers of United Provinces and Oudh, vol. 32, Allahabad:

Government Press, 1911, p. 261; Mubarakpuri, Tazkira, p. 14; Abdul
Mannan (n.p), Ashrafiya se al Jamiatul Ashrafiya Tak.
9 The tomb of Salar Masud or Ghazi Mian as he is popularly known is
located in Bahraich, a district in Uttar Pradesh. For more on Salar

Masud Ghazi and the cult around his tomb, see Shahid Amin ‘On
Retelling the Muslim Conquest of North India’, in P. Chatterjee and
A. Ghosh (eds), History and the Present, New Delhi: Permanent Black,
2002, pp. 24–43; Kerrin Grafin Schwerin, ‘The Cow Saving Muslim
Saint: Elite and Folk Representations of a Tomb Cult in Oudh’, in
M. Hasan and A. Roy (eds), Living Together Separately: Cultural
India in History and Politics, New Delhi: Oxford University Press,
2005, pp. 172–93.
10 Azamgarh Gazetteer, p. 261.
11 Mubarakpuri, Tazkira, p. 58.
12 Abdur Rahman (1942–2004), studied initially in Mubarakpur but
went to teach and research at various places including the Jamia Salafia,
the apex madrasa of Ahl e Hadis in Varanasi and was the editor of its
monthly magazine. He is credited with writing a biography (ar-Raheeq
al-Makhtum) of the Prophet Muhammad during his stay in the Islamic
University of Medina.
13 Abdullah Yusuf Ali, Silk Fabrics Produced in the North West Provinces
and Oudh: A Monograph, Allahabad: North West Provinces and Oudh

Government Press, 1900, p. 102.
14 Azamgarh Gazetteer, p. 62. Abdullah Yusuf Ali mentions a religious
cause for the production of tasar, since wearing of silk by men was
forbidden by the Islamic tenets, see Ali, Silk Fabrics, p. 103.
15 Surendra Mohan, Awadh Under the Nawabs: Politics, Culture and
Communal Relations 1722–1856, New Delhi: Manohar Publications,

199, p. 101.
16 Quoted in Gyanendra Pandey, ‘Encounters and Calamities: The
History of a North Indian Qasba’, in Ranajit Guha (ed.), Subaltern

Studies III, Writings on South Asian History and Society, New Delhi:
Oxford University Press, 1999, p. 234.
17 ibid.
18 District Gazetteer of United Provinces and Oudh, vol. 32, p. 262.
19 Mubarakpuri (1974), mentions 28 muhallas during medieval times

but that seems to be an exaggeration, given the small population of
that time. The present names of the muhallas are: Pura Sufi, Pura
Diwan, Pura Khijir, Shah Muhammadpur, Pura Bagh, Hyderabad,
Pura Rani, Purani Basti, Pura Khaja, Katra, Ali Nagar, Nurpur Bootat.
The word ‘pura’ signifies a locality/muhalla and is a common usage
among the Indian Muslims used both as a suffix and prefix. Thus
designations like ‘sheikhpura’ means the locality of sheikhs,
‘qassaabpura’ means locality of butchers, etc.
20 Mubarakpuri, Tazkira, p. 21.
21 This would translate as ‘roadways square’ and is so called because the
state roadway buses start and terminate here.

22 Sari is the most common form of dress for Indian women belonging
to all religions. One of the most sought-after sari in North India is

called the Banarsi, which despite the name, actually gets produced in
places like Mubarakpur, Mau and other weaving towns of Eastern
Uttar Pradesh.
23 I am reproducing the exact word used by the locals. The word ‘corrupt’
is often used as part of Hindustani and connotes a variety of meanings

depending on the context. In this particular usage, it means without
morals.
24 There are different kinds of burqa worn by Indian Muslim women.
In Mubarakpur as well as the city of Azamgarh, the most common

burqa is the one which covers the whole face, leaving space for the
eyes. This type of burqa is increasingly being called ‘talibani burqa’.
25 See Ashraf Ali Thanwi, Bihishti Zewar, trans. Muhammad Masroor
Khan Saroha, Lahore: Hanif Brothers, 1978.

26 Badrul Qadri Misbahi, ‘Interview with Abdul Aziz’, Hafiz-e-Millat
Number, Mahanama Ashrafiya, 1978, p. 75.

27 Interview with Muhammad Sarfaraz, Nazim/Manager, Madrasa
Ashrafiya.
28 The data is culled from the offices of these schools.
29 Interview with Nigar Bano, principal, Ansar Girls High School.
30 All figures for the academic year 2004–5.
31 Interview with Nurul Hasan, principal, M. P. Inter College.
32 Interview, principal, Ansar Girls High School.
33 Ibid.
34 Thus, out of 22 teachers in Ansar Girls High School, 18 are its old
students.
35 The assertion is based on discussions with teachers of some of the
above mentioned schools.

36 Ibid.
37 In Mubarakpur, the majority are employed in the textile sector.
According to the local Municipal register, the proportion of those

engaging in agriculture-related activities is only 264.
38 Data from Mubarakpur Municipal register based on the census of
2001.
39 Women who work along with men are seen as belonging to a lower
social status. Higher work participation of women has always been

one of the important markers for the lower castes in India.
40 The very fact that this became a public discussion in itself shows the
consternation that a girls’ refusal can evoke in a male-dominated social

setup.
41 Pandey, ‘Encounter and Calamities’, p. 234.
42 Ibid. pp. 231–70; for a fuller treatment of the communal problem
see by the same author, The Construction of Communalism in Colonial

North India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1995.
43 ‘Riots in Mubarakpur’, The Milli Gazette, 16–30 November, 2000.
44 Based on discussions with some elderly residents of Mubarakpur.
45 For more on the role of mosque in Islam, see, Zafeer Uddin Miftahi,
Mosque in Islam, New Delhi: Qazi Publishers, 1996; Salah Zaimeche,

Education in Islam: The Role of the Mosque, Manchester: Foundation
for Science Technology and Civilisation, 2002; see also Michael
Gilsenan, Recognizing Islam: Religion and Society in the Modern Middle
East, London: I. B. Tauris, 2000, especially pp. 173–79, for an
understanding of mosques and their relationship with power and
authority.
46 The reference is towards other denominations but more particularly
towards the Barelwis, who according to the Deobandis are bidatis

(innovators in religion).
47 Thus the Basic Education Scheme of the government is implemented
entirely by madrasas in Mubarakpur. For the madrasas implementing

this scheme, resources are provided in terms of teachers’ salaries and
classroom equipment. The standard practice in Mubarakpur is to
convert part of the madrasa which lacks decent facilities for students,
into a ‘school’. Moreover, it seems that the lack of governmental

supervision results in such schools utilising the existing madrasa
teachers, who have no particular knowledge of the subject, to teach
the students. Altogether, four madrasas implement the Basic Education
Scheme of the government according to the Basic Shikhsa Adhikari,
Sathiaon Block, Azamgarh.
48 This is not just in Mubarakpur but was a constant reference in the
neighbouring districts of Mau and Varanasi.

49 Ansar Girls High School started its inter college in 1999, followed by
Millat Girls’ High School and Ashrafiya Girls’ High School in 2000.
2
Knowledge, Power and Politics
In the summer of 1934, Amjad Ali summoned one of his students,

Abdul Aziz, and asked him to proceed to Mubarakpur with the
following words, ‘I am sending you to an akhara. May God give
you strength.’ Literally, akhara connotes a wrestling arena so why
would an Alim like Amjad Ali invoke an image of a wrestling arena
to describe Mubarakpur? Before trying to understand this
symbolism, it is important to know about Amjad Ali and his student
Abdul Aziz.
Amjad Ali (1867–1948), is one of the important names among
the followers of Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat, popularly known as the
Barelwis, although not much has been written about him. Born in
Ghosi, Azamgarh, his initial education was at home under the
guidance of his grandfather and later his elder brother. For further
studies, he went to Jaunpur and Pilibhit to learn at the feet of Hidayat-
Ullah Khan and Wasi Ahmad respectively.1 It was during his student
days at the madrasa of Wasi Ahmad at Pilibhit that he also acquired
some knowledge of traditional medicine (Tibb) from one Hakim
Abdul Wali. Later on, he started teaching in the same madrasa.
Four years later he shifted to Patna and started practicing medicine
on his own. It was within a year of his stay in Patna that he learnt
from his teacher Wasi Ahmad that he had been recommended by
him to go to Bareilly to be in the service of Ahmad Riza Khan, who
was looking for someone to assist him as well as teach in madrasa
Manzar e Islam, founded in 1904. Amjad Ali remained there for 18
years, assisting Ahmad Riza Khan with various tasks such as the
writing of fatwa. It was here that he penned his most famous work
‘Bahar e Shariat’, a collection of fatwas running into 21 volumes,
which is still considered as one of the most important collections by
members of Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat. On the authority of one Burhan

ul-Haqq Jabalpuri, Usha Sanyal informs us that Ahmad Riza Khan,
some time in 1921, also gave him the title of Qazi e Sharia (literally
the judge of sharia, a code from which a part of Islamic law is derived)
for the entire Indian nation,2 although it is not clear whether this
was not a mere symbolic gesture.3 After the death of Ahmad Riza
Khan, Amjad Ali seems to have moved out from Bareilly to a madrasa
in Ajmer and this is where he was to establish a lasting bond with his
student, Abdul Aziz.
By his own account, Abdul Aziz (1894–1976) was born in a poor
family in Bhojpur, district Muradabad, and his childhood was spent
in the house of his maternal grandparents. It was his grandfather
who named him formally as Abdul Aziz after the famous Abdul
Aziz of Delhi, although the family continued to call him Pira.4
Religious education ran in the family. His grandfather himself was
a hafiz and was well known in Mubarakpur. It is said that he once
recited the whole Quran in mohalla Haidarabad without a break,
no small feat considering that he was 70 years old at that time.
Abdul Aziz’s father also seems to have been a Hafiz. Initially, Adbul
Aziz was taught by his grandfather but later attended a maktab in
his native village. By his own admission, he did not receive much
higher religious education and his only education consisted of
memorising the Quran (Hifz), Urdu (till stage four) and elementary
Persian texts like Gulistan and Bostan.5 He taught for five years in a
local madrasa after which he went to the town of Muradabad to
learn Tibb from one Hakim Muhammad Sharif who used to come
to Abdul Aziz’s native village of Bhojpur to treat patients and prayed
in the same mosque where Abdul Aziz also served as an Imam.
However, this association did not last long but Abdul Aziz stayed in
the town, seeking education in madrasa Naeemia for three years. It
was here that he first saw Amjad Ali, who had come to madrasa
Naeemia to take part in the All India Sunni Conference. A group of
students, including Abdul Aziz, requested Amjad Ali to take them
with him to his own madrasa at Ajmer. He studied at the feet of
Amjad Ali for nine long years after which Amjad Ali advised him to
go to Mubarakpur.
Knowledge, Power and Politics ò 57
Amjad Ali, during his long career as a teacher, produced a

number of ulama. There were a number of reasons why he chose
Abdul Aziz to go to Mubarakpur — both shared a common belief
in the Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat, both were from the same district
of Azamgarh and both were Ansaris, a low Muslim caste. We have
seen in the first chapter that the majority of the inhabitants of
Mubarakpur are weavers belonging to the Muslim caste of Ansaris
and an Ansari Alim would be thus more acceptable to the people
there. There was another important reason why Abdul Aziz was
sent to Mubarakpur and that had to do with the association of
Amjad Ali with Ali Husain Ashrafi, the then sajjadanashin of the
Chishtia-Qadriya shrine at Kichocha, now in the district of
Amdedkar Nagar, Uttar Pradesh. Both Ali Husain Ashrafi and
Amjad Ali were murids of Ahmad Riza Khan and thus there were
ties of discipleship which bonded them. Moreover, Abdul Aziz
himself had become a murid of Ali Hussain Ashrafi while he was
in Ajmer.6 Muslims of Mubarakpur and its adjoining areas paid
their obeisance to the shrine at Kichocha every year. Ali Hussain
Ashrafi had lots of disciples in Mubarakpur. It was he who was
approached first by the people of Mubarakpur to send an Alim
who could teach at a local madrasa there. Ali Husain, in return
had asked Amjad Ali to provide a trusted disciple who could look
after the affairs in Mubarakpur. However, it is also true that some
Mubarakpuris also directly requested Amjad Ali to send someone
to Mubarakpur. Amjad Ali was known in Mubarakpur through
Muhammad Siddique, a native of Ghosi and a teacher in a madrasa
called Misbahul Ulum.
In a recent work, Cooke and Lawrence have argued that the
role of ‘Muslim networks’ have been pivotal in Muslim history.7
Their concept is composed of two key terms: ‘Muslims’ refer to a
faith orientation but also to a social world in which Muslims are
not always dominant and ‘networks’ ‘refers to phenomena that
are similar to institutional social relations, such as tribal affiliations
and political dynasties’.8 The bonding of Ali Hussain Ashrafi,
Amjad Ali and Abdul Aziz can be understood as a network since
all three of them were oriented to the same faith while at the same
time were bound by the institutional ties of Sufism. Although not
mentioned by Cooke and Lawrence, but in the Indian context, as
this study will partly bring out, ties of locality and caste too played
an important part in forming such a network of ulama.
Abdul Aziz arrived in Mubarakpur and joined madrasa Misbahul
Ulum as a teacher in February 1934. Although the number of
students at that time is not known, we do know that there were
only two other teachers including the principal in that madrasa,
which would imply that it was very a small madrasa. The madrasa
was located in one of the oldest Muhallas of Mubarakpur presently
known as Purani Basti,9 in one of the unused properties of Amin
Ansari (d. 1968), who was a zamindar residing in Mubarakpur.
Amin Ansari, along with some other prominent members of the
qasba, had organised a committee to oversee the functioning of
the madrasa. Abdul Aziz was called at the behest of this committee,
which had requested Ali Husain Ashrafi to send an Alim to their
madrasa. For Amjad Ali, however, the purpose of sending Abdul
Aziz to Mubarakpur was not as innocuous as teaching in a madrasa.
He wanted him to participate in an akhara and emerge victorious.
To get a sense of what actually this meant and how Islam in
Mubarakpur had become a wrestling arena, we need to get
acquainted with the early history of madrasa Misbahul Ulum.
Madrasa Misbahul Ulum had started as a maktab in 1899 on
the initiative of Ilahi Baksh (1863–1937). An Alim and Hakeem,
he studied in madrasa Faiz e Aam in Kanpur and after graduating
in 1899, founded the maktab in Mubarakpur.10 The maktab did
not have a permanent dwelling for a long time and initially
functioned from a mosque known as Kandi Kuan Masjid. After a
few years, a bamboo structure was erected in front of another
mosque called Masjid Deena Baba and teaching used to take place
just in front of the mosque. The teaching was very elementary and
students only learnt the basic mathematics and recited the Quran.11
The first teacher was Mahmud Marufi, a resident of Poora Maruf
and was known to Ilahi Baksh. A few years later, Muhammad
Siddique, a resident of the adjoining qasba of Ghosi and a cousin

of Amjad Ali, joined as the second teacher. The maktab was run
through donations by wealthy families of the qasba. The teachers
usually lodged with one of these families, who would take care of
their daily needs. In addition, teachers got a monthly salary of a
few rupees.12 The students’ meals were also provided by the families
of the qasba. The maktab also served as an orphanage when plague
hit the area during 1902–03. It was to feed the children at the
orphanage that popular contributions were elicited for the first
time in the qasba. Residents contributed in cash and kind, including
food grains or even cooked food. This system of popular financing
would later become an important source of collection for this
madrasa. But before that there arose a thorny issue in the maktab
which would split it and etch itself in the historical memory of the
qasba.
The issue at stake was the theological problem (maslaha) called
imkan-e nazir-e Muhammadi: whether Allah could produce another
Prophet like Muhammad or not. The issue had previously been
debated among the ulama of North India during the second half
of the nineteenth century. It had to do with the publication of a
book called Taqwaitul Iman by Muhammad Ismail, also known
for his involvement in the Tariqa-e Muhhamadiya,13 a movement
which sought to dislodge the British through physical struggle.
This text was highly controversial among the ulama of North India.
It was in this text that Muhammad Ismail is sought to have written
that if Allah so wished, He could create many other Prophets like
Muhammad. A section of the ulama criticised the text heavily even
calling it as a text of infidelity. One of the most prominent attacks
came from Fazle Haq of Khairabad, who also debated the issue in
person with Muhammad Ismail in Delhi. According to Fazle Haq,
the idea that another Muhammad was possible was against the
Sharia. His argument was that according to the Quran,
Muhammad is the last and final Prophet and there will be no
Prophet after him. Therefore, conceiving anyone like Muhammad
now is impossible according to the tenets of Allah Himself. Thus
to believe that there can be another Muhammad would mean that

Allah can do something opposite from what he has written in the
Quran, which in turn would mean that Allah could lie. For Fazle
Haq Khairabadi, since lying is a flaw, a negative attribute, it cannot
be attributed to Allah since He is flawless.14 Thus Muhammad
Ismail, according to Fazle Haq, was arguing that Allah could lie.
Yet there were also those who saw merit in the writings of
Muhammad Ismail, arguing that if it was stated that Allah was
capable of doing anything and everything, then He could also create
another Muhammad.
The religious circle of Mubarakpur was not unbeknown to this
problem of imkan-e kizb (the possibility that Allah could lie) and
imkan-e nazir-e Muhammadi (the possibility that Allah could create
another Prophet like Muhammad). Mahmud Marufi, the first
teacher of Misbahul Ulum, in a casual conversation with students,
took the point of view that it was possible that Allah could lie.
When the matter was brought to the second teacher, Muhammad
Siddique, he argued that it was kufr to even think along these lines
and accused Mahmud Marufi of being a ‘Deobandi’.15 The
allegation did have elements of truth in it. Mahmud Marufi had
spent three years as a student at the Faiz-e Aam madrasa in
Kanpur,16 which was closer to the Deobandi school of thought.
With hindsight, it seems that the maktab was founded by those
who were closer to the Islamic interpretation offered by Deoband.
Ilahi Baksh was not present during the controversy. Advanced in
age, he had shifted to the city headquarters of Azamgarh where he
divided his time between his clinic and personal library, but we do
know that he was close to the Deobandi school of thought. For
one, he had studied in the same madrasa as Mahmud Marufi and
thus both of them shared the same ideological bonding. Second,
he was also a murid of Rashid Ahmad Gangohi, one of the founders
of the Deoband madrasa. We also know that during his visit to
Mubarakpur, the famous Deobandi Alim, Ashraf Ali Thanwi stayed
in the house of Ilahi Baksh.17 Thus, as his religious network tells
us, Ilahi Baksh was himself a Deobandi. His choice of Mahmud
Marufi as a teacher for the maktab also partly explains this, since
Marufi had been his student initially and both studied in the same
madrasa.
However, it is important to understand that this maktab was
not looked upon as a Deobandi institution by the people of
Mubarakpur. During the early years of the twentieth century, and
certainly for some decades after that, the average Mubarakpuri
did not know of the finer theological differences between the
Deobandis and the Barelwis. For them, the maktab represented
something that they did not have so far. It is important here to
mention that the appeal of the maktab was only for those Muslims
of Mubarakpur who called themselves Sunnis. The Shias already
had their own madrasa called Bab ul-Ilm.18 Another group, the
Ahl-e Hadis, also had their madrasa called Dar ul-Taleem.19 The
Sunnis did not consider the Ahl-e Hadis as belonging to them,
since according to them the latter did not follow the Hanafi law.
Misbahul Ulum, therefore, was a maktab for the Sunnis of
Mubarakpur and represented their collective aspiration to have a
maktab/madrasa of their own. But difference of opinion within
this maktab was threatening to split it into two opposing camps.
It appears that the second important member of the committee,
Taiyyab Girhast, favoured the interpretation of Mahmud Marufi
and sided with him. Consequently, Muhammad Siddique, who
was closer to the Barelwi interpretation, left Misbahul Ulum and
with the help of some sympathetic Mubarakpuris, founded another
maktab but continued with the same name. This split happened
in 1906 and the present Madrasa Ashrafiya traces its lineage from
this maktab established by Muhammad Siddique. On the other
hand, Mahmud Marufi retained the location of the maktab, but
renamed it as Ehya ul-Ulum, from which the present Deobandi
Ehya ul-Ulum madrasa claims its lineage.
This parting of ways in 1906 saw the first division among Sunnis
of the qasba along the Deobandi–Barelwi divide. Ehya ul-Ulum
closed down for a few years, partly because its lone teacher Mahmud
Marufi became the principal of a madrasa in the neighbouring
town of Mau.20 He returned after a few years and in 1913 founded

his own madrasa called Madrasa Marufia where he taught a handful
of students. In fact, this madrasa produced students who were
later instrumental in spreading Deobandi thought within
Mubarakpur. Ehya ul-Ulum had to wait till 1917 before it made a
place for itself. The fate of Misbahul Ulum was equally in doldrums.
For years it did not have a permanent place. At times the madrasa
ran from a courtyard, an unused house, a mosque or even a shop.
Muhammad Siddique died shortly after the split and the maktab
was mostly taken care of by his students.21 However, Misbahul
Ulum did have some important names of the qasba associated
with it which provided it support from time to time. Just months
after the split it got the support of two important members of the
qasba, Abdul Wahab, a zamindar and Muhammad Umar, a trader
in vegetables but also having landed interests. Misbahul Ulum was
alternatively located in houses provided by Abdul Wahab and
Muhammad Umar. This patronage, however, was threatened by
the arrival of Shukrullah Mubarakpuri in 1917.
A graduate of the madrasa at Deoband, Shukrullah Mubarakpuri
was made the Nazim of Ehya ul-Ulum by Ilahi Baksh, soon after
his arrival. A student of Mahmud Marufi, he studied in madrasas
of Jaunpur, Allahabad and finally at Deoband, where he studied
at the feet of teachers such as Qasim Nanotwi, Mahmudul Hasan
and Anwar Shah Kashmiri. 22 A good orator, Shukrullah
Mubarakpuri soon started to have an influence within the qasba.
More importantly, he won over the loyalty of Abdul Wahab.
However, it is entirely probable that Abdul Wahab consciously
chose to be in the company of Shukrullah Mubarakpuri. As
Mannan tells us, Abdul Wahab was a zamindar, but of declining
wealth and status. Shukrullah Mubarakpuri was not just an Alim,
but was also actively interested in politics of the day. He was a
leading organiser of Jamiat Ulama-e Hind in Eastern Uttar Pradesh.
Jamiat Ulama-e Hind, a platform of mostly Deobandi Ulama,
during the 1920s was organising the Indian Muslims around the
issue of Khilafat.23 For Abdul Wahab, closeness to Shukrullah
Mubarakpuri meant an increase in his social network, which could

have arrested his declining social and economic status in Azamgarh.
After Abdul Wahab, it was Muhammad Umar who gave
Misbahul Ulum a place in his courtyard, where teaching continued.
Since Muhammad Umar was a murid of one Shah Lateef, the
suffix Lateefia was added to the maktab and it was called Madrasa
Lateefia Misbahul Ulum. It seems that Muhammad Umar also
came under the influence of Shukrullah Mubarakpuri, although
he continued to finance and administer the madrasa for some years.
It was at this stage that Amin Ansari, who was a local zamindar,
offered his help. Lateefia Misbahul Ulum thus shifted to an unused
property of Amin Ansari. Under the patronage of Amin Ansari,
the suffix Lateefia was dropped so that it again came to be known
as Misbahul Ulum. By 1926, the madrasa had not grown much in
terms of students but on Amin Ansari’s personal expense, a teacher
was brought in at a salary of `20 per month to teach Persian and
elementary Arabic.24
It is important to stress that at this stage the sectarian division
of the original Misbahul Ulum had not captured the popular
imagination of people in Mubarakpur. The Eid prayers continued
to be said together. Similarly the weekly Friday prayers also
continued to be performed together. In one sense, it can even be
argued that even Amin Ansari and other members of the committee
were not too conscious about sectarian divisions. Thus, they did
not think it improper to appoint Shamshul Haq as the principal
of Misbahul Ulum, even though he had graduated from the
madrasa at Deoband.15 The likes of Mahmud Marufi, who argued
that Allah could lie, were considered an exception. The formation
of Ehya ul-Ulum, therefore, was mostly considered as another
attempt by a group of people to open a religious school. It did not
dawn on them that Ehya ul-Ulum represented another school of
thought, whose interpretation of Islam was very different from
what other Sunnis believed in the qasba.
This consciousness would slowly seep in after the aggressive posture
of those associated with madrasa Ehya ul-Ulum, rejuvenated under
the leadership of Shukrullah Mubarakpuri. One of the first acts of

Shukrullah Mubarakpuri was to build a separate Idgah, thus
separating Eid prayers, marking a step towards the formation of a
separate community of worshippers. The second act, and by far the
more important, was to separate Friday prayers that were earlier
collectively performed at the Raja Mubarak Shah mosque. Now the
Deobandis said their Friday (juma) prayers in the mosque of Deena
Baba, where the original maktab had been founded. The separation
of juma prayers impacted heavily on the religious consciousness of
Mubarakpuris. The realisation that one of the neighbours does not
pray together anymore, raised a lot of questions in their minds. They
slowly realised that the split that had occurred in maktab Misbahul
Ulum was not due to the ‘strange’ conviction of one person alone;
rather it represented a school of thought. This was the most important
example cited even today by average Mubarakpuris to narrate the
beginning of sectarianism in Mubarakpur.
The events of Mubarakpur also received much attention outside
the qasba pointing again to the ‘networked’ nature of Muslim
interactions. A majority of the Muslims in Mubarakpur, as
elsewhere in South Asia, were firm believers in the concept of
intercession. As noted above, Mubarakpuris, since long were the
murids of the important Chisti–Qadiri shrine at Kichocha and
paid their annual obeisance during the time of urs. During this
time, the sajjadanashin of the shrine was Ali Husain Ashrafi. It
seems that Ali Husain Ashrafi personally made many disciples in
the area. Initially, he did not enter the qasba, but would alight
from his she-camel at Samodhi Talab, a lake just outside the qasba,
where his followers would make arrangements for his stay.26 On
the persistence of many Mubarakpuris, he eventually started
coming to the qasba and staying there for some days. Thus
Mubarakpuris got in him a living shaikh, who could be consulted
when any matter of importance arose.
The separation of Friday prayers and the activities of Deobandis
were the most repeated issues which some Mubarakpuris discussed
with him. The committee looking after Misbahul Ulum wanted
an Alim who could match the stature of Shukrullah Mubarakpuri.27

For Ali Husain Ashrafi, it made sense to have an Alim who could
arrest the march of Deobandi thought, which was threatening the
foundations of Sunni Islam as it was then practised in the qasba. It
is important to understand that the activities of Shukrullah
Mubarakpuri were not just about creating a separate community
of his own, but also to undermine the existing political economy
of Islam within the qasba. True to his Deobandi training,
Shukrullah Mubarakpuri railed against the overdependence of
Muslims on pirs as well as visiting mausoleums (dargah) for the
purpose of asking boons. Within Barelwi Islam, this was largely
sanctioned and considered the traditional Islamic way. Shukrullah
Mubarakpuri, following other Deobandis, termed them as bida or
reprehensible unIslamic innovations which should be stopped. In
his conception of Islam, this was forbidden as the earliest followers
of the Prophet never did any such thing.
Such an understanding of Islam directly threatened the religious
economy of Islam as it was then practised. The dargahs were an
important source of income for many and especially for some
families who took care of them as this was the only source of
income. The dargah spawned and supported ancillary trade, which
depended on how many people visited it. However, all this
ultimately depended on the faith of the people and in their belief
that this was the Islam which they had to practise. Shukrullah, by
his outward condemnation of such practices, threatened not only
this form of religious belief and practice, but also the religious
economy associated with it. Moreover, this was also a period of
flourishing business in Mubarakpur. As Sumit Sarkar has shown,
the period between the wars enabled the Indian bourgeoisie to
develop deep roots in the Indian economy.28 This was especially
true for the textile sector, which witnessed rapid growth during
this period. Following Bourdieu,29 we can argue that for the ulama,
developing social capital in Mubarakpur would have meant an
important task in itself since social capital could be converted into
economic capital at some later stage.
It was against this backdrop that Amjad Ali sent Abdul Aziz to
Mubarakpur, terming it as an akhara. As Alter tells us, akhara in
North India is a public performance, which involves actors and
gurus and can be understood as a public text.30 We can now
appreciate that the use of the metaphor was appropriate to describe
the situation that was developing in Mubarakpur. The qasba had
indeed become a wrestling arena between the Deobandis and the
Barelwis. Much depended on Abdul Aziz, on not only how skilfully
he would manage the affairs in madrasa Misbahul Ulum, but also
how eventually he would shape a community of Barelwis.
Knowledge and its Transmission

before Madrasas
So far we have seen how Mubarakpur became an arena of
competitive religiosity between various denominations, particularly
the Deobandis and Barelwis. Madrasas became the means through
which ‘true’ Islamic knowledge was sought to be disseminated
among the people of Mubarakpur. Of course, there were differences
over what constituted this true Islamic knowledge (as discussed in
the earlier section). It must be mentioned however that madrasas
as educational transmitters made a late entry in Mubarakpur. A
generation ago, madrasas were not the only form of education in
the history of the qasba nor did they have the monopoly of
transmission of Islamic education. Although madrasas had made
their appearance in eleventh-century Baghdad, they were not the
only institutions to impart Islamic learning. In certain cases, as in
Syria and Egypt, madrasas became increasingly marginal, whereas
the Sufi convents (khanqahs) became dominant institutions of
Islamic transmission and indeed emerged as mainstream Islam.31
Madrasas became the dominant mode of dissemination of
knowledge only in the late nineteenth century. It is therefore
important to understand what other forms and institutions of
Islamic educational transmission existed before the onset of
madrasas, in Mubarakpur and elsewhere.
The character of madrasa education has undergone historical

changes so that contemporary madrasas cannot be compared with
its traditional predecessors.32 Earlier, arrangements for Islamic
learning were very fluid and decentralised. There was nothing
approaching either a uniform curriculum or a standard teaching
pattern. Two important aspects of this traditional system need to
be recalled here. First, madrasas shared their educational role with
other institutions like the khanqahs and did not possess the
monopoly over education. Second, the system of education was
based on personae rather than loci. It were the numerous shaikhs
who were the central building blocks of madrasa system. Thus,
the most important question that would be asked of a student in
such a system was under whom had he studied and not from where.
This shift from the personae of the teacher to loci happens much
later and in South Asia is synonymous with the establishment of
the famous madrasa at Deoband in 1867.
To briefly recall the points made in the Introduction (10–17),
Deoband instituted a system of popular financing which lessened
its dependence on wealthy patrons. It made substantial changes to
the Dars-e Nizami curriculum by considerably increasing the
content of what was called the transmitted sciences. It reasoned
that since a majority of the Muslims were non-literate and low-
caste, they had to be told about the teachings of Islam which were
contained in the Quran and Hadis. Berkey has recently argued
that the understanding of education as an agent of social change is
of recent origin, an idea which is alien to the traditional Islamic
educational system.33 One of the important objectives of the
madrasa at Deoband was to cleanse the Muslims of South Asia of
all the Hindu accretions which they had inherited over centuries
by being in close contact with the Hindus. The Deoband argued
that practices such as going to shrines, taking out tazia processions
during Muharram34 and observing fasts on certain days of the
month were not sanctioned by Islam. They reasoned that these
popular Muslim religious practices fell short of Islamic sanctions
and were in need of reform. Muslims needed to be told and taught
what was correct Islam and education was considered the best
means to do so. Once Muslims start practising the ‘true’ faith, all
their problems will be solved and they would be able to regain
their lost glory. The founders of Deoband were therefore firm
believers in education as an instrument of social change, which
partly explains the manquli bias which they included in their new
curriculum.
Most importantly, Deoband signified the shift, referred to earlier,
from an education based on personae to that based on loci. Although
initially the association of ulama like Qasim Nanotwi, Rashid Ahmad
and Husain Ahmad Madani did give the madrasa a scholarly halo,
later on these very ulama’s prestige depended on their association
with the Deoband madrasa. Today the name of Deoband madrasa
is synonymous with high teaching standards and a certificate from
this madrasa makes it much easier for its graduates to find a place in
the religious economy. Students from different parts of the country
come to study at the madrasa, not because they want to study from
certain teachers, but only because they want to be the students of
this particular madrasa. Deoband madrasa spawned many other
madrasas, all of which followed the educational pattern instituted
by it. In the process, madrasas emerged as the sole transmitters of
Islamic education, partly aided by the limiting influence of modern
schools on the traditional educational system, and partly to the fact
that other traditional educational institutions like the Sufi hospices
and mosque schools gradually petered out. However, as we have
noted above, the near monopoly of Islamic learning which the
madrasas enjoy today, is of fairly recent origin. With this in mind,
let us now understand how Islamic learning was transmitted in
Mubarakpur before madrasas monopolised it.
Islamic learning in Mubarakpur shared the overall pattern of
educational arrangement prevalent in the rest of the subcontinent.
Elementary education was mostly persued within the family. This
education did not go beyond reciting the Quran and acquiring
some basic skills in the reading and writing of Urdu and some
mathematics. Such an education was either transmitted by the
literate men or women of the household or by an Alim who would

be employed in the mosque, but would partly augment his income
by teaching children the basics of Islam by either going to their
houses or giving lessons within his own house or at the mosque.
Fortunately for Mubarakpur, there were people versed in Persian
and Arabic and those desirous of learning these languages would
request them to teach, which they did in their spare time.35 There
were, however, no institutions of higher learning that can be
compared with modern-day madrasas in Mubarakpur. Islamic
learning was based on personality and depended on those ulama
who were keen to disseminate the knowledge (ilm) which they
possessed, which was and is considered an act of piety. Islamic
knowledge therefore revolved around what Mubarakpuri calls as
‘personal madrasas’ and the relative fame of local ulama.36 Most
of the ulama associated with Misbahul Ulum and Ehya ul-Ulum
had received their basic religious education within their house.
Thus Abdul Aziz, Muhhamad Siddique, Mahmud Marufi,
Shukrullah Mubarakpuri and Nematullah Mubarakpuri, among
others, had their elementary education within their homes.
Students who wanted to go for higher learning had to go outside
the qasba. In the vicinity, the madrasa of Hafiz Nizamuddin in
Sarraiyan was quite popular. Students also went to Madrasa
Chashma e Rahmat in Ghazipur and Madrasa Hanafia in Jaunpur.
It is important to understand that these madrasas again were based
on personalities. Thus, Nizamuddin was known as the best teacher
of Hifz and students went to his madrasa in Sarraiyan just because
of his presence there. Similarly, other madrasas mentioned above
were famous because of the presence of certain important teachers
within them. Moreover madrasas were named after the founder,
who assumed the role of the main teacher and the manager of the
madrasa. Thus, the Madrasa Ahl-e Hadis in Pilibhit was better
known as Madrasa Muhhadis Surati, after its founder Wasi Ahmad
Surati, who was known for his knowledge of Hadis. It was only
much later, in the late nineteenth century that students of
Mubarakpur started going to madrasas like Faiz e Am in Kanpur,
Dar ul-Ulum in Deoband, Naeemia in Muradabad, which were

modern madrasas.
The biographical literature of ulama active in the establishment
of both Misbahul Ulum and later Ehya ul-Ulum talks firstly of the
various teachers under whom they studied and only secondarily
mention the madrasas in which they were located.37 The pattern
which emerges from such biographical literature is that students as a
rule always moved between two and three different madrasas due to
the fact that they were interested in learning from particular teachers
who were popular for their knowledge in certain fields. Compared
with present times, when a student takes pride in proclaiming that
he has studied in such and such madrasa, at the start of the century,
they were proud to declare the names of the teacher under whom
they had studied. Another important aspect which emerges is that
most of the ulama of the period, and certainly those whom we have
mentioned above, do not seem to have much higher religious
learning. Most of the ulama, barring a few, have the title of Hafiz
and Qari, which are considered lower degrees within the madrasa
system. Although some ulama like Shukrullah Mubarakpuri are
referred to as pronouncing fatwas, yet his biographical sketch only
mentions that he took the sanad (degree) of qirat from a madrasa in
Allahabad.38 We do know, however, that he went to study further,
including at Deoband, but we do not know the degrees that he
received. Similarly, we do not know what formal madrasa degrees
Abdul Aziz had acquired during his time as a student. This further
reinforces the argument made above that even after the establishment
of the Deoband madrasa in 1867, it was not as important to mention
sanads as it has become today and that the importance of teachers as
the principle carrier of this system went on for some decades. Another
reason for such low level titles may be related to the fact that there
were hardly any bigger madrasas in the vicinity of Mubarakpur where
a student could study the full course of Dars-e Nizami. This paucity
of bigger madrasas meant that prospective ulama had to move from
one place to another for their studies.
Such was the state of Islamic learning in Mubarakpur before

the establishment of madrasas. Islamic learning was localised and
decentralised. There was nothing compared with a system of annual
examination, conferment of degrees, a set of classrooms or a time-
table. Islamic education in this period can be more appropriately
described as an ‘activity’ rather than a set of formal rules. The
acquisition of knowledge was not considered as something which
was separate from everyday lifestyle. Such learning was often
interrupted by the necessities of existence but could be resumed
later and since it was not a separate domain of life, institutions of
learning did not need a different spatial location. Maktabs and
madrasas were thus very often housed in neighbourhood mosques,
unused houses, the entrance or the terrace of someone’s house or
even in a corner of a shop. Moreover, maktabs and madrasas alone
did not transmit Islamic learning. It shared this responsibility with
the ulama, the family and Sufi khanqahs.
Consolidation of Islamic Learning:

Madrasa Ashrafiya
The task before Abdul Aziz was not just to teach in madrasa
Misbahul Ulum, but also to arrest the growing tide of Deobandiyyat
(Deobandism) in the qasba. Soon after his arrival in 1934, Abdul
Aziz started giving speeches (takrir) in which he advised the
Muslims to follow the sunna (the path of the Prophet). In some of
his speeches, he also criticised the Deobandis for leading Muslims
astray and charged them with disrespecting Prophet Muhammad.
He would often be invited by Muslims on the occasion of milad,
etc., but it is likely that he caught the attention of Deobandis, led
by Shukrullah Mubarakpuri, only towards the end of 1934, when
he was invited by Muhammad Umar to speak at his house. It will
be recalled that Muhammad Umar was the Nazim of Misbahul
Ulum and an influential person within the qasba. It was this
invitation by a prominent member of the qasba which caught the
attention of Shukrullah Mubarakpuri and he gave a speech the
next evening in which he criticised some of the points made by

Abdul Aziz in the speech delivered at Muhammad Umar’s house.
After this, there ensued a series of speeches and counter-speeches
by both the Alims in which they criticised each others’
understanding of Islam. However, as it is made out, this was not a
conventional munazara.39 The speeches were held at separate
locations and Abdul Aziz and Shukrullah Mubarakpuri never
shared the same dais. Some students of Abdul Aziz would listen to
the rival speech of Shukrullah Mubarakpuri and let Abdul Aziz
know of the contents who would then formulate his answer
accordingly. This state of affairs lasted for a period of four months
after which both sides claimed victory.40 Regardless of who won
or lost, the event was another important source which divided the
qasba along sectarian lines.
We have already seen how the Muslims of Mubarakpur were
becoming aware of differences between Barelwis and Deobandis.
The religious activities of Shukrullah Mubarakpuri were winning
over adherents, particularly some of the important and influential
people of the qasba. As noted above, Muhammad Umar, the Nazim
(manager) of Misbahul Ulum, too, was not left untouched by
Shukrullah’s influence. The madrasa had only recently found some
stability under the patronage of Amin Ansari and the able
administration of Muhammad Umar, but this was being threatened
by the latter’s increasing closeness with Shukrullah Mubarakpuri.
Such was the state of affairs on the arrival of Abdul Aziz as a teacher
in Misbahul Ulum in 1934. As I have argued above, one of the
reasons why Abdul Aziz was sent by a network of Barelwi Ulama
was to make sure that Mubarakpur weavers remain within their
fold. Mubarakpur was a prosperous qasba with its fair share of
traders, middlemen and labourers, thus possessing all the right
ingredients for networks of the ulama to be interested in developing
a following here. Moreover, for the Barelwi Ulama, doing so was
particularly important since they claimed a much older presence
here, a position of dominance being threatened by the arrival of
the reformist Deobandis.
Economic prosperity was not the only reason why Abdul Aziz
came to Mubarakpur. It also had to do with the realisation on the
part of Barelwi Ulama, at the beginning of the twentieth century,
that they had lagged behind in the education of Muslim masses.
Although the reformist Deobandis were numerically in a minority,
their educational institutions had provided the fulcrum around
which much of their activities of Islamic reform revolved.
Later educational movements, such as Syed Ahmad Khan’s
Muhammadan Anglo Oriental College, founded in 1875, and
Nadwa, founded in 1890s, were to get inspired from the
Deobandis. Starting from the madrasa at Deoband in 1867, they
had founded close to a dozen madrasas by the 1880s. By the turn
of the century, three times that number started reporting themselves
as Deobandi madrasas. What was also important was the sheer
geographical spread of these madrasas, with some founded in places
as far as Chittagong, Madras and Peshawar.41 The Deobandis were
calling these madrasas deputies of the Prophet and were claiming
that only due to these institutions that Islamic knowledge had
spread in India. Through their madrasas, the Deobandis seem to
be developing their own network of education parallel to the
emerging school system of the colonial government. Moreover, by
virtue of being a community initiative, madrasas also ensured that
the Deobandi Ulama would remain in constant touch with the
local Muslim population wherever the madrasas were located. As
against this, the Barelwis, owing largely to their own practice of
Islam, had not developed an institutional structure which could
keep them in close everyday contact with their followers. Occasions
for interaction with their followers mostly came during urs or other
such events. Moreover, Ahmad Riza Khan, the mentor of the
Barelwis, was himself more interested in esoteric issues of Sufism
rather than in formal structures of education. As he himself had
never attended a madrasa, having learned all he knew either from
books or from a few personal teachers, he may not have seen any
pressing need for one. However, the importance of madrasas was
not lost on his followers and students and it was at their initiative
that Barelwis later on had some madrasas which they could call
their own.
After much prodding, Ahmad Riza consented to establish a
madrasa, Manzar ul-Islam in 1904, although most of the initiative
had come from his student, Zafar ud-Din Bihari.42 Although
established after four decades of Dar ul-Ulum Deoband, it was
much smaller in size and student composition, which remained
confined to some districts of Western Uttar Pradesh and suffered
due to the neglect of Ahmad Riza Khan. However, during the
close of the nineteenth and start of the twentieth century, Barelwi
Ulama did establish a few madrasas through their own individual
efforts. In Badayun, Abdul Qayuum founded Madrasa Shamshul
Ulum in 1899, which was expanded later by his son. In Pilibhit,
Wasi Amhad had founded Madrasa al-Hadis in 1893, which, as
the name suggests, was famous for the study of Hadis. In Patna,
Abdul Wahid Firdausi Azimabadi founded the Madrasa Hanafia
in 1900. Two important madrasas were established much later
during the 1920s. Naeemuddin Muradabadi had founded Madrasa
Naeemia in 1920 in Muradabad while Madrasa Hizbul Ahnaf was
started by Didar Ali Alwari in Lahore in 1924. Both these madrasas
survived much longer as compared to other madrasas established
by the Barelwis. Moreover, they used novel organisational methods
such as fixed syllabus, annual examinations, publication of an
annual report and the institution of specialised departments for
preaching, publication and debate,43 methods pioneered by the
Deoband Madrasa.
The establishment of Misbahul Ulum in 1906 must therefore
be seen in the context of the new-found zeal of Barelwi Ulama to
establish madrasas of their own. Although it is generally referred
to as a madrasa, Misbahul Ulum actually fell short of the standard
of madrasas described above. It did not have a permanent building
and separate classrooms were beyond the comprehension of the
Muslims who were looking after it. Worse still, teachers kept
coming and going until the 1930s, some due to better prospects
elsewhere, others simply because they were not paid for months
together. There were no provisions for students and without the

support of local population, the madrasa would not have survived.
We do not know the number of students in the early decades of
the madrasa, but it would be safe to argue that in the absence of a
hostel and kitchen for students, there numbers were very much
limited. Moreover, the madrasa initially taught only the basics of
Urdu and Persian and not Arabic, which again meant that it was
not an institution of higher learning. Abdul Aziz joined as a new
teacher in Misbahul Ulum under these circumstances. As was the
norm at that time, he brought with him two students from
Muradabad.44
The public debate which Abdul Aziz continued with the
Deobandis led to an increase in his stature in the qasba. For the
Barelwis, he represented an Alim who could match the knowledge
of Shukrullah, an Alim from Deoband; the most famous madrasa
of the times. The enthusiasm of the Barelwis translated into a desire
to give their madrasa a building of its own. So far Misbahul Ulum
did not possess its own building and was housed in one of the
houses of Amin Ansari, the president (sadar) of the madrasa. Since
a lot of money would be needed for the purpose, the madrasa
starting enlisting popular contribution from the residents of the
qasba. While some paid in cash, contributions in kind were not
refused. In short, Misbahul Ulum wanted all that it could get to
fund its new building. Through the system of popular contribution,
it also came close to those residents of the qasba who shared the
Barelwi point of view. On the part of the residents, these
contributions were mostly acts of piety. Nevertheless, this led to
an increase in their identification with the madrasa. The good
fortune of the madrasa again came in the person of Amin Ansari,
who donated a plot of land in the form of waqf, on which the first
permanent building of Misbahul Ulum was to come up.
This was a time of immense importance for the Barelwis. The
year was 1935 and the foundation stone of the building was to be
laid by their pir, Ali Husain Ashrafi. Apart from Ali Husain Ashrafi,
those present on the occasion included Amjad Ali. It was during
this event that the prefix Ashrafiya was added to the name of
Misbahul Ulum, in deference of Ali Husain Ashrafi as well as
keeping in mind the faith that the Barelwis of the qasba professed
in the Qadiri–Chishti shrine at Kichocha, of which Ali Husain
was the gaddi-nashin. The madrasa is still known as Madrasa
Ashrafiya Misbahul Ulum, although its location has changed. From
being located inside shops and unused houses, madrasa Ashrafiya
today has become one of the most important Barelwi madrasas in
India, the story of which is detailed in the next chapter.
Notes
1 Habibur Rahman Qasmi, Tazkira Ulama-e Azamgarh, Banaras: Jamia
Islamia, 1976, p. 64.
2 See Usha Sanyal, Devotional Islam and British Politics in India: Ahmad
Riza Khan Barelwi and His Movement, 1870–1920, New Delhi:

Oxford University Press, 1996, p. 299.
3 The more popular title, one by which most Barelwis refer to him is
‘Shadr us Sharia’ or Chief of Sharia.

4 From Pir: Monday. It is usual for children even today to have two
names: one by which the family and neighbours refer and the other
formal name which is used for ‘official’ purposes such as school
admissions, etc. This system of double names is more common among
lower-class Muslims, once again pointing to the class location of Abdul
Aziz.
5 ‘Interview with Badrul Qadri’, Mahanama Ashrafiya: Hafiz-e Millat
Number, p. 68.
6 Hafiz e Millat Number, p. 261.
7 Miriam Cooke and Bruce B. Lawrence (eds), Muslim Networks: From
Medieval Scholars to Modern Feminists, New Delhi: Permanent Black,

2005.
8 Ibid., p. 1.
9 See Map of Mubarakpur.
10 Muhammad Sadiq bin Jamil Ahmad Mubarakpuri, Akabira Ehya ul-
Ulum: Ek Dilchasp Mutala, Mubarakpur, 2004, p. 5; Athar

Mubarakpuri, Tazkira Ulama-e Mubarakpur, Mubarakpur: Daira
Millia Mubarakpur, 1974, p. 41.
11 Abdul Mannan (n.p), Ashrafiya se al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya Tak;

Mubarakpuri, Akabira Ehya ul-Ulum, p. 9.
12 Muhammad Sadiq Mubarakpuri (2004) informs us that Mahmud
Marufi was given a salary of nine rupees per month which was later
increased to ` 15.
13 The Tariqa e Muhammadiya is also known as the Jihad Movement,
Wahabi Movement or the Hijrat Movement, depending on the

political position one is taking. Muhammad Ismail and Saiyyid Ahmad
of Rae Bareilly, along with hundreds of followers, migrated to
Afghanistan from where he eventually wished to wage a war against
the anti-Islamic government of British India. For details on the
movement, see Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India,
New Delhi: Manohar Publications, 1994; Harlan O. Pearson, Islamic
Reform and Revival in Nineteenth Century India: The Tariqah-i
Muhammadiya, New Delhi: Yoda Press, 2008.
14 For a detailed discussion, see Misbahi (n.p), Ahl e Sunnat wa Jamaat:
An Introduction.
15 Deobandi, literally of Deoband; a pejorative title initially given to
those who studied in the Dar al Ulum, Deoband. Later the usage
seems to include all those who believed in the school of thought of
Deoband. The madrasa at Deoband was the fountainhead of Islamic
reformism and its teachers saw themselves at the vanguard of a
movement to rid Indian Muslims of what they termed as bida
(reprehensible innovations). The reformist appeal of Deoband required
Muslims to get rid of customary practices, which they argued the
Indian Muslims had borrowed from the Hindus. Muhammad Ismail,
the author of Taqwaitul Iman, was himself part of this reformist trend
and his work was received sympathetically there. This interpretation
was however contended by Ahmad Riza Khan, who defended some
(not all) religious practices among the Indian Muslims as very Islamic.
The community of believers which coalesced around the writings of
Ahmad Riza Khan was later called Barelwis, again pejoratively by the
opposite camp. Both communities called themselves Ahl-e Sunnat
wa Jamaat, i.e., the community of the followers of the Sunna or the
Prophet’s way. For Deoband, see Barbara Daly Metcalf, Islamic Revival
in British India: Deoband, 1860–1900, New Delhi: Oxford University
Press, 2002; for Barelwis, see Sanyal, Devotional Islam.
16 Muhammad Mubarakpuri, Akabira Ehya ul-Ulum, p. 21.
17 Qasmi, Tazkira Ulama-e Azamgarh, pp. 62–63.

18 Athar Mubarakpuri, Tazkira Ulama-e Mubarakpur, p. 42.
19 Ibid., p. 43.
20 Muhammad Mubarakpuri, Akabira Ehya ul-Ulum, p. 23
21 Abdul Manan, (n.p) Ashrafiya se al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya Tak, courtesy
Abdul Mannan, Mubarakpur, 1982.

22 Muhammad Mubarakpuri, Akabira Ehya ul-Ulum, p. 26.
23 For the politics of Khilafat movement and the networks of Ulama
which it helped to form, see Gail Minault, The Khilafat Movement:

Religious Symbolism and Political Mobilization in India, 1919–1924,
New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1982.
24 Mannan, Ashrafiya se al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya Tak.
25 Ibid.
26 Personal interview, Maulvi Qamruzzaman, an elderly resident of the
qasba.
27 Mannan, Ashrafiya se al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya Tak; Muhammad
Mubarakpuri, Akabira Ehya ul-Ulum, p. 27.

28 Sumit Sarkar (1982), Modern India, p. 127.
29 Akin to Bourdieu’s concept of ‘intellectual field’, a ‘religious field’
was being created in Mubarakpur. For Bourdieu, capital and their

exchange make sense only in relation to a field. See Bourdieu (1969),
‘The Intellectual Field and the Creative Project’.
30 See Joseph B. Alter (1992), The Wrestler’s Body: Ideology and Identity
in North India.
31 Berkey, The Transmission of Knowledge in Medieval Cairo, pp. 56–
60.
32 I use the word traditional to mean the system of madrasas which
existed before the 19th century. For a fuller description of the difference
between traditional and contemporary madrasas, see pp. 10–17.
33 Jonathan P. Berkey, ‘Madrasa Medieval and Modern: Politics,
Education, and the Problem of Muslim Identity’, in Hefner and

Zaman (eds), Schooling Islam: The Culture and Politics of Modern
Muslim Education.
34 Effigies of tombs used in the processions of Muharram.
35 Cf. Mubarakpuri, Tazkira Ulama-e Mubarakpur, p. 41. Athar
Mubarakpuri informs us that there existed only some people who

had the knowledge of Persian and who were collectively referred to as
‘Miyan Saheb’.
36 Ibid.
37 See for example the entries in Athar Mubarakpuri, Tazkira Ulama-e
Mubarakpur; Qasmi, Tazkira Ulama-e Azamgarh; Muhammad Sadiq
Mubarakpuri, Akabira Ehya ul-Ulum.
38 Qirat is the art of reciting the Quran with correct pronunciation, and
Qari is the title conferred on the student.

39 The classic work on religious debates (munazara) is by Avril Powell
(1993), Muslims and Missionaries in Pre-Mutiny India.

40 For the Barelwis, their victory was attested by a government
functionary, who they claim was present on the occasion. It is

interesting to note the secular legitimation for a religious event.
42 Sanyal, Devotional Islam, p. 73.
43 Ibid, p. 82.
44 This is a pattern which one can observe even today. Teacher’s status
in a madrasa is also dependent on the number of students that he

brings to the madrasa in his years of service. This is especially true in
smaller madrasas.
3
Institutionalising Authentic Islam
It took 10 long years (1935–45) for the Barelwis of Mubarakpur

to construct a two-storey building of Madrasa Ashrafiya. Nothing
much happened in terms of expansion for the next two decades.
But there was growing pressure on Abdul Aziz to expand the
madrasa as it was becoming difficult to accommodate the growing
number of students. Abdul Aziz was also not content with the way
the madrasa had been functioning till then. The dependence on
local contribution translated into interference of some
Mubarakpuris into the everyday functioning of the madrasa.
Moreover, Abdul Aziz also had to contend with the then Sarparast
(Patron), Mukhtar Ashraf (d. 1996),1 who had constantly opposed
his plans to expand the madrasa.
In the understanding of Abdul Aziz, the Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat
was facing constant threats from competing maslaks of the Deobandis
and the Ahl e Hadis. In particular, he was concerned that their tirade
against the Barelwis was doing much harm to the faith that he so
passionately adhered to. More importantly, the Deobandis and the
Ahl-e-Hadis were according to him, creating a ‘propaganda war’
against the Barelwis not only in the country but also abroad. He
noted with particular importance that the rival maslaks were not
only writing in Urdu, but also in Hindi and English. It was therefore
imperative for the upholder of what he considered as sahiyul aqid
(true belief) to rise up against the challenge. In his vision of an
expanded madrasa, Abdul Aziz had visualised the creation of a class
of ulama who would be well versed with internal maslaki debates,
but at the same time would also be proficient in other languages
such as Hindi and English to write suitable replies to refute theological
literature produced by rival maslaks.2
Plate 3.1 The entrance of Madrasa Ashrafiya.
Source: Author.
Institutionalising Authentic Islam ò 81
The radd literature was therefore to be taken to higher grounds,

argued in a language which a hundred years ago had been foreign to
the ulama but which was now becoming increasingly important in
the wake of a Muslim diaspora whose potential needed to be tapped.
It is important here to remember that few of the students of Ashrafiya
had already been to countries in Europe and must have felt the need
to produce literature which would be important for the purpose of
creating networks with Muslim migrant communities. Thus
Arshadul Qadri, along with Shah Ahmad Noorani of Pakistan, had
already initiated the formation of World Muslim Mission in the
UK which was intended to the provide a platform to the Barelwi
Ulama abroad and counter the influences of other maslaks, especially
the Saudi-based World Muslim League, among the Muslims of
Britain and elsewhere.3 Similarly Badrul Qadri had started developing
his madrasa in The Hague, Netherlands.
There were others who also went abroad during different times
to cater to the growing needs of community formation among the
immigrants in places as far as South Africa, America and Europe.
What is common to all these ulama, however, is that they all
happened to be students of Ashrafiya and had been taught by Abdul
Aziz himself. Their relationship with Abdul Aziz and studying in
Madrasa Ashrafiya equipped them with the requisite institutional
capital since Ashrafiya had by that time become one of the leading
seminaries of the Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat. On the other hand,
their understanding of the situation abroad and the need to produce
ulama who could articulate the needs of the community there,
must not have been lost on Abdul Aziz. His idea of al-Jamiatul
Ashrafiya as creating a class of ulama, who ‘while being the students
of Dars-e Nizami would also be masters of English’, seems to flow
from such an evolving need.4 Argumentation and dawah, therefore,
had to be carried out in their own languages — the language of
the immigrants who were increasingly becoming visible, especially
in Britain and parts of continental Europe.
Abdul Aziz, then the principal of Ashrafiya, had been arguing
for the need to expand the madrasa on these lines for some years.
He had also complained that the then two-storeyed building of

Ashrafiya was hardly enough to accommodate the growing number
of students. It seems that around the same time, Mukhtar Ashraf,
the Sarparast of the madrasa, had opened another madrasa called
Madrasa Jamia Ashraf in his native Kichocha — he was patron to
this madrasa too. This did not go down well with the people of
Mubarakpur, more so with those associated with Ashrafiya. But
Abdul Aziz had not yet voiced his opposition to this move of
Mukhtar Ashraf. On the face of it, there was nothing wrong in
opening more Barelwi madrasas for the propagation of the true
deen. What seems to have been the reason of parting of the ways
between Ashrafiya and Mukhtar Ashraf was the latter’s opposition
to any move at the expansion of Ashrafiya. Moreover, Mukhtar
Ashraf, aided by some Barelwis from Mubarakpur, charged Abdul
Aziz with tampering with the Dars-e Nizami by trying to teach
English and Hindi.
On the face of it, the difference between the two appears to be
minor, but perhaps there were deeper reasons involved. One way
to understand Mukhtar Ashraf’s position would be to locate this
opposition in his understanding of the nature of Islamic knowledge.
Since he was the custodian of the main shrine at Kichocha, for
him the transmission of Islamic knowledge flowed from the pir to
the circle of the muridin (disciples). Islamic knowledge, in this
epistemology, was not necessarily a mass phenomenon which came
to be exemplified by the madrasa education. This understanding,
however, is based on the postulate of an essential difference between
the world of Sufi shrines and the world of ulama. However, during
eighteenth and nineteenth century India, there were many Sufis
who were also votaries of madrasa education in the sense that they
themselves organised madrasa education. Thus, the founders of
Deoband Madrasa were themselves practising Sufis but they
heralded what became the modern foundation of madrasa
education in India. Moreover, Mukhtar Ashraf himself was
educated in Ashrafiya and it would be wrong to assume that he
did not appreciate the importance of madrasa education. Also, his
opposition to English does not sound convincing since his own

progeny were educated in English later on.
It seems reasonable to relate his opposition to the ‘fields’ which
were being created during this time among the immigrant Muslims
in Europe and elsewhere. Mukhtar Ashraf himself was busy
attending meetings called by his disciples (muridin) in the UK.
There is a sense therefore that he might have sensed the possibility
of a potential conflict with Ashrafiya’s graduates who were at the
same time competing for similar spaces and organising the Muslims
along maslaki lines. Although both Mukhtar Ashraf and the
Ashrafiya shared the same spiritual heritage of the Chishtiya-
Qadariya and were Barelwis, this did not prevent them from
coming face-to-face and competing among themselves.
Another reason for this showdown between Mukhtar Ashraf
and Ashrafiya seems to be related to the caste origins of both. The
pirs at Kichocha, including Mukhtar Ashraf, were Syeds — revered
highly for being related to the family of the Prophet Muhammad.
More importantly, this reverence seems to be one of the important
elements of the Barelwi tradition, as exemplified by Ahmad Riza
Khan himself.5 On the other hand, the ulama related to Madrasa
Ashrafiya were all Ansaris, a community of low-caste Muslim
weavers who, as evinced previously, has been the object of upper-
caste ridicule in India. Starting with Amjad Ali and Abdul Aziz
himself, along with their students including Arshadul Qadri, Badrul
Qadri, Yasin Akhtar Misbahi, were all of low-caste origins and
shared the status of being Ansaris. Despite the handicap of their
low status, they had been successful in creating an institution of
Ashrafiya’s stature and which they wanted to develop into the apex
madrasa of the Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat in India.
Even though it is never acknowledged, yet here we have one
case where we see the network of ulama developing along caste
lines. We see therefore that in this case solidarity based on everyday
operative categories of caste and region go a long way in cementing
relationships rather than the mere bonding of a spiritual silsila.
Mukhtar Ashraf’s opposition to Ashrafiya’s expansion was seen by
the Ansaris of the qasba as a belligerent supremacist posturing of a

Syed bent on denying the grand educational endeavour of the
Ansaris. It must also be noted that the period in question had seen
a slow assertion of the lower castes, particularly the Ansaris, which
climaxed during the 1980s and at the Muslim Convention at
Lucknow in 1984, they (the Ansaris) had openly claimed the
Convention to be dominated by upper-caste Muslims (Ashrafs).
They charged the Convention with not taking interest in the
condition of the weavers and the textile industry and only
highlighting symbolic emotive issues to the detriment of genuine
issues such as education and government support to textile sector.
In short, it called the Convention as being representative of upper-
caste Muslims only.6
It was considerations such as these that led to the souring of the
relationship between Mukhtar Ashraf and Ashrafiya. As early as
1969, Abdul Aziz had resigned for the second time from the
position of principal of Ashrafiya and wanted to leave Mubarakpur.
The reason cited was interference in day-to-day running of the
madrasa by people who were considered close to Mukhtar Ashraf.
This was for the second time that Muslims of the qasba persuaded
Abdul Aziz to stay. As a precondition for his stay, he suggested the
formation of a Majlis-e Shura (governing committee), which would
be the overall in-charge of looking into the affairs of the madrasa.
Mukhtar Ashraf as the Sarparast of the madrasa consented to such
a demand. Such reconciliation, however, was short-lived and
subsequent events forced Mukhtar Ashraf to resign from the
position of patron in 1971, thus opening the way for Abdul Aziz
to put his plans for the expansion of Ashrafiya into execution. His
‘resignation’ however, was much to do with the fact that Abdul
Aziz, along with the Shura which he had chosen, had made
Mukhtar Ashraf simply irrelevant for any future course which
Ashrafiya would take.
The newly constituted Shura of Madrasa Ashrafiya sat for two
long meetings, first on 23 April 1971 and second on 30 May 1971,
and drafted a fundamental change in the Constitution of the
madrasa. These two meetings collectively gave all the powers to a

newly-created office called Sarbarah-e Ala, which Abdul Aziz was
to occupy. These two meetings altogether passed nine resolutions.
These resolutions in effect gave all the powers to Abdul Aziz and
made him much more than a mere Muhatamim (principal); it made
him the lifetime Sarbarah-e Ala of the madrasa and all its future
activities. All earlier laws of the madrasa were thus abrogated by
the resolutions adopted by the Shura.7 The nine points which were
adopted defined the rights and responsibilities of the Sarbarah-e
Ala as follows:
∑ To appoint all members of Majlis-e Shura (general committee)
and Majlis-e Intezamia/Amla (working committee); and to
suspend members and to appoint new members in case of
death.
∑ To control everything related to the madrasa.
∑ All decisions made by the Majlis-e Shura will be subject to
veto by the Sarbarah-e Ala.
∑ Appointment and dismissal of teachers, administrative staff
and other non-teaching staff members will be made by the
Sarbarah-e Ala.
∑ In case of complaints, the Sarbarah-e Ala will serve as the court
of last appeal for the teachers and other staff of this madrasa.
∑ He will have the power to appoint his deputy/successor (Naib)
in his lifetime. He can make laws for the Majlis-e Shura and
Majlis-e Intezamia/Amla to act after him as per his wishes. If
he cannot do it in his lifetime, then the people of Mubarakpur
belonging only to Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat in consultation
with other ulama of Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat will have the
right to frame new laws.
∑ All works, including the construction of new buildings, new
organisational works, introduction of new courses, etc., will
be started by Sarbarah-e Ala. The Constitution of al-Jamiatul
Ashrafiya will be interpreted by him and his interpretation
will be final.8
∑ It will be within the power of Sarbarah-e Ala to delegate some

of his powers to anyone he wishes for general or particular
works.
∑ The Sarbarah-e Ala will have the power to register the
organisation in ways that he deems fit.
As regards the powers of the Sarbarah-e Ala, the nine points

mentioned above are self-explanatory. From the humble sweeper
in the madrasa to the Muhtamim, all were to be under his
command. Even the semblance of democracy in the form of Majlis-
e Shura is actually a misnomer since the Sarbarah-e Ala has the
power to change all or any programmes adopted by the Shura,
including changing its very composition. Moreover, the very fact
that he is selected for life leaves the office of Sarbarah-e Ala almost
without any fetter in the exercise of its power. Curiously enough,
the resolutions end with naming Mukhtar Ashraf as the Sarparast
of the madrasa, but leave nothing to doubt that the framers of
these resolutions and consequently the Constitution of Ashrafiya
had mentioned no role for Mukhtar Ashraf, whose grandfather
Ali Husain Ashrafi had been one of the founders of this madrasa.
Tucked away towards the very end of the dastur is a two-line
mention of the Sarparast of the madrasa. The only role which is
visualised is that of giving guidance to the madrasa from time to
time: ‘the Saraparast should visit the madrasa at least once in a
year for inspection and guidance’.9
The continuance of Mukhtar Ashraf as the Sarparast-e Idara
despite the differences between Ashrafiya and him should not come
as a surprise. After all, Madrasa Ashrafiya had been inaugurated
and patronised by Ali Husain Ashrafi, the grandfather of Mukhtar
Ashraf. Moreover, as evinced previously, Abdul Aziz himself had
become the murid of Ali Husain Ashrafi during the initial days of
the madrasa. Most importantly, the family of Ali Husain Ashrafi
had been pirs to many of the Barelwi families in Mubarakpur.
The Muslims of Mubarakpur were regular attendees of the annual
urs of Ashraf Jehangir Simnani at the saint’s grave in Kichocha.
Later, after the death of Ali Husain Ashrafi in 1936, they had
continued to revere his grave along with the main shrine at
Kichocha. It was in continuance of this tradition of spiritual
networks that Ashrafiya sought to retain the name of Mukhtar
Ashraf as its Sarparast. Also the mere name of someone associated
with the holy lineage of Abdul Qadir Jilani meant continued baraka
(grace) and Abdul Aziz, in the Barelwi tradition of discipleship,
wanted Ashrafiya to be associated with such a name. Moreover,
the association with the house of Chishtiya-Qadariya would
translate into more benefits in the form of followers which would
consequently help the proposed expansion of Madrasa Ashrafiya,
a point which would not have escaped Abdul Aziz himself.
During the pre-1971 phase, Ashrafiya did not have a well-laid
out, printed Constitution. This, however, does not mean that there
were no rules according to which the madrasa was run. As detailed
in the previous chapter, the establishment of the madrasa itself
had been the result of collective efforts of the Muslims of
Mubarakpur. It was in the order of things that the madrasa was
under much greater surveillance and control of the ordinary
Muslims themselves. It was not unusual for any Barelwi Muslim
to inquire into the affairs of the madrasa. More often than not
it translated into the fact that socially important people had a say
in the day-to-day running of the madrasa. The decisions taken in
the madrasa were open to scrutiny for all and the economically
well-off sections of the Muslims had a decisive say in the madrasa.
In such a fluid situation, Abdul Aziz, then the Muhtamim of the
madrasa, was directly answerable to the people for any of his actions.
Since there was no Shura, the pressure to listen to all and satisfy
them all was an important task of the Muhtamim.
Related to this was the position of the Sarparast of the madrasa
in the person of Mukhtar Ashraf, whose rights in relation to the
madrasa were not defined and who was only accessible to those
Muslims who thought that the madrasa was not run as it should
have been. It was this ambiguous relationship of Mukhtar Ashraf
which gave him the power to ‘interfere’ in the affairs of the madrasa
and have a final say in its affairs. The demand of constituting a

Shura by Abdul Aziz should be seen against such a backdrop of
fluidity and ambiguity of power relations centring on the Madrasa
Ashrafiya. For once it lessened his dependence on the people of
Mubarakpur, which meant that he now had to deal only with a
recognised body, that he had helped constitute, instead of the more
amorphous category of Muslims of Mubarakpur. It was thus an
exercise in Foucauldian normalisation of power.
At the same time this measure of Abdul Aziz brought a certain
remoteness, a distance between the Barelwi Muslims of
Mubarakpur and the madrasa they had helped create. Moreover,
reducing the powers of Mukhtar Ashraf did not go down well
among a section of the Barelwis who, as stated above, were regulars
at the shrine of Kichocha. In this context, it is important to know
that the new Sarbarah-e Ala of madrasa Ashrafiya, Abdul Aziz,
also had the power of appointing a number of Mutawallis who
were to act as guardians of Islam in the qasba.10 Whether this was
a conscious design on their part is beyond question. What is
important is that the institution of Mutawalli played a very
important part in the normalisation of relation between Ashrafiya
and the Barelwi population of Mubarakpur after the events of 1971.
There were five Mutawallis chosen by Abdul Aziz himself. The
role of a Mutawalli was to enforce ‘Islam’ in the qasba of
Mubarakpur in accordance with the tradition of Ahl-e Sunnat wa
Jamaat. These Mutawallis were all successful traders themselves so
this was not a special role economically, but this was definitely
empowering for these powerful individuals who could mould public
opinion in their favour. On the face of it, the Mutawallis were to
monitor Islamic practices, such as proper enforcing of the veil and
prohibition on gambling and alcohol. They also had to look into
the reason of such matters as to why a family was not sending their
son to school and consequently tell them to do so. They had the
authority to levy fines in cases of extreme transgressions, such as
drinking of alcohol or being lapse during the month of Ramzan
without any sound reason.11
However, they had a very limited say in the affairs of the madrasa
since being members of Majlis-e Shura rather than the more select
group of Majlis-e Amla, their influence was limited in the day-to-
day running of the madrasa. What the institution of Mutawalli
did was to give a semblance of power and authority to the Muslims
of the qasba. It did offset their grievance regarding the loss of the
collective character of the madrasa. At the same time, these
Mutawallis worked for the hegemony of the Ashrafiya since being
part of its organisational structure, they were identified with it.
More importantly, the Mutawallis worked for a disciplinary and
disciplining ‘Islamic regime’, an agenda which was an indelible
part of Madrasa Ashrafiya. Through the institution of Mutawalli,
the madrasa gave back a sense of collective corporate power to the
Muslims, while at the same time distanced itself from them since
now they had to deal directly only with a group of select people.
Clearly then, having been stripped of all powers, Mukhtar Ashraf
resigned from being the Sarparast of Ashrafiya in 1971.12 The
same Shura which had endorsed the nine-point resolution cited
above, now also framed a full-fledged Constitution of Ashrafiya,
in which the above discussed nine resolutions are also included.
The Dastur, as it is known, is a document which lays out the power
and privileges, rights and duties of the teachers and important
functionaries of the madrasa such as the Nazim-e Ala and Nazim-e
Talimat, Sadar. While it lists the rights and duties for madrasa
functionaries, the Dastur only has duties rather than rights for its
prospective students. For the smooth functioning of the madrasa,
the organisational structure envisages two committees: Majlis-e
Shura and Majlis-e Intezamia/Amla. The Majlis-e Shura is a general
committee, consisting of 51 members selected from all over India,
for five years. The requirement for being included in this committee
is that they should be Sunni/Barelwi Muslims and should be well-
versed with the ‘law of the land’.13 The Majlis-e Shura should
meet at least once a year, although the Dastur does not make it
mandatory to do so. It is the second committee, the Majlis-e Amla,
which is more important since it is called the working committee
and is directly responsible for the everyday functioning of the

madrasa. This is an 11-member committee chosen out of the
Majlis-e Shura, the requirements being the same. But while the
Shura is considered a national representative committee, the
members of the Amla are chosen on the basis of their availability
for the madrasa. They are therefore the most important
functionaries of the madrasa since the Sadar, Nazim, etc., all have
to be members of the Majlis-e Amla. Like the members of the
Majlis-e Shura, they are also chosen for a period of five years.
However, unlike the former, this committee must meet at least
three times in a year in case of an emergency. This committee is
charged with implementing the resolutions passed by the Shura.
Significantly, the Shura approves the budget of the madrasa which
is placed for their approval by the Majlis-e Amla. In case the Shura
does not meet in a particular year, the Amla is empowered to pass
the budget it prepares. As regards the budget and other decisions,
the Majlis-e Amla has the final say since even in case the budget is
not passed by the Shura, it can be adopted by the Amla as the
decisions of the Shura are non-binding. However, since both the
Shura and Amla members are chosen by the Sarbarah-e Ala, such
a situation is hardly bound to arise.
The Ashrafiya constitution mirrors closely the differentiation
and separation of power which comes in the wake of building any
modern institution. The madrasas of an earlier period often
combined the roles and responsibilities of many functionaries into
one. Thus it was not unusual to find the Sadar of the madrasa
often also performing the role of the Nazim as well as being a
teacher in the madrasa. A similar combining of roles in the person
of Abdul Aziz was evinced, who often taught Hadis while at the
same time held the position of the principal/Nazim-e Talimat of
madrasa Ashrafiya. The adoption of 1971 Dastur seems to have
carried forward the process of specialisation. The Dastur therefore
has well-defined roles, rights and responsibilities for every
functionary of the madrasa. While we saw the division of functions
in the form of development of Majlis-e Shura and Majlis-e Amal
above, the Dastur also talks about the different roles of important
functionaries of the madrasa such as the Sadar (president), Nazim-e
Ala (secretary/manager) and Nazim-e Talimat (principal). As
mentioned above, it also has detailed regulations for the teachers
and students of the madrasa. The position of Sarbarah-e Ala has
already been discussed, the rights and privileges of which were
consensually devolved on Abdul Aziz. The position of the Sadar
mirrors the position of Sarbarah-e Ala and during the lifetime of
Abdul Aziz, both these positions were fused in his person. As is
clear from the term itself, the Sadar (president) presides over
everything relating to the madrasa and has the final say in case of
any dispute. However, he is not supposed to be concerned with
the daily running of the madrasa, a responsibility which falls on
the Nazim-e Ala and Nazim-e Talimat. The Sadar however has to
supervise both these positions and see that the madrasa is run in
accordance with the objectives of the madrasa stated in the Dastur.
Most of the finances are handled via the office of the Nazim-e
Ala. He has to keep all the records of the office, maintain the
salary register of the teachers and other staff members. He is also
made responsible for the maintenance of the property owned by
the madrasa. He maintains the account of the madrasa and has
the right to correspond to anyone regarding financial matters related
to the madrasa. Although the expenditure needs to be in accordance
with the resolutions passed by the Majlis-e Shura, such a check
seems to be redundant since the Nazim, as a member of the Majlis-e
Amla, would be fully in his powers to organise the finances of the
madrasa as he deems fit even without the approval of the Shura.
To aid him in the day-to-day running of the madrasa, the Dastur
makes the provision of a Khazan (treasurer), who handles all the
money on behalf of the Nazim. However, he cannot give any money
to anyone without the approval of the Sarbarah Ala/Sadar. This
necessity of endorsement serves to make the Nazim dependent on
the Sarbarah-e Ala, who remains all powerful. While it is not
mandatory for the Nazim-e Ala to be an Alim, the Dastur is
categorical that the Nazim-e Talimat must be such a person. At
the same time, this Alim should have experience in teaching as

well. The Dastur makes him the overseer of the ‘character’ (tarbiyat)
of students and see to it that classes are held regularly and according
to the madrasa routine. An area where he has the sole power is in
the matter of curriculum since without his approval the curriculum
of the madrasa cannot be changed. Moreover, in case of any
deadlock over educational matters in any of the committees, his
opinion will be considered final.
The above mentioned organisational structure of the madrasa
clearly formulates specialised roles for the madrasa functionaries.
Akin to any modern bureaucracy, the Madrasa Ashrafiya makes
way for a hierarchy of officials who are responsible for carrying
out different tasks enshrined in the Dastur. At the same time, the
madrasa organisation is subservient to its overall ideology which
gets reflected in the objectives which the madrasa has set for itself.
These objectives were prepared by Abdul Aziz himself along with
other ulama associated with the madrasa at that time and endorsed
by the Majlis-e Shura. They are as follows:14
∑ To spread the education of ‘true’ religion which in this case is
the mazhab of Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat. To spread as well as
to organise the Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat and to make this
madrasa into the apex madrasa of Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat.
∑ To open other madrasas across the country on a similar pattern
and to organise and supervise them.
∑ To provide for other kinds of education (worldly/duniyawi)
in this madrasa for purposes of earning a living.
∑ To provide for books of all disciplines so as to create a library
in this madrasa.
∑ To do tabligh and takrir of Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat and to
create religiosity among Muslims.
∑ To serve Jama Masjid Raja Mubarak Shah and the people of
Mubarakpur.
∑ To do tabligh of Imam Ahl-e Sunnat Ala Hazrat Barelwi and
to save the Muslims from bad-mazhabis
∑ To continue with the study of Dars-e Alia along with Dars-e

Nizamia. To have a full-fledged department of fatwa writing.
To have another department of munazara. To continue to
find ways to establish a technical institute.
The objectives of the madrasa serve two related purposes. First,
it lays down in no unequivocal terms that it wants to expand itself
from merely imparting only religious education to an institution
which teaches other ‘worldly’ subjects also. This is reflected in its
urge to find ways to establish a technical institute. It is not sure
what it means by the word ‘technical institute’, but definitely it
did not mean a vision of having an engineering college or something
akin to that. The meaning of technical institute within Madrasa
Ashrafiya is having an institute which would teach the students
some skills which would equip them to find some jobs in the
market. The idea of the technical institute may have included
training the students in book-binding, the art of calligraphy, etc.,
all considered ‘pious’ works.
This idea of technical institute had already been in practice in
the Madrasa Faiz ul-Ulum, Jamshedpur, started by Arshadul Qadri,
himself a graduate of Madrasa Ashrafiya. He was also present in
the meeting which endorsed the Dastur of Ashrafiya. The rationale
for having a technical institute and to teach worldly subjects was
that students would be able to earn a living through these skills. It
must also be mentioned here that this was also the time of migration
to Gulf countries due to the oil boom.15 Having a technical institute
would have served the purpose of giving training to potential
migrants.
In this sense, the madrasa seems to appropriate and even extend its
influence to hitherto uncharted terrain. This proposed extension of
Ashrafiya would have brought the madrasa new loyalties within
Mubarakpur itself as no other madrasa had a similar programme and
no such institute existed in its vicinity. It was therefore an attempt to
capture a growing immigrant population, who, because of their
association with Ashrafiya, would have become the carriers of their
version of Islam and as followers would have become its humble donors.
The reference to ‘worldly’ subjects in the objectives of Madrasa

Ashrafiya should be understood in a limited sense. It does not
mean that the madrasa wanted to teach subjects such as modern
science or social sciences. Rather the mention of other subjects
should be read along with its objectives to establish a technical
institute. The understanding was that the madrasa, in time, would
start teaching other languages such as Hindi and English, the need
of which had been voiced by Abdul Aziz form time to time.16
Such a move, it was understood, was necessary for two purposes.
As stated in chapter II, teaching of English and Hindi was
considered necessary to counter the attacks of rival maslaks which
were being made in these languages, both in India and among the
diaspora abroad. Second, knowledge of these languages would also
serve a more mundane purpose of providing jobs to the graduates
of this madrasa where language skills were needed. For instance,
translation, journalism, etc. The mention of ‘other subjects’ should
therefore not be taken to include the study of social sciences,
sciences, etc. In this, despite being in doctrinal opposition, it
emulated the resistance of Deoband madrasa in its refusal to include
modern studies as part of its curriculum. Metcalf has argued that
the purpose of establishment of the Deoband madrasa was to
safeguard traditional Islamic education, which was at the verge of
disappearing at the close of nineteenth century. The curriculum
of Deoband therefore consisted of a reformulated Dars-e Nizami
which had a clear preference for manqulat (revealed) as opposed to
maqulat (rational) sciences. Moreover, there was active opposition
led by Rashid Ahmad Gangohi against the teaching of modern
subjects including philosophy.17
The second purpose of these objectives was to clearly demarcate
what Ashrafiya considered as ‘true Islam’ and what it took upon
itself to do. The expansion of the madrasa was to be subservient to
this fundamental objective of spreading knowledge about what it
argued was the true Islam. It defines true Islam as following the path
of Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat. In fact, most of its objectives are to
propagate the cause of their own maslak. The prime objective of the
madrasa therefore is to organise and strengthen the Jamaat. This

was sought to be done through making the madrasa into the apex
institution of the Barelwi maslak. Simultaneously, it envisages
opening or encouraging the establishment of more madrasas on
similar lines across the length and breadth of the country, a feat in
which it wanted to emulate the Deobandi network of madrasas. It
must be mentioned here that by this time (1971), Deoband already
had a network of 8,934 maktabs and madrasas dotting the country.18
It was a widely felt need among the Barelwis, including Abdul
Aziz himself, that they lagged behind their rival Deobandis in terms
of organisation and they felt that having a network of madrasas
would be the best way to do so.19 This seems to be a counter-effort
to dissuade the Muslims to become Deobandis by becoming
involved with the Tabligh Jamaat.20 It is well known that the
Tabligh Jamaat had close connections with the Deoband and that
Deobandi madrasas served as institutional support structures for
the visiting batches of Tablighis.
In addition to this, the madrasa also took up the task of tabligh
and takrir/giving speeches about the ‘true’ path of Ahmad Riza
Khan. For this purpose, it envisioned a separate department of
munazara where making speeches in defence of the maslak will be
taught.21 This however is not to suggest that the madrasa did not
have this institution before. Indeed among its alumni, Arshadul
Qadri (d. 2002) and Obaidullah Azmi were known as great speakers
of their times. But as was argued earlier, the madrasa did not have
such differentiations earlier and many roles were combined into
one. Having a separate department for honing the debating skills
of its students was necessary considering the threat from the
Deobandis. Also, in trying to project itself as the apex madrasa of
Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat, its ulama would be called to give speeches
by their community or to participate in a munazara.22 Metcalf has
noted that the debates during the close of the nineteenth century
were ‘social events’ and that they served the purpose of confirming
a sense of community among its participants. These debates were
not only a ‘ritual’ of community-building vis-à-vis the others such
as the Christians and the Hindus but also vis-à-vis other Muslim
groups. The self-prestige of the Deobandi Ulama in such settings
was not only defined in terms of their routing of non-Muslim
opponents but they also derived satisfaction from being considered
as the vanguard of Muslim defence since the Barelwi Ulama were
mostly ‘silent’ on such occasions.23
The necessity of having a separate department of munazara
would have not escaped Abdul Aziz himself, since as discussed in
the previous chapter; he had himself debated with the Deobandi
Alim of the rival Ehya ul-Ulum madrasa, Shukrullah Mubarakpuri.
A hundred years on, the need for having munazaras did not
diminish. Rather its need was being reformulated afresh; this time
by a Barelwi madrasa which had a blueprint of expansion in order
to create networks of Barelwi communities, a task in which they
claimed the Barelwis had lagged behind.
Abdul Aziz did not live long after the endorsement of the Dastur.
It was his desire to see madrasa Ashrafiya develop into al Jamiatul
Ashrafiya, the finer points of which he had laid down in the above-
mentioned Dastur. Abdul Aziz died in May 1976. Before his death
he had the satisfaction of having organised two educational
conferences, laying the foundation stone of al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya
and inaugurating its publication department which brought out
the first issue of Mahanama Ashrafiya (Ashrafiya Monthly) shortly
before his death.24
The first educational conference was held on 6 May 1972, a
little distance away from the main qasba, in the vicinity of the
place where the madrasa stands now. It was attended by a large
number of Ahl-e Sunnat Ulama. Prominent among them were
Mustafa Riza Khan,25 Syed Ale Mustafa and Arshadul Qadri.26 It
was explained earlier how the plan to expand Ashrafiya had led
Abdul Aziz into a conflict with its Sarparast, Mukhtar Ashraf, who
had resigned in 1971. Although Abdul Aziz lost a valuable patron,
yet the madrasa did not sever its ties from the house of Kichocha.
Abdul Aziz was clear that the expansion of the madrasa would
have to be done by projecting it as the Sunni madrasa which had
the potential of rivalling the Darul Ulum at Deoband. The presence

of Syed Ale Mustafa had the potential to offset the loss of its earlier
patron.
There was another significance of the presence of Syed Ale
Mustafa. Within a section of Muslims in Mubarakpur and outside,
the conflict between Mukhtar Ashraf and Abdul Aziz had been
seen in terms of caste: Mukhtar Ashraf being a high-caste Syed
and Abdul Aziz being a low-caste Ansari. The expansion of the
madrasa could not be realised if such divisions became the
dominant perception; Madrasa Ashrafiya therefore had to shun
its image of being an Ansari madrasa. It is in this context that the
presence of Mustafa Riza Khan and Syed Ale Mustafa makes sense.
Abdul Aziz had made the propagation of the ideas of Ahmad Riza
Khan as one of the important objectives of the madrasa. Also, he
had already earned much goodwill by debating with the Deobandis
like Shukrullah and had consolidated the Barelwi population of
Mubarakpur under the fulcrum of Ashrafiya. Moreover, Abdul
Aziz’s own mentor, Amjad Ali, had been the disciple of Ahmad
Riza Khan. The presence of Mustafa Riza Khan was an attempt to
reinvigorate these dormant ties of discipleship. Additionally, it
silenced the impression that Madrasa Ashrafiya was an all-Ansari
affair. The presence of a Syed, in the person of Ale Mustafa, served
this purpose. Moreover, it brought the much-needed cultural
capital to Ashrafiya since it could now present itself as having the
grace (baraka) of being associated with one of the leading family
of Syeds in India, a family whose disciple included their own Ala
Hazrat, Ahmad Riza Khan.27 On the other hand, for Ale Mustafa,
the occasion was used by him to mark out the special status of
Syeds in Indian Muslim society, hinting that the success of
Ashrafiya can come about only when it is closely associated with a
Syed like himself:
There is a descendant of the Prophet with Hafiz e Millat (Abdul Aziz)

in the great cause of Ashrafiya and one who is favoured with the
association of a descendant of the Prophet is naturally blessed with the
help and the assistance of the prophet himself. If there is a need I am all
ready to do every type of service and make sacrifice for the development
of the Madrasa along with my disciples.28
It was after this Conference that the foundation stone of the

new building of Ashrafiya was laid. The then Ashrafiya was a two-
storey building which was built over a period of ten years (1935–
1945). Not much infrastructural work had happened after that.
The need for a bigger building had been felt since the early 1960s
with the growing number of students. The new plan for Ashrafiya
therefore saw it move to a different location, a 40-acre plot just
outside the qasba, near the main road which links Mubarakpur
with the main town of Azamgarh. One of the first buildings to
come up was a students’ hostel and it was called Barkati hostel in
deference to their new closeness with the Barkatiyya Syeds. Other
buildings were added gradually until 1991, when the old two-
storey building in Purani Basti was demolished to make way for a
new six-storey one, which has now become an ancillary to the
main madrasa building outside the qasba. However, as mentioned
above, all this happened much later, after the death of Abdul Aziz
in 1976. While the Ashrafiya booklet gives the credit for everything
to Abdul Aziz, in reality the real expansion of Ashrafiya took place
during the time of his successor and son, Abdul Hafeez.
Sarbarah-e Ala Abdul Aziz had not named his successor.
Although the new Dastur had given him the right to do so, he had
refrained from it, arguing that it was up to the Muslims of
Mubarakpur to choose his successor.29 Among those closely
associated with him were Muhammad Rauf, who was the vice-
principal (Naib Nazim-e Talimaat) of the Madrasa and Abdul
Mannan, one of the important teachers of Hadis. Muhammad
Rauf had died shortly after the finalisation of the Dastur in 1971.
That left only Abdul Mannan to be considered as the successor of
Abdul Aziz since he was the most senior and had been a student of
Abdul Aziz. One member of the Shura, Muhammad Ibrahim,30
proposed the name of Abdul Mannan to be the Sarbarah-e Ala.
Supporting the candidature of Abdul Mannan were two other

members of the Shura, Qari Muhammad Yahya, the then Nazim-e
Ala and Maulana Muhammad Shafi, the then Nazim-e Talimaat.31
There was much debate on the question of successor since there
was no consensus on the name of Abdul Mannan. Another member
of the Shura, Bekal Utsahi,32 castigated the other members present
that they were forgetting the services of Abdul Aziz. He argued
that a true recognition of Abdul Aziz’s services would mean that
they should look for his successor in his own family. Thus he
proposed the name of Abdul Aziz’s son, Abdul Hafeez, on whose
candidature broad consensus could only be arrived at after the
withdrawal of the name of Abdul Mannan by Muhammad Ibrahim.
After Abdul Hafeez became the Sarbarah-e Ala and Sadar of
the madrasa, there was much consternation among those members
of the Shura who had wanted Abdul Mannan to be the successor
of Abdul Aziz. One of the important reasons was that it was widely
felt that Ashrafiya was getting transformed like any other madrasa
into a ‘family concern’. In this they had quoted Abdul Aziz himself,
who had refused to name his successor even when it was in his
power to do so. Then, there was the fact that Abdul Mannan had
been a student of Abdul Aziz and that he was considered one of
the important authorities on Hadis and a leading Mufti of his
time. Led by such an Alim, the madrasa would gain additional
prestige. But perhaps the most important matter was not the
personal qualities and qualifications of Abdul Mannan but the
lack of it in Abdul Hafeez, the eventual successor of the madrasa.
Abdul Hafeez had only had an elementary madrasa education.
His main schooling was done in a nearby government school and
after that he had studied for his graduate degree at the Aligarh
Muslim University. As has been seen in many families of the
ulama, 33 Abdul Aziz, while signaling the need for madrasa
education for Muslims, had opted for secular education for his
son. This, despite the fact that Ashrafiya’s own Dastur mentions
the clause34 to fight against the naturis as one of the important
matters of faith for the Madrasa Ashrafiya.35 The detractors of
Abdul Hafeez argued that since he was not a madrasa-educated

Alim, he should not lead the madrasa.36
However, it was precisely the lack of this qualification which in
the end made him the Sarbarah-e Ala. As I have argued above, the
developments within madrasa Ashrafiya cannot be understood
without knowing the process of differentiation with the
Mubarakpur Muslim society. It was explicated how an organic
outgrowth of Mubarakpur society combined within itself various
functions and how it successfully transformed itself into a specialised
educational institution of that society. From a period when madrasa
students would live with the families of Mubarakpur who would
take care of their food and clothing (during the 1930–40s) to a
time when the madrasa had its own two-storey building, is an
example of such differentiation. However, it was seen that in the
1970s the madrasa desired to expand itself further and ingratiate
itself outside the qasba, physically removed from the everyday
surveillance of qasba Muslims. The demolition of the old structure
symbolically signalled a shift and desire on the part of the madrasa
authorities to reposition itself as the leading educational institution
of the qasba. The blueprint for all this had already been in the
Dastur which has already been mentioned previously.
The argument for the selection of Abdul Hafiz was precisely
that. It was argued that he was the best-placed among all to work
for the expansion of the madrasa. Having studied at a modern
university, he would be fully conversant with the needs a ‘modern’
institution may have. He would also be able to work his way
through the government machinery since his knowledge of English
would put him at ease as compared to the other ulama. In other
words, it was being argued that the proposed expansion of madrasa
Ashrafiya could only come about with a person having the requisite
‘cultural and social capital’. After all, Madrasa Ashrafiya was set to
become an ‘Arabic University’ and who could be better-suited to
lead this transformation than a university graduate. Successive
events, almost 30 years after he was chosen the Sarbarah-e Ala,
have proved that those who argued for him were right.
As already mentioned, the madrasa accommodated the students

in a two-storey building located in the qasba since the late 1940s.
After the death of Abdul Aziz in 1976, the madrasa still operated
from the same building in Purani Basti. Gradually, new sites were
acquired a little distance away from the qasba, and the madrasa
moved there, permanently establishing itself on a 40-acre campus,
where it now stands. The old madrasa building was demolished in
1991. Much before that in 1973–74, a two-storey building was
constructed at this new site, which served as the administrative
building-cum-classrooms.37 This was done during the time of
Abdul Aziz, but its construction went on after his death; portions
were added to this building as and when time and money permitted.
The final piece added to this building was a dome which was built
much later during the time of Abdul Hafiz. The construction of
this building served to lessen the chaotic spatial arrangements within
the old madrasa. Offices of the principal, Nazim and other essential
officers were shifted to this building. Some of the higher classes,
such as those of upper levels of students studying for their Fazilat
degree were also shifted. The classes of the lower grades, including
those of Hifz, continued to be held in the old madrasa in Purani
Basti. At present, this building is one of the main structures of the
campus and on entering the campus gate, this is the first structure
that one comes across. Classes of all levels, including Hifz, are
now held in this building. Some rooms at the ground floor serve
as offices of the madrasa.
Other buildings of the madrasa were added after that. Progress
was slow but steady and in the course of 30 years, the madrasa
emerged as it stands today as one of the largest in India. There are
two students’ hostels: Barkati Hostel and Azizi Hostel. As we noted
earlier, the former was built earlier and was completed during the
early 1990s. The second hostel, Azizi, was built later during 1996–
99. Both these hostels accommodate nearly 90 per cent of the
total students of the madrasa. Barkati is a two-storey structure
while Azizi is a much bigger three-storey structure. Between them,
they accommodate around 2,000 students. The living arrangements
in these hostels are very modest. The rooms do not have beds and
students generally sleep on the floor. There are some very big halls
in these hostels which accommodate generally the Hifz students.
In a single hall, there are 25–50 students of Hifz, Nazra, etc., in
the age group of 10–15 years. The students generally keep their
belongings on the floor, including their books. Then there are
smaller rooms where senior students live. These students are
generally studying for their Fazilat degree and are normally in the
higher classes. On an average around 6–8 students occupy these
rooms. These rooms have cupboards. Then there is another smaller
hostel, which is reserved for the students of Tahqeeq, but also
accommodates students of higher stages of Fazilat. 38 The
arrangement is similar to the other two hostels. There are plans for
building a separate hostel for foreign students in the near future,
the foundation stone for which has already been laid by Abdul
Hafeez.39
Other buildings within the precincts of the madrasa include a
teachers’ colony which was completed in 2003. As the name
suggests, it houses the madrasa teachers and their families, although
not all of them stay here since some are residents of the qasba. A
madrasa of this stature cannot be without a mosque. The
foundation stone of a grand mosque inside the madrasa was laid
in 1991. It was almost complete during my fieldwork in 2004,
but beautification work on the exterior of the mosque was still
under way. Called Aziz ul-Masajid, it is one of the grandest
structures inside the madrasa precincts. Other recent buildings
include an imposing dining hall which accommodates 1,000
students at any one time. The students are normally required to
take their meals there although senior students are encouraged to
take their meals inside their rooms in order to lessen congestion
inside the mess.
Another recent building of Ashrafiya is called the Hafiz-e Millat
Technical Institute.40 It is actually a computer centre where
students learn the basics of handing computers. There are around
10–12 computers in this building; these are accessible only to the
higher-grade students of Fazilat. This ‘modernisation’ of the

madrasa took place in 2003 and this ‘institute’ is run by a graduate
of Jamia Millia Islamia having a diploma in computer
applications.41 Finally, there is the Central Library which is still
being constructed behind the main administrative building. The
library, at present, has a small collection of books mainly related
to the course of study in the madrasa. It is planned as one of the
biggest libraries which would house different kinds of religious
books,42 although the area allotted to the library does not give this
impression.
The madrasa has also expanded its area of activities in founding
‘mainstream’ schools in the qasba, especially for girls. The same
committee that runs the madrasa also runs these schools. These
schools are located at different places within the qasba and are
thus spatially separate from the madrasa. The first of these schools
was founded in 1965 by Abdul Aziz;43 this was not a regular school
but only a maktab meant for girls to learn the Quran and other
essentials of religion. During the time of Abdul Hafiz, a junior
high school was opened for boys in 1977.44 This was upgraded to
a high school in 1990. Also, in the 1990s, a primary school was
established. While both boys and girls would study together till
the primary stage, they would be segregated after that. As far as
girls were concerned, a junior high school for them was established
only in 1989 which was upgraded to the level of high school in
1994. As stated in chapter I, there now exists an inter college for
girls run by Ashrafiya but a comparable institution for boys has
not been conceptualised. Students in these schools are taught a
government syllabus which is similar to other schools. At the same
time, they also have classes in ‘deeniyat’ which teaches them the
elementary aspects of their religion.
In 2004, Madrasa Ashrafiya had over 3,000 students in its
different departments. In the Arabic section alone, the madrasa
had more than 1,000 students.45 In other madrasas of Mubarakpur,
such as those run by the Deobandis and the Ahl-e Hadis, the
number is nowhere near this figure. Thus the total number of
students in all departments of the Deobandi Ehya ul-Ulum is

around 1,000 with the Arabic department having 250 students
only.46 Similarly, Madrasa Dar al-Taleem of the Ahl-e Hadis has a
total number of only around 600 students.47
One important reason for the growth and expansion of Ashrafiya
has to do with the clientele which it formed during the course of
its operation. Although all Muslim denominations are to be found
in Mubarakpur, the greatest number is that of the Barelwis. Added
to this is also the fact that the Barelwis are also economically better-
off than the other denominations in this qasba. This numerical
and the economic clout translates into greater donations for the
Madrasa Ashrafiya which derives its finances mostly from the zakat
money donated to the madrasa by Barelwi Muslims of Mubarakpur.
It would however be wrong to limit Madrasa Ashrafiya to
Mubarakpur alone. As stated earlier, the madrasa is considered as
the apex institution of the Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat in India. Its
successful expansion has given rise to a number of other Barelwi
madrasas across the country, although their density is more in
certain regions compared with others. Ashrafiya helped establish
many Barelwi madrasas. Abdul Aziz himself laid the foundation
stone of Barelwi madrasas such as Madrasa Faruquia in Moradabad,
Madrasa Faiz ul-Ulum in Jamshedpur, Madrasa Ain ul-Ulum in
Gaya, Madrasa Ahl-e Sunnat in Gorakhpur and Madrasa Anwar
ul-Ulum in Azamgarh, etc.48
Some of these madrasas were established by the graduates of
Ashrafiya themselves. For example, the Ain ul-Ulum in Gaya was
started by Serajul Hoda and Faiz-e Aam in Jamshedpur was started
by Arshadul Qadri. Other madrasas were the result of local Barelwi
initiatives. Thus Madrasa Anwar ul-Ulum (later changed to Anwar
ul-Quran) in Azamgarh was founded during the early 1940s by
the Halalkhors,49 who wanted a madrasa in their vicinity to teach
the basics of Islam to their children.50 Abdul Aziz was called upon
for laying the foundation stone of this madrasa. On the other hand,
Madrasa Aziz ul-Ulum, also in Azamgarh, was established around
a decade ago by a murid of the current Sadar of Ashrafiya, Abdul
Hafeez, who is called Aziz-e Millat by his followers; the madrasa

deriving its name from this title. Almost all the teachers of this
madrasa are graduates of Madrasa Ashrafiya. Moreover, the parent
madrasa in Mubarakpur also pays the salary of two of its teachers.
The madrasa, although financed mostly through local donations,
is built on a piece of land owned by Madrasa Ashrafiya.51
Similar to Deoband, Ashrafiya also developed a network of
madrasas staffed by its own graduates.52 The booklet of the madrasa
provides the names of 67 madrasas where two or more of its
graduates are teaching.53 This, however, is not exhaustive but only
a list of the more important madrasas organised by the Barelwis.54
The listed madrasas represent the geographical diversity of its reach
and acceptance. Thus, apart from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar,
graduates of the madrasa are teaching in places such as Kerala,
Maharashtra, Delhi, Gujarat and Bengal, as well as in neighbouring
Pakistan.
Notes
1 The first patron of madrasa Ashrafiya, Ali Husain Ashrafi died in
1936. He was succeeded by his son Ahmad Ashraf whose untimely
death in 1961 made his son, Mukhtar Ashraf into the patron of
Madrasa Ashrafiya. All of them were also simultaneously the gaddi-
nashin of the shrine at Kichocha.
2 Refutation of other maslak’s literature is called radd and important
ulama in India have all contributed to this genre. For the specific
context of Madrasa Ashrafiya, see Chapter 7, to see how this literature
creates a specific identity among madrasa students. For the case of
Pakistan, see Tariq Rahman’s Denizens of Alien Worlds: A Study of
Education, Inequality and Polarization in Pakistan, Karachi: Oxford
3 See Philip Lewis, Islamic Britain: Religion, Politics and Identity among
British Muslims: Bradford in the 1990s, London: I. B. Taurus, 1994, p. 86.

4 Interview with Badrul Qadri (1982) in Mahanama Ashrafia: Hafiz
Millat Number, p. 80.

5 Usha Sanyal informs us that when Ahmad Riza Khan came to know
that one of his palkiwala was a Syed, he immediately got down from
the carriage, profusely apologised to that individual and then insisted
on carrying the palki himself with the Syed inside! In this context,
also see Usha Sanyal, Devotional Islam and British Politics in India:
Ahmad Riza Khan Barelwi and His Movement, 1870–1920, New
Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1996, pp. 148–51.
6 In this context, see M. Aslam, ‘State Communalism and Reassertion
of Muslim Identity’, in Zoya Hasan, S. N. Jha and Rasheeduddin

Khan (eds), The State, Political Process and Identity: Reflections on
Modern India, New Delhi: Sage, 1989, pp. 270–82.
7 According to Ahmad Misbahi, the current principal of Ashrafiya, there
were no printed laws of Ashrafiya before 1971. Although there was a

Shura which governed the madrasa according to traditional wisdom,
there were no codified laws.
8 The Constitution (Dastur e Amal) of madrasa Ashrafiya was prepared
after the powers had been devolved to Abdul Aziz. It was ratified in
June 1971 and was registered the same month at Gorakhpur. I have a
copy of this original Dastur-e Amal, signed among others by Abdul
Aziz himself.
9 Dastur-e Amal, al Jamiatul Ashrafiya, ‘Sarparast-e Idara’.
10 Technically, mutawallis are caretakers/custodians who are specially
named so in wakf/deed. In the case of Ashrafiya, the meaning is

different.
11 Personal interview, Mutawalli, Mubarakpur. Although he is still
known by that title, he has been stripped of the powers that he enjoyed
at Abdul Aziz’s time. Abdul Hafeez, his son, seems to have dispensed
with this institution, partly because the madrasa does not need them
any more for the exercise of its own hegemony. The madrasa now is
so large and well-entrenched that any anxiety about its acceptance by
the people of Mubarakpur is simply not a matter of concern anymore.
For the role of Mutawalli see, Zafeeruddin Miftahi (1996), Mosque
in Islam, New Delhi: Qazi Publishers, 1996.
12 Al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya, p. 86.
13 Dastur, al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya, ‘Nizam’, clause 1 (all translations mine
except otherwise indicated).

14 Dastur, al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya.
15 Mary Searle Chatterjee, ‘Wahabi Sectarianism among Muslims of
Banaras’, Contemporary South Asia, 3(2), 1994, pp. 83–95, p. 83.

16 ‘Hafiz-e Millat number’, Mahanama Ashrafiya, p. 78, 80.

17 Metcalf, Islamic Revival in British India: Deoband, 1860–1900, New
Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002, p. 103.
18 Quoted in Metcalf, Islamic Revival, p. 111.
19 Personal Interview, Yasin Akhtar Misbahi; Abdul Aziz, ‘the Sunnis
lack the emotion required for organisation’, quoted in Hafiz-e Millat

number, Mahanama Ashrafiya, p. 71. Usha Sanyal too argues that in
Bareilly, the seat of the Barelwi tradition in India, the focus is more
on piri–muridi rather than towards creating an organisation; Sanyal,
‘Generational Changes in the Leadership of the Ahl-e Sunnat
Movement in North India during the Twentieth Century’, Modern
Asian Studies, 32(3), 1998, pp. 635–56.
20 The ‘faith movement’ started by the Maulana Muhammad Ilyas (d.
1944) during the late 1920s. The Tabligh movement aims at

revitalisation of Islam through individual regeneration. The movement
has close links with Deobandi Islam; Maulana Ilyas’ family has had a
long association with the Deoband and its sister madrasa at
Saharanpur, Mazahir ul-Ulum.
21 The department of munazara had existed at Deoband Madrasa, see
Metcalf, Islamic Revival, p. 231.

22 Personal interview: Abdul Mannan, Sahikh ul-Hadis, Madrasa
Shamsul Ulum; also one of the signatories of the Dastur.

24 al Jamiatul Ashrafiya, pp. 86–87.
25 Mustafa Raza Khan (d.1981) was the younger son of Ahmad Riza
Khan, known to his followers as the Mufti e Azam e Hind.

26 Syed Ale Mustafa, a prominent member of the family of Barkatiya Syeds
from Marhara to which Ahmad Riza was affiliated through Sufi

discipleship. At the time of the above mentioned conference, he was
the president of all-India Sunni Jamiatul Ulama, an umbrella
organisation of Barelwi Ulama in India.
27 For the association of Ahmad Riza Khan with the family of Barkatiya
Syeds, see Sanyal, Devotional Islam, pp. 97–127.

28 Syed Ale Mustafa, quoted in al Jamiatul Ashrafiya, p. 30.
29 Hafiz e Millat Number, Mahanama Ashrafiya, p. 69.
30 Muhammad Ibrahim was a resident of Poora Sufi and was one of the
successful traders in Mubarakpur. He was one of the original signatories

to the Dastur which made Abdul Aziz the Sarbarah-e Ala.
31 Both Qari Muhammad Yahya and Muhammad Shafi had been closely
associated with Abdul Aziz and had been original signatories to the
Dastur which made him the Sarbarah-e Ala. They collectively shared
the vision of making the madrasa into the apex institution of Ahl-e
Sunnat wa Jamaat in India.
32 Bekal Utsahi is a well-known poet and a former Rajya Sabha member.
33 See Francis Robinson, The Ulama of Firangi Mahall and Islamic
Culture in South Asia, Pherozesons: Lahore, 2002; Claudia Leibeskind,

Piety on its Knees: Three Sufi Traditions in South Asia in Modern Times,
New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1998, for comparable instances.
34 Dastur, ‘Policy’, clause 3.
35 Sir Syed Ahmad Khan, the founder of Mohammedan Anglo-Oriental
College (now Aligarh Muslim University) was and still is considered

by many as a ‘Naturi’. A naturi is one who attaches too much
importance to nature as opposed to divine will while explaining any
phenomenon.
36 Muslims in Mubarakpur as well as the publications of Madrasa
Ashrafiya refer to Abdul Hafeez as a Maulana, which is clearly

misleading since he was never trained as an Alim.
37 al Jamiatul Ashrafiya, p. 31.
38 The highest degree that madrasas bestows on its students. Tahqeeq is
a double-course after Fazilat in which students are supposed to write

dissertation on a topic of their choice. It is equivalent to a masters
degree in mainstream universities in India.
39 Personal interview, Qaisar Jawed, al Jamiatul Ashrafiya.
40 As noted above, the technical institute was originally mentioned in
the Dastur framed by Abdul Aziz. The appellate ‘Hafiz-e Millat’ serves
to honour that wish of Abdul Aziz.
41 Personal interview, Muhammad Shamim, who supervises the
‘Technical Institute’.
42 Personal interview, Qaisar Jawed, Madrasa Ashrafiya.
43 al Jamiatul Ashrafiya, p. 86.
44 In the junior high school, students are taught up to eighth standard,
in the high school up to tenth and in the primary school up to standard

five.
45 Data from the office of al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya.
46 Personal interview, Abdul Moeed Qasmi, Nazim, Madrasa Ehya
ul-Ulum.
47 Personal interview, Abdur Rab Faizi, Nazim, Madrasa Dar al-Taleem.

48 Hafiz-e Millat number, Mahanama Ashrafiya, p. 76.
49 Being very ‘low’ caste, Halalkhors occupy a very low social status in
Muslim society. Risley defines them as those ‘to whom all kinds of
food are lawful’, Risley, Caste and Tribes of India, vol. 1, p. 310. See
also Buchanan’s account of Halalkhors in the erstwhile district of
Shahabad, Francis Hamilton Buchanan, An Account of the District of
Shahabad in 1812–1813, New Delhi: Usha Publications, 1986, p.182.
For a contemporary account see, Ali Anwar, Masawat ki Jung (Struggle
for Equality), New Delhi: Vaani Prakashan, 2001, pp. 41–43.
50 Personal interview, Taufeeq Ahmad, Nazim, Madrasa Anwar
ul-Quran.
51 Personal interview, Ali Afsar Azizi, principal, Aziz ul-Ulum.
52 In the context of Deoband, see Metcalf, Islamic Revival, p. 135.
53 al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya, pp. 75–76.
54 Personal interview, Yasin Akhtar Misbahi, who has compiled the list.
The Financial Organisation of Islamic Piety ò 111
4
The Financial Organisation of Islamic Piety
The growth and expansion of Madrasa Ashrafiya, as discussed in

chapters II and III, had as much to do with the dissemination and
acceptance of its ideology as with a systematic organisation of its
financial requirements. The propagation of faith requires the careful
and efficient organisation of the very mundane and secular act of
attending the financial needs of any institution.
Indian madrasas have adopted a variety of methods to take care
of their financial needs. Traditional madrasas during the precolonial
times were mostly Muslim endowments (awqaf, singular waqf) or
were funded by the medieval state.1 Muslim endowment meant
that a person relinquished his proprietary rights on a part of his
real estate and put it in the trust of God. The waqf then becomes
a property which cannot be transferred, thus making it inalienable.
The purpose of the waqf and the names of the beneficiary/
beneficiaries are put down in a deed (waqfiyya). Basically one can
distinguish two kinds of awqaf: the private/family endowment that
favours a particular person or family and their descendents, and
public endowments that favour the community as a whole.
Traditional madrasas were a form of public endowment mostly
created by wealthy Muslims to earn religious merit. Awqaf therefore
was one of the important financial sources of Muslim education
during the medieval period. However, it was not the only one.
Madrasas and mosques were also maintained through tax-free land
grants (madad-e mash) given to scholars by the state for public
good. The profits which accrued from the awqaf and madad e
maash were to be spent on the upkeep and smooth running of the
institutions for which purpose the grant was made. As can be
discerned, madrasas financed by the state had far less autonomy as
compared with the ones which were privately endowed.
Economic changes during the colonial period led to the decay

of traditional institutions including madrasas. Zamindars who had
earlier supported such traditional madrasas were either ruined or
were replaced by absentee landlords who had no interest in
maintaining such institutions. The demise of the Mughal and later
the successor states also affected the system of education adversely.
Moreover, after 1857, madrasas increasingly came under the
scrutiny of the colonial state which remained suspicious of its jihadi
and anti-British tenor.2 Slowly but surely, the colonial government,
to exercise and extend its own hegemony, inaugurated a new system
of education after the famous Wood’s Dispatch of 1854. All these
factors together conspired to wipe out the traditional system of
learning. Madrasas were robbed of their patrons and many closed
down due to lack of funds. Moreover, since English education
became the passport to a government career, interest in Arabic
and Persian-based instructions in madrasas declined, particularly
among the elite and Muslims who possessed a literate tradition.
The economic dependence of Islamic education on rich donors
and the state had worked well untill colonialism but when the old
economic structure collapsed, the future of Islamic education itself
was in doldrums. This fact was not lost upon ‘new madrasas’ which
came up after the Revolt of 1857.3 The founders of Deoband were
careful not to be dependent on the state.4 They also checked the
old system of patronage by insisting that the participation of rich
and powerful would be harmful in the long run.5 In their place
was instituted a novel method of collecting funds: public donations.
For fulfilling the financial needs of the madrasa, they went to
ordinary Muslims and collected individual contributions. This
system of ‘popular financing’, as Metcalf calls it, was so novel that
they had to explain its working in their printed annual declaration,
which itself was an innovation.
The system developed at Deoband served as a model for other
madrasas founded afterwards. The method of popular finance, apart
from being a search for alternative patronage also brought madrasas
in close contact with the Muslim community, thus creating an
enabling environment to exercise their hegemony. It would not be

an exaggeration to say that following the model of Deoband,
madrasas came in contact with Muslim masses on a scale which
had no precedent in its history. This system of organising its finance
was dependent on madrasas developing deep roots into the local
community in which they served. Also, collection of funds became
a year-round activity and depended on the financial conditions of
ordinary Muslim donors, a majority of them being petty traders,
peasants or artisans.
The Deoband model of financial organisation is no longer the
only available method for madrasas. Madrasas today do not shy
away from state funds or from receiving donations from wealthy
patrons. On the basis of the system of financing, we can divide
contemporary madrasas into two broad categories: those who
receive state funds and those who do not. State funded or the so
called Aliya or sarkari madrasas are wholly dependent on finances
made available by the state. There exist Madrasa Boards in states
of Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, Orissa, Assam, Madhya Pradesh, Rajasthan
and West Bengal which are government-constituted bodies to
regulate madrasa education in these states. Apart from the salaries,
funds are also disbursed for the upkeep of the madrasa. However,
this dependency on the state, in turn, compromises the autonomy
of these madrasas and they have to teach the syllabi certified by
the Madrasa Board in their state.
In contrast to these, there are madrasas that do not take any
money from the state. Since they do not take any money from the
state, they are free to teach their own syllabi. However, both these
variants do not exhaust the categories of madrasas in India. A
majority of them exist somewhere in the middle. They take some
money from the state, in the form of one-time grant or by taking
part in one of the existing educational programmes of the
government, but also collect money from the community in the
name of imparting religious education.6 Thus most madrasas,
including those belonging to the Deobandi school of thought, do
not mind taking grants from Maulana Azad Education Foundation,
a government-constituted body, but they do not want to become

a government-funded madrasa since that would mean changing
their syllabi and the purpose of their education.
The Central government-sponsored Scheme for Modernisation
of Madrasas instituted in 1993 has met with a lukewarm response
for this reason.7 Under the Scheme, madrasas are to include ‘secular’
subjects in their curriculum in lieu of which the government
provides salaries of the teachers and a grant towards textbooks and
construction of additional classrooms. The lukewarm response of
the madrasas’ is explained by the scheme’s association with the
BJP government and to what is termed as anti-Muslim content
of some of the school textbooks.8 However, such a rejection of
government intervention is not a characteristic of Indian madrasas
alone. Pakistani madrasas have shown similar resentment towards
government plans of intervention. It seems therefore that the more
important reason is the unwillingness of the ulama to surrender
their autonomy over their institutions.
It has been pointed out from within the madrasa system itself
that many madrasas are run as family corporations. Income and
expenditure of such madrasas do not have any transparency. More
often, the rise in fortunes of the madrasa also means a similar rise
for the family which is running that particular madrasa. Any
government intervention threatens such an accumulation of public
money for private purposes and this explains why so many madrasas
refuse the modernisation offered by the government scheme.
More recently, the government’s proposal for the creation of an
All India Madrasa Board was similarly rejected by a conclave of
religious seminaries spearheaded by Deoband Madrasa. They
argued that the creation of such a Board would mean regulation
of their activities. They feared that it would be the first step towards
their control and subjugation. The issue at stake therefore is the
autonomy of madrasas which the ulama guard zealously. It is
interesting to note that madrasas reject government intervention
by seeking recourse to the very modern secular division of private
and public spheres.9 Since the modern nation-states consider
religion as a personal matter of individual citizens, madrasas argue

that governments should not legislate or even interfere in the
‘private domain’ of Muslims. As guardians of the private sphere,
such a modern distinction allows ulama and their madrasas a pivotal
role in the existing religious economy.
Questions about the financial aspect of madrasa have become a
very sensitive subject owing to the allegations that madrasas receive
huge donations from foreign, mainly Muslim countries of the
Middle East. It has been alleged that since most of these donations
are not transparent, they pose a threat to national security.10
Madrasas themselves are very secretive about their finances. Despite
my repeated requests, Madrasas Ashrafiya and Ehya ul-Ulum did
not furnish information related to their financial organisation. As
is the pattern in most madrasas, they kept repeating that their
madrasa is being run solely through community funds and charities.
Eventually I did manage to get some information on Madrasa
Ashrafiya’s finances during the years 1949–67. I also got the
madrasa’s rudad from 1978–79 to 1989–90.11 Most of what follows
in this chapter is based on information culled from these two
sources.
Rudad is an annual statement of the madrasa’s activity. It
provides information about the committee which runs the madrasa,
the number of students in that particular year, their success rate,
the number of teachers and other staff of the madrasa and most
importantly, for the purposes of this chapter, the details of funds
that it receives annually. The rudad contains two important tables
showing income and expenditure of the madrasa in that financial
year. Moreover, it lists all the names of donors of the madrasa
which reveals the geographical reach of the madrasa.12
In what follows, I have divided the organisation of Ashrafiya’s
finance into two periods for which information is available: 1949–
67 and 1979–90. I argue that there is a difference between these
two periods in the way fund collection was organised; in the earlier
period the collection of funds was a communal and involved activity
but in the later period, the method becomes rationalised and
impersonal, losing its earlier participatory character. Second, it

has been demonstrated how the madrasa has grown financially
and that this growth has much to do with the establishment of a
secure donor network.
The Mode of Early Collections (194967)

A close scrutiny of the rudads for 1949–67 reveals that till this
time, Ashrafiya remained a small-scale madrasa in terms of its
income. It must be mentioned that the madrasa during this time
was still located in Purani Basti. Starting from a modest sum of
<1,972 in 1949, the income of the madrasa rose to <4,055 in
1967. There is however, no clear-cut pattern of a steady rise; some
years record much higher income as compared to others. For
example, the highest income for the said time period was in 1964
when its income was <8,032. The rudad mentions that the madrasa
purchased a plot of land worth <7,500 in this year and the madrasa
suffered a loss of <1,344. The lowest income recorded is in the
year 1954 when just <1,261 was collected. Mostly the profit and
loss for this period are in hundreds with one year’s loss being made
up by another years’ profit.
The Table 4.1 gives a sense of income and expenditure of the
madrasa. One can also see in the following table the sources of
income for the madrasa during this period.
Table 4.1 Income and Expenditure of

Madrasa Ashrafiya, 1949–67
Year Income (<) Major income source Expenses (<)
1949 1,972 Julus- 833 965
1950 2,032 Julus-569 765
1951 2,231 Julus-415, Abdul Majid-50 1,175
1952 1,635 Julus-316, silver-25, saree-70 517
1953 1,772 Julus-233, Abdul Majid-105 808
1954 1,261 Julus-227, silver-24 343
1955 1,340 Julus-249, silver-59 370
1956 1,782 Julus-486, silver-52 534
(Contd)
1957 2,227 NA 821

1958 2,508 Julus-749, silver-77 987
1959 2,875 Julus-1036, silver-65, flour-3 1,582
1960 4,115 Julus-1157, silver-219 1,079
1961 5,144 Julus-1178 1,191
1962 6,331 Julus-1138 1,185
1963 7,434 Julus-1148, silver-66 1,549
1964 8,032 Julus-981, silver-129 1,292
1965 3,471 Julus-1865, from lal chowk-472 3,278
1966 3,990 Julus-1578, from lal chowk-485 2,768
1967 4,055 Julus-1542 NA
Source: Collated from Rudad, Madrasa Ashrafiya, for the years 1949–67.
Note: NA — Not available.
It is interesting to note that the rudads for this period mention

processions (julus; singular jalsa) as one of the most important
sources of income. Religious processions were taken out in
Mubarakpur round the year, but more importantly on the days of
Prophet Muhammad’s birthday (Eid Milad un Nabi) and during
Muharram. All students were expected to join such processions.
These processions would go from one muhalla to another singing
naaths and would receive donations from the residents.
Moreover, each muhalla had its own committee (anjuman) which
would organise takrir (speeches) for students and teachers of Ashrafiya
at the end of which the audience would contribute money to the
various speakers.13 All such collections during the processions went
to the madrasa, not to the individual speaker. Sometimes these
muhalla committees would independently collect money and donate
to the madrasa. The rudad for the year 1965 acknowledges a
contribution of <472 from Anjuman Lal Chowk. Contributions
from such processions were substantial compared to the total
collection. For the period 1949–67, the contribution of julus to the
total income of madrasa was approximately 25 per cent.14 During
some years this contribution was as high as 50 per cent.
It is important to highlight that contributions in the julus were
not always in cash. The rudads mention contributions of silver
jewellery, especially from the women of the qasba. The value of
these jewels in cash is recorded in various rudads. Apart from jewels,

Muslims also donated whatever they thought would be useful for
the madrasa. The rudad for the year 1952 acknowledges one
Muhammad Khaleel who donated sarees worth <70. Similarly,
the rudad for 1959 mentions that someone donated flour for the
madrasa. Sometimes contributions in kind were collected and
auctioned at a fixed date within the qasba.15 In these auctions,
Muslims sought to outbid each other and thus goods donated to
the madrasa were sold at a higher price than their market price.
The income was often supplemented by individual donations which
the madrasa received from wealthy Muslims who were mostly from
outside the qasba. For instance, the rudads consistently mention
the name of one Abdul Majid from Bombay who contributed
<100 and <50 on two occasions. Barring these individual
contributions, most of the money was raised locally which points
to the fact that the madrasa was very much a localised affair and
had not developed a large network of donors outside the qasba.
In fact, the rudads of this period do not even mention
contributions from Moradabad, Bareilly, Pilibhit, etc., which were
all important centres of Barelwis. However, the madrasa earned
indirectly through participation in a jalsa organised outside the
qasba. In religious events organised by Barelwi Muslims, they would
request Madrasa Ashrafiya to send one of their ulama. Abdul Aziz
himself went on such occasions, but at times sent one of his
students. Arshadul Qadri tells us that he was sent many times by
Abdul Aziz for takrir to neighbouring districts.16 After the takrir,
he received money from the audience and organisers, a part of
which he would give to the madrasa. Similarly, he used to go out
of Mubarakpur during Ramzan for collection of funds. As was the
practice, he kept part of the collection for himself and the rest
went to the madrasa.
According to the rudads, the expenses of the madrasa during
this period were considerably lower as compared to its income. As
a result of this, the madrasa could save money for buying land,
reconstructing the Mubarak Shah Mosque and adding another
floor to the two-storeyed Ashrafiya building. 17 Most of the

expenditures relate to the daily necessities of the madrasa, such as
those of buying newspapers and kitchen implements and minor
infrastructural repairs. The madrasa also did not have to purchase
books as they were mostly bought and presented to the madrasa.
Muhammad Umar, in his capacity as the sadar of the madrasa,
had gifted books worth <100 in 1942.18
Moreover, even after the establishment of the kitchen (matbakh)
in 1953, Ashrafiya students continued to be offered food by the
Barelwi residents of Mubarakpur, thereby considerably reducing
the expenses of the madrasa. For the residents of Mubarakpur,
feeding the students meant they were helping in preparing the
army of deen, as they were told by the ulama. It was towards the
end of 1960s that we see the expenses of the madrasa going up and
one important reason for that was the regularisation of kitchen
facilities for the students. The madrasa now had its own building
as well as a kitchen and was slowly getting less dependent on the
goodwill of the residents. From a time when the madrasa was wholly
dependent on the local Barelwis, a gradual process of distancing
and self-sufficiency has evolved.
Even then, financially speaking, the madrasa was being
supported primarily by the local residents. This financial control
of the qasba was reflected in its relationship with the madrasa. As
has been pointed out in the previous chapter, the madrasa till this
time did not have a well-laid out Constitution. Thus prominent
Barelwi residents had a say in the affairs of Ashrafiya. To complicate
matters, these residents also exerted an influence on the madrasa
through their closeness to the Kichocha shrine, whose gaddi-nashin
had continued to be the sarparast of madrasa Ashrafiya.19 As argued
in the previous chapter, these multiple bases of authority were
coming in the way of Ashrafiya’s expansion. Abdul Aziz therefore
had to effect fundamental changes in the organisation of Ashrafiya.
Apart from curtailing the powers of the sarparast and making him
just a figurative head without any authority, he had laid down a
written constitution of the madrasa which considerably reduced
his dependence on the qasba.20 He also initiated the collection of

funds along more rational lines, a process which was carried on by
his son, Abdul Hafeez, in his capacity as Sarbarah-e Ala of Ashrafiya
after the death of his father in 1976.
The Mode of Later Collection (197990)

and its Meaning
Before analysing the rudad for this period, it is important to
recollect the changes which had come in Madrasa Ashrafiya. The
most important change was that the madrasa had been shifted to a
new location just outside the qasba. New buildings of the madrasa
were being constructed around this period. The land had already
been bought by Abdul Aziz for the purpose of expansion, but
because of his death in 1976, most of the expansion was done by
his son and successor, Abdul Hafeez. During his lifetime, Abdul
Aziz had made his intention clear to expand the madrasa and for
this purpose he had organised two conferences in 1972 and 1974.
The foundation stone of the various buildings of what was to
become al-Jamiatul Ashrafia was laid in these two conferences.21
Huge finances were required for such an expansion. For a madrasa,
whose total income was just about <4,000 in 1967, to have such
an expansion plan seems at first like a fantastic idea. However,
looking at the incomes starting from the year 1979, one can only
say that the madrasa was competent enough to live up to the
expectations of Abdul Aziz. The table below gives the figures for
income and expenditure of the madrasa for the period 1979–90.
Table 4.2 Income and Expenditure of Madrasa Ashrafiya, 1979–90

Year Income (<) Expenditure (<)
1978–79 4,98,053 5,11,057
1981–82 7,94,743 7,54,057
1984–85 10,65,919 10,53,023
1985–86 14,17,023 13,71,486
1986–87 13,71,056 13,70,717
(Contd)
1987–88 16,45,522 16,40,346

1988–89 22,59,863 21,91,963
1989–90 27,57,489 27,26,357
Source: Collated from rudad Madrasa Ashrafiya, 1979–90.
Note: Rudad for the years 1979–80 and 1982–83 are not included.
Table 4.2 shows the financial growth of Madrasa Ashrafiya.

Compared to 1967, the income of the madrasa had grown manifold
by 1978–79. Over the 10-year period, both income and expenditure
had risen tremendously. While in the earlier years, most of the income
came in collections through julus, now most of the income comes
from zakat.22 In fact, as Table 4.3 shows, nearly half the income of
the madrasa now comes from the collection of zakat:
Table 4.3 Main Sources of Income and Expenditure, 1979–90

Mess as Salary as percentage
Zakat as percentage percentage of total of total yearly
Year of total yearly income yearly expenditure expenditure
1978–79 52.88 32.51 31.35
1981–82 59.07 35.24 32.55
1984–85 65.83 30.24 31.65
1985–86 60.91 18.48 32.47
1986–87 63.03 25.44 31.94
1987–88 62.03 22.70 40.78
1988–89 49.92 20.10 38.03
1989–90 50.89 16.92 34.55
Source: Computed from rudad Madrasa Ashrafiya, 1979–90.
Table 4.3 also makes it clear that the expenses on the kitchen
have declined over the years. It is noteworthy that the madrasa
collects zakat in the name of poor and needy children who are fed
free of cost through the kitchen as a religious service. However, it
becomes clear from the above table that although the cost of feeding
such children has declined over the years, the collection of zakat
money has not. Thus one can safely argue that the madrasa spends
money over something else for which it does not have the mandate
of the community of donors.
After the income from zakat, another important source of

income is the various government grants which the madrasa
acknowledges. Ashrafiya is thus not averse to taking grants from
the government which makes it different from the Dar ul-Ulum
Deoband. However, most of such government grants are not
utilised within the madrasa as such but rather for the schools which
are run by the same madrasa committee. It is important to recollect
here that the madrasa also has three schools (two for girls and one
for boys) under its wings. Madrasa Ashrafiya and these schools are
run by the same committee. Government grants mostly cover the
salary of the teachers. Again, the beneficiaries are mainly the teachers
of the schools, not the madrasa. However, this is not to argue that
no government money is spent on the madrasa. The recently set-up
computer centre was established with the help of such a government
grant. Moreover, it is a regular recipient of funds from its local
MP as well as various politicians. Another important source of
income for the madrasa has been the sale of hides, which Muslims
donate after the yearly sacrificial festival of Eid ul-Zuha. Moreover,
the madrasa receives rent from the various properties it owns in
Mubarakpur. It also earns from the sale of books and calendars,
although the proceeds are not as substantial. However, during the
annual urs of the madrasa, the earning from the sale of books is
quite substantial, although for some reason it is not included in
the rudad.
On the expenditure side, most of the income is spent on salaries
paid to the teachers and staff of the madrasa (including schools
run by the madrasa). The second most important expenditure is
on providing food for the students, although it is declining over
the years. It must be mentioned that Madrasa Ashrafiya, like many
other madrasas, follows a differential fee structure. It charges fees
from only those students whose parents can afford to pay. However,
over the years, the number of students who are enrolled as ‘free
students’ in the madrasa has declined, thereby reducing the financial
pressure on the madrasa. Like any other school, Ashrafiya has to
spend on conducting exams, for question and answer papers, etc.
It also spends on its publication department which buys books for

the library and publishes its monthly magazine, Mahanama
Ashrafiya. Another important source of expenditure is on tabligh
(propagation) and travel.23 Under tabligh, teachers or other
committee members of the madrasa, called muballigs, go to different
places to lecture on ‘correct’ Islamic practice. This activity is
considered important since one of the important objectives of the
madrasa is to counter what it calls the ‘false’ propaganda of other
rival maslaks such as Deobandis. The madrasa bears the expenses
of all such activities. Since Ashrafiya is one of the biggest madrasa
of the Barelwis, its participation in tabligh is both expected and
necessary since such activity brings new donors to its fold.
Since the madrasa is still expanding, new structures are being
added to the madrasa. During my fieldwork, the main mosque
within the madrasa was still unfinished and work for a new students’
hostel was starting. However, the rudad only mentions expenses
defrayed towards repair work of existing structures. Thus financing
of these new structures comes from outside the madrasa. The rudad
of 1987–88 mentions one Md. Hafizullah of Calcutta who helped
construct a new students’ hostel. His help is also acknowledged in
the construction of the dome of Dar ul-Hadis, which was one of
the first structures within the madrasa and now serves as the main
administrative-cum-academic building. The presence of such
donors means that the madrasa is often saved of investing much of
its income on construction activities. Moreover, there are other
donations which are not mentioned in the rudad. A person close
to Ashrafiya but who did not wish to be identified, told me that
the madrasa also receives donations through some of the wealthy
shrines. He told me that the shrines like Kichocha get so much
donation that they divert some of it to institutions that they
patronise. Although relations with Ashrafiya soured when Mukhtar
Ashraf was the gaddi-nashin of Kichocha, of late it has improved
and has translated into monetary benefit for the madrasa. Similarly,
as mentioned in the last chapter, the madrasa has also benefited
from its closeness with the shrine of Marhara.
The rudad for this period (1979–90) appeals to Muslims to

contribute in cash or kind to the madrasa, mostly in the form of
zakat. Muslims are told that it is their religious duty to contribute
towards religious education. Believers often respond to such appeals
and contribute towards the madrasa. There is no fixed pattern for
such donations. Some might build a room within a hostel or simply
donate a fan for the madrasa. Others simply pay in cash. Over the
years, madrasas mostly encourage the donors to pay in cash and
leave it to them how they want to use the money. As the rudad
makes clear, Madrasa Ashrafiya was fortunate in enlisting the
support of some big donors. One of its donors based in Bombay
took the responsibility of providing spices to the kitchen for a
period of three consecutive years. Ashrafiya also appoints special
staff called safirs (literally ambassadors) whose sole responsibility
is to collect funds from common Muslims. For the money so
collected, these safirs get a fixed percentage as their share. Arshadul
Qadri informs us that during his student days in the 1940s, mostly
students collected funds for the madrasa.24 Compared to those
days, fund collection has become more professional and impersonal
today. No longer are students involved and there is no mention of
collection through julus, thus reducing the communal and
participatory nature of fund collection.
Such generous donors and inculcation of a professional attitude
of fund collection is not the only reason why madrasa Ashrafiya
has seen a change in its fortune. One of the important reasons
seems to be the extensive donor network that the madrasa has put
in place. In earlier rudads, monetary contributions from other
neighbouring towns were hardly mentioned. Even from places
where Barelwis dominated, monetary contributions were hard to
come by. Most of the money, which was anyways a paltry sum,
was raised locally through religious processions and other innovative
methods such as auctioning. However, the madrasa was producing
graduates who were getting employed as teachers in other Barelwi
madrasas or becoming prayer leaders in mosques. Abdul Aziz helped
his students find a career and would always tell his students if a
place was vacant in a madrasa which he knew. He would often

write recommendations for his students whenever they wanted it.
Over a span of few decades Ashrafiya had produced ulama who
were loyal and ready to help their alma matter. It was these students
who through their own network would help create a huge donor
network for Madrasa Ashrafiya. The following table gives an
indication of the reach of the madrasa for the period 1979–90:25
Table 4.4 Regional Distribution of Donations to Madrasa Ashrafiya

States 1984–85 1985–86 1986–87 1988–89 1989–90
Bihar 14,795 11,851 11,788 23,167 19,824
Uttar Pradesh 67,557 51,422 25,090 63,094 30,005
West Bengal 2,052 1,103 1,360 15,191 1,704
Karnataka 1,266 1,936 2,304 2,736 2,309
Maharashtra 10,892 27,495 10,813 16,022 15,485
Orissa 2,097 1,162 1,035 2,335 1,731
Rajasthan 1,066 2,625 2,436 1,725 2,188
Andhra Pradesh 1,627 2,815 2,832 2,075 2,120
Assam 626 341 180 875 1,109
Madhya Pradesh 3,326 3,583 4,060 3,764 5,587
Gujarat 2,326 3,013 1,923 2,627 1,622
Other States 571 NA 263 715 1,322
Outside India 3,641 1,402 8,672 2,864 4,928
Source: Collated from rudad Madrasa Ashrafiya, 1979–90.
Note: NA — Not available; all figures in rupees.
As is clear from Table 4.4, the donor network of the madrasa is

no longer confined to Mubarakpur alone. From a time when the
madrasa received support from only the people of Mubarakpur to
now when it has donors in almost every state in India is quite
remarkable. Uttar Pradesh, followed by Bihar and Maharashtra, is
the biggest monetary contributor, according to the above table.
However, it must be noted that it is not as if the whole of
Maharashtra or Uttar Pradesh contributes financially to the
madrasa. A closer reading of the rudad reveals that there are pockets
within these states which have become regular donors. If we break
up the donation from Maharashtra, it becomes clear that most of
the contribution comes from the cities of Bombay, Bhiwandi and

Nagpur. Thus according to the rudad of 1989–90, out of the total
collection of <15,485 in Maharashtra, Bombay alone contributed
<12,348 and only <3,137 came from other parts of the state, a
major chunk of it from Nagpur. The rudad, from time to time,
does mention one or two big donors in Bombay. However, big
contributions to the madrasa find a special mention, usually in
the beginning of the rudad and hence do not appear along the
names of small donors. A break-up of individual contributors from
Bombay and Bhiwandi reveals that there a are lot of small donors
of Ashrafiya there.
After the First Educational Conference in 1972, Abdul Aziz
had toured Bombay and Bhiwandi, primarily for collection of
funds.26 Bhiwandi in particular since it is a weaving town and
known for textile production, similar to Mubarakpur. Moreover,
migrants from Eastern Uttar Pradesh have settled there in
substantial numbers, making it easier for Ashrafiya to create a
network of donors here. In Nagpur, Abdul Aziz stayed and taught
in a madrasa for one year before finally coming back to
Mubarakpur. Moreover, residents of muhalla Mominpura in
Nagpur were murids of Amjad Ali and it was not very hard for
Ashrafiya to find a readymade donor network here. It is important
to note that residents of both these areas were Ansaris, the caste to
which both Amjad Ali and Abdul Aziz belonged.
In Uttar Pradesh, it is mostly the eastern towns which form the
donor network for madrasa Ashrafiya. The collection from within
Mubarakpur has also increased substantially with almost all
muhallas of the qasba contributing zakat to the madrasa. Muhalla
Purani Basti, where the madrasa was originally established,
contributes much more as compared to others. However, more
substantial contributions come from neighbouring districts of
Faizabad, Ghazipur, Jaunpur, Varanasi and Muradabad. Most of
these districts are in eastern Uttar Pradesh. One reason for this
can be the predominance of Deobandi madrasas in the districts of
western Uttar Pradesh. In Bihar, donors mostly come either from
North Bihar districts of Purnea, Katihar, Araria, Muzzaffarpur,

Sitamarhi or from southern districts (now in Jharkhand) like
Dhanbad, Gaya, Hazaribagh, Palamu, Giridih, Jamshedpur,
Ranchi, Garhwa, etc. These towns in Bihar are mostly Barelwi in
orientation and some of their madrasas are run by former students
of Ashrafiya. Moreover, Abdul Aziz himself had laid the
groundwork for creating such a donor network when he toured
towns like Jamshedpur, etc., with one of his former students,
Arshadul Qadri, who had established a madrasa there. After the
First Educational Conference in 1972, the fund collection from
Jamshedpur alone was a substantial <80,000.27
The oil boom and the consequent migration to Gulf countries
also benefited the madrasa. Starting from the early 1970s, Indian
migration to Gulf countries increased several times.28 Mubarakpuris
have opted for both short- and long-term migration to various
countries of the Gulf. Most of them work in the skilled or semi-
skilled segments of the market. Some also engage in small
businesses. As migrants elsewhere, they continue to take interest
in whatever is happening within their community at home.29 Their
increased earnings have contributed substantially to the changing
fortunes of Ashrafiya. As Tables I and II show, the tremendous
increase in the income of the madrasa coincides roughly with the
Gulf boom and consequent migration. For those working in the
Gulf countries, donations to the madrasa, apart from religious
merit, also brings in added social status as it becomes publicised in
the qasba. Since Ashrafiya is one of the biggest madrasas of Barelwis
in India, migrants to the Gulf from other regions also contribute
financially. In fact, the safirs of Ashrafiya are known to make
frequent trips to Gulf countries for donations.
However, the oil boom has also brought in new challenges for
the Barelwi Ulama, their institutions and their way of practising
Islam. The oil boom coincided with the establishment of a number
of Islamic organisations with the express purpose of promoting a
distinct type of puritan and anti-Sufi Islam called Wahabism. The
Muslim World League (1962) and the World Assembly of Muslim
Youth (1972), founded at the behest of Saudi Arabia, were fronts

for promoting Wahabism as ‘true Islam’,30 which was antithetical
to the shrine-mediated Islamic understanding of Barelwi
institutions such as Ashrafiya. More importantly, it was the funds
which were made available by Saudi Arabia for Wahabi propaganda
which worried the Barelwis. Their greatest worry came from the
Ahl-e Hadis and the Deobandis, the recipient of such funds in
India, since through their money power, they were in a better
position to transmit their ideology (of puritan Islam) to the Muslim
masses. The Barelwis did respond to such threat by floating their
own organisation, the ‘World Islamic Mission’,31 which was based
in the UK and one of the leading forces behind this transnational
organisation was Arshadul Qadri, an Ashrafiya’s graduate.
Despite such counter measures, Barelwis are still wary and allege
that huge foreign funds come to Deobandi madrasas from Gulf
countries. Fearful of losing its own followers to rival interpretations
of Islam, Ashrafiya frequently remains in touch with its donors in
Gulf countries through modern means of communication32 and
even travelling to these countries at least once in a year.
Outside India, the donor network of Ashrafiya is not limited to
Gulf countries alone. Its graduates have also settled in Netherlands,
UK, South Africa and some cities in the US.33 As in the case of
Gulf countries, the extent of donations from these countries is not
known. Once in a while the rudad does mention donations in
pounds and dollars but the amounts are not significant. However,
it is known that some of these graduates who run their own mosques
and madrasas in Europe are regular financial contributors to the
madrasa.
Such an extensive donor network and the skilful organisation
of its finances have made Ashrafiya into one of the largest Barelwi
madrasa in India. It imposing buildings and the grand mosque
which is still under construction inspires awe among the faithful
Barelwis and are a source of pride for the students. According to a
committee member of the madrasa, who would not like to be
named, the annual income of the madrasa (in 2005) is at least
<1 crore. Its finances are no longer restricted to religious activities

alone, but also spill over to more mundane secular spheres. Within
Mubarakpur itself, the madrasa now is the biggest property owner.
It owns various plots in different muhallas and a number of shops
in the main market of Mubarakpur. Some of the tallest buildings
in this small qasba belong to this madrasa. The income from these
properties feeds into the madrasa and its allied schools. Outside
the qasba, the madrasa owns properties in the district headquarters
of Azamgarh and even in Zakir Nagar area of New Delhi. Gilmartin
has argued that apart from piety, the authority of Sufi shrines in
Punjab was also due to the fact that they acted as the biggest
landlords of the area.34 Something similar seems to be happening
in Mubarakpur where religious and secular powers fuse together
in Madrasa Ashrafiya.
Notes
1 K. A. Nizami ‘Development of Muslim Educational System in
Medieval India’, Islamic Culture, Oct. 1996, pp. 27–54.
2 Madrasas came under scrutiny because of the participation of some
of the ulama during the Revolt of 1857. Among those who fought
against the ‘English’ was Rashid Ahmad Gangohi, one of the founders
of Deoband Madrasa.
3 For ‘new madrasas’, and how they differed from the older traditional
madrasas, see chapter II.

4 One of the famous 14-points enunciated by the founders of Deoband,
which later became its constitution; it clearly states that under no

circumstances the madrasa would receive funds from the state.
Although framed in a context when the income would have come
from a non-Muslim source (the British government), they have
continued to follow the system in independent India, which follows a
secular constitution. The paragraph is based on Barbara Daly Metcalf,
Islamic Revival in British India: Deoband, 1860–1900, New Delhi:
5 However, they were in principle not opposed to rich Muslims donating
to the madrasa out of considerations of piety.

6 Madrasas such as these have multiplied manifold leading to what can

be categorised as the ‘mushrooming of madrasas’. In contrast, sarkari
madrasas and those that solely impart religious education have not
increased so much as the case is made out to be.
7 For the Scheme of Modernization of Madrasas, see Nizam Elahi
Modernisation of Madrasa Education Scheme in India, New Delhi:

State Council of Educational Research and Training, 2001.
8 Yoginder Sikand, ‘Reforming Indian Madrasas: Contemporary
Muslim Voices’, in Satu Limaye, Mohan Malik and Robert Wirsing

(eds), Religious Radicalism and Security in South Asia, Honululu: Asia
Pacific Center for Security Studies, 2004, pp. 117–46, pp. 139–40.
9 Muhammad Qasim Zaman, ‘Religious Education and the Rhetoric
of Reform: Madrasas in British India and Pakistan’, Comparative

Studies in Society and History, p. 295.
10 It is not known for certain how much funds madrasas receive annually,
but according to the then Union Minister of State for Home,

Vidyasagar Rao (during the time of the fieldwork), the total oversees
fund for religious institutions in the country was a whopping <4,000
crore. See, The Hindu, May 19, 2000.
11 Madrasa Ashrafiya did not provide me with these rudads. I managed
to get them from another source, who would not like to be identified.
The early rudads (1949–67) were in a very bad shape, torn and insect-
eaten, so that some of the information was completely lost.
12 Since even humble donors who donate one or two rupees are
acknowledged in the rudad, the document gets very lengthy and runs
into hundreds of pages. Most madrasas therefore have dropped the
practice of putting each and every donor on the list and mention only
those who have donated what the madrasa considers as a substantial
donation. Metcalf (Islamic Revival, p. 94) informs us that Deoband
Madrasa was the first to start the practice of printing rudads, but over
time it has become necessary for all madrasas to do so.
13 Badrul Qadri Misbahi, Ashrafiya ka Maazi aur Haal, Mubarakpur:
Shoba e Nasharriyat, al Jamiatul Ashrafiya, 1975, pp. 93–94.

14 Since the income of the madrasa in a particular year includes the
previous years’ savings, a recalculation after required adjustments

would show a much higher percentage of financial contribution by
the julus. All calculations done for the years 1949–67.
15 Badrul Qadri Misbahi , Ashrafiya ka Maazi aur Haal, p. 94.
16 Badrul Qadri Misbahi, ‘Arshad ki Kahani Arshad Ki Zubani’, in Jaam-e

Noor, August, 2007.
17 Yasin Akhtar Misbahi, al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya: A Brief History and
Introduction, trans. A. Naseeb and Sajjad Misbahi, Mubarakpur:

Publication Department, al Jamiatul Ashrafiya, 2001, p. 85.
18 Badrul Qadri Misbahi, Ashrafiya ka Maazi aur Haal, p. 57.
19 After the death of Ali Husain Ashrafi in 1936, his nephew Muhammad
Abdul Muhamid became the Sarparast of Ashrafiya. After the latter’s

death in 1961, the grandson of Ali Husain Ashrafi, Mukhtar Ashraf
became the Sarparast of Ashrafiya.
20 See chapter 3, pp. 7–9.
21 Jamia can be translated as ‘university’. Abdul Aziz wanted Ashrafiya
to grow from a Dar ul-Ulum (literally, house of learning but is

translated as a college) to a Jamia.
22 Zakat is a mandatory alms-tax on accrued wealth in Islam. However,
it can only be enforceable under an Islamic government.

23 Not to be confused with Tabligh Jamaat, an offshoot of the Deoband’s
sister madrasa, Mazahirul Ulum in Saharanpur and associated with

the name of Muhammad Ilyas. The Deobandi Tabligh Jamaat seeks
to ‘reform’ Muslims by reminding them about the necessity of daily
practices of namaz, etc. Organised along similar lines, but seeking to
counter the Deobandi influence, the Barelwi Tabligh is known as
Sunni Dawat-e Islami; not much has been written about this
organisation. On the Deobandi Tabligh Jamaat see Yoginder Sikand,
The Origins and Development of Tablighi-Jama’at (1920–2000): A
Cross-Country Comparative Study, New Delhi: Orient Longman, 2002.
24 Badrul Qadri Misbahi, ‘Arshad ki Kahani’.
25 The rudad of this period gives information about another source of
earning of the madrasa: those who donate through money orders,

bank drafts, etc., which is not included here in Table 4.3.
26 Badrul Qadri Misbahi, ‘Arshad ki Kahani’, p. 48.
27 Ibid.
28 See, D. Nayyar, Migration, Remittance and Capital Flows: The Indian
Experiences. Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994; R. K. Jain, Indian

Communities Abroad, New Delhi: Manohar Publications, 1993; M.
C. Madhavan, ‘Indian Immigrants: Numbers, Characteristics and
Economic Impact’, Population and Development Review, 11(3), 1985,
pp. 457–81; Myron Weiner, ‘International Migration and
Development: Indians in the Persian Gulf’, Population and

Development Review, 8(1), 1982, pp. 1–36.
29 For insight into another context, see Fillipo Osella and Caroline Osella,
‘Money, Migration and Masculinity in Kerala’, The Journal of Royal

Anthropological Institute, 6(1), 2000, pp. 117–33.
30 Bernard Lewis, The Crisis of Islam, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson,
2003, p. 57.
31 World Islamic Mission was formed in 1972 in London. It worked
among the Asian immigrants to counter what it called the ‘evil

influence’ of Wahabism. See Philip Lewis, Islamic Britain: Religion,
Politics and Identity among British Muslims: Bradford in the 1990s,
London: I. B. Taurus, 1994, p. 85.
32 Modern technology seems to have given new life to religions to organise
along previously unthinkable lines. Technologies such as the internet

and the telephone have become very useful tools for the ulama to
remain in touch with their followers. As the Nazim of Ashrafiya told
me, the recently installed internet facility in the madrasa has made it
much easier to remain in touch with the ‘well-wishers’ of the madrasa.
33 Yasin Akhtar Misbahi, al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya, pp. 60–61.
34 See David Gilmartin, Empire and Islam: Punjab and the Making of
Pakistan, London: I. B. Tauris, 1989, p. 163.

The Madrasa and its Hinterland ò 133
5
The Madrasa and its Hinterland
In chapters 3 and 4, I argued that the success of Madrasa Ashrafiya

partly depended on the network that it had established over the
years. Its students have gone to different places in Maharashtra,
Andhra Pradesh, Delhi and Assam and most importantly in Bihar
and Uttar Pradesh. Some teach in madrasas established by the
local Barelwis of these places; more enterprising ones have
established their own madrasas. To perpetuate its continuity over
time, just like any other educational institution, Ashrafiya needs
fresh batches of students every year. While students come from
various parts of India, a majority of them come from three states:
Bihar, Jharkhand and Uttar Pradesh. Furthermore, there are certain
districts/pockets within these states from where students are more
likely to be present in this madrasa. Thus, in the case of Bihar,
students mostly come from the north-east districts such as Purnea,
Kishanganj and Katihar. Similarly within Uttar Pradesh, more
students come from its eastern districts. These are the same districts
which also send children to the rival Deobandi madrasa of Ehya
ul-Ulum.
It is not possible from the rudad (1979–90) to find out the
exact proportion of students from each state. During my fieldwork,
Ashrafiya was preparing a list of its alumni. The list would have
made it easy to find out the regional location of the students. Since
it was in a preliminary stage, much could not be made out of it.
However, the rudad does mention the names of those students
who in various years have passed the exams conducted by Uttar
Pradesh Arabic–Persian Board. This Board grants degrees of Fazil,
Kamil, etc., which make madrasa students eligible to take admission
in universities. From the title of the names of the listed students, it
is possible to find out his domicile.1 The following Table 5.1 has
been arrived at by looking at the titles of successful students which
shows that a majority of these students come either from Bihar or
Uttar Pradesh.2
Table 5.1 Regional Distribution of Successful Students

Year Number of
successful candidates Bihar Uttar Pradesh
1978–79 52 21 25
1981–82 70 30 31
1984–85 121 43 69
1985–86 151 80 56
1986–87 151 80 56
1987–88 151 80 56
1988–89 157 77 67
1989–90 134 62 49
Source: Computed from rudad, Madrasa Ashrafiya (1979–90).
Note: The figures for 1985–86, 86–87 and 87–88 are identical and there may be an error.
For the period mentioned above, out of the total successful

students (987), Bihar alone provided around 48 per cent, followed
by Uttar Pradesh which accounted for 41 per cent of the successful
students.
Ashrafiya is not the only madrasa where students from Bihar form
the majority. Other madrasas in Mubarakpur belonging to a different
and rival maslak also have a major presence of students from Bihar.
In a discussion with Fazilat students within Ashrafiya, it became
clear that most of them were from Bihar, a clear reminder that the
pattern had not changed since the 1990s. However, while the rudads
of 1979–90 do not mention students from Bengal, I did notice
some students from West Bengal, all of whom said that they were
from North Dinajpore. Students and staff of the madrasa later told
me that students from West Bengal started coming to the madrasa
since the last seven or eight years (this interview was conducted in
2004). This increase of students from Bengal was also noticed at
another madrasa — Azizul Ulum — in muhalla Qasabpura in
Azamgarh town. The founder of this madrasa is a murid of Abdul

Hafeez and the land on which it was built is one among the many
properties of Madrasa Ashrafiya. The principal of this madrasa
told me that he gets students from three states: Bihar, Jharkhand
and West Bengal.3 Students from Bihar and Jharkhand form the
majority of students here. Students from Bihar and Jharkhand
(and now increasingly from West Bengal) are not just an important
presence in North Indian madrasas, but their presence has also
been reported from states like Maharashtra, Gujarat, Andhra
Pradesh and more recently even in Kashmir. Thus, the presence of
students from these states seems to be a general rule which cannot
be ignored in any discussion of madrasa education in India.
In order to understand the reasons why students come from
these areas to study in madrasas, including Ashrafiya, I chose to
study Purnea, a district in North Bihar, in detail. The state of
Bihar has a sizable Muslim population of 137.2 lakhs or 16.5 per
cent of the total population.4 Around 10 per cent of all Indian
Muslims live in this state alone. However, Muslims in Bihar are
not evenly spread out. Most of the Muslim population is
concentrated in the North East districts of Katihar, Purnea, Araria
and Kishanganj where they constitute not less than 35 per cent of
the population of these districts.5 The literacy rate of Muslims of
Bihar is well below the national average at 42 per cent. A further
breakdown of this figure shows wide disparity between urban and
rural areas. Muslim urban male literacy rate in Bihar is 71 per cent
while in rural areas it is only 49 per cent.6 Moreover, regional
variations do exist: Muslims in some parts of Bihar being more
literate as compared to other parts.
Purnea was the largest district of Bihar until its division into
Purnea, Kishanganj and Araria during the 1990s. Located in the
north-east part of the state, Purnea is close to Dinajpur district in
West Bengal. There are a number of rivers, including the Ganges,
passing through the district and their almost annual flooding wreck
havoc on its people. Cultivation is the main occupation and a very
small area of Purnea is classified as urban. The making of jute bags
is an allied occupation although it is always considered as subsidiary

to the main occupation of farming. There are about 9.35 lakh
Muslims which is 36.8 per cent of the total population of the
district.7 They are divided among various caste groups. Two most
prominent castes are locally known as the Kulhaiya and the
Sheikhra. Numerically the largest, the Kulhaiya has recently been
listed as an OBC caste. The Sheikhra are in a minority, although
locals contend that they are economically better off. There is also
a third category called Surjapuri, who speak a mixture of Bengali
and Hindi and claim a Bengali lineage. They are also known
locally as Khutta. Members of this caste mostly live in Kishanganj
but some are also located in Purnea. The overwhelming majority
of these Muslims are rural; only 5.3 per cent live in urban areas.
While 23.3 per cent of rural Muslim workers are cultivators, the
majority of 68 per cent are agricultural labourers which points to
the low economic status of Muslims in this district.
Within Purnea, I conducted interviews in two administrative
blocks namely Baisi and Amaur. According to locals, Muslims
constitute about 70 per cent of the population in Baisi and a little
more in Amaur. The 1981 district census handbook of Purnea
categorises both the blocks as rural.8 They have not changed much
since then. Both Baisi and Amaur are known primarily as places
where weekly market (haat bazaar) takes place. Apart from
vegetables, these haat bazaars sell goods such as clothes, agricultural
implements and small toys for children. Mostly people from
neighbouring villages within these two blocks come to sell and
buy goods for their use. In 2001, the total population of both
Baisi and Amaur was around 1.6 lakh each.
The economic structure of these blocks seem to be more or less
similar. Agriculture being the mainstay of the economy, most of
the population is classified as labourers followed by cultivators.
Economic activities such as trade or manufacture are insignificant.
The 1991 figures for Baisi return agricultural labourers and
cultivators at 55.4 per cent and 35.2 per cent, respectively, as a
percentage of the total main workers. The corresponding figures
for Amaur are 52 per cent and 40 per cent. In both these blocks,
women hardly make up the figures as far as the category of ‘main
workers’ are concerned. In Amaur they make up a mere 3.4 per
cent of the main workers, while in Baisi their contribution is
recorded at 6.2 per cent. These figures have hardly changed since
the 1981 records. Proportionately therefore, women form the
majority among the ‘non-worker’ category. It is now almost a cliché
to criticise government records for not counting household work
within the category of ‘work’. However, the reason for absence of
Muslim women from agricultural labour in both blocks needs to
be probed further. This is not to say that Muslim women do not
do agriculture-related work; they certainly do that but maybe their
work is confined within the household and therefore does not get
recorded in various censuses. However, if they do not work in the
fields, as seems to be suggested by the above data, then Muslim
religious practice of gender segregation seems to play an important
role here which needs to be further researched upon. It is often
suggested that the practice of purda is less prevalent among rural
Muslims. However, during my visits to villages in these areas,
gender segregation was visible. Women were mostly absent from
common places in Muslim parts of the villages. Both Baisi and
Amaur have a number of maktabs and even smaller madrasas.
Ulama and other influential people told me that Islam had ordained
that women should be kept in purda, by which they meant that
women should not venture out of the house unless it is absolutely
necessary. Apart from an Islamic prescription, purda here also
becomes the marker of Muslim identity, to show that ‘we’
(Muslims) are different from ‘them’ (Hindus).
There were 934 primary, 236 middle and 63 high schools in
Purnea in 2000.9 According to the 2001 Census, male literacy
among Muslims in Purnea is about 26 per cent while only 15.6
per cent Muslim females are literate.10 In the same census, literacy
rates for Baisi and Amaur are 19.9 per cent and 26.39 per cent,
respectively, which can hardly be called a substantial increase from
12.7 per cent and 13.4 per cent, respectively, recorded in 1981. In
Baisi, male literacy rate increased from about 21 per cent in 1981
to about 30.6 per cent whereas female literacy increased at a much
slower pace from 4 per cent to 9 per cent. Male and female literacy
rates for Amaur increased from 21.4 per cent and 4.9 per cent
respectively in 1981 to 37 per cent and 14.6 per cent in 2001. It
hardly needs to be said that Purnea as a whole and the blocks Baisi
and Amaur in particular report very low levels of literacy rates. It
must be mentioned that these are official figures, thus rates of
effective literacy would be much lower. One of the reasons for
such low literacy levels seems to be the very lack of educational
facilities in the villages initially. There are 186 and 162 villages
within blocks Baisi and Amaur respectively. However, in 1981,
the number of primary schools in Baisi and Amaur stood at 86
and 95 respectively, thus leaving out half the villages without
primary schools. Over the years their numbers have increased so
that in 2004–05, it almost doubled,11 but this state effort has not
resulted in a substantial increase in the overall literacy rates in
both these blocks.
Such a lackadaisical approach of people of these blocks towards
education is often explained by their lack of awareness and interest
in education. Officials responsible for implementing state education
programmes repeatedly told me that ‘these people’ are not interested
in education. Adjectives such a neeche log, pasmanda tabka (low
class people), were regularly used for the inhabitants showing their
(the officials’) contempt for the people of Baisi and Amaur.12 Far
from discussing problems of the reach of education in these villages,
officials were more interested in ridiculing the character of the
people. As one of the officials told me:
These people are jahil (ignorant). They do not know how to do things
in a proper manner. They are stupid and will never learn to read and
write. They have never done so before. They do not even work on the
fields properly […] they are kaamchor (lazy). The government is wasting
its money in trying to teach these fools.
Some of the officials themselves are part of the same milieu,

having been brought up among those very people who they now
call ignorant. As representatives of the state, their contempt towards
their fellow inhabitants reflects a change in their status, but more
importantly, it reflects on the character of the state itself which is
yet to root itself firmly in the social environs of its people and
arrive at an empathetic understanding of the problems of governing.
For the people living in Baisi and Amaur, the educational
problems of their area is seen differently from the official perception.
They appreciate the government’s effort to provide education to
their children saying that earlier villages after villages were illiterate
but now families are getting their children educated. However,
they also had a volley of complaints against sarkari (government)
schools. One of the most repeated complaints was that of teacher
absenteeism.13 Parents whose children went to government primary
schools told me that their children just go to the school to play as
most of the time there are no teachers present in the school. They
told me that teachers mostly came in the first week of the month
to take their salaries and after that they were seldom present.
Another set of complaints related to the poor infrastructure. They
told me that for the better part of the monsoon, schools remain
closed since they do not send their children fearing that the building
may collapse.14
For some families, it did not make sense to send their children
under these circumstances. However, they were all categorical that
education (talim) was very important and that they would like to
send their children to government schools if things improved. Yet
others do not see any benefits of sending their children to schools.
Their usual retort is, ‘kya fayda’ (what is the use?). At first it may
seem that they do not think there is any intrinsic merit in educating
one’s child. However, this is not the case. Such families who were
skeptical about sending their children to school often took this
decision by looking at cases from other villagers who had sent their
children to schools; in most of the cases, it did not bring any material
improvement in their life chances. According to their rationale, these
families expect that schooling should bring rewards for the child in
the sense that he may land a government job or generally do well for
himself. When they do not see such an effect of education, as is the
case in these villages, they altogether abandon the desire of educating
their children. Such instrumental rationality of the village people is
not unique. Education in India, as elsewhere, is considered a capital
which gives rewards later on.
Some of these families also believed that their children would
go astray if they send them to schools. Citing examples of cases
from their own villages and others, they told me that some of the
students who passed out from government schools have become
petty criminals and goondas. They reasoned that since there was
no teaching happening in schools, there were more chances of
students going on the wrong path (galat raah par chale jayenge). At
least they are watched over while they are at home, but once they
are in school, ‘who knows what they are doing there’. For families
of landless labourers, government education is simply either too
costly or it does not fit in their scheme of things. They do not have
enough money to survive and cannot be expected to buy books,
etc., for their children. Moreover, a child in such families is expected
to contribute financially and they cannot afford to lose them to
school. Landless labourers constitute around half the population
of both the blocks. Thus the economic condition itself keeps these
families from sending their children to schools. This, however,
should not be taken to mean that they do not want to educate
their children. Most of these families said that they wanted to but
could not do so due to their economic situation. The debate over
schooling is therefore limited only to those families who can afford
to educate their children.
Families in Baisi and Amaur, however, are not reluctant to send
their children to maktab and madrasas, which are aplenty in this
area. Maktabs are mostly Quran schools where children either
commit the whole text to memory (Hifz) or at least read it once
completely (Nazra). In addition, some of these maktabs and
madrasas also teach basic secular skills like writing in Hindi and
mathematics. Some of these maktabs function only in the evenings

making it easier for those families who send their children to schools
in the morning. According to the parents, religious education is
considered obligatory for every Muslim and they consider it their
duty to impart deeni talim to their children. They are frank to
admit that some decades ago there were only a handful of madrasas
in their villages. There were mosque maktabs where the imam
taught the basics of religious knowledge. Moreover, families then
did not consider it absolutely necessary to send their children to
such maktabs. Families are now proud of the fact that their villages
have so many maktabs and madrasas. They were proud to tell me
that now every village has a Hafiz which was not the case earlier.
They are also proud of the fact that students from the villages now
even go to far off places to acquire knowledge (ilm). For them, this
has been possible through a change in consciousness; a realisation
that Islam advocates acquisition of knowledge.
The assertion of the families is matched by government
documents. In 1981, the total number of ‘other schools’ including
maktabs, madrasas and Sanskrit pathshalas in Baisi and Amaur
was 34 and 14 respectively.15 According to the local Muslims, this
figure has increased much more in recent years. In fact, in Bihar,
most madrasas are found in the districts of Purnea, Araria and
Kishanganj, as is clear from Tables 5.2 and 5.3 below.
Table 5.2 District- and Standard-wise Distribution

of Aided Madrasas (Boys and Girls) in Bihar
District Wastania Fauquania Maulavi Alim Fazil Total
Aurangabad 3 2 NA 1 NA 6
Araria 74 9 5 NA NA 87
Bhojpur 1 NA NA 2 NA 3
Buxar 1 NA NA NA NA 1
Begusarai 10 1 NA 1 NA 12
Bhagalpur 33 1 4 2 NA 40
Banka 8 NA 1 NA NA 9
Darbhanga 49 8 1 1 4 63
(Contd)
East Champaran 12 8 5 1 NA 26
Gaya 3 NA NA NA NA 3
Gopalganj 8 1 NA NA NA 9
Khagaria 6 1 NA NA 1 7
Katihar 155 13 7 NA NA 176
Kishanganj 229 9 NA 3 1 241
Muzaffarpur 10 4 NA 1 2 16
Madhubani 84 6 7 3 NA 102
Munger 4 NA NA NA NA 4
Madhepura 7 1 NA NA 1 8
Nalanda 5 2 1 1 NA 10
Nawadah 4 NA NA NA 1 4
Patna 4 NA NA NA 2 5
Purnea 116 6 6 2 NA 132
Rohtas 5 1 NA 1 NA 7
Sitamarhi/Seohar 18 7 5 1 NA 31
Saran 2 NA 1 1 NA 4
Siwan 20 1 3 NA NA 24
Samastipur 10 3 1 NA NA 14
Shaikhpura 1 NA NA NA NA 1
Saharsa 14 1 1 1 NA 17
Supoul 13 4 NA NA NA 17
Vaishali 2 NA 1 NA NA 3
West Champaran 26 3 6 NA 1 36
Total 936 92 55 22 13 1,118
Source: http://www.biharmadrasaboard.com/index.html, accessed 22 December 2006.
Note: Emphasis by the author; NA — not available.
Table 5.3 District- and Standard-wise Distribution of Un-aided

Madrasas (Boys and Girls) in Bihar
Boys Girls
District Wastania Fauquania Maulvi Wastania FauquaniaTotal
Aurangabad 5 NA NA 2 NA 7
Bhojpur 12 1 NA 1 NA 14
Bhagalpur 112 NA NA 28 2 142
Begusarai 11 NA NA 4 NA 15
Darbhanga 170 6 NA 101 9 286
East Champaran 47 4 NA 10 1 62
Gaya 20 4 NA 1 1 26
(Contd)
Gopalganj 18 1 NA 2 NA 21
Jahanabad 3 NA NA 1 NA 4
Katihar 199 NA NA 37 NA 236
Khagaria 6 NA NA 2 NA 8
Madhubani 321 1 1 133 3 459
Madhepura 11 NA NA 3 NA 14
Muzaffarpur 27 1 NA 10 NA 38
Munger 10 NA NA 1 1 12
Nalanda 15 NA NA 1 1 17
Nawadah 6 NA NA 2 NA 8
Patna 11 2 NA 8 NA 21
Rohtas 27 NA NA 5 2 34
Siwan 53 NA NA 3 NA 56
Sitamarhi 144 4 NA 42 4 194
Saharsa 101 NA NA 23 NA 124
Samastipur 42 6 NA 15 2 65
Saran 11 NA NA NA NA 11
Purnea 348 NA NA 83 NA 431
Vaishali 11 NA NA 1 1 13
West Champaran 102 NA NA 22 8 132
Total 1,852 30 1 541 55 2,459
Source: http://www.biharmadrasaboard.com/index.html, accessed 22 December 2006.
Note: NA — Not applicable
It is important to remember that there are various kinds of

madrasas in Bihar. According to the Bihar Madrasa Board, there
are broadly two categories of madrasas: aided and un-aided. Aided
madrasas receive full financial support from the state government.
Their degrees are recognised by the state so that students having
degrees from such madrasas can enter ‘mainstream’ education.
Then there are un-aided madrasas, which do not receive financial
support from the state but are ‘recognised’ by the Bihar Madrasa
Board which allows their students to appear in exams conducted
by the Board. The numbers of such aided and un-aided madrasas
in Bihar are 1,118 and 2,459 respectively.16 Madrasas for boys far
outnumber those of girls. Out of 1,118 aided madrasas, only 32
are for girls. Similarly, out of 2,459 un-aided madrasas, only 576
are for girls. Moreover most of these aided and un-aided madrasas
are low-level madrasas. Out of 2,459 un-aided madrasas, the wastania

(primary level) madrasas alone number 2,393. There are thus very
few madrasas which give the degree of Alim (graduate) or Fazil (post
graduate). Among aided madrasas, only 22 give the degree of
Alamiyyat (graduation) and only 13 give the degree of Fazilat (post
graduation). A student desirous of pursuing his higher education in
madrasas is thus at a disadvantage in Bihar since there aren’t many
madrasas granting higher degrees. This is one of the important reasons
why those students who are desirous of higher degree generally move
out and seek admission in bigger madrasas in other states such as
Uttar Pradesh where some of the biggest madrasas are located. Apart
from the aided and un-aided madrasas, there are those madrasas
which neither receive any financial aid nor want to be ‘recognised’
by the Board. Bihar Madrasa Board does not list those madrasas
although their numbers are also substantial.
As shown in Tables 5.2 and 5.3, the number of madrasas in the
north-eastern part of the state is large. The number of aided and
un-aided madrasas in Purnea of all levels is 132 and 431,
respectively. The number of madrasas is also high in districts such
as Araria, Kishanganj and Katihar. In fact these four districts
(Purnea, Katihar, Araria, Kishanganj), together account for about
54 per cent of all aided madrasas in Bihar. Since the number of
un-aided madrasas in Araria and Kishanganj is not provided, one
cannot compute the number of these madrasas, but it can be safely
stated that these districts account for a substantial share of madrasas
in Bihar.17 It is important to realise that along with Purnea, these
districts have a high Muslim population. According to 2001 census,
Muslims constitute 67.6 per cent in Kishanganj, 42.5 per cent in
Katihar and 41.1 per cent in Araria.18 Similar to the situation seen
in Purnea, an overwhelming number of Muslims of these three
districts are primarily rural, non-literate and poor. In Kishanganj,
Muslim literacy rate is only 27 per cent. Only 6.5 per cent Muslims
live in urban areas and among the rural Muslims, more than 60
per cent are agricultural labourers. In Katihar, Muslim literacy
rate is 26.8 per cent and only 4.3 per cent Muslims live in urban
areas and among the rural Muslims, 62.6 per cent are agricultural
labourers. In Araria, Muslim literacy is 27.6 per cent and only 5.5
per cent Muslims live in urban areas and among the rural Muslims,
about 70 per cent are agricultural labourers.
As I stated earlier, Bihari students in madrasas of Mubarakpur
come mostly from the districts of North Bihar, which has a large
number of madrasas. However, as noted above, most of these
madrasas are of lower grades making it necessary for some students
to move out from the state. It has been argued that Muslims access
madrasa education because they prefer religious education over
secular education.19 The data above suggests that this is a simplistic
understanding. Muslims access madrasa education because the
educational infrastructure of the state, in states like Bihar, is in a
shambles. Absent teachers and poor infrastructural facilities keep
Muslim families away from sending their children to such schools.
Also poverty in itself is a great impediment and most of the poor
families do not see the long-term benefits of schooling. Madrasas
flourish under these social and economic conditions. It is true that
families are desirous of getting some religious education for their
children but those who can afford to often combine it with modern
secular schooling. Moreover, madrasas themselves, at lower levels,
now impart elementary skills such as writing and mathematics.
As the Sachar Committee Report (SCR) points out, madrasas’
role should be seen as complementary to the state’s effort of
improving literacy.20 In fact, the recent growth of madrasas has
also come about because most of them want to get government
funds which is available under various schemes of literacy
programmes run by the state. There is therefore a demand of
modern secular learning within the Muslims and madrasas have
come up to fulfill such a demand. As Muslim families of Baisi and
Amaur asked me: ‘Who would not like to get his child educated?’
But the economic situation of these families coupled with the
educational apathy of state prohibits them from sending their
children to schools. In places such as Purnea where daily survival
itself is at stake, there is not much of a choice in terms of secular or
religious schooling for such families. There is a case for a strong

relationship between socio-economic development and madrasa
education.
As remarked above, there are many maktabs and madrasas in
Baisi and Amaur. Some of them function solely on community
donations while others combine community donations with
government aid. Most of these madrasas are small in scale and
barring a few, cannot be compared to a Dar ul-Ulum (college of
learning) like Madrasa Ashrafiya. One of the bigger madrasa is
called Tanzimul Muslimeen and is located just off the block
headquarters of Baisi. Kazim Raza, a young man of 25, and the
present Muhtamim of the madrasa told me that the madrasa was
formed in 1973 by his father who has now retired due to old age.21
The madrasa complex is made up of two distinct areas: the main
building and students’ living quarters which face each other. The
main building is made of concrete (pucca) and is a rectangular
structure with rooms on its right. One of the rooms serves as the
kitchen, another as the rest room of the Muhtamim and another
is for the teachers. Some of the rooms are also occupied by the
students. The Muhtamim does not have an office, but sits on
the verandah, right in the middle. Classes (durus) are also held in
the verandah, on the floor, with teachers resting against the wall.
Just opposite this building are thatched huts that serve as living
quarters for some of the students. There are two categories of
students in the madrasa: those who pay fees and those who do
not.22 The thatched huts accommodate those students who eat for
free from the madrasa’s kitchen; those who pay get to stay in one
of the pucca rooms of the main building. From his seating position
right in the middle of the verandah, the Muhtamim has a clear
view of the entire complex.
Kazim Raza told me that there are 300 students and 16 teachers
in his madrasa.23 He took pride in telling me that the madrasa also
has an English teacher, thus trying to give his madrasa a ‘modern’
face.24 Most of the students in this madrasa come from various
districts of Bihar but some also come from Muslim areas in Assam
and West Bengal. This was a middle-level madrasa which taught

students Hifz, Qirat and Alamiyyat. Kazim Raza informed me
that after getting the sanad of Alim from this madrasa, around
15–20 students each year go to bigger madrasas like Ashrafiya to
continue their studies. Kazim Raza himself wanted to study in
Ashrafiya but could not and eventually he took his Fazilat degree
from Jamia Naeemia in Moradabad. He told me that the madrasa
runs on community contributions but also takes grants from the
government.
Among those families in Baisi who wanted to educate their
children, some send their children to Madrasa Tanzimul
Muslimeen. For these families, the rationale behind sending their
children to a madrasa is varied. I have already recounted their
experiences with regular schooling. They complained of teachers
being absent from school and the dilapidated infrastructure of
schools. In contrast to such a state of affairs, they were appreciative
of teachers’ commitment in madrasa Tanzimul Muslimeen. They
told me that since most of the teachers live within the madrasa or
nearby, they did not shirk the responsibility of teaching. If they
are absent for even one day, they are noticed as the Muhtamim
goes to the madrasa everyday. Moreover, since they contribute
towards the madrasa financially, they have a say in the way the
madrasa is run. They told me categorically that if they come to
know that the madrasa was lax in teaching its students, they would
stop giving zakat and other contributions.
Moreover, they said madrasas were more flexible and informal
in their approach. Sometimes the child is needed at home or in
the fields and madrasas empathise with such problems. Since
teachers live within the madrasa precincts, it is possible for the
child to take the lesson even after formal class timings are over.
During the course of the conversation, I realised that the madrasa
was an organic institution. From the time of its inception to the
present time when it has grown considerably, the local Muslims
have been involved directly or indirectly. There is therefore a certain
familiarity about the madrasa through which they are attached to
it. In contrast, the school somehow remains alien for most of them.
They have not been part of the process of establishing it. Teachers
in the school are not local villagers like them, but come mostly
from urban areas. Some who have rural background do not identify
with them. Moreover, the teachers are mostly absent from school
and in most of the cases come only to sign the attendance register
and take their salaries.25 Also, the urban backgrounds of the teachers
make them snobbish and they rarely interact with the local people.
The families are helpless and hardly complain about it, and even if
they want to they do not know how to lodge a complaint. Under
such circumstances, government schools have acquired a negative
image. As one of the parents told me, ‘It is only an enemy of the
child who will send him to school these days’.
Families that send their children to madrasas also had a different
understanding of education: talim (education), they said, should
go along with tarbiyyat (character). They said that schools are only
concerned about education but do not pay any attention to impart
a good character to the child. It is only through good tarbiyyat
that the child learns how to respect his elders in the family and
how to behave in front of friends and strangers. For them, madrasas
impart both education as well as character. They said that madrasa
students are ‘well behaved’ and do not ‘talk unnecessarily’. They
respect their elders and are humble and obedient. They become
hoshiyar (mature) early and do not waste their time in useless things.
Schools do not impart such a character to their students. However,
they agreed that schools could do so if they wanted but they did
not see it happening in the foreseeable future. This view was
contested by some parents who argued that character-building can
only come about through Islamic education. They insisted that
anyone who follows the teaching of Islam will become a person of
good character automatically. For them schools are la-deeni (non-
religious/secular) and for this reason, they cannot impart ‘good
character’ to its students, while madrasas are Islamic institutions,
and thus are able to inculcate good character in their students.
It is important to understand that madrasas are praised not

because they teach Islamic education, but because through this
education they are able to inculcate culturally-valued characteristics
in the child. What is being stressed by the families is not the religious
dimension of the madrasa but the more secular considerations of
good virtues in their children. As one of the parents told me, ‘it is
not necessary for the child to be sent to a madrasa for religious
education; such an education can be given be given at home’. It is
thus the role of the madrasa as the ‘right’ kind of educator which
is being singled out for praise by these families. This point needs
to be contextualised within the overall insecurities that families
face in a state like Bihar. Losing a child to petty criminals is one of
the worst nightmares for families. For families such as those in
Baisi, madrasa education ensures that their child will not become
a petty criminal, an assurance the schools do not give them.
It is also important to realise that some of these families have
migrant heads of family. Fathers, elder brothers and uncles migrate
in search of work both within as well as outside the state, a trend
which has assumed alarming proportions in rural Bihar.26 Since
the migration is both short- and long-term, leaving the child under
the care and guidance of a madrasa is understandable since most
of the functionaries within the madrasa are personally known to
the parents. In areas where the ‘welfare state’ hardly cares for the
welfare of its citizens, the sense of security that community
institutions like the madrasa provide cannot be underestimated.
These families were also apprehensive that after studying in schools,
children would not like to do agriculture-related work as they may
consider it demeaning.27 There was no such apprehension when it
came to putting their children in madrasas as here they would
receive the right training and would not turn their back on family
occupation and its way of life.
Not all madrasas in Baisi and Amaur have been equally successful
in gaining local support. The choice of a madrasa for one’s child
most often depends upon its reputation but also on the
interpretation of Islam which the madrasa follows and would
eventually disseminate among its students. Maslaki identity is not

particularly pronounced in this area. Most families which I spoke
did call themselves Barelwis but had a very vague notion about
how it was different from other maslaks such as the Deobandis
and Ahl e Hadis.28 There were very few parents who knew about
these differences and all of them either had a madrasa education
or had an Alim in their family. Despite some awareness of rival
interpretations of Islam, it did not affect their social intercourse
with others. However, it did affect the choice of madrasa for their
children. Parents who were agricultural labourers had no idea about
maslaki differences but people in this area knew about Madrasa
Ashrafiya very well. They told me that it was a very big madrasa of
Barelwis. Moreover, students of the Barelwi Tanzimul Muslimeen
also go to Ashrafiya for higher studies. On their visits home, they
tell their parents about the grand buildings of Ashrafiya and their
life there. All these images combined together make association
with Madrasa Ashrafiya highly valued. A certain prestige and status
gets attached to families whose students get a chance to study in
Ashrafiya.
To get a fuller sense of what such an association with Madrasa
Ashrafiya means for some of these families, I describe below three
cases of families whose son/sons are studying in that madrasa.
Muhammad Subhan has eight members in his family, including
his parents and his wife. He is an agriculturist and owns two acres
of land. He tells me that the income from the land is insufficient
to support his family. Therefore, during the lean season, he also
works as a mason in the town of Purnea or Araria. Muhammad
Subhan never went to a school or a madrasa but has picked up
how to do his additions and subtractions. His illiteracy does not
hamper him in saying his juma namaz (Friday prayer), although,
like most Muslims, he does not understand even a word of what
he utters. He has three daughters and two sons. His daughters are
still young and it will be some years before he will start thinking
about their marriage. They do not go to school but to the local
mosque where the imam teaches children the Quran. His elder
son too had received some deeni talim (religious education) in the
same way. His elder son has recently started working as a khalasi
(helper) in one of the many phat-phatiya (autorickshaws) stands in
Purnea. In a few years time, he wants to own and drive his own
phat-phatiya. His father is certainly happy with his goal, more so
because he has occasionally started contributing monetarily to the
family. Although the amount is little, it is assuring to the father
that his son has started sharing some responsibility of the family.
In contrast, Muhammad Subhan, on the advice of one of his
relatives, sent his younger son to study in Madrasa Ashrafiya. He
told me that his son is studying to become a Hafiz.29 On why he
chose religious education for his son, Muhammad Subhan said
that he always wanted one of his children to become a Hafiz. In
Islam, he told me, if you have a Hafiz in the home, then it washes
away the gunah (sins) of the entire family. He reposed complete
trust in Ashrafiya and was confident about the future prospects of
his son. He said that he had entrusted his son on the path of deen,
and those who serve religion never go astray. Muhammad Subhan
did not have to wait long. This younger son had already made
him a proud father. During the holidays, when his son visits the
village people call him to their house for religious service. Some
years he has also led the tarawih prayers during the month of
Ramzan.30 He specially mentions the spotless kurta–pajama which
his son now wears to underscore that he (his son) appears neat and
clean.31 In his village, Muhhamad Subhan is now referred to as
‘hafiz ji ke abba’ (father of the Hafiz), which makes him very
proud.32
Abdul Shakur is an agricultural labourer. That is his only source
of income and if he does not find work in the village, he migrates
to places like Punjab and Assam to work the fields. His wife
contributes to the family income by doing odd jobs in one of the
better-off houses in the village or by occasionally working in the
fields. Additionally, she takes care of her two small children — a
son and a daughter. Two of her other sons study in madrasas. One
is enrolled in Madrasa Tanzimul Muslimeen while the other studies
in Madrasa Ashrafiya. Abdul Shakur has no idea as to what grades

his sons study in these madrasas. The only thing that he knows is
that they are engaged in talim. Abdul Shakur does not hide his
poverty and cites it as the main reason why he sent his children to
madrasas. He tells me that the madrasa takes care of the food and
lodging of the child and that he cannot afford to send any money
to his children. In fact, his son initially went to Mubarakpur not
to study in Ashrafiya but to learn to work on the textile looms. A
relative of his who already worked there suggested that he should
do so. He told me that it was this relative of his who got his son
admitted in madrasa Ashrafiya as he did not work on the loom
properly. I asked him why he did not send his sons to a regular
school. He did not understand the question at first and then said:
wo bhi to school hi hai (that [madrasa] is also a school). Clearly, he
did not understand the difference between a school and a madrasa.
For him both were centers of education, the only difference was
that as compared to schools, the madrasa was much cheaper. He
has never had the opportunity to visit Madrasa Ashrafiya, but knows
quite a lot about it, including about its magnificent building and
the big mosque. The last time his sons visited the village was two
years ago. He was happy to see them; ‘they looked healthy
(sehatmand)’, he said. He praised them for getting up for the
morning namaz and that he had felt nice when the imam of the
village mosque praised his children for being regular at the mosque.
An agricultural labourer, who worked in silence in the fields and
was regularly out of village in search of work, was now being praised
because of his madrasa-educated sons. When I asked Abdul Shakur
what future he had planned for his third son, he had his answer
ready, that he too will be sent to a madrasa.
Alauddin Ahmad is the head of one of the better-off families.
He owns 25 acres of land but also complements his income through
agro-based business. He has three children from his first wife and
four from his second. Two of his sons study at Madrasa Ashrafiya.
His eldest son stays at home, looking after the family business.
Alauddin Ahmad had sent him to a regular school and he has an
intermediate degree from one of the colleges in Purnea. Alauddin

himself was tutored at home and his only education consists of
basic deeni talim, Urdu and some mathematics. He told me that
his elder son, even after studying in a college, could not get into a
decent ‘service’, but this disappointment was not the only reason
for sending his other two sons to Madrasa Ashrafiya. The learning
of deen is one of the important tenets in Islam, he told me. It is
said, he told me, that one Alim in the family brings religious merit
(sawab) to the whole family. Both his sons were studying for their
Fazilat degrees in Ashrafiya at the time of the interview. Alauddin
Ahmad said that he sends money every month to his sons so that
they do not have to eat from the free kitchen. A cousin of Alauddin
Ahmad had suggested to him to get his sons admitted there. His
cousin’s son had passed out from the same madrasa and had started
his own madrasa in Karnataka and Alauddin Ahmad said that the
success of his cousin’s son had impressed him and partly influenced
his decision to send his own children to Ashrafiya. He hopes that
his sons would do the same and bring prestige to the family. He
was proud to tell me that when his sons come during the holidays,
they tell the villagers about the importance of rituals like namaz,
roza and Hajj. He tells them not to shirk their duties towards
Allah. Moreover, if a dispute arises in the village, his counsel is
sought when he is at home. Once when they were at home, they
were invited to give takrir (speech) in a jalsa (religious meeting)
organised in the village. As Alauddin Ahmad told me with a smile:
‘Even people in the neighbouring villages are eager to listen to
their speeches.’
The three cases above are more or less representative of the kind
of families that send their children to madrasas, in this case Madrasa
Ashrafiya. These however do not exhaust the types of families who
are known to send their children to madrasas. In Ashrafiya, I met
students who had their other siblings studying at regular schools.
Such families usually send one of their children to a madrasa to
earn religious merit for the whole family. However, the number of
such students are limited as are the number of families such as
those of Alauddin who do have a presence in the madrasa, but

they do not constitute the majority. The social base of madrasas
like Ashrafiya is provided by families like that of Muhammad
Subhan and Abdul Shakur.
What is common to all the three families above is that madrasa
education has brought them, in varying degrees, respectability and
status in their society. Following Bourdieu’s notion of capital, one
can say that madrasa education brings to these families a religious/
cultural capital, something which they lacked earlier. However,
the profitable deployment of this capital will depend on the
objective condition and subjective willingness of these families.
Alauddin’s family, because it already possesses economic capital,
will be better placed than the other two to make good use of the
religious capital which their sons have brought through madrasa
education. On the other hand, for most part, Abdul Shakur, a
landless labourer, will not even be able to see the education of his
children as religious capital. For him, it is enough of a reassurance
to see that his children look healthier than before. Between these
two extreme positions is the family of Muhammad Subhan who
seems content with his new status as the father of a Hafiz.
Notes
1 Normally the names of their respective districts are appended to their
names. For example Ilyas Ahmad Baliyawi would mean that Ilyas
Ahmad is from district Baliya, eastern UP. This is a very old practice
cutting across the religious divide.
2 There are no figures for Jharkhand since it was created later, but the
titles suggest significant presence of students from districts which now

constitute the state of Jharkhand. On further break-up, it becomes
clear that students from eastern UP form the majority of students
coming from UP.
3 Interview with Ali Afsar Azizi, Muhtamim/principal, Madrasa Aziz
ul-Ulum, Azamgarh.
4 Census 2001.
5 Based on Census 1991.

6 Figures based on Census 2001. The corresponding literacy rates for
Muslim females in Bihar was 57 per cent and 28 per cent.
7 Figures from Census 2001 as quoted in Sachar Committee Report.
8 All figures for blocks Baisi and Amaur are from District Census
Handbook for various censuses made available by the District

Statistical Department, Purnea.
9 In addition, there were 11 inter, 9 degree and 2 P.G. degree colleges
in 2000. In 2004 primary schools increased to 996 and middle schools

increased to 247, the rest remained the same. From the District Census
Handbook, Purnea.
10 As mentioned in Sachar Committee Report.
11 Interview with officials at Block Literacy Office, Baisi and Amaur.
12 In another context, this disdain of the rural people is also shared by
madrasa teachers. See Patricia Jeffery, Roger Jeffery and Craig Jeffrey,
‘The First Madrasa: Learned Mawlawîs and the Educated Mother’,
in Jan-Peter Hartung and Helmut Reifeld (eds), Islamic Education,
Diversity and National Identity: Dini Madaris in India Post 9/11, New
Delhi: Sage, 2006, pp. 243–46.
13 On teacher absenteeism and its effects on North Indian school system,
Anuradha De, Jean Dreze and team. The Public Report on Basic
Education (PROBE), New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999.
Talking of Uttar Pradesh, Dreze and Gazdar identify teacher
absenteeism as the most important reason for the weakness of schooling
system in rural Uttar Pradesh; see Jean Dreze and Haris Gazdar, ‘Uttar
Pradesh: The Burden of Inertia’, in Jean Dreze and Amartya Sen (eds),
Indian Development: Selected Regional Perspectives, Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1997, pp. 33–128, pp. 76–77.
14 In one of the schools that I visited, all classes were held in only one
room of the school, as the rest of the rooms had collapsed.

15 Purnea District Census Handbook.
16 ‘Status Paper of Madrasas in Bihar,’ available on the official website
of Bihar State Madrasa Education Board, Patna: http://

www.biharmadrasaboard.com/index.html (accessed 22 December
2006).
17 Another district which reports very high number of madrasas is
Madhubani and Sitamarhi. They share with Purnea and other districts
very low literacy rates for Muslims and poor economic condition.
18 Sachar Committee Report, Appendix Table 3.5. The SCR, officially

called the Prime Minister High Level Committee Report on Social,
Economic and Educational Status of Muslim Community in India, was
the first official document to be published on the condition of Indian
Muslims. The Report, published in 2006, showed the levels of
exclusion of the Indian Muslims.
19 The intrinsic preference of Muslims towards religious education is by
now a fairly old idea. For a recent articulation of this argument, see
Saral Jhingran, ‘Madrasa Modernisation Programme: An Assessment’,
Economic and Political Weekly, 40(53), 2005, pp. 5540–42.
20 SCR, p. 78. This seems to be true about lower-level state-funded
madrasas which often combine religious and secular learning, but not
of the larger madrasas which only disseminate religious knowledge,
about which the SCR is silent.
21 Some residents of Baisi, however, refute this claim. They informed
me that the madrasa was founded by local contribution and Kazim

Raza’s father was appointed as a teacher. Over time, they alleged, he
took the madrasa under his control.
22 There is no standard fee which families pay to the madrasa. It depends
on their will and income. Sometimes parents also contribute rice and
wheat instead of paying a fixed fee.
23 As I observed, this was clearly an overestimate. The actual numbers
would be much less. Madrasas are known to inflate the numbers of

students as it helps them in getting more funds.
24 In fact, he introduced this teacher as a ‘lecturer’. As a proof of his
competence, he told me that he (the English teacher) could speak in

English for hours continuously!
25 Primary school teachers are known to come from urban areas where
they also engage in some other work such as petty business. This has
also been documented in PROBE (1999), p. 63.
26 During the last two decades, the phenomenon of migration from
rural Bihar has acquired an alarming proportion. Anand Chakravarti,

‘Caste and Agrarian Class: A View from Bihar’, Economic and Political
Weekly, 36(17), 2001, pp. 1449–62; Praveen K. Jha, Agricultural
Labourer in India, New Delhi: Vikas Publication House, 1997; Tom
Brass ‘Migration Tenancy and Bondage in Purnea District, Bihar’, in
B. N. Yugandhar and K. G. Iyer (eds), Land Reforms in India, vol.1–
Bihar: Institutional Constraints, New Delhi: Sage, 1993, pp. 283–93;
Kalpana Wilson, ‘Patterns of Accumulation and Struggles of Rural

Labour: Some Aspects of Agrarian Change in Rural Bihar’, Journal of
Peasant Studies, 26(2–3), 1999, pp. 316–54.
27 This has been also observed in the case of weavers of Varanasi. See
Nita Kumar, Lessons from School: The History of Education in Banaras,

New Delhi: Sage, 2000, p. 129.
28 This seems to be true for the whole of Purnea. Of late the Tabligh
Jamaat, a Deobandi offshoot active among Muslims, seemed to be

making inroads in the neighbouring districts of Araria and Kishanganj.
Those who call themselves Barelwis, mostly said negative things about
the other maslak. One of the oft-repeated accusations against the
Deobandis was that they abused Prophet Muhammad!
29 During the course of the interview, I realised that his son had already
become a Hafiz and was now studying for a higher madrasa degree.
For Muhammad Subhan, however, everyone who studies in a madrasa
becomes a Hafiz!
30 Tarawih is a special prayer comprising portions of the Quran recited
during the month of Ramzan. It is offered during the night and an

Alim is appointed specially for the purpose of leading the prayer.
After the completion of tarawih, he is offered money and gifts. Finding
the right Alim to read the tarawih is one of the important tasks of the
local mosque committees.
31 The point is important. Being ‘neat and clean’ is culturally valued
but due to the lifestyle and poverty of these families, this value is
seldom realised. Additionally kurta-pyjama is seen as a decent dress
rather than the lungi which is commonly worn here. Following
Bourdieu, cleanliness and kurta-pyjama can be understood as marks
of ‘distinction’ which confers upon its bearer cultural capital which
others do not posses. Bourdieu argues that the ‘working class aesthetics
is a dominated aesthetics which is constantly obliged to define itself
in terms of the dominated aesthetics’. See Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction:
A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, trans. Richard Nice,
London: Routledge, 1984, p. 41.
32 He also took pride in the fact that he was being interviewed because
his son studied in a madrasa.

6
The Madrasa Regime and its Effects
In the previous chapter, the social location of families who send

their sons to madrasas in general and Ashrafiya in particular is
described. In a majority of cases, such families are poor, semi-
literate or non-illiterate and low-caste Muslims. This chapter
focuses within Madrasa Ashrafiya in order to understand how
students from such families relate to their new locale, which is
going to be their ‘home’ for some important and formative years
of their lives. As noted in the previous chapter, staff and teachers
of madrasas regard the students coming from such low-class families
as uncultured (be-adab). They said that these students did not
know how to converse politely and pay respect to their elders.
Teachers also told me that before they came to the madrasa,
students lacked a sense of cleanliness and personal hygiene. For
them, education in a madrasa was not just about acquiring
knowledge (ilm), but also to learn the proper ways of behaviour
and Islamic etiquette (tarbiyat). The madrasas thus see themselves
as the custodians of a ‘civilising mission’, which intends to
transform be-adab students into ‘cultured’ (ba-adab) students.1
One of the important criticisms that madrasas level against the
modern/English schools is that they focus solely on transmitting
knowledge as a result of which students do not learn ‘proper’ ways
of behaviour. However, ‘civility’ is not always formally taught in
the madrasa; it is also transmitted through a series of pedagogical
actions which leave an indelible imprint on the minds as well as
bodies of the students. This chapter is about such actions of the
madrasa and its reception and effects upon the students.
The Madrasa Regime and its Effects ò 159
Space, Surveillance, Control

After being established in the qasba and functioning from there
for more than four decades, Madrasa Ashrafiya gradually shifted
to its new location. Presently located just outside the qasba, one
cannot miss this imposing structure. Surrounded by concrete
boundary walls, the madrasa complex comprises a number of
buildings for different and specialised purposes, some of which
are still in the process of being constructed. One enters the madrasa
through a huge iron gate which leads to the main and one of the
oldest buildings of the complex. This main building has
administrative offices on the ground floor which includes the office
of the principal. The next two floors are occupied by classrooms.
Most of the teaching takes place on these two floors although it is
not uncommon for junior classes (like Hifz) to be held in an open
area or within the madrasa mosque. On the right side of this
building are two students’ hostels, a building where computer
science and English are taught and the students’ mess. The design
of both the students’ hostel is more or less the same. A central
courtyard is surrounded by four rectangular blocks. Students’ rooms
are built into these rectangular blocks. Both these hostels have an
upper floor where the arrangement of space is similar. On the left
side of the main building is an open rectangular water tank,
primarily for the purpose of ablution. This section also contains a
students’ hostel and a library. The number of students in this hostel
is much less as compared to the other two, partly because it does
not have an additional floor above it. Towards the extreme left, a
new students’ hostel is being constructed.2 Behind the main
building is the massive mosque of the madrasa, which is nearing
completion. The daily prayers, the Friday prayer and other
important events like the ‘tying of the turban’ (dastar-bandi) during
the passing out ceremony are held in the mosque. On the right
side of the mosque is the dargah of Abdul Aziz, which is the site of
special veneration for all those who visit this madrasa. Just adjacent
to the main gate, on its right side, is the residence of the head clerk
of the madrasa. This building also has a few rooms for the guests of
the madrasa. The madrasa has a lot of open space especially towards
its left, where students compete with each other over friendly cricket
matches played mostly on Fridays, their weekly holiday.
Buildings have been a statement of power and prestige. During
the ‘age of empire’ in India, colonialism inaugurated new buildings
and modified existing ones which attested to their glory and
powerful presence in the subcontinent. Simultaneously, colonial
modernity brought with it the notion of spaces which was not the
rule in India. We have seen that pre-colonial madrasa education
in India was not considered a specialised activity. A teacher could
be a trader or an imam in a mosque simultaneously. There was no
perceived contradiction and multiple roles were the norm.
Similarly, the notion of specialised space for the purpose of teaching
was also not the norm. A madrasa could be located anywhere. In
the case of Ashrafiya, we saw that it had shifted from being located
in someone’s house to a mosque and even within a shop.
Colonial modernity brought with it new ideas about schooling
and education and one of the important changes was in the realm
of re-conceptualising space. Teaching was considered a separate
and specialised activity for which full-time teachers were to be
appointed. Moreover, teaching and learning from now on would
be carried out in separate buildings constructed exclusively for that
purpose. The plurality of educational sites was to be discarded in
favour of ‘proper’ school buildings. Thus, the earliest school
buildings such as that of the Hindu College (1817) and the
Universities of Calcutta, Bombay and Madras in 1857, all
approximated the definitions of proper educational structures in
Europe. Such specialised institutions were said to have a profound
impact on the students’ minds in terms of acculturation and social
change. As Mayo remarked in Bombay, ‘The native student […]
receives unconsciously each day a thousand moral and social as
well as intellectual impressions. Only by personal experience of
College life can it be known how great a change in character is so
produced in a few years’.3
Madrasas were not behind in internalising this modernist notion

of education as a specialised activity which required a separate site
for transmission. The establishment of the madrasa at Deoband in
1867 with its classrooms and timetable serves as an example of
internalising of such a notion of colonial modernity. The madrasa
conceived itself as a distinct institution, not relegated to a corner of
a mosque or a home, as was the case earlier. As soon as possible, it
acquired classrooms and a library and was run according to modern
bureaucratic style.4 There was also a symbolic motive in establishing
separate buildings for the madrasa. According to Metcalf, with the
decline in Mughal power, ‘there were no princes to construct the
grand tombs, city mosques, ceremonial gateways and forts that
had been the material statement on the physical landscape of the
existence of Muslim culture’.5 Madrasas like Deoband now began
to symbolise Muslim culture as reflected in the use of domes and
arches in their architecture. Additionally, separate buildings of
madrasas came to attest the concrete evidence of Muslim presence.
Established much after Deoband, Madrasa Ashrafiya also provides
an example of such rational bureaucratisation at one level and a
symbol of Muslim culture at another level.
Students at Ashrafiya are proud of the building of their madrasa.
Students come from very poor families and take pride that they
would be staying in such a big madrasa for some years of their
lives. It gives them a sense of empowerment to tell their families
back home about the grand (shandar) physical structures of their
madrasa complex. Yet they are also aware that life in their village
and in the madrasa is very different. One of the students’ told me,
‘Back home I could go anywhere I felt like during any time of the
day, but here it is not like that. The nizam (organisation) here, is
different from that at home.’ Students use various words like
pabandi (prohibition), sakhti (strictness) to differentiate their daily
routine in Ashrafiya from that of their homes. Yet at the same
time they are united in their opinion that it is only through strict
discipline that they would be able to become good talibs (students).
The huge iron gates of Ashrafiya and the boundary walls signify
its physical separation from the outside world. This spatial insularity
gives the madrasa considerable autonomy to control its students.
From the main building of the madrasa, where the important offices
are located, one can see the main gate of the madrasa, making it
easy to spot if any student ventures out during class hours. During
the evenings, this function is performed by the caretaker of the
madrasa, whose living quarters are strategically located just adjacent
to the main gate. Moreover, some of the teachers also reside within
the complex which makes it all the more difficult for students to
escape the surveillance of the madrasa.
The spatial organisation within the students’ hostels reinforces
this aspect of control and surveillance within the madrasa. In
Ashrafiya, many students share one room. The allotment of
rooms is done according to the grade of the students. Thus
students studying for Almiyyat are normally lodged in one room.
Similarly, students pursuing Hifz share their rooms with others
who are studying for the same degree. However, care is taken to
ensure that each room has some juniors and seniors. Thus in a
room where Almiyyat students stay, some students are from junior
grades of the same course and some from senior grades. Normally
a single room will have about 8–10 occupants. This number could
rise up to 25 depending upon the size of the room. It is the norm
of the madrasa that in the larger rooms, children pursuing courses
such as Hifz or Nazra would be accommodated while the smaller
rooms are mostly given to students pursuing higher degrees such
as Almiyyat or Fazilat. There are no beds in these rooms. Students,
both senior and junior, sleep on mattresses on the floor. There are
inbuilt cupboards in the rooms, where students keep their valuables.
However, since there are limited number of cupboards, seniors in
the room have the first claim to them. Junior students have to lock
their stuff in tin trunks kept on the room floor which they usually
bring from their homes during the time of admission. There is
thus no conception of a private individual space for students in
the madrasa.
Much like Bentham’s Panopticon, the spatial arrangements

within the madrasa makes ‘visible’ each and every aspect of students’
movement.6 Like the Panopticon, the madrasa resembles an
apparatus which creates and sustains a power relation independent
of the person who exercises it so that the students are caught up in
a power situation of which they are themselves bearers.
For Foucault, ‘the organisation of serial space was one of the
great technical mutations of education’.7 It made possible the
superseding of the traditional system where a pupil worked for a
few minutes with the master while the rest of the group remained
idle and unattended. By assigning individual places, it made possible
the supervision of each individual and the simultaneous work of
all. Such a description of a ‘classroom’ does not accurately portray
the organisation of classroom practices in Madrasa Ashrafiya.
Students at lower grades study in much the same fashion which
Foucault describes as the ‘traditional system’. There are no tables
and chairs in Ashrafiya’s many classrooms. Students squat on the
floor along the walls of the room forming a big square. The teacher
typically sits in the position from where he can keep an eye on all
the students. Groups of students come to him to recite the lessons
which they were taught the previous day. During such periods,
the pedagogical gaze on other students is temporarily suspended.
As an example of modern disciplinary regime, Foucault argues
that the school’s method of surveillance and control also has an
‘individuating’ influence on the students. Within Ashrafiya
however, this clearly does not seem to be happen. Rather the
madrasa regime and the spatial arrangements within it, is more
conducive to the development of a communal/communitarian
identity.
Henrietta Moore, in her study of Kenya has argued that spatial
relations represent and even produce social relations and that there
are relations of likeness between social distinctions and spatial
boundaries.8 In the social organisations of space in the Ashrafiya,
relationships obtained within the students’ family are reproduced.
The hierarchy and the authority structure between brothers, father
and son are reproduced within the madrasa environment. In terms

of space, the madrasa does not represent a departure from the
normative values obtained within the family. Senior students
exercise various forms of authority over juniors within the madrasa.
Within the rooms, juniors are often asked to run errands for the
seniors. Thus during my stay in one of these rooms, the seniors
often asked the juniors to get tea and other things for me. Madrasa
authorities consider such an organisation of authority an inalienable
part of talim. In their conception, the madrasa is like a family.
Within the family, the argument goes; there are elder brothers
and father who have to be obeyed. Within the madrasa, senior
students are like elder brothers to the junior students and teachers
are like their fathers. From childhood, a person is taught to respect
his elders and the madrasa also does likewise. Junior students echo
such as understanding of authority. They likened the seniors to
their elder brothers who look after them when they need some
help. The seniors help them with their difficult lessons, look after
them when they are sick and at times they also help them financially
during times of crisis. Far away from their families, such gestures
go a long way in forming a relationship of hierarchy between seniors
and juniors. It is also by emulating the seniors that they learn
what they consider as the right etiquettes and proper behaviour
(adab).
Power, Discipline, Agency

Power, in Madrasa Ashrafiya, can be located at two levels. At one
level, the hierarchical organisational structure of the madrasa
concentrates absolute power in the hands of the Sarbarah-e Ala.
Although there are administrative councils within the organisational
structure of the madrasa, mostly their members’ act as yes-men of
the Sarbarah-e Ala. Control and surveillance is also codified within
the Dastur of the madrasa. Under its ‘rules and duties of students’,9
the Dastur makes it clear that students are not allowed to leave the
precincts of the madrasa without the permission of the Nazir (student
supervisor). It also states that any ‘non-shariat’ behaviour will not

be tolerated within the madrasa. Since the definition of shariat is
extremely flexible, this clause makes it easy for the madrasa
authorities an easy reason to throw out or penalise any student if
they want to. Students are not allowed to be members of any
political or even social organisation.10 Finally the control of students
also extends to their bodies as the Dastur clearly says that the dress
of the students will have to be like ‘that of the ulama’.11 To reinforce
discipline, the madrasa provides for a student supervisor (Nazir).
His duties include controlling the students living in the hostels, to
change the rooms of the students to maintain discipline and to see
that the students diligently perform their prayers.12 Through such
codified mechanisms of control, the madrasa aims to discipline its
students.
At another level, power also flows through much more localised
channels discernible through pedagogical interaction of teachers
and students and the relationships obtaining within the student
community itself. Control and mechanisms of discipline here are
much more casual, decentralised and is effected through seemingly
everyday routine social practices of the students. It is with the
latter aspect of power and the effects it has on the students with
which we are concerned here. For a student, a typical day in
Ashrafiya starts with the early morning prayer. Students generally
get up themselves, but on some days the Nazir sees it personally
(with a stick in his hand) that they leave the hostels well in time
for the morning prayer in the mosque. Although namaz can be
recited alone, but within the madrasa it is compulsory for the
students to pray with the congregation.13 Thus the ritual of namaz
here is not just about earning religious merit, but also becomes an
important mechanism through which the madrasa monitors and
controls its students. Some students continue to stay within the
mosque even after the prayer to prepare for their classes. Formal
classes (durus, singular dars) start at eight in the morning and go
on till four in the evening. As mentioned above, there are separate
classrooms for different grades. Students of lower grades such as
Hifz and Nazra, generally squat in front of the teacher to recite

the lesson which they had learnt the previous day. If satisfied with
the progress, the teacher proceeds to the next lesson or tells the
students again to recite the text properly. Control and authority is
inbuilt within the process of recitation. Writing about medieval
Cairo, Berkey mentions that the practice of reading a text aloud
helped in reinforcing the authority of the teacher, since the reading
of the student had to be constantly checked against that of the
Shaikh (teacher).14 Styles of recitation are generally passed down
from the teachers to the students and depending on the way in
which a Hafiz recites the Quran, the discerning would be able to
tell which madrasa that particular Hafiz has studied from. Students
of higher grades, such as Fazilat, do not have to recite their lessons
everyday and are assessed according to their performance at the
half-yearly examinations.
Formal classes provide space for only one kind of pedagogical
action. There are texts which are considered obligatory reading
for students but which are not always taught in formal classrooms.
These texts, popular among students, serve to internalise notions
of right behaviour and good conduct. One of the important texts
in this connection is Islami Akhlaq o Aadaab.15 Extracted from the
voluminous Bahar-e Shariat written by Amjad Ali, one of the
illustrious graduates of the madrasa, this text tells students the
‘Islamic way’ of doing everything. From mundane acts such as
how to cut nails and bathe to more important matters such as that
of interacting with men and women, the text has a ready answer
from an Islamic point of view. Mostly relying on hadis, the text
tells students how either the Prophet himself or his companions
used to do things. Since the Prophet is considered the model par
excellence, emulating him is as closely as possible is considered
pious by Muslims.
One of the important aspects of Islam is its orthopraxy: that it
is through its practice that Islam has to be lived. It is not enough
for a Muslim to believe in the essentials of Islam; this belief also
has to be simultaneously demonstrated. The text becomes
Plate 6.1 Students and alumni congregate during the urs of Abdul Aziz against a background of some of
the buildings of the Madrasa Ashrafiya.
Source: Author.
Plate 6.2 Recent madrasa graduates with their family members in their hostel rooms.
Source: Author.
Plate 6.3 Wall posters in one of the hostel rooms.
Source: Author.
important in this context since it tells the students how best to

demonstrate Islam. Students told me that that for most of their
maslaha (problems), they consult this text and find their answers.
The text serves as an important tool for the internalisation of social
and religious norms which Ashrafiya demands of its students. A
lot of what the students understand as the proper Islamic way
comes from the reading of this text. Here the students learn how
to dress up, how to talk to others, whom to offer their salam and
under what circumstances it should be avoided. For example, the
text tells them that it is not proper to read a book while lying
down and students follow it diligently. During my time at the
madrasa, reading a book was always a serious affair. Students sit
cross-legged and read books; be it religious or otherwise. Similarly,
they are particular about the ‘dress’ they wear. As the text tells
them, the pajama should never be above the ankles otherwise it is
considered inappropriate, worse still, it will be the way of a Wahabi,
which is antithetical to their way of understanding and practising
Islam.
The very routine of the madrasa constrains students in a number
of ways. Just like other madrasas, students in Ashrafiya generally
get free time between five and seven in the evening during which
they normally go out of the madrasa in the basti or spend time in
one of the many dhabas (eating joints).16 Students are not engaged
in classrooms for the whole day. There are breaks in between for
various grades. A common break for all is for lunch which is
between one and two. Since the dining room cannot accommodate
all the students, some students take their lunch to their rooms
from the kitchen. Mostly, it is the students of the younger grades
who bring the food for senior students. Some students do not take
food from the kitchen at all. They eat at the roadside dhabas located
just in front of the madrasa. However, this privilege of eating out
is restricted to those students whose economic status is better than
others. For students eating from the madrasa kitchen, there are
two kinds of foods. Those who pay for their food get better lunch
and dinner, while those who cannot have to survive on inferior
food.17 Thus apart from the way in which space — as a set of

power relations — controls students, the division of time as seen
in the madrasa routine also seeks to extend such a control over the
students.
Corporal punishment is regularly employed as a means to
discipline students. It is not uncommon for teachers of Hifz or similar
lower grades to use the stick without much reservation. It is a
common belief even among the parents of the students that without
being beaten, students cannot learn properly. Some madrasas claim
that they are better-off precisely because they are strict as compared
to others. This cultural notion of sakthi (strictness) is pervasive both
among the families who send their children to madrasas as well as
within the madrasas themselves.18 According to this reasoning,
learning is unnatural and children need to be strictly disciplined so
that they are able to study. The notion of strictness includes beating
children in order to instil in them the value for education. Moreover,
since teachers are like fathers, beating students does not raise any
questions as it carries legitimacy of parental authority and control.
Teachers at Ashrafiya told me that they were both ‘strict’ and ‘kind
hearted’. ‘If there is a need to be strict with the child, we are strict,
but if he does his work properly and on time, then there is no need
for us to wield the stick’, they argued. They add that every child in
the madrasa does get beaten up as he makes some mistake or the
other. One of the teachers reminiscences, ‘When we were students,
there was much more strictness and beating. Nowadays it is not so.’
He also argued that because of more strictness in earlier times, good
teachers and ulama were produced, but now because of laxity on
the part of teachers, that was not the case. He was quick to point
out that one of the reasons that Ashrafiya became such a big
institution was that it dealt strictly with its students.
The use of stick is more frequent in classroom settings and
among the lower grades. Sometimes it is also used against those
who do not get up on time for the early morning prayers. However,
at times even senior students get beaten up for a number of
reasons.19 For the madrasa authorities, physical punishment is
necessary for the disciplining of students. They also said that it

(beating) reinforces the authority of the teachers over the students.
Most of the students that I spoke to did not argue against this idea
of their teachers. Some of those who had got beaten up actually
justified the viewpoint of their teachers. At the same time teachers
who did not inflict physical punishment on the students remained
the favourite of students. This may seem like a contradiction but
within the social space of Ashrafiya, students coming from poor
and illiterate families are bound to have many articulated and
unarticulated contradictions. It must be understood that even if
they do not like being beaten up, they cannot say so openly as it
will be construed as a rebellion against the authority of the teacher.
Another form of corporal punishment is denial of food. For students
of very poor families who eat free from the kitchen, this form of
punishment is particularly harsh. It is not uncommon for other
madrasas to employ this punishment.20
There are other subtle ways of enforcing discipline. Within the
Barelwi tradition, a follower is supposed to kiss the hand of his
master. Within Ashrafiya, students pay respect to their teachers
and other officials by kissing their hands while simultaneously
bowing down a little. This very act places the madrasa authorities
in a relationship of reverence to the students. I observed that respect
for teachers also meant that students would not look directly in
their eyes while speaking to them or even when they happen to
pass by. The lowering of the gaze, a quality understood as feminine,
is practised by the students in front of their teachers, thus in a
sense re-gendering their relationship. This relationship between
the teachers and students is also found among the senior and junior
students where junior students do not look at the seniors directly
into their eyes while speaking to them. I also observed that
sometimes junior students, if they see a teacher sitting at some
distance, would change the path and take a different route to reach
his destination to avoid seeing the teacher. Sometimes he would
just postpone his work for sometime. This again is very similar to
the traditional norm for Muslim girls who are required to seclude
themselves to the extent possible to avoid the male gaze.

The disciplinary regime of the madrasa can also be seen in
students’ bodily postures. Students cannot sit in front of their
teacher or a high madrasa official. Even when asked to sit, he must
first refuse. Upon persistence, the student will sit down but never
cross-legged as it is considered disrespectful to the teacher or
someone senior. Students are not supposed to talk back to their
teachers but merely listen to whatever they are saying and obey
accordingly. These measures place the students in a relationship
of powerlessness with the madrasa authorities which evokes the
parallel of female powerlessness in relation to males.
Disciplining and control of students’ body forms an important
part of the madrasa regime. According to Foucault, ‘a body is docile
that may be subjected, used, transformed and improved’.21
Furthermore, the main aim of the disciplinary process is to increase
the mastery of each individual over his own body. We have already
seen how some of the disciplinary procedures within Ashrafiya
directly impinge on students’ bodies. Students’ movements and
gestures are under constant surveillance, if not from the madrasa
authorities and teachers, then from the students themselves. Ways
of reciting lessons, talking to elders and seniors and even taking of
food subject the body to a range of disciplinary control. In fact, in
any discussion of madrasa life, it is hard to overlook the story of
the body. But how do the students view these disciplinary
mechanisms. Students seemed very bemused at first when I asked
them questions about their conceptions of the body for they could
not understand why I was interested in knowing about what they
thought of their own bodies. The human body in its present shape,
for them, was a constant reminder of what they termed as the
‘genius of God’. Acute functionalists,22 they told me that each
part of the body has its own functions and without each others’
cooperation, the body as a whole cannot function and will collapse.
Even as this inter-connectedness of the body reminds them of the
power of God, the body needs to be ‘trained’ so that it does not go
‘astray’. God made the mind and kept it on top of the body so that
the latter commits no sin. For the students, human (and male) body
is prone to lust and therefore it is important to keep it in check. It
seems that students were as convinced as their teachers about
disciplining their bodies. The body is understood as raw, uncouth
and potentially dangerous. It was necessary to ‘refine’ the body and
education, they argued, was one of the means to do so. In
Foucauldian terms, active, unrestrained bodies were rendered docile.
Students felt that madrasa education had made desirable changes
to their earlier conception of the body. They recalled that before
coming to the madrasa, they did not care much about personal
hygiene. For example, they did not care to wash their hands before
taking a meal, wear clean clothes or take bath everyday. The
madrasa taught them the virtues of cleanliness, most importantly
by way of institutionalising the ritual of prayer which exposed
them to the necessity and virtues of being ‘clean’. Senior students
were particularly concerned about the necessity of control over
bodily passions. Discussion with them frequently brought the topic
of unconscious discharge of semen and ways to cleanse one as soon
as one realised that such a thing had occurred. Students argued
that control over bodily passions (by which they mostly meant
proclivity towards sexual activity) was an important part of their
education. This control was manifested through ‘lowering the gaze
on seeing a woman’, not reading books and newspapers which
have female pictures and by not thinking about sex at all.23 A
parallel to the repression of sexuality during medieval Christianity
is tempting here. That, however, is not the case with the madrasa
students. They were quite clear that control over their desires was
only meant for student days or before marriage. Quoting from the
scriptures, they argued that God made women for the pleasure of
men and ‘legitimate’ (within marriage) sexual activity was one of
the many bounties bestowed by God.
Control over body and sexuality is also manifested through the
‘dress’ worn within the madrasa. Kurta pajama is worn not only by
the students but also by the teachers and staff of the madrasa. There
is no prescribed dress for men in Islam. Over the years however,
kurta pajama has increasingly become known and accepted as an

appropriate Islamic dress.24 Within the madrasa, this loose-fitting
garment was understood as giving considerable ‘freedom’ for bodily
movement, which trousers and shirts do not give. Moreover, it is
cheaper and hence affordable for the majority of madrasa students
who come from poor families. It is also understood as a modest
dress. One of the reasons given by a student for not wearing trousers
was that ‘it reveals what is where in the body’.25 This notion of
modesty through ‘covering up’ the body is so thoroughly internalised
by madrasa students that even when some of them go for university
education, they continue to dress in their traditional clothing as it
makes them feel more comfortable.26 Pierre Bourdieu, talking of
pedagogy, argues that the success of any pedagogical action depends
on the degree to which pedagogical authority has become part of
the common sense of the individual receiver even in the absence of
any pedagogical transmission. Relevant to our discussion here,
Bourdieu also talks of the habitus which lies at the interface between
the individual self and the larger social organism. It is the means by
which structures of the social order are inscribed, encoded or written
onto the individual body in the most corporeal forms of gestures,
accents, patterns of dress, etc.27 Through the habitus, political
mythology of the social order is ‘made flesh’.
Amidst such a disciplinary regime, is it possible to conceive of
students’ agency? Do the students subvert or even resist the
structure that is imposed on them by the madrasa? A possible answer
comes from Foucault who argues that the process of discipline
itself transforms its objects into subjects. Writing about the effects
of discipline on the body, Foucault argues that the main aim of
the disciplining process is to increase the mastery of each individual
over his own body.28 This statement hints at the ambivalence
between subordination and agency because the process of
disciplining increases the potential for agency, while simultaneously
training the body to be docile. In other words, certain forms of
disciplining may increase the students’ agency because they learn
about their life and bodies, while at the same time a particular
concept of Islamic manly behaviour is internalised. We see this in

the case of Ashrafiya students. It is the internalisation of discipline
which makes them reject the ‘uncivilised’ ways of behaviour they
had before coming to the madrasa. Through what the madrasa
teaches and does, the students feel empowered to become part of
the ‘civilised’ society. It is through the same internalisation that
the madrasa students feel that they gain respect in society. After all
it is the madrasa that gave them knowledge through which they
can discern what is good and ignore what is forbidden.
However, complete subordination to the madrasa regime hardly
happens all the time. Watching television is strictly forbidden
within the madrasa and most of the students I talked to disapproved
of watching it and considered it as one of the important causes of
increasing obscenity in society, but the pull of cricket is too much
to resist and students go in the qasba to watch matches on TV.
Similarly, listening to music is forbidden but some of the students
did listen to it on radio and walkman right in their hostel rooms,
albeit at a low decibel. While not in Mubarakpur, once in a while,
they also watch films in cinema halls, an act which may result in
their expulsion from the madrasa if the authorities come to know.
Such discreet acts of defiance do not challenge the authority of the
madrasa directly. Although they enjoy watching TV, students will
say that it is not the right thing to do. Thus there is no questioning
of the basic religious norms laid by the madrasa.
It seems that for the students, there exist two separate worlds;
an ideal world towards which they want to approximate and the
real world which they have to negotiate on an everyday basis.
Ultimately it is the approximation to the ideal world which gives
them rewards. These rewards can be in terms of what Bourdieu
has called cultural, social and symbolic capital. Capital for Bourdieu
refers to ‘all goods, material and symbolic, that present themselves
as rare and worthy of being sought after in a particular social
formation’.29 In addition to economic capital therefore, there can
be cultural capital (valued information of educational qualification),
social capital (valued relations with significant others) and symbolic
capital (other forms of capital when recognised as legitimate, in

the form of prestige and honour). The interesting thing about
such usage of capital is that forms of capital are interchangeable.
Thus cultural capital can be converted into economic capital and
vice versa.30 For the madrasa students of Ashrafiya (and Ehya ul-
Ulum), one of the first acts of empowerment is the very process of
studying in these madrasas, which bestow on them a certain
measure of institutional capital. It must be understood that students
are not passive recipients of the normative transmission of the
madrasa regime. However, coming from poor and low-caste
families, they have very low self-esteem. The association with
madrasas grants them status, which they would not have enjoyed
in their earlier life in the villages and small cities from where they
come from. It is thus not a question whether their agency resists
the structural constraints which have been put on them. Rather
the more important question is how they negotiate this structure
and what they get out of following the rules of the madrasa.
Notes
1 For the ‘civilising’ role of madrasas in another context, see Patricia
Jeffery, Roger Jeffery and Craig Jeffrey, ‘Islamisation, Gentrification
and Domestication: “A Girls” Islamic Course’ and Rural Muslims in
Western Uttar Pradesh’, in Modern Asian Studies, 38(1), 2004, pp.
1–53, pp. 40, 42.
2 The madrasa authorities told me that this new students’ hostel will
have AC in all the rooms and is being built to accommodate foreign

students who complain of the excessive heat during the summer season.
They will have to pay more than those students who live in other
hostels. Madrasa authorities did not seem to be too bothered about
the class divisions which this new hostel would create in the madrasa.
For them class divisions are naturally ordained and they found nothing
wrong in charging more from those who can pay. The foreign students
they had in mind were primarily from families and their relatives who
had migrated to the US and Europe and who were desirous to instil
Islamic values in their children fearing the ‘corrupting’ influence of
the West.
3 Quoted in Aroon Tikakar, The Cloister’s Pale: A Biography of the
University of Bombay, Bombay: Somaiya Publications, 1984, p. 30.
4 Barbara Daly Metcalf, Islamic Revival in British India: Deoband, 1860–
1900, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002, p. 93. On the

opposition to this idea of separate building, see, pp. 113–15.
5 Ibid. p. 112.
6 Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, New
York: Vintage, 1995, p. 201.

7 Ibid. p. 147.
8 Henrietta Moore, Space, Text and Gender: An Anthropological Study
of the Marakwet of Kenya, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,

1986, p. xi.
9 All the officials of the madrasa have duties as well as rights. However,
there are only ‘rules and duties’ for the students. Legally then, they
have no rights within the madrasa.
10 Dastur, ‘Students: Rules and Duties’, Clause 5 and 8.
11 Ibid. Clause xiii. This means that following the practice of the ulama,
the students cannot wear anything except kurta pajama. It must be

mentioned that in the wider Muslim world, there is a considerable
and open debate about what constitutes an ‘Islamic dress’ and there
exists no consensus on it. Thus students at Nadwatul Ulama, a famous
madrasa in Lucknow, can be seen in shirts and trousers. But within
Ashrafiya, the notion that Islamic dress means kurta pajama still persists
and is practised as well.
12 Dastur, Nazir, Dar ul-Aqama: Duties, Clause, 1, 2, 4, 5.
13 Dastur, ‘Students: Rules and Duties’, Clause xi.
14 Berkey, The Transmission of Knowledge in Medieval Cairo: A Social
History of Islamic Education, Princeton: Princeton University Press,

1992, p. 41.
15 The text is a compilation of the book XVI of the voluminous Bahar e
Shariat by Amjad Ali. This particular compilation has been done by

Muhammad Ahmad Misbahi and has been published as Islami Akhlaq
o Aadaab. See Muhammad Ahmad Misbahi, Islami Akhlaq o Aadaab.
Bareilly: Alahazrat Darul Qutub, n.d.
16 Literally, habitation, students refer to the qasba as basti.
17 Ashrafiya is not alone in having such an arrangement. Most madrasas
serve different qualities and quantities of food depending upon the

paying capacity of students. In some smaller madrasas teachers are

served much better food than the students which has been criticised
from within the madrasa system itself.
18 In the classic film, Mother India, the ‘Mother’ asks the school teacher
not to use the stick on her son. The teacher replies, ‘education is
incomplete without beating.’
19 One of the students with whom I stayed was beaten up in front of the
madrasa gate in full view of others. The person who beat this young
adult was the Nazir, (un)popularly known as master. He was angry
that the student concerned did not say salam to him while he passed
by him. On the other hand, the student said that because the place
was crowded, he could not see the Nazir. For his lax behaviour, the
student got so severely beaten up that he started bleeding from his
nose. Other students showed sympathy with this student but none
dared to say anything against the Nazir. Public beating is an important
technique of bringing shame on the person as well as telling others to
‘respect’ authority.
20 See for example, Arshad Alam, ‘Understanding Deoband Locally:
Interrogating Madrasat Diya al-Ulum’, in Jan-Peter Hartung and

Helmut Reifeld (eds), Islamic Education, Diversity and National
Education: Dini Madaris in India Post 9/11, New Delhi: Sage, pp.
175–95, 2006, p. 190.
21 Michel Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, New
York: Vintage, 1995, p. 136.

22 I call them functionalists in the very theoretical sense of the term.
23 Discussions on control over bodily passions invariably brought women
into the picture. In the minds of the students, ‘women and their ways’
were the main cause of distraction for the males, an argument which
many of the students justified scripturally.
24 Although controversy still remains regarding the proper length of the
pajama; members of the Tabligh Jamaat, for example, insist that the
pajama should not cover the ankle.
25 ‘Jism ke hisse apne apne jagah dikhte hain’.
26 The assertion is based on interaction with some ex-students of Madrasa
Ashrafiya who later on went to study at a University in Delhi.

27 Pierre Bourdieu, In Other Words: Essays Towards a Reflexive Sociology,
trans. Richard Nice, Oxford: Polity Press, 1990, p. 190.

28 Foucault, Discipline and Punish, p. 135.

29 Pierre Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. Richard Nice,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977, p. 178.
30 Pierre Bourdieu, ‘The Forms of Capital’, in J. G. Richardson (ed.),
Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education, New

York: Greenwood Press, 1986, p. 252.
The Enemy Within ò 181
7
The Enemy Within
It is almost a cliché now to say that madrasas are backward and

that they teach outmoded material which has no relevance in
modern times. This accusation has been levelled against the
madrasas not only by those interested in issues of Muslim education
but also from activists within the Muslim society itself. The
standard response of the madrasas, some of which have been noted
in the previous chapters, is to argue that their notion of education
was different from the ‘mainstream schools’ and that if anyone
wanted modern education for their child, he is free to go to a
school rather than coming to a madrasa. The contours of the debate
remained within the limits of dialogue with both parties
maintaining the right of the other to function within the Indian
liberal space while continuing to have differences over the content
of curriculum, method of teaching, financial transparency, etc.
But after the BJP came to power, the debate became skewed when
the madrasas were relentlessly accused of teaching violence and
hatred towards the Hindu community.1 The change in discourse
was swift: from being traditional and teaching inane things to their
students, madrasas were transformed into ‘dens of terror’. This
chapter, in shifting the focus back to Mubarakpur, interrogates
such a claim by describing pedagogic practices within Madrasa
Ashrafiya.
It is my contention that such debates on Indian madrasas remain
uninformed of the complexities internal to the Muslim community
in India. Not only the Hindu Right but even the liberals assume
that madrasas are the same across India and that they reproduce a
monolithic Muslim identity which is antithetical to other religious
traditions and secularism. In this chapter, I argue that the reality is
much more complex. I argue that ‘Islam’ itself is a matter of fierce

debate and madrasas are concerned with the transmission of their
own denominational (maslaki) understanding of Islam. Rather than
creating a Muslim identity which is in opposition to other religious
faiths, madrasas have much more to do with the reproduction of
maslaki identities which are then internalised as ‘Islamic’ by its
respective practitioners and students. This chapter is an elaboration
of the processes and strategies through which maslaki identity is
appropriated by an average madrasa student. It follows from my
argument that despite the rhetoric of right-wing Hindu parties,
the ‘other’ for a madrasa student is not a Hindu, but a Muslim
from another denomination (maslak).2 As one of the students at
madrasa Ashrafiya told me:
It is true that the BJP and other Hindu organisations hate Muslims.
But at least they hate us openly and do not hide their intentions. But
the real enemy lives amongst us; they claim to be Muslims and yet are
leading the Muslims astray. They are the greatest enemy of Islam.
Certainly this is not an original idea. Historians have long

documented the maslaki divide in South Asia. Against the concept
of a monolithic Muslim identity, they argued that Muslim identity
itself has been a site of contest among different social groups and
differing interpretation of religious texts. They have also identified
the central role of madrasas in perpetuating maslaki rivalries.3
However, partly owing to the historical focus of their works, they
do not tell how this identity is actually formed. What are the
processes and mechanisms that go in the making of this identity?
In other words, what is missing from their analyses is the very
process of identity formation. This chapter focuses on these processes
and mechanisms. I inquire into the formation of Muslim identity
by observing various strategies at work in Madrasa Ashrafiya,
contrasting it with the Deobandi Ehya ul-Ulum. In other words, I
ask how this construction of identity takes place.
Here, it is important to bring out the basic difference between
the Deobandis and the Barelwis. This chapter discusses several
such examples of the finer distinctions between the two maslaks;

it is sufficient for now to mention that the basic difference stems
from the ways of understanding the person of Prophet Muhammad.
For the Barelwis of Madrasa Ashrafiya, Muhammad is not just a
model man, as the Deobandis claim; rather he was bestowed with
special powers which made him truly unique. For the Deobandis,
the Prophet was a model man to be emulated but not to be
venerated, since according to them it constitutes shirk (the sin of
idolatory). All other differences emanate from this basic difference.
Through their networks of madrasas, this difference is transmitted
to the students. It is with the strategies of this transmission that
the chapter is concerned.
The Madrasa Constitution

The formative influence on Ashrafiya during the debates of 1934–
36 have been so definitive that their reflection can be found in the
Constitution (Dastur-e Amal). The document not only envisages
the growth and development of the madrasa but also specifically
mentions that the madrasa will be ‘Sunni’ in its orientation.4 At
least three of the objectives laid down in its Dastur clearly relate to
the propagation of their own maslak.5 The very first objective of
the madrasa is to ‘spread education of true religion’. The Dastur
goes on to define ‘true religion’ as the mazhab of Ahl e Sunnat wa
Jamaat. Further, it mentions that a ‘Sunni’ is one who follows and
practices the path of Ala Hazrat.6 It reiterates this definition of
Barelwis by further mentioning that a Sunni is one who believes
in every word written by ‘Ala Hazrat’. The Dastur also makes it
incumbent on Sunnis to struggle against the Deobandis, Ahl-e
Hadis and Shias, who are collectively labelled as bad-mazhabis.
Thus, against the rather amorphous category of Deobandis and
Barelwis, the makers of Ashrafiya perhaps for the first time give us
a clear definition of who they consider as Barelwi. Those who do
not subscribe to their definition of Islam are not considered true
Muslims.7
Apart from these clauses, the Dastur also has a section called
‘non-changeable laws’ (ghair mutabaddil usul). They are three in
number and two of them call into attention once again the Barelwi
character of the madrasa.8 Clause 1 states that ‘members of this
madrasa, from a humble sweeper to the manager (Nazim e Ala),
should all be the followers of Ahl e Sunnat wa Jamaat’. No non-
Sunni should ever find a place in this madrasa. It further mentions
that ‘if for any reason this madrasa falls into the hands of a non-
Sunni, then any Sunni from anywhere in India will have the right
to move court in order to bring back the madrasa into the hands
of Sunnis once again.’ Clause 3 makes it mandatory for all officials
of the madrasa, including the members of the general committee
(Majlis-e Shura) and working committee (Majlis-e Amla), to take
a pledge of loyalty to the madrasa. This pledge includes the
statement, ‘I am a true Sunni Muslim and I believe in every word of
Hussam al-Haramain.’ Writing about medieval Damascus,
Chamberlain argues that books had many uses at that time, including
being the source of baraka; hence they were not only revered but
also served as tools of political opposition.9 To these multifarious
uses must be added the usage of a book against which faith has to be
measured, as exemplified by Ashrafiya in its ritualistic insistence to
confirm membership into their community by reciting a pledge.
Hussam al-Haramain, a polemical work written in 1906 by
Ahmad Riza Khan, is a collection of fatwas against what it calls
the ‘Deobandis’ and ‘Wahabis’. It was in this work that Ahmad
Riza Khan had pronounced the fatwa of kufr on some of the ulama
of Deoband and by extension anyone associated with the Deoband
madrasa.10 Ashrafiya perhaps is not unique in insisting that its
members and officials all belong to ‘true Islam’; all madrasas do
so. The Ehya ul-Ulum also insists that its teachers and other
‘responsible’ (zimmedaran) should be the followers of their maslak,
which they argue is ‘true Islam’.11 Even in madrasas where this has
not been put down in the Dastur, there is a marked preference of
recruiting teachers and other officials of the madrasa from within
the maslak. What distinguishes Ashrafiya’s effort is its insistence
on taking a pledge. Even some Barelwis of the qasba are

uncomfortable with this clause since they argue that loyalty should
be only for Allah and not for the words of a human being.12
Its critics apart, the institution of pledge shows that Ashrafiya is
wedded to the ideology of the Ahl e Sunnat wa Jamaat. Even in
terms of organisational matters, it insists on having members of its
own maslak. For the students therefore, Ashrafiya is a pre-given
ideological space, a social space with a well-defined value system
to which all the constituents of the madrasa are supposed to
conform to. In this pre-constructed space, practices and symbols
only make sense when they are attuned to the ideological perimeters
set by the madrasa. Respect, status and esteem are dependent on
approximation to the ideal of the madrasa: an ideal that has well-
defined rules for what to do in order to be a ‘good Muslim’. It is
against this ideological backdrop that students take to their everyday
practices. This is not to say that students are just passive recipients
of the madrasa ideology but that their practices make sense only in
relation to the aforementioned objectives of the madrasa. Through
their routine, teaching, learning and other allied processes, madrasa
students actively reproduce this ideological construction of the
madrasa of which they themselves are a part. In the process of this
ideological construction, students who come from different social
and cultural backgrounds acquire a common identity of being
members of the community of Ahl e Sunnat wa Jamaat. For such
an identity to take root, the madrasa adopts two related strategies
which I describe below.
Texts and Identity

Like most Indian madrasas, Ashrafiya also teaches what it calls the
Dars-e Nizami. We have seen that the original Dars-e Nizami
was changed by the Deoband Madrasa to make it into a purely
religious curriculum. The overall effect of this change was that
religious education became the focus of madrasas. Indeed in popular
imagination, madrasas today are solely associated with religious
learning, a perception which is shared as well as defended by the

ulama of different madrasas.13 When contemporary madrasas say
that they teach Dars-e Nizami, they refer to this reformed
curriculum adopted by Deoband madrasa in the late nineteenth
century. It is not surprising then that the madrasas — Ashrafiya as
well as Ehya ul-Ulum — teach what they call the Dars-e Nizami.14
This does not mean that they teach identical syllabi. In the
absence of a single governing body, madrasas in India have
considerable freedom in choosing books to be taught in their
respective institutions. For example, even though the study of Hadis
forms an important part in the curriculum of all madrasas, the
commentaries selected for this purpose differ depending on the
maslaki identity of the madrasa.15 The ideological predilection of
the respective commentator affects the understanding of Hadis in
different madrasas. Therefore, Hadis classes in madrasas like
Ashrafiya and Ehya ul-Ulum act as spaces for ideological trans-
mission. These differences in interpretation act as a set of strategies
to create an ‘other’ who, it is argued, is ‘confusing’ the Muslims
through their erroneous interpretation of Islam.
In a Hadis lesson in Madrasa Ashrafiya, a verse from Bukhari
Sharif was being taught to let the students know that Prophet
Muhammad possessed knowledge of the unseen (Ilm-e Ghaib).16
The teacher stated that according to a tradition, the Prophet knew
who would go to heaven and who would go to hell, meaning that
from the beginning to the end, he had knowledge of everything.
The teacher underlined that this was one of the important beliefs
of the Barelwis, but in the same vein he also made clear to the
students that in opposition to this ‘truth’, the Deobandis believe
that the Prophet was given knowledge of only certain events.
During my observations in Ehya ul-Ulum, it became clear that
here the teacher cited another tradition recorded in the same
Bukhari Sharif according to which, Allah alone possessed
knowledge of Judgement Day (ilm-e kiyamat). Basing his argument
on the interpretation of this verse in Bukhari, he told the students
that the knowledge of the Prophet was only partial and that the
Barelwi belief about the Prophet possessing ilm e ghaib was

completely wrong.
Similarly, there are differences over the theological problem
(maslaha) of Hazir o Nazir, a Barelwi belief that the Prophet could
be present on different occasions at the same time and that he
could see the affairs of the world just like the palm of his hand.
Students in Ashrafiya learn how during a certain battle, the Prophet
announced the death of a companion much before he had actually
died. Students at the Ehya ul-Ulum, however, would learn of no
such tradition, but would be made aware of this Barelwi belief as
well as of its falsehood. In a similar fashion, the Deobandis would
emphasize that a Muslim should not ask for help from anyone
other than Allah. Students at the Ehya ul-Ulum would learn that
the Prophet asked his own daughter Fatima to seek help only from
Allah. Rubbishing the claim of the Deobandis, students at Ashrafiya
would learn that it is permissible to ask for help, when in crisis,
not only from the Prophet, but also from pirs and other holy men.
Certainly lessons in Hadis are not the only spaces through which
differences are transmitted. Other subjects of study such as
jurisprudence also serve the same purpose. In the process of
acquiring Islamic knowledge, an average madrasa student
simultaneously becomes aware of different schools of thought
within Islam. However, this does not lead to an ecumenical
understanding of different interpretations. Becoming aware of other
schools of thought is inextricably woven with the understanding
that all other schools of thought, excepting one’s own, are
misleading. Thus for a student of Ashrafiya, it is only the Barelwi
interpretation which is the correct one.
It would be too restrictive if we devoted our attention only to
the formal curriculum. There are books, not mentioned in the
syllabus of Ashrafiya, but extremely popular among its students.
Students persuing the degree of Fazilat informed me that it is
considered important that they be acquainted with books written
by their own scholars: Alims of Ahl e Sunnat wa Jamaat. Here
again, one finds that the most popular books for self-reading among
the students were polemical texts written against the Deobandis

such as Zalzala and Dawat-e Insaf in the case of Ashrafiya. The
fact that the author of both these books was Arshadul Qadri, a
graduate of Madrasa Ashrafiya, added to its special popularity here.
Qadri (1925–2002) was given the degree of Fazilat in 1944
from Ashrafiya. Through his writings and speeches, he regularly
advised Muslims to follow the right path of Ahl-e Sunnat wa
Jamaat. He was instrumental in founding various madrasas in
different parts of India. His organisational work saw him travelling
to Europe, where his efforts were vital in the formation of the
World Islamic Mission at London in 1972, of which he was also
the vice-president.17
Zalzala and Dawat-e Insaf became popular not only in Indian
Barelwi madrasas but also in Barelwi madrasas of Pakistan.18 Both
these books raise issues which are important in the phraseology of
Barelwis and which distinguish them from the Deobandis and
engage with Deobandis in order to refute their interpretation of
Islam. Both the texts are styled like a writ (istigaza), in which Qadri
appeals to Muslims of the subcontinent to judge for themselves
what is right or wrong. Their style of engagement is also similar;
arguments are substantiated by quoting from relevant texts written
by Deobandi Ulama and then they are analysed in the light of
existing traditions which invariably ends in the refutation of the
Deobandi point of view. Most of the Arguments are about Prophet
Muhammad and the way in which he should be understood.
Through his writings, Ahmad Riza Khan, the most famous Barelwi,
had argued that not believing in the special powers of the Prophet
constituted a grave shirk and he had charged the Deobandi Ulama
with being implicated in this shirk. Arshadul Qadri takes this
criticism further. In both the texts he argues that although the
Deobandis believe in the special powers of their own ‘elders’ like
Muhammad Ismail, Rashid Ahmad Gangohi, Ashraf Ali Thanwi,
Qasim Nanotwi, etc., they deny similar attributes to the Prophet.
For Qadri, this amounts to believing that elders of Deoband had
more powers than the Prophet Muhammad himself! Zalzala cites
Muhammad Ismail as writing in his popular work Taqwaitul Iman

that ‘…whosoever says that Allah’s Prophet or any Imam or Saint
(buzurg) had knowledge of the unseen is the greatest liar….
Knowledge of the unseen rests with Allah alone’.19 Similarly Rashid
Ahmad Gangohi, in his Fatawa Rashidiya is said to have written
that, ‘…and to believe that Prophet Muhammad had Ilm-e Ghaib
is a grave shirk.’ Furthermore, Ashraf Ali Thanwi in his Beheshti
Zewar is said to have written, ‘…to believe that a Buzurg or Pir has
knowledge of all our activities is kufr.’20 This, according to Qadri,
is an insult to the person of Prophet Muhammad which is not
permissible in Islam.
Taken together, both the above mentioned texts level three
important charges against the Deobandis. First, as stated above, they
argue that the ‘elders of Deoband’ have been disrespectful to the
person of Prophet Muhammad.21 Arguing that the sword of Islam
has not spared anyone who has shown disrespect to the Prophet,
Qadri states that the famous Deobandi Alim Ashraf Ali Thanwi in
his book Hifzul Iman wrote that the knowledge possessed by the
Prophet could be likened to that possessed even by a maverick or
the shaitan.22 This comparison, according to Qadri, amounts to
disrespect of the Prophet. He argues that according to various verses
of the Quran, no matter how much a Muslim follows the precepts
of Islam, dishonouring the Prophet even in the slightest form
amounts to severing ties with Islam and Muslims.23
The second set of objections broadens the scope of complaint
against the Deobandi Ulama. It is no longer confined to the
Prophet, but raises the question of the status of shrines, pirs and
walis. As Metcalf and Sanyal have shown, one of the principal
concerns of Deobandi Ulama was to wean away Indian Muslims
from what they considered to be bida, or deviation from ‘true’
Islamic precepts.24 In their understanding of Islam, visiting shrines
or tombs of holy men and asking for boons compromised the
fundamental Islamic principle of tawheed or the oneness of Allah.
They argued that turning to anyone other than Allah amounted
to associating partners with Him, which is a grave sin. The
Deobandi Ulama reasoned that the popularity of shrines and ‘grave

worship’ among Indian Muslims was due to Hindu influence on
Islam. Deoband was, therefore, geared towards weeding out this
Hindu Islam in its search for a purified Muslim religious
community in India. According to Qadri, for the Barelwis, the
practice of visiting shrines does not constitute associating partners
with Allah; rather, he argues, it provides an occasion to remember
His glory. Also, since Allah is so great, He cannot be reached directly
by his followers and, therefore, something akin to a spiritual ladder
was necessary, thus arguing that intercession is an important aspect
of Islam as opposed to the Deobandi belief which argues that
mediation was forbidden in Islam.25
The third set of objections relate to those fatwas and writings of
Deobandi Ulama through which they have made the religious and
cultural traditions of the Muslims into bida. Qadri argues that the
ulama of Deoband have tried to show that most of the religious
practices of Indian Muslims are non-Islamic or in the need of reform.
He complains that a person who organizes urs of a saint or even
participates in it, becomes less of a Muslim according to the writings
of Deobandi Ulama. Qadri is particularly incensed with their alleged
diatribe against even seemingly traditional ceremonies such as
marriage and informs us that the Deobandis even frown upon the
sehera, the headgear worn by a bridegroom.26 It has become common-
place in scholarly literature to understand Barelwis as repositories of
traditional practices, while Deobandis are treated as reformists who
want the Muslims to get rid of such practices. While Qadri’s defence
of some traditional practices may confirm such a view, the reality is
more complex and does not yield to such simple dichotomy. Ahmad
Riza Khan frowned upon women’s presence inside shrines and
mausoleums and he condemned the participation of Sunni Muslims
in Muharram processions, particularly the making of tazias. Qadri’s
other writings certainly agree with Ahmad Riza’s position, and hence
his defence of marriage practices among Indian Muslims should not
be stretched too far to imply that he defended all the customary
practices associated with them.
Thus, both Zalzala and Dawat-e Insaf argue that the Deobandis
are not ‘true’ Muslims since they disrespect the Prophet. Through
the reading of texts such as these, students of Ashrafiya learn that
Deobandis are the internal enemy of Muslims and Islam. Students
at Ashrafiya also told me that since the Deobandis appear pious
and committed to Islamic precepts, they are even more dangerous
as one cannot find fault with them regarding the basic tenets of
Islam. They are like ‘termites’ who would eat up Muslims from
within by their faulty teaching and practice of Islam. To buttress
their claim, students cite a Hadis according to which the Prophet
had foretold that the most important danger to Islam would come
from a community who would act as Muslims and would be
steadfast in their prayers but in reality would spread confusion
and sow discord among Muslims. Students at Ashrafiya generally
identify this community with the present-day Deobandis.
Pedagogical practices within Madrasa Ashrafiya not only make
its students aware of its own denominational identity, but also about
interpretations of Islam and the ways in which they are misleading.
Texts — prescribed and non-prescribed — and their messages are
critical tools which students use in situations where they have to
prove the ‘truth’ of their denomination or to rubbish the claimants of
other interpretations. A student told me how he employed the argu-
ments of Zalzala when he was debating with a Deobandi in his
village. Mere knowledge and argumentative logic, however, are not
enough. Within a more formal setting, the transmission of texts
depends also on the style and technique of its oratory. Therefore, I
will turn to the second strategy of Ashrafiya in order to understand
how these texts are enlivened through performative action and in
the process, awareness of denominational differences are further
embedded.
Enacting Identity
Every Thursday evening, students in Ashrafiya prepare for their
weekly debating and oratory practice. Students form groups of 20
or more and occupy spaces within the madrasa to prepare and

participate in what is popularly called the bazm. There is no fixed
space for this performance; it could be any place ranging from
their own living quarters to the mosque or even an open space
within the madrasa. Groups generally comprise students having
similar interests; for example those having interest in naath cluster
together,27 while those interested in debating and speech (takrir)
form another group. Given the large number of students, one finds
more than one group practising naath or takrir. It is interesting to
note that despite the overarching ‘Sunni’ ideology of Ashrafiya;
groups are mostly based on regional affiliations: those from
particular districts of Bihar organise their separate bazms and so
on. Although the institution of bazm is listed as one of the objectives
in the Constitution of the madrasa, its actual organisational detail
is taken care of mostly by students themselves. The presence of
teachers as supervisors is expected but not considered obligatory.
Mostly the senior students are responsible for allocating topics on
which students are supposed to speak. However, in some groups
the choice of topic depends entirely on individual students.
Towards the end, merits and demerits of individual presentations
are discussed and commented upon by senior students of each
group.
These practices are important for the students in a number of
ways. First, apart from institutional bonding, these practices involve
a cementing of bond based on regional or age affiliation. In search
of jobs, madrasa graduates often go to different places depending
on the opportunity that they get. The bond that they share through
such practices go a long way in maintaining and sustaining their
network of relationship at a later stage. Second and perhaps more
important, it is one of the most significant tools to gain self-
confidence which is essential for public speaking, a role that many
of them take up later in their life. It is important to recall the
social background from which these students come to study in
Ashrafiya and other madrasas. As discussed in chapter 5, a majority
of these students come from illiterate or semi-literate families, who
earn their living by selling their labour or are engaged in small

trade. Very often, the size of these families is large and children are
expected to start earning at a young age. Sending a child to a
madrasa for such families relieves them of some financial burden
since most of the madrasas offer free food and lodging. More
importantly, such a move also brings in much prestige to the family.
An Alim in the family raises its social esteem and brings in much
social and cultural capital through a judicious use of which the
family may get out of its precarious existence.28 The family therefore
puts much premium on the child attending a madrasa. For the
child though, his success depends not only in learning the texts
but also learning styles of good oratory, the acquisition of which
brings him monetary and social benefits. Bazm, in Ashrafiya is
one such institution, where students hone their skills to become
future debaters and orators.
As mentioned above, topics are decided a week before and students
memorise the arguments before coming for the bazm. Again, most
of the topics relate to attacking the religious understanding of other
denominations, in this case mostly the Deobandis. While some
students take pains to write their own speeches, culling their
arguments from various texts, most of the students look for ready-
made published speeches of one of their Alim. It is through these
bazms that students acquire their own distinctive styles of narration
and oratory. The institution of bazm therefore, can be understood
as a performance which brings the text to life.
The structure of the bazm is fairly simple. A student introduces
the speaker appending various honorific titles to his (speaker’s)
name.29 The speaker normally stands up to give his speech or to
sing a naath. The listeners are more involved than a normal audience
and praise the speaker or singer every now and then. One of the
students later told me that when he speaks during the bazm, he
often imagines a crowd of thousands listening to him and captivated
by his speech. Coming from very poor households with low self-
esteem, the mere thought of keeping an audience enthralled must
be no mean sense of fulfilment. Bazms therefore, apart from being
arenas of performance, are also those of empowerment. But again,

one of the important tasks of the Alim is to guide the Muslims and
to tell them to differentiate between right and wrong. For the students
of Ashrafiya, it is the Barelwi understanding of Islam which is right,
all other interpretations lead Muslims astray.
In one of the takrir sessions, the speaker alleged that the Wahabis
say that Prophet Muhammad was just an ordinary mortal who was
given Prophethood (nabuwat) by the grace of Allah.30 The speaker
then went on to explicate his own understanding of the Prophet,
linking Him with the concept of Nur which according to him existed
much before the world had been created. 31 He argued that
considering the Prophet a mere mortal is a sin since he was made of
light rather than of mere clay as ordinary mortals are. To prove his
point, the speaker cited the Hadis to corroborate his claim,
contending that the Prophet did not cast a shadow and this was
possible only because he was made of light. As to why the Deobandis
are keen to malign the image of the Prophet, the speaker argued
that such things had happened throughout Islamic history. He linked
the Deobandis/Wahabis with the munafiqin and narrated an
unbroken history of conspirators against Islam.32 Indeed he cautioned
his audience that the most dangerous of these conspirators are to be
found within the community. In what appeared to be the logic of
predestination, the speaker claimed that the division of the
community and the presence of conspirators were foretold by the
Prophet himself. Citing again from Hadis, he clarified that Prophet
Muhammad had predicted that his community (qaum) would be
divided into 73 groups and only one among them would be the true
follower of the Sunnah and would go to heaven. The rest would all
be banished to burn in hell fire.33 The speaker ended with the
exhortation that as Barelwis, it was incumbent upon all of them to
fight against the Deobandis.
Another speaker, at another venue, spoke on a similar subject,
though with a different style. The importance of Prophet
Muhammad was underlined by the assertion of the speaker that
whatever the Prophet did became Islam. Arguing that namaz is
the most important pillar of Islam after iman, he maintained that

nowhere in the Quran is it mentioned as to how to offer the namaz,
yet all over the Muslim world, it is offered the way the Prophet
used to offer it. So, his argument went, whatever the Prophet did
became Islam.34
Generally in the naath sessions also, the Deobandis are berated
for not paying due respect to the Prophet of Islam. Singers of naath
in Ashrafiya mostly come from the junior age group as compared to
senior students who normally take more interest in takrirs. In naath
recitations, Prophet Muhammad is understood as the saviour of the
followers of the ‘true’ Islam. In the religious imagination of the
students of Ashrafiya, they understand themselves as those mired in
numerous problems from which only the Prophet can save them.
The naaths therefore, frequently speak of their powerlessness and
appeal to the Prophet to help them. Moreover, in these sessions
they also complain about the activities of Deobandis and promise
the Prophet that whosoever tarnishes the image of Prophet will not
be spared. During the takrir sessions, as discussed, the students picture
the Prophet as the target of Deobandi attack. During the naath
sessions, the Prophet becomes the saviour while the students position
themselves as the victims and complain to the Prophet. The Prophet
and the community thus become interchangeable; an attack on one
is considered an attack on the other.
The institution of bazm is not unique to Ashrafiya. In almost
all the Indian madrasas of various denominations, it is part of a
wider pedagogy although the techniques may differ. Thus in
madrasa Ain ul-Ulum located in Gaya,35 Bihar, the institution of
bazm is much more theatrical. The students here are divided into
two groups — one group represents the Barelwis and the other
Deobandis. The two groups pose questions on the understanding
of Islam. Interestingly, the Barelwi group always wins since the
questions and answers are written by the Barelwi teachers of the
madrasa! According to a teacher of this madrasa, since the students
are much younger here, they find it more interesting to get involved
in theatrical performances rather than formal takrirs.
The ‘performance’ described above is one of the important

institutions in Ashrafiya in particular and in Indian madrasas
generally. Since madrasas in India are invariably linked to the
ideology of one denomination or the other, these practices become
important for transmitting and sharpening the ideological divide
which cannot be done through formal lessons alone. Performance
becomes necessary for the ‘stylized repetition of acts’ through which
a denominational identity is more thoroughly internalised.36
The expression of this internalised ideology is frequently visible in
the various wall magazines of Madrasa Ashrafiya, published by the
students themselves. In these posters, one finds attacks against the
Deobandis and the need to guard Muslims from them. They also
warn the Barelwis to be vigilant against the canard spread by the
Deobandis.37
The educational practices described above underscore that
madrasas Ashrafiya and Ihya ul-Ulum are primarily concerned with
the production and reproduction of specific maslaki identities. The
strategies, described above, adopted by these madrasas lead to the
‘othering’ of those who are considered a threat to Islam and
Muslims. Since these others are considered dangerous precisely
because of their proximity and familiarity, the process of ‘othering’
becomes important for boundary maintenance. While scholarship
has shown how the Hindu right creates the Muslim as the ‘other’,
processes of ‘othering’ within the Muslim society itself have hardly
received any attention. As the chapter has shown, for a Barelwi
student of Ashrafiya, it is the Deobandis (and not the Hindus)
who are the enemies of Islam since they sow the seeds of confusion
(fitna) in the minds of Muslims. Thus, assuming that madrasas
preach hatred towards non-Muslims, is simply erroneous.38
In Ashrafiya, a combination of texts and performances help to
produce the Deobandis as the ‘other’. The production of the self
is entwined with the production of the other, in this context the
Deobandi. Coming from families where religious education is very
rudimentary, students apply Islamic knowledge gained in the
madrasa within their family. They tell their families to be regular
in their prayers, not to have a television in the house and the women
to be in purdah. At the same time, they also tell their families
about the Deobandis and other maslaks, and how they are leading
the Muslims astray. As one of the students of Ashrafiya told me,
Before I came to Ashrafiya, I did not know what correct Islam was. We
did not know but the imam of our village mosque was a Deobandi and
told us not to go to shrines or to take part in the birthday celebrations
of Prophet Muhammad. We all believed him since he was the only
Alim in the village. But now, with the grace of Allah, we have our own
imam and mosque in the village and we do not pray behind a Deobandi
imam. I and my uncle, who also studied in a madrasa, established this
mosque with local contributions.
Certainly other students did not get the opportunity to do such

a ‘service in the path of Islam’, yet most of them interviewed did
say that they wanted to establish their own madrasa so as to spread
the light of ‘true’ Islam. Recent decades have seen an increase in
the number of madrasas and madrasa graduates in India. Aided by
print and audio-visual technologies, madrasa graduates are now in
a better position to transmit their ideology to the wider Muslim
community. Since the foundation of a madrasa is primarily linked
with the propagation of its own maslak, it might be the case that
Indian Muslims will increasingly define their religious identity in
terms of different maslaks. In the meantime, madrasas such as
Ashrafiya continue to foster an identity which is oppositional,
dependent on the negation of the other, and feeding on a sense of
being wronged and committed to spread their own ‘true Islam’.
Notes
1 For details, see Introduction, pp. 1–2.
2 Following Messick, maslak (maslaki: of maslak) may be understood as
a named and typically enduring interpretive community which are
fundamentally relational in nature; that is, individual maslaks exist in
interpretive worlds constituted by other such interpretive communities.
Although Messick has used the above description to understand
Mazhabs (schools of law), I find his description useful for my purpose

too. See Brinkley Messick, ‘Madhabs and Modernities’, in Peri
Bearman, Rudolph Peters and Frank Vogel (eds), The Islamic School
of Law: Evolution, Devolution and Progress, Cambridge MA: Harvard
3 See for example, Sikand, Yoginder, Bastions of the Believers: Madrasas
and Islamic Education in India, New Delhi: Penguin, 2005, esp. pp.
245–46; Barbara Daly Metcalf, Islamic Revival in British India:
Deoband 1860–1900, New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2002;
Devotional Islam and British Politics in India: Ahmad Riza Khan Barelwi
and His Movement, 1870–1920, New Delhi: Oxford University Press,
1996; A. R. Saiyed and Mohammad Talib, ‘Institutions and Ideas: A
Case Study of Islamic learning’, in C. W. Troll (ed.), Islam in India:
Studies and Commentaries, vol. 2: Religion and Religious Education,
New Delhi: Vikas Publication, 1985, pp. 191–209, p. 206. For the
specific case of Pakistan, see Tariq Rahman, Denizens of Alien Worlds:
A Study of Education, Inequality and Polarization in Pakistan, Karachi:
Oxford University Press, 2004; Muhammad Qasim Zaman, The
Ulama in Contemporary Islam: Custodians of Change, Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2002; Jamal Malik, Colonialization of
Islam: Dissolution of Traditional Institutions in Pakistan, Delhi:
Manohar Publications, 1998.
4 In this case ‘Sunni’ refers to a maslak rather than denoting the broad
division between Shias and Sunnis. In the Dastur, the terms Sunni
and Ahl e Sunnat wa Jamaat are used interchangeably.
5 Dastur e Amal, al Jamiatul Ashrafiya, Purpose/Objective, Clause 1, 5
and 7.
6 Ahmad Riza Khan is referred to as Ala Hazrat by the Barelwis. For
more on the person and his importance for the Barelwis, see Sanyal,
Devotional Islam.
7 They do not consider the Deobandis as Muslims. Ahmad Riza had
pronounced the fatwa of kufr on two of the leading lights of Deoband

madrasa. See Usha Sanyal, Devotional Islam, pp. 231–32.
8 Dastur, Ghair Mutabaddil Usul, clause 1 and 3.
9 See Michael Chamberlain, ‘The Production of Knowledge and
Reproduction of Ayan in Medieval Damascus’, in Nicole Grandin

and Marc Gaborieau (eds), Madrasa: La transmission du savoir dans le
monde Musulman, Paris: Editions Arguments, 1997, pp. 1–36.
10 On Husam al Haramain, see, Usha Sanyal, Devotional Islam, pp. 231–

40.
11 Moeed Qasmi, Nazim of Madrasa Ehya ul-Ulum, personal interview.
The madrasa as yet does not have a written constitution.

12 Personal interviews. The sources would not like to be identified.
13 Muhammad Qasim Zaman, ‘Religious Education and the Rhetoric
of Reform: Madrasas in British India and Pakistan’, Comparative

Studies in Society and History, 41(2), 1999, pp. 294–323, p. 297.
14 al Jamiatul Ashrafiya introductory booklet; interview with Moeed
Qasmi, Nazim of Ehya ul-Ulum.

15 An example may be the collection of Hadis by Bukhari called Bukhari
Sharif which is taught in almost all madrasas. There are commentaries

written on Bukhari and these commentaries reflect the maslaki
orientation of the commentator. Therefore, Bukhari as taught in a
Barelwi madrasa like Ashrafiya would differ from Bukhari being taught
in a Deobandi madrasa like Ehya ul-Ulum.
16 Bukhari Sharif is considered by the Sunnis as one of the six authentic
collections of Hadis. They were compiled by al-Bukhari (810–70)

using various oral and written sources.
17 Philip Lewis, Islamic Britain: Religion, Politics and Identity among
British Muslims: Bradford in the 1990s, London: I. B. Taurus, 1994,

p. 86. One of the aims of World Islamic Mission is to counter ‘Wahabi’
ideas among the Asian immigrants in the UK.
18 See Tariq Rahman, Denizens of an Alien World.
19 Arshadul Qadri, Zalzala, trans. Mohammad Ali Faruqui, Delhi:
Maktaba Jaam e Noor, 1972, p. 10.

20 Ibid. p. 12.
21 Arshadul Qadri, Dawat-e Insaf, trans. Muhammad Arif Aswi Qadri,
Delhi: Maktaba Jaam e Noor, 1993, p. 15.

22 Ibid. p. 13.
23 Ibid. p. 15.
24 For a fuller discussion of the issue, see Metcalf, Islamic Revival and
Sanyal, Devotional Islam.

25 Qadri, Dawat-e Insaf, p. 40; for a fuller treatment of the issue, see
Usha Sanyal, Devotional Islam, pp. 163–65.

26 Ibid. p. 26.
27 An elegy sung in the praise of Prophet Muhammad.
28 Madrasa students across India come from very poor socio-religious

backgrounds. See M. G. Hussain, Muslim Youth and Madrasa
education in Purnea District of Bihar, New Delhi: Institute of Objective
Studies, 2004, especially pp. 105–136 and Asian Development
Research Institute (ADRI) supported by Bihar State Minorities
Commission, Socio-Economic and Educational Status of Muslims in
Bihar, Patna: Government of Bihar, 2004. Madrasa students in
Pakistan share the same profile, see for example Rahman, Denizens,
esp. pp. 89–93 and Malik, Colonialization of Islam.
29 Titles such as Bahrul Ulum (ocean of learning), Imam-e Millat (leader
of the community) are frequently used.

30 The Deobandis are often referred to as Wahabis in Ashrafiya. However,
this Barelwi belief about the close connection of Wahabis of Arabia

with the Indian Deobandis has not been proven. It appears this linkage
was first made by the British and later on adopted by the Barelwis.
For details See Marcia Hermansen, ‘Fakirs, Wahabis and Others:
Reciprocal Classifications and the Transformation of Intellectual
Categories’ in Jamal Malik (ed.), Perspectives of Mutual Encounters in
South Asian History 1760–1860, Leiden: Brill, 2000, pp. 23–48, pp.
30–34. See also the introduction in the same volume by Jamal Malik,
esp. pp. 11–12.
31 Nur literally means pure light. The Barelwis believe in the concept of
Nur e Muhammadi, according to which there existed a ‘light of

Muhammad’ that had derived from Allah’s own light and had existed
from the beginning of Creation.
32 Munafiqin is generally translated as ‘Hypocrites’. It refers to a group
of people who cheated Prophet Muhammad and his men during their
battle against the Meccans.
33 Interestingly, this Hadis also forms one of the core beliefs of the
Deobandis as well. They too consider themselves as the chosen one!

34 I am reminded here of a visit to a village in district Garhwa, now
located in Jharkhand, whose Muslim inhabitants were mostly Barelwis.

At the entrance of the lone mosque in the village, inscribed from
right to left, are the names of Muhammad and Allah respectively. I
asked why Muhammad was written before Allah. The reply was that
since it was through Muhammad that they knew about Islam and
Allah, it was logical that his name would come first!
35 The principal (sadr mudarris) of the madrasa was a student of Madrasa

Ashrafiya. Also the manager (nazim) of this madrasa had been a student
of Ashrafiya during the days of Abdul Aziz.
36 The usage is from Judith Butler. Although she uses it in the context
of gender identity, I find the expression useful in this context also.

See Judith Butler, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of
Identity, London: Routledge, 1999, p. 179.
37 Wall magazines are a familiar feature in bigger madrasas of India.
Similar vitriolic essays against the Barelwis can be seen on the walls of
Darul Ulum, Deoband. I am thankful to Yoginder Sikand for this
information.
38 This is not to suggest that students in Ashrafiya and Ihya ul-Ulum do
not learn to refute other religions such as Hinduism or Christianity.

However, I did not find it as significant when compared to the energies
they devoted refuting other maslaks within Islam.
Conclusion
This work has tried to question certain assumptions about Indian

madrasas: that they are traditional and orthodox and the education
therein leads to doctrinal violence. This ‘thick description’1 of the
madrasa under study, however, belies such labelling. Describing
the madrasa in as much detail as possible in the context of the
present study, I have attempted to understand how this kind of
education is related to changes within the broader Muslim society
within which it is located. Thus in the initial chapters, I discussed
how the history of Madrasa Ashrafiya and Ehya ul-Ulum is
inextricably linked with the local history of Mubarakpur. In these
chapters, I showed how these madrasas were established, the forms
of earlier traditions of learning in the qasba and how it changed,
and the politics of establishing educational/religious institutions.
I have corelated the changes within the fortunes of a particular
madrasa with the changes in the fortunes of its followers.
Throughout, it has been my endeavour to understand madrasas as
more than just religious institutions. Indeed, there is much merit
in studying madrasas as educational institutions rather than just
religious institutions. I have argued, following Durkheim, that
education and more so religious education is hardly a neutral
enterprise; that there are contestations over meanings and symbols
and that these contestations reflect the inner struggle over power
and authority within that society.
The initial chapters also show how Madrasa Ashrafiya grew over
the years, exemplifying the changing social character of Islamic
learning in Mubarakpur. I foregrounded the question of caste and
its place in the history and memory of Mubarakpur and argued
that Ashrafiya is as much a religious/Islamic institution as much as
it is an expression of low-caste Muslims’ aspirations to find a place
within the textual tradition of Islam. Through debates within
Conclusion ò 203
Ashrafiya, I have shown how low-caste Muslims, the Ansaris,

wrested control of the madrasa, which hitherto lay in the hands of
a Syed. Thus, even within the religious domain of madrasas, the
secular question of caste does play an important role. I have also
tried to demonstrate that the supposed ‘traditionalism’ of Ashrafiya
hides within it elements of change and potentialities.
This concern is also apparent when I talk about the financial
organisation of Ashrafiya where I show the changes in pattern of
donations over the years: from a time when donations were
collected in kind and there was an element of popular participation
involved to now when it has become more rational and bureau-
cratic. This shift points to elements of structural modernisation,
something with which madrasas have never been associated. In
arguing my case that Madrasa Ashrafiya shows patterns of
institutionalisation, which makes it fit neatly within institutional
structures of ‘modernity’, I seek to argue that Muslims are not
outside history, that social and historical processes impact them as
acutely as they would other segments of society.
This argument also informs chapters which deal with students
within Ashrafiya and Ehya ul-Ulum. In these chapters, I have tried
to understand the changes and transformations which a madrasa
student undergoes during his period of study. My argument is
that for the students, Madrasa Ashrafiya bestows them with much
more than just a degree in religious education. It confers on them
social and cultural capital by giving them an opportunity to leave
their villages or semi-urban surroundings and locating them within
a network of religious institutions. The acquired social and cultural
capital equips the students to trade them with other forms of
capitals, which in effect give them some degree of social mobility
also. For the son of a daily wage-earner to become an imam (prayer
leader) of the local mosque is an incredible achievement. The
importance of this upward mobility is most radically felt in the
symbolic domain. A typical imam in this scenario would most
probably be a young boy belonging to one of the many low Muslim
castes and a first-generation learner. His leading of the Islamic
prayer ruptures many social solidarities of the old order, such as

that of age, authority and, most importantly, caste.
In a fundamental sense then, the much reviled and ‘backward’
madrasa-produced imam epitomises the dislocation of existing
distribution of power and authority within Muslim society. He is
both the product and the producer of internal change within
contemporary Indian Muslim society. While the potential for
challenging established authority patterns has been noticed within
Islamist politics,2 the so-called traditionalist politics of the ulama
has escaped such attention. I have tried to show that this notion
needs a revision; that social changes affected by institutions such
as the madrasa do impact the existing power structures within
Indian Muslim society in important ways.
It is not just that the products of the madrasa are the only
instruments of the social change taking place. In tracing the politics
behind the establishment of Madrasa Ashrafiya, I have argued that
the madrasa itself has undergone functional and structural changes.
There was a time when Madrasa Ashrafiya did not even have a
permanent building of its own, when its courses were at best
rudimentary and the roles of the madrasa officials were not well-
defined. Moreover, the madrasa was an outgrowth of the collective
effort of the qasba and this was represented in its decision-making
body. In the popular imagination of the Barelwis of Mubarakpur
as well as itself, Ashrafiya is not seen just as an institution of religious
learning but also as a guardian of Islamic behaviour within the
qasba. The development of the madrasa has meant that at present,
not only is it housed in a grand building but also that it now
resembles a modern bureaucratic structure with specialised roles
for its various functionaries. Moreover, the madrasa increasingly
sees itself now in the particular role of a provider of religious
education.
Does it mean that what is being witnessed in Mubarakpur is
secularisation and that madrasas have an important role to play in
it? The question does not have an easy answer but it is worth
reflecting. There are three core propositions in the theory of
Conclusion ò 205
secularisation:3 secularisation as religious decline, secularisation as

differentiation and secularisation as privatisation. The assumption
that religion will tend to disappear with progressive modernisation
has more or less been discarded. However, the second proposition
of the differentiation of religious and secular spheres may still be
valid as is being witnessed in Mubarakpur where madrasas now
occupy and guard what might be called the religious sphere. The
participatory and communal character of Ashrafiya has disappeared;
it makes its presence felt only when a religious question becomes
an issue on which it has to take a stand. It also vehemently opposes
government’s interference in the madrasa by using the modern
categories of public and private: arguing that the state has no
business to interfere in the private (religious) sphere of Muslims.
But does this modern differentiation which we are witnessing
necessarily entail the marginalisation and privatisation of Islam in
Mubarakpur as the secularisation thesis would understand it? The
answer, according to me, is in the negative.
Rather, what we see in Mubarakpur is that far from being
marginalised, Islam is actually assuming newer functions. The
Ashrafiya, by virtue of being one of the richest entities in
Mubarakpur, has acquired powers which makes it an important
player in any transaction within the qasba. Thus its power not
only comes through the interpretation of Islam, but also through
more mundane secular means. In this context, it is important to
reiterate that even the state implements its reformist agenda with
the help of various madrasas in Mubarakpur, thereby helping them
acquire a more secular role. Theoretically therefore, the events lend
credence to Casanova’s claim that public religions (like Islam) do
not endanger the differentiated structures of modernity.4 Islam is
not getting privatised either. The increasing number of mosques
in Mubarakpur bear testimony to the vibrant presence of Islam in
the qasba. Moreover, the presence of other maslaks in the qasba
and the debates between them has meant that religious matters
are being discussed in the public arena. Thus far from being
privatised, Islam is becoming increasingly visible in the qasba.
For the students of the madrasa, this kind of education does

have a transformative effect. The everyday routine of the madrasa
hardly leaves any scope for reflexivity when it comes to the students.
Coming from very poor and nominally Muslim families,5 religious
education, apart from instilling in them an awareness for things
Islamic, also becomes their only capital. It is the further transmission
of this very capital which ensures their survival in the world.
Needless to say, they end up reproducing the worldview in which
they have been trained in the madrasa. This ideological
reproduction lies at the core of the madrasa strategy to reproduce
itself. According to Bourdieu, the success of any pedagogical
authority depends on the transmission and reproduction of this
authority even in its absence, something which is seen as one of
the most important effects of madrasa education. In this ideological
reproduction, the madrasa is aided by a number of objective factors,
the most important of which seems to be the lack of quality
education for poor and low-caste Muslims across India, especially
in North India. In fact, there seems to be a strong corelation
between the mushrooming of madrasas and lack of quality
education for poor Muslim children. The objective factor of the
lack of schools for poor Muslims thus makes sure that there is a
constant supply of students to madrasas. In the absence of even a
token of education, madrasas equip these students with a modicum
of literacy and that too without putting any financial burden on
the families. More importantly, it makes them ‘civilised’ by teaching
the proper Islamic ways of behaviour. To the outside eye, this
might look like tokenism, but for the low-caste and poor Muslims,
this is empowerment in very important ways, something which
sustains the institution of madrasa in the long run.
The ideological reproduction of the madrasa sustains and in a
way maintains the overall social reproduction within Indian Muslim
society. Bourdieu argues that modern education helps reproduce
the existing relation of power within modern societies. Similarly, it
is seen that madrasas contribute to the maintenance of the overall
distribution of power within Indian Muslim society. The publication
Conclusion ò 207
of the Prime Minister High Level Committee Report on Indian

Muslims (popularly called the Sachar Committee Report, hereafter
SCR) has put an official stamp on what was already known in various
quarters: that Muslims are one of the most disadvantaged sections
of Indian society. However, in my understanding, the SCR is
significant also as it is probably the most important document which
details the stratification within Indian Muslims, something which
was completely lost in the mindless and partisan debate following
the publication of the SCR, which saw sections of Muslims
demanding reservation along the lines of scheduled castes. It is my
contention that the SCR truly brings out the extent of deprivation
amongst the low-caste Muslims in India and a dispassionate analysis
of the SCR will bring forth that the Indian Muslims as a category
are highly stratified and thus not homogenously backward. Rather,
it is the low-caste Muslims who are one of the most deprived sections
in India. And as this work has argued, it is this section which sends
its children to the madrasas. Largely, it is the outcome of the lack of
choice which this Muslim section faces when it comes to educating
their children but for some it can also be a question of preference. A
large number of Muslim low-castes belong to the artisan castes and
they do not send their children to modern schools for fear that they
may not take to the family occupation afterwards. Madrasas thus
become a ‘choice’ for some as it does not endanger their ‘way of life’.
However, in both these cases — sending children to madrasas due
to lack of choice and sending children to madrasas as a matter of
choice — it is the madrasa which benefits by getting a stream of
students which it trains in religious education.
Bourdieu talks of the alienating environment of schools for
lower-class students which results in their self-elimination over a
period of time. Here, one can almost say that the Muslim society
has devised an internal mechanism of elimination of access to
modern schooling: the madrasas wean away a sizable section of
Indian Muslims from modern schooling thereby limiting
competition for scarce jobs and services. As seen above, those
weaned away are mostly poor and low-caste Muslims so that this
process of self-elimination is functional and beneficial for the upper-

class and upper-caste Muslims to maintain their monopoly on
societal resources. In this regard, it is important to note that most
of the funds for madrasa education come precisely from this section
of Muslims who do not send their own children to madrasas.
If, by limiting competition, madrasas serve to reproduce
inequality between social groups in Muslim society, then how do
we understand the possibility of social change engendered by
Islamic education, as discussed earlier. I have argued that graduates
of Ashrafiya (and other madrasas) by virtue of being low-caste
Muslims have the potential to change the landscape of social
authority which has hitherto been represented by upper-caste
Muslims. A low-caste imam in a local mosque well versed in Islamic
literature is a subversive moment: one which challenges the
established social hierarchy. Apart from this, I have also argued
that Islamic education also acts as a vehicle of social mobility for
poor and low-caste Muslims. At the same time, it should be
understood that it is not as if the lower Muslim castes have struggled
to achieve this state of affairs. Rather, it has been made possible by
the upper-caste Muslims’ easy access to modern education, leaving
it open for the lower-castes to access Islamic education. This is as
true now as it was during the late nineteenth century when
Deoband identified the low-caste Muslims with their custom-laden
Islam in dire need of reform. Madrasas thus become the poor
Muslims’ school, a ‘choice’, which empowers them in the sense
talked about above. However, the ‘limited’ social mobility provided
by madrasas to low-caste and poor Muslims should not be taken
to mean that the upper-caste Muslims have altogether left the affairs
of religious domain to them.
In fact, far from this, even today they are the ones who control
major Islamic institutions of the country.6 Thus their hegemony
in the secular as well as religious spheres continues despite the fact
that most madrasas today are being run by low-caste Muslims. As
low-caste Muslim institutions, madrasas effect social change both
individually and socially in localities in which they operate, but
Conclusion ò 209
whether they will be able to dent the overall upper-caste Muslim

hegemony remains to be seen. What can be firmly contended is
that there exists a creative tension between the potential of madrasa
education and the politics of social reproduction within the Indian
Muslim society.
Following Bourdieu, I have shown how madrasas, as repositories
of institutionalised cultural capital, constitute the habitus or
incorporated cultural capital, of their students. The madrasas see
themselves as repositories of a ‘civilising’ mission which gives them
the mandate to educate their students in proper ways of behaviour,
the model of which is the behaviour and lifestyle of upper-caste
Muslims. This madrasa-constituted habitus of the students allows
them to respond to cultural rules in a variety of contexts. According
to Bourdieu, it is the habitus which is instrumental in transforming
situations into positions; whereas situations are given or received,
positions are actively made. For the predominantly low-caste
Muslim students of Bihar and Uttar Pradesh, madrasas help
transform their ascribed status into an achieved status, thus
transforming their situations into positions. However, according
to Bourdieu, all forms of capital acquire value only in relation to a
field which is constituted by institutions, rules, conventions and
categories. It is this interplay of the madrasa-constituted habitus
and the field which sets in motion the ongoing process of social
reproduction within Muslim society.
Notes
1 A term used by Clifford Geertz to outline his methodology of
contextual understanding and interpretation of symbols and actions.
See Clifford Geertz: ‘Thick Description: Towards an Interpretative
Theory of Culture’ in The Interpretation of Cultures. Basic Books:
New York.
2 Islamist politics is usually used to refer to those movements or
ideologies which have the express agenda of transforming the societies

in which they operate through capturing state power. In the Indian
case, the Jamat-e Islami is an obvious example. Islamic activism such

as that of Deoband or the Barelwis are called traditionalist as they do
not have an agenda of capturing state power to create an Islamic society.
For details, see Olivier Roy, Globalised Islam: The Search for a New
Ummah, New Delhi: Rupa and Co., 2005.
3 I am using Casanova’s understanding of secularisation. See Jose
Casanova, Public Religions in the Modern World, Chicago: University

of Chicago Press, 1994.
4 Casanova, Public Religions, p. 10.
5 I use the word nominal for those Muslims who are not aware of the
theological problems within Islam. To use Clifford Geertz’s words,

they are not ‘scriptural Muslims’; rather they follow Islam as a
‘tradition’ which has been transmitted over generations. The majority
of the students at the madrasas Ashrafiya and Ehya ul-Ulum are from
such nominally Muslim families.
6 For a brilliant work on the dominance of upper caste Muslims on
religious institutions, see Ali Anwar, Masawat ki Jung (Struggle for

Equality), New Delhi: Vaani Prakashan, 2001.
Appendix I ò 211
Appendix I
Dastur-e Amal/Constitution: al-Jamiatul

Ashrafiya Misbahul Ulum, Mubarakpur
Name of the Association:
Idara Dar al-Ulum Ahle Sunnat Madrasa Ashrafiya
Misbahul Ulum, Qasba Mubarakpur, Zila Azamgarh,
Uttar Pradesh
Purpose/Objectives
The madrasa will strive to spread education about the true religion.
True in this case is the mazhab of Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat. The
Association will strive to spread and organise the Jamaat and to
make this madrasa into the apex madrasa of Ahl-e Sunnat wa
Jamaat. Its other objectives will be:
1. To open other madrasas in the country on a similar pattern
and to organise and supervise them.
2. To provide for other kinds of education in this madrasa for
the purpose of earning a living.
3. To provide for books of all disciplines so as to create a library
in this madrasa.
4. To do tabligh and takrir of the right path of Ahl-e Sunnat and
to create religiosity among the Muslims.
5. To serve Jama Masjid Raja Mubarak Shah and the people of
Mubarakpur.
6. To do tabligh of Imam Ahl-e Sunnat Ala Hazrat Barelwi and
to save the Muslims from bad-mazhabis.
7. To continue with the study of Dars-e Alia of Allahabad Board
along with Dars-e Nizamia. To have a full-fledged department
of fatwa writing. To have another department of munazara.
8. To continue to find ways to establish a technical institute.
Policy
1. This madrasa will never be associated with any political leader.
Its boundaries will only be religious and islahi/reformist.
2. All the work in the madrasa will be done in Urdu and the
language of its employees will be Urdu. However, if necessary,
government language will be used.
3. In the path of Ali Husain Ashrafi Kichochwi, Ahmad Ashraf
Kichochwi and Maulana Amjad Ali, this madrasa will be Sunni
Hanafi Barelwi. In present times, a Sunni is one who follows
and practices the path of Ala Hazrat. A Sunni is one who
believes in every word written by Ala Hazrat. At the same
time, Sunni is one who fights the Deobandis, Naturis, Wahabis,
Rizwis, Ghair Muqallids, etc.
4. All the property of the madrasa including those current and
those that will be added later, will remain in the form of wakf.
Under no circumstances can it become the personal property
of any individual.
5. All legal matters related to the madrasa will be settled only
in the court of Azamgarh. The Nazim is empowered to fight
all the court cases on behalf of the madrasa as well as attend to
those which have been filed against the madrasa.
Ghair Mutabaddil Usul/Non-changeable Laws

1. The members of this madrasa, from a humble sweeper to the
Nazim, from a student to the principal should all be the
followers of Ahl-e Sunnat wa Jamaat, which is the sahiyul aqida/
correct faith. No ghair/non-Sunni shall ever find a place in
this madrasa. If due to any reasons such as the laxity of the
Mubarakpur Muslims, this madrasa falls into the hands of a
non-Sunni, such as a Deobandi or others, then any Sunni from
Appendix I ò 213
India has the right to move court and bring the madrasa back
into the hands of the Sunnis.
2. It is permissible under adverse circumstances to keep non-
Muslim employees, given that he is not a threat to the objectives
of the madrasa.
3. All officials (teachers, members, etc.) of the madrasa will have
to take the following pledge in front of the Sarparast of the
madrasa: ‘I will always remain loyal to the laws of the madrasa.
I will never be a part of any activity which goes against the
objectives of the madrasa.’ Also, except non-Muslim members,
all others will also have to take this pledge: ‘I am a true Sunni
Muslim and believe in every word of Hussamul Haramain.’
Nizam/Organisational Structure
1. For the proper functioning of this madrasa, there will be two
committees — Majlis-e Shura (general committee) and Majlis-e
Intezamiya (working committee). The members of the General
Committee will be chosen from all over India from amongst
those who are Sunnis and well versed with the law of the land
as well as of sound mind. They will be selected for five years
and their number will be 51. Out of these members, 11 will
be chosen for the working committee for five years. Most
important members like the Sadar, Naib Sadar, Nazim, Naib
Nazim, Nazim-e Talimat, etc., will be members of the working
committee.
2. The Majlis-e Shura should meet at least once a year.
3. The working committee will meet three times a year. Apart
from this, it can also meet for emergency reasons. If a majority
of the members give a written application to the Nazim or Sadar
for convening a meeting, then he has to call it in 15 days.
4. The decisions of the committees will be through contested
opinions, given that these decisions are not against the sharia
or against the interests of the madrasa. The quorum will consist
of 2/3 members; however, in case the quorum is not complete,

the decisions will be binding.
5. The names of those who do not accept the decisions of the
committees will be deleted from the registers.
6. All the work of the committees will be noted down in a register
for this purpose in the form of minutes.
7. All the agendas on behalf of the committees will have to be
decided 24 hours before the meeting.
The Rights and Duties of Majlis-e Shura

1. Every member can call a meeting of the Shura by giving a
notice 24 hours earlier.
2. Any member can draw the attention of the Sadar towards any
non-topical discussion.
3. Any member will have the right to look into the accounts of
the madrasa if granted permission by the Sadar.
4. The Shura will permit the teaching of the current syllabus of
the madrasa as well as all others in the future.
The Rights and Duties of Majlis-e Amla/Working

Committee
1. To act upon the resolutions passed by the Majlis-e Shura.
2. To strengthen the madrasa in the light of its founding principles
and objectives.
3. To maintain the account of income and expenditure and to
present the same to the Majlis-e Shura.
4. If for any reason the Shura is not held, then the Amla will have
the power to approve the budget of the madrasa for that year.
Officials of the Madrasa

Sadar: Duties and Authorities
1. To strive to fulfil the objectives of the madrasa.
2. To supervise the activities of Nazim and other officials.
Appendix I ò 215
3. To keep an eye on the income, property and expenditure of

the madrasa.
4. To preside over all the functions of the madrasa.
5. To call for any meeting in case of an emergency or to dissolve
the meeting and to assign a place for the meeting. He will also
have the power to invite a non-member to any of the meetings
or to cancel this special status. He will also have the power to
stop any resolution which goes against the interest and
objectives of the madrasa.
6. In case of a conflict of opinions, one vote of the Sadar will
equal two votes of the members.
7. It will be within his rights to transfer his powers to the Naib
Sadar even during his presence.
Naib Sadar: Duties and Authorities

In the absence of Sadar, the Naib Sadar will have all the rights and
powers.
Nazim-e Ala: Duties and Authorities

1. The Nazim has to keep all the records of the office, maintain
the salary register of the teachers and the staff of the madrasa.
2. To oversee and save (repair) the property of the madrasa.
3. To maintain the accounts of income and expenditure. The Nazim
also the right to correspond on behalf of the madrasa as required.
4. He should always keep the receipt of all donations, which he
gets on behalf of the madrasa. One part of the receipt should
be kept with the office while the other part should be with the
Nazim who should keep it safely.
5. The expenditure should be done keeping in mind the
resolutions passed by the Majlis Shura and Amla. In other
words, the priority is to be set by the committees, the Nazim
will only implement those.
6. The Nazim must know 24 hours in advance if there is any
meeting called by the Amla or Shura. He will have the power
to be in all committees.
7. There would be a Nazim fund for the day-to-day running of

the madrasa. The Nazim can keep upto <500 of this money at
his own disposal.
8. The Nazim will have to print the annual rudad showing income
and expenditure.
Naib Nazim: Duties and Authorities

In the absence of the Nazim, the Naib Nazim will have the full
powers of the Nazim. It should also be noted that even during his
presence, the Nazim can assign tasks to the Naib Nazim as and
when he wishes to do so.
Nazim-e Talimat: Duties and Authorities

1. This office can be held by a person who is an Alim and at the
same time he has experience of teaching as well.
2. He will be the overseer of the classes and the character of the
students. Without his approval, the curriculum of the madrasa
cannot be changed.
3. He will have the final opinion in case of any deadlock over
educational matters in any of the committees.
Khazan/Treasurer: Duties and Authorities

1. Whatever money he receives from the Nazim, he should enter
and record it on a separate register.
2. No money can be given to anyone without the signed approval
of the Sarbarah-e Ala (Sadar).
3. The money for the madrasa should not be used for personal
purposes like business, etc. Rather, it should be kept in an
account created for the purpose in the State Bank, Union bank
or any other scheduled bank.
Muhasib/Auditor: Duties
1. A muhasib can be a person who is well versed in the accounts
and is upright so that he can evaluate the accounts correctly.
Appendix I ò 217
2. If possible, the accounts should be evaluated every month,

failing which it should be evaluated every six months. The
accounts report should be placed in front of the Nazim-e Ala
or the apex committee.
3. If he does not do his work properly, then he can be removed.
4. If for any reason, the accountant cannot do his work, then he
should report to the Sadar, so that alternative arrangements
can be made.
Nazir Dar al-Aqama/Superintendent: Duties

1. To maintain discipline among the students living in the hostels.
2. He should see the living condition of the students. He has the
power to change the rooms of the students so as to maintain
discipline. However, he does not have the right to rusticate
any student.
3. To see to it that small children are accommodated in separate
rooms.
4. To see that students have a place to pray in Jamaat and to
enforce prayers on each and every student through constant
surveillance and vigil.
5. To enforce general discipline among the students related to
the madrasa.
6. He should not however, misbehave with the students in any
way that it leads to conflict.
7. If there is a situation which is out of control, then he should
inform the Principal so that the matter can be sorted out.
Students: Rules of Admission

1. A student desirous of studying in the institution should apply
on the prescribed form for the purpose and send it to the
Principal.
2. There will be a test at the time of admission and depending on
the capability of the student; he will be admitted in one of the
various courses that the madrasa has to offer.
3. Before the actual admission, inquiries will be made regarding

the character of the student. If it is found that he is of a bad
character, efforts will be made to improve his conduct in the
madrasa. If however, he refuses to mend his ways, his names
will be removed from the rolls of the madrasa.
4. There will have to be two guarantors from the place of origin
of the student who will vouch for his character.
5. In Arabic classes, a student can be admitted only in the third
standard, not below. However, this rule can be waived if
necessary and a student can be admitted in any section if found
competent.
6. In Arabic classes, students from outside Mubarakpur will not
be admitted below the age of 10 years.
Students: Rules and Duties

1. All students must attend the classes daily. If on account of
some problem, he is unable to attend, then he should recite
the lesson in front of the concerned teacher before or
afterwards.
2. Students who are not hardworking can be suspended from
the madrasa.
3. Students who fail in half-yearly and yearly exams will not be
promoted. If continued next year, he will be rusticated.
4. Respect of teachers is necessary.
5. There should be not political activity and organisation which
go against the interest of the madrasa.
6. It will not be permissible to go out of the madrasa without
the permission of Nazir.
7. If the student wants leave for one day during studies, he should
take the permission of the Nazir. For more than a days leave,
he has to ask the permission of the principal.
8. Membership of any political or social organisation will be
illegal.
Appendix I ò 219
9. All foreign students will be put up in the hostel for them. He

cannot be accommodated in any other room without the
permission of the Nazir.
10. Shariat should be followed.
11. Namaz with Jamaat will be compulsory.
12. Non-Sharih behaviour will not be allowed.
13. The dress will have to approximate the ulama.
14. Students will not be allowed to sit for any other exams barring
the Allahabad Board.
15. The food provided by the mess will not be subject to
objections by the students. Severe cases will have to be taken
to the principal or the Nazim.
16. He will be responsible for the books of the library. He should
not tear nor dirty the books. In case of damage, he will have
to pay.
17. No property should be damaged and will be punishable.
18. Students cannot ask for a change of the teacher if he has any
objection.
Teachers: Responsibilities/Duties
1. Should be on time, should sign the register daily.
2. Should be there in time for classes; avoid any personal work
during the classes.
3. Cannot go out of the madrasa during the classes without the
permission of the principal.
4. Should intimate the principal in case of illness, etc.
5. Cannot be out of the madrasa without any valid reason or he
will be marked absent in the madrasa register.
6. More than 10 minutes late will be considered absent and the
salary will be cut accordingly.
7. All the teachers should carry their registers with themselves
and shall note down their respective classes. They should take
new registers from the office when the old one finishes.
8. Teachers will have access to madrasa property like books,
chatais, etc., and he alone will be responsible for them. In

case of damage, he will have to pay.
9. All should think of inculcating good behaviour among the
students.
10. All sciences should also have a section on the biography of
the pioneers of those sciences.
11. While teaching, care should be taken that the students are
made capable of self-study.
12. Teachers should teach in such a way that the course gets
completed in due time.
13. Namaz with the Jamaat is compulsory.
14. They should all respect the administrators of the madrasa.
Sarbarah-e Ala: Rights and Responsibilities

On 23 April 1971 and 30 May 1971, the two meetings held made
Abdul Aziz the lifetime Sarbarah-e Ala. All laws of the madrasa
stood diluted due to the resolutions passed in these two meetings.
His powers are:
1. To appoint all members of the Majlis-e Sura and Majlis-e
Intezamia, to suspend members and to appoint new members
in case of death.
2. To control everything related to the madrasa.
3. All decisions by the Majlis-e Shura is subject to veto by the
Sarbarah e Ala.
4. Appointment and dismissal of teachers and other post-holders.
5. He is also the final appellate authority for teachers and staff of
the madrasa.
6. He has the power to appoint his deputy/successor in his life-
time or to make laws for the Shura and Amla to act after him
as per his wishes. If he cannot do so during his lifetime, then
the people of Mubarakpur of Ahl-e Sunnat in consultation
with other ulama of Ahl-e Sunnat will have the right to frame
new laws.
7. All building and organisation work, including new courses,
etc., will be started by him. All interpretation of the
Appendix I ò 221
Constitution of Ashrafiya will be made by him and his inter-

pretation will be final.
8. It will be in his power to delegate some of his powers to anyone
he wishes in case of any general or more particular work.
9. He will have the power to register the organisation in ways
that he deems fit.
Sarparast-e Idara
The sarparast of this Idara/institution will be Mukhtar Ashraf
Kichochwi. He will have to come at least once in a year for
inspection and guidance.
Appendix II
Nisab/Curriculum: al-Jamiatul Ashrafiya

Misbahul Ulum, Mubarakpur
Preparatory/Edadiya
First Six Months
Tas Hilul Masadir/Persian Grammar/Pages 1–48 (Full Book)
Farsi ki Pahli/Persian/Pages 1–40 (Full Book)
Tawarikh-e-Habib Allah/Life of the Prophet/Pages 1–137
Arithmetic/Book 3 (½ part)
Insha/Persian Grammar (Full Book 1/Pages 1–52)
Imla/Urdu Writing
Second Six Months
Farsi ki Doosri/Persian, but helps in Urdu Writing/Pages 1–68
(Full Book)
Gulzar-e Dabistan/Persian — advice, maxima, anecdotes/Pages 1–
48 (Full Book)
Sirat-e Rasool-e Akram/Life of the Prophet/Pages 5–95 (Full Book)
Arithmetic/Book 3 (remaining part)
Insha/Persian Grammar/Pages 5–64 (Full Book 2)
Imla/Urdu Writing
Minhaj ul-Arabia/Basic Arabic/Pages 9–62 (Full Book 1)
First Year/Ula
First Six Months
Mizan wa Munshaib/Arabic Grammar and Etymology in Persian/
Pages 1–48 (Full Book)
Nahw Meer/Arabic Grammar/Pages 6–36 (Full Book)
Kanun-e Shariat/Jurisprudence/Pages 1–101 (Book 1)
Appendix II ò 223
Gulistan/Persian/Part 8/Pages 210–74, including Preface

Minhaj al-Arabia/Arabic/Book 2 (Pages 9–92) & Book 3 (Pages
6–60)
Bustan/Persian Poetry/Preface and Chapter 1, total 63 pages
Second Six Months
Panj Ganj/Arabic Grammar in Persian/Pages 1–51
An Nahw al-waze/Arabic Grammar, translation, composition/Full
Book 1
Sukhan-e Nau/Persian, Literature, Advices/Pages 1–91
Faiz ul-Adab/Arabic Grammar and basic Literature/Full Book 1
Bahar-e Shariat/From Aqaid (Faith) till Nabuwat (Prophethood)/
Full Book 1
Al-Qirat al-Rashida/Arabic Literature/Full Book
Minahj al-Arabia/Arabic/Remaining part of Book 3
Second Year/Sania
First Six Months
Ilm al-Sigha/Arabic Grammar in Persian/Till Page 50
Hidayat al-Nahw/Arabic Grammar/Till Page 66
Faiz al-Adab/Persian/Book 3, Pages 1–105
Qubra/Basic Logic/Pages 2–27
Sher-e Bustan/Persian Poetry/Pages 7–79
Basic English Reader
Second Six Months
Ilm al-Sigha/Arabic Grammar/Pages 50–96
Fusul-e Akbari/Arabic Grammar/Pages 39–47
Hidayat al-Nahw/Arabic Grammar/Pages 67–128
Sharh Miat Amil/Arabic Grammar and Syntax, sentence formation
(Tarqeeb)/Full Book
Mirkaat/Logic/Pages 1–44
Majaniul Adab/Arabic Literature/Pages 3–43
Muallim al-Insha/Arabic Translation and Composition/Pages 1–71
Basic English Reader
Third Year/Salesa
First Six Months
Noor al-Izha/Jurisprudence in Arabic/Pages 23–93
Usul al-Shasi/Principles of Jurisprudence/Pages 1–52
Qafiah/Arabic Grammar/Pages 1–77
Azhar al-Arab/Arabic poetry and prose/Pages 5–40
Muallim al-Insha/Arabic Translation and Composition/Pages 71–
117
Sharh-e Tahzeeb/Logic/Pages 1–43
English Reader (of Class VII in Uttar Pradesh Government Schools)
Second Six Months
Muwatta-e Imam Malik/Hadis/Pages 41–172
Mukhtasar al-Quduri/Jurisprudence/Pages 55–130
Durus al-balaghat/Rhetoric/Pages 1–43
Qutbi Tasdiqaat/Logic/Pages 66–107
Muin al-Urud/Prosody/Pages 49–67
Muallimul Insha/Arabic Translation and Composition/Book 1,
Pages 117–68
English
Fourth Year/Rabia
First Six Months
Sharh-e Waqiah/Jurisprudence/Pages 1–154
Sharh-e Jami/Arabic Grammar/Last Book, Pages 1–65
Qutbi Tassawwurat/Logic/Pages 1–19
Mir Qutbi/Logic/Pages 1–39
Hedayat al-hikmat/Philosophy/Full Book
Mansurat/Arabic Literature/Pages 13–83
Muallim al-Insha/Arabic Translation and Composition/Book 2,
Pages 19–61
English Reader (of Class VIII of Uttar Pradesh Government
Schools)
Appendix II ò 225
Second Six Months

Sharh-e Waqiah/Jurisprudence/Book 2, Pages 4–113
Sharh-e Jami/Arabic Grammar/Pages 65–124
Qutbi Tassawwurat/Logic/Pages 19–40
Mir Qutbi/Logic/Pages 39–70
Hidayat al-Saidiya/Philosophy/Pages 1–63
Dars-e Quran/Translation and Explanation of Quran/First 2 ½
chapters
119
English
Fifth Year/Khamesa
First Six Months
Nur al-anwar/Principles of Jurisprudence/Pages 1–71
Sharh Aqaid al-nasafi/Scholastics/Pages 1–67
Dars-e Quran/Translation and Explanation of the Quran/Chapters
11–13
al-adab al-Jamil/Arabic Literature/Pages 11–70
Mulla Hasan/Logic/Pages 1–53
Tarikh al-khulafa/History of the four rightly guided caliphs/Pages
1–86
165
OR
English Reader (of Class IX of Uttar Pradesh Government Schools)
2 Papers
Second Six Months
Nur al-anwar/Principles of Jurisprudence/Pages 153–65 & 244–
65
Sharh Aqaid al-nasafi/Scholastics/Pages 67–127 (completed)
Dars-e Quran/Translation and Explanation of the Quran/Chapters
14–16
Diwan-e Mutanabi/Arabic poetry/Pages 1–59

al-adab al-Jamil/Arabic Literature
Talkhis al-Miftah/Rhetoric
Muallim al-Insha/Arabic Translation and Composition
Sixth Year/Sadesa
First Six Months
Jalalain Sharif/Exegesis of the Quran
Mishkat Sharif/Hadis
Hedaya, vol. 1/Jurisprudence
Mukhtasar al-maani/Rhetoric
Sharh Hedayat al-hikmat/Philosophy
al-Madih al-Nabwi/Arabic Poetry
OR
English Reader (of Class X of Uttar Pradesh Government Schools)
2 Papers
Second Six Months
Jalalain Sharif/Exegesis of the Quran
Mishkat Sharif/Hadis
Mukhtasar al-maani/Rhetoric
Munazara Rashidiya/Disputation
al-Madih al-Nabwi/Arabic Poetry
Seventh Year/Sabeya
First Six Months
Madarik Sharif/Exegesis of the Quran
Tirmizi Sharif/Hadis
Husami/Principles of Jurisprudence
Sharh Nukhbat al-fiqr/Methodology of Hadis
Appendix II ò 227
Saba Malika wa Insha/Arabic Poetry and Urdu translation

OR
English Reader (of Class XI of Uttar Pradesh Government Schools)
2 Papers
Second Six Months
Madarik Sharif/Exegesis of the Quran
Tirmizi Sharif/Hadis
Tauzih/Principles of Jurisprudence
Siraji/Laws of Inheritance
Mukamat-e Hariri wa Insha/Arabic Literature and Composition
Eighth Year/Samena
First Six Months
Baidawi Sharif/Exegesis of the Quran
Bukhari Sharif/Hadis
Muslim Sharif/Hadis
Hamdullah/Logic
Diwan-e himasa o Insha/Arabic Literature and Composition
OR
English Reader (of Class XII of Uttar Pradesh Government Schools)
2 Papers
Second Six Months
Baidawi Sharif/Exegesis of the Quran
Bukhari Sharif/Hadis
Muslim Sharif/Hadis
Musallam al-subut/Principles of Jurisprudence
Diwan-e himasa o Insha/Arabic Literature and Composition
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About the Author
Arshad Alam is Assistant Professor, Jamia Millia Islamia, New

Delhi. He completed his Ph.D. in Sociology of Education from
Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. He has contributed to
several edited volumes and his articles have appeared in Economic
and Political Weekly, Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs, Modern
Asian Studies and Contemporary Perspectives: History and Sociology
of South Asia among others.
242 ò Index
Index
Ahl-e Hadis 18, 37, 47, 61, 80, Aziz-e Millat 106
151, 184 Azizi Hostel 102–3
Ahle Sunnat wa Jamaat 55–57, Aziz, Sarbarah-e Ala Abdul 99
80, 82, 84, 93, 96, 105 Aziz ul-Masajid 103
Ahmad, Alauddin 153–54 Azizul Ulum 134
Ahmad, Rashid 68 Azmi, Obaidullah 96
Ahmad, Wasi 55, 74
Alamiyyat 145, 148 ba-adab students 159
Ali, Amjad 55, 57, 66, 98 Bab ul-Ilm 61
Aligarh Muslim University 100 bad-mazhabis 94, 184
Alim 40, 145, 148, 151, 194–95 Bahar-e Shariat 55, 167
Alim, Ansari 57 Baksh, Ilahi 58, 60, 62
al Jamiatul Ashrafiya 82, 97, 120 Barelwis 18–19, 55, 61, 72–73,
All India Madrasa Board 114 75, 83, 87, 89, 105, 118, 123
All India Muslim Personal Law Barelwi madrasas 125, 128
Board 18 Barelwi Tabligh, also known as
al-Mulk, Nizam 6 Sunni Dawat-e Islami 131n.
Althusser 22 Barelwi ulama 72–74, 82, 97,
Alwari, Didar Ali 74 128
Ansar Girls School 42 Barkati hostel 99, 102–3
Ansari, Amin 63, 75 Barkatiyya Syeds 99
Ansaris 28, 57–58, 84, 98, 126, bazm 193–94, 196
204 Bhagatpur 36
Ara, Jahan 37 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) 1
Asad, Talal 12 bida 17, 65, 77, 190–91
Ashrafi, Ali Hussain 57–58, 65, Bihari, Zafar ud-Din 74
75, 87–88 Bostan 56
Ashrafiya Girls High School 42 Bourdieu, concepts of habitus 23;
Ashraf, Mukhtar 80, 83–84, 124 forms of cultural capital 24–
ashrafs 85 25, 177–78, 210; Islamic
awqaf 111 education 25; modern
Aziz, Abdul 42, 55, 66, 69, 73, education 207–10;
75, 120, 126 pedagogical actions 176
Index ò 243
British East India Company 37 network 15; principles 14;

British understanding of Muslim teaching standards 68
education 12 Durkheim 20, 203
Chisti–Qadiri shrine 64 Ehya ul-Ulum madrasa 26, 61,

colonial madrasas 12–13 63, 69–70, 115, 203
Dar al-Ulum, Deoband 7, 70, Faiz-e Aam madrasa 58, 60, 105
74, 122, 147 Fazilat degree 102, 104, 134,
dargahs 65; of Abdul Aziz 160 145, 148, 163
Dars-e Alia 94 fieldwork, challenges with 26–28
Dars-e-Nizami 16, 67, 70, 82– financial sources of madrasas:
83, 94 Ashrafiya’s finance 115–16;
Dar ul-Taleem 61 awqaf 111; Central
dastur of Ashrafiya 87, 90–94, government sponsored scheme
97, 99, 101, 165–66, 185 for modernisation 114–15;
deeni talim 142, 152, 154 during colonial period 112;
Deobandi Alim 42, 60, 97, 190 contributions of silver
Deobandi–Barelwi divide 61–65, jewelleries 118; Deoband
72–73, 80, 158n.28, 183–84, model of financial
194–96, 201n.30 organisation 112–13; fees 123;
Deobandi Ehya ul-Ulum 61, government funding, response
105, 183 to 114; Gulf countries,
Deobandi Tabligh Jamaat 96, contributions from 127–28;
131n., 158, 180; see Barelwi madad-e maash 111; mode of
Tabligh early collection (1949–1967)
Deobandiyyat 71 116–20; mode of later
Deoband Madrasa 3, 7, 14, 19, collection (1979–1990) 120–
48, 60, 73, 77n.15, 162; 29; monetary contributors
arrangements for Islamic 126–27; Pakistani madrasas
learning 67–68; curriculum 114; religious processions,
and organisation 13, 16; early collection 117; State
Deobandi ulama 13–14, 97; funding 113; system of
establishment of 13; financing ‘popular financing’ 112–13;
13–14, 112–13, 130n.; traditional 112; waqfiyya 111;
foreign funds 128; founders zakat collections 122
13; holdings of wakf 13; Firangi Mahal, Lucknow 7, 10,
16, 18, 32n.34
244 ò Index
Foucault, Michel 21, 164, 174, Ibrahim, Muhammad 100

176 Ideological State Apparatus (ISA)
functionalisation, of Islamic 22
education 5–6 ilm 69, 142, 159
imkan-e kizb 60
gaddi-nashin of Kichocha 76, imkan-e nazir-e Muhammadi 59–
119, 124 60
Gangoh, Rashid Ahmad 16, 60, incorporated cultural capital 24–
95, 190 25, 210
Gazetteer of Azamgarh 36 Indian debate on madrasas 3–4;
Geertz, Clifford 17 constitution 184–86;
ghair mahram 40 contemporary 13–14;
ghar ki zeenat 39 debating and oratory practice
Ghazi, Salar Masud 36 192–98; ideologies 193;
Girhast, Taiyyab 61 imkan-e nazir-e Muhammadi
Gorakhpur 37, 105 59–60; vs. modern education
Gulistan 56 43–44; naath sessions 196;
scholarly works 4–9; structure
haat bazaar 137 of bazm 193–94; takrir
habitus, madrasa-constituted 20, sessions 195; texts and identity
23–25, 176, 210 186–92; ulama community 5
Hadith 9, 11, 13, 16–17, 67, 69, Indian Muslims, portrayal of 2
91, 99–100, 187–88, 192, institutionalised cultural capital
195 24–25, 210
Hafeez, Abdul 100–101, 120, Islami Akhlaq o Aadaab 167
135 Islamic knowledge,
Hafiz-e Millat Technical Institute dissemination, means of 66–
104 71; Mubarakpur 68–71
Hafiz Nizamuddin madrasa 69 Islamic radicalism 1
Halalkhors 106, 110n.49 Ismail, Muhammad 59–60
Hanafi law 61
Haq, Fazle 59–60 Jabalpuri, Burhan ul-Haqq 56
Hartung, Jan-Peter 9, 17 Jahan, Emperor Shah 37
Hifz 56, 69, 102–3, 141, 148, Jamia Millia Islamia 104
163 Jamiat Ulama-e Hind 62
Hindu College 161 jihadis 1
Hoda, Serajul 105 Jilani, Abdul Qadir 88
Index ò 245
Khaleel, Muhammad 118 96, 101–2; foreign funds 128–

Khan, Ahmad Riza 18, 55, 57, 29; functionaries of 92; guest
73, 98 rooms 161; Gulf countries,
Khan, Hidayat-Ullah 55 contributions from 128;
Khan, Mustafa Riza 97–98 important texts taught 167,
Khan, Syed Ahmad 73, 109n.35 171; income and expenditure
knowledge (ilm) 69 of 116–17, 121;
Kulhaiya caste 137, see also internalisation of discipline
Sheikhra, Surjapuri 177; Islamic ways taught 171;
vs. ‘mainstream’ schools 104;
literacy rate, male vs. female: in medium of teaching 95;
Araria 146; in Bihar 135; in method of surveillance and
Katihar 145–46; in control 164–65; mode of early
Kishanganj 145–46; in collection (1949–1967) 115–
Mubarakpur 44–45 17; ‘modernisation’ of 104;
and Muslim diaspora 82;
madad-e-mash grants 10 notion of sakthi (strictness)
Madani, Husain Ahmad 68 172; objectives 93–94;
Madrasa Ahl-e Hadis 69 organisational structure 93;
Madrasa Ahl-e Sunnat, perception of education to
Gorakhpur 105 families 153–55; power 165–
Madrasa Ain ul-Ulum, Gaya 105, 66; privilege of eating out 171;
196 radd literature 82; reference to
Madrasa Anwar ul-Ulum, ‘worldly’ subjects 95; regional
Azamgarh 105–6 distribution of donations to
Madrasa Ashrafiya (Madrasa 125; role of Abdul Aziz 71–
Ashrafiya Misbahul Ulum) 76, 80, 85, 89, 97, 100; role
76,151, 153, 203; adoption of of Mutawallis 89–90; role of
Dastur 91–94; Ashrafiya’s Sufis 83; routine social
expansion 84–85; buildings practices of students 166–67;
99, 102–4; complex 160; Sarbarah-e Ala 86–87; Shura
constitution 88–92; corporal of 85–86; spatial organisation
punishment 172–73; daily 163; specialised space 161;
prayers 160; Dastur of student behaviour inside 166–
Ashrafiya 165–66; donors 78; student life 162; student
124–25; dress code 175–76; living arrangements 101–3,
establishment of madrasas 119, 162–63; students’ bodily
105–6; expansion 80–81, 95– postures and disciplinary
246 ò Index
regime 174–75; students’ Maslaki identity 151, 183, 187,

rooms 160, 178n.2; styles of 197
recitation 167; successor of Mau district 37
100–101; and Syeds 98–99; Maulana Azad Education
tabligh and takrir/giving Foundation 114
speeches 96; teachers of 172; medieval madrasas 11; scholars
teacher–student relationship 13
166–67, 173; as technical Metcalf, Barbara Daly 7–8, 15,
institute 94; transmission of 95–96, 112, 162
Islamic knowledge 82–83; and Millat Girls Higher Secondary
true Islam 95–96; see also School 42
student achievement, in Misbahi, Yasin Akhtar 84
madrasas Misbahul Ulum 57–58, 60–64,
madrasa-constituted habitus 210 69–72, 74–76
Madrasa Faiz ul-Ulum, modern madrasas 10, 17, 70
Jamshedpur 94, 105 monolithic Muslim identity 3,
Madrasa Faruquia 105 182–83
Madrasa Jamia Ashraf 83 Moore, Henrietta 164
Madrasa Lateefia Misbahul Ulum M. P. Inter College 42–43, 45
63 muballigs 123
Madrasa Misbahul Ulum 58, 66, Mubarakpur 206; Bihari students
71 in madrasas of 146;
Madrasa Muhhadis Surati 69 educational schemes in
Madrasa Naeemia 56, 74 madrasas 48, 53n.47;
Madrasa Shamshul Ulum 74 education of girls 42;
Madrasa Tanzimul Muslimeen geography 35; globalisation
148, 151, 153 and decline of business 49;
Mahanama Ashrafiya 97, 123 housing structure 39;
Majlis-e Amla 90–92, 185 important elements of qasba
Majlis-e-Intezamia/Amla 86 38; Islamic learning 68–71;
Majlis-e Shura 86–87, 90–91 Islamic scholars of 36; Islamic
maktabs 10, 56, 58–64, 71, 96, symbolism in 35–36; literacy
104, 138, 141–42, 147 rate, male vs. female 44–45;
Malik, Jamal 8, 17 morality and women 40–41;
Mannan, Abdul 62, 99–100 mosques of 47–48; Muhallas
Manzar-e Islam 55 38, 58; Muslim networks,
Marufi, Mahmud 58, 60–61, 69 activities in 57–58, 64–65;
Masjid Deena Baba 58 observance of purdah 40;
Index ò 247
outgrowth of society 101; Ottoman Empire 6

patriarchal ideological
structure 45–46; population Pandey, Gyan 46
35, 37–38; position of women pedagogical actions and impacts,
39–41; reference as ‘Muslim of madrasas 159; see also
area’ 35–36; religious circle of Madrasa Ashrafiya; student
60; sectarianism 46–47; Shia– achievement, in madrasas
Sunni problem 46–47; trades Persian-based education 11
38 personal madrasas 69
Mubarakpuri, Nematullah 69 pirs 65, 87, 188, 190; at
Mubarakpuri, Qazi Athar 37, 42 Kichocha 84, 87–88
Mubarakpuri, Shukrullah 62–65, precolonial madrasas 10–11;
69, 71, 97 curriculum 11; stages 11
Mubarak Shah Mosque 64, 119 Prime Minister’s High Level
Muhammadan Anglo Oriental Committee Report on Indian
College 73 Muslims (Sachar Committee
Munafiqin 195, 201n.32 Report) 208
munazara 72, 94, 96–97 Prophet Muhammad 71, 84,
Muslim networks 57–58, 64–65 117, 184, 187, 189–90, 195–
Muslim scholars, medieval 13 96, 198
Muslim World League 128 Purani Basti 58, 99, 102, 116,
Mustafa, Syed Ale 97–98, 127
108n.26 Purnea district: Baisi and Amaur,
lackadaisical approach of
Naeemia madrasa 56, 70, 74, people in 137–41; community
148 donations and government aid
Nanotwi, Qasim 62, 68, 189 for madrasas 147; economic
Nawab Sadat Ali Khan of Awadh structure 137; female literacy
37 139; literacy rate 135; madrasa
Nazim-e Ala 90, 92–93, 100, 185 complex of Baisi and Amaur
Nazim-e Talimat 90–93 147; map 136; Muslim
nazra 103, 141, 163, 166 population 135, 137; Muslim
nizami curriculum 16, 67 women 138; perception of
Noorani, Shah Ahmad 82 education to families 148–50,
nur, concept of 195 153–54; prominent castes
137; reluctance of families
objectivated cultural capital 24– regarding education 140–41,
25 148
248 ò Index
Qadiri–Chishti shrine 76 Sadar 75, 90–92, 100, 106, 119

Qadri, Arshadul 82, 84, 96–97, sahiyul aqid 80
105, 118 sajjadanashin 57, 64
Qadri, Badrul 82, 84 sanad (degree) of qirat 70
Qari 70 Sanyal, Usha 18, 56
qasba of Mubarakpur 19 Sarbarah-e-Ala of Ashrafiya 86–
Qasim, Maulana Muhammad 13 87, 101–2, 120
Qayuum, Abdul 74 sarkari madrasas 113, 140
qirat 70, 148 Sarparast-e Idara 87
Quran 5, 9–11, 13, 17, 42, 56, scriptural Muslims 17
58–60, 67–68, 104, 141, 152, secularism 3, 182
167, 190, 196 Shafi, Maulana Muhammad 100
Shakur, Abdul 152–53
Rahman, Abdur 37, 51 sharif culture 7
Raja Mubarak Shah mosque 64 Sharif, Hakim Muhammad 56
Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh Sheikhra caste 137, see also
(RSS) 1 Kulhaiya, Surjapuri
rational sciences 13, 16, 95 Siddique, Muhammad 57–59, 69
Rauf, Muhammad 99 Sikand, Yoginder 6
Raza, Kazim 147–48 silsila 84
Reifeld, Helmut 9 Simnani, Ashraf Jehangir 87
religious education 1–2, 4, 6, 20, social reproduction theory 21
28, 45, 56, 69, 94, 113, 124, Starrett, Gregory 5
142, 146, 150, 186, 197, student achievement, in madrasas
203–5, 207–8 207; Bihar 134–35, 142–44,
Revolt of 1857 (Mutiny, 210; Bihari students in
Uprising of 1857) 13, 112 madrasas of 146; Jharkhand
135; modern secular learning
Riza, Ahmad 74 146–47; numbers of madrasas
Roadways Chauraha 38 145; Purnea district see Purnea
Robinson, Francis 7–8, 17; district; Uttar Pradesh 134;
Indian Muslim society 8 West Bengal 134–35; see also
rudad 115, 123–24, 126, 133 Madrasa Ashrafiya
students’ bodily postures, in
Sachar Committee Report (SCR), madrasa 174–75
see also Prime Minister’s High Subhan, Muhammad 151–52
Level Committee Report on Surjapuri caste 137, see also
Indian Muslims 146, 208 Kulhaiya, Sheikhra 137
Index ò 249
Syeds, status of 98–99, 204 Umar, Muhammad 62–63, 71–

syncretic practices 16–17 72, 119
Urdu 6, 15–16, 56, 68, 75, 80,
tabligh 93–94, 96, 123 154
Tabligh Jamaat ( Deobandi Uttar Pradesh Arabic–Persian
Tabligh Jamaat ) 96, 131n.23 Board 133
takrir 71, 93, 96, 117–18, 154,
193, 195–96 Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) 1
Taliban 1–2
tana-bana 50 Wahab, Abdul 62–63
Taqwaitul Iman 59, 77, 190 Wahabism 128
tarawih prayers 152, 158n.30 Waliullah’s concept of ‘inner
Tariqa-e Muhhamadiya 59 caliphate’ 14
tasar silk 37 Wali-ul-llah, Shah 16
tazia processions 67 World Assembly of Muslim
teacher’s status, in madrasa Youth 128
79n.44 World Muslim League 82
Thanwi, Ashraf Ali 42, 60, 189–
90 Yahya, Qari Muhammad 100
Treaty of Friendship 37
true Islam 66, 95–96, 128, 185, Zaman, Muhammad Qasim 7–8
190, 196, 198

Inside A Madrasa Knowledge, Power and Islamic Identity in India

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Inside a Madrasa

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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

1. History and the Present in Mubarakpur:

Appendix I: Constitution of Madrasa Ashrafiya 211

4.1 Income and Expenditure of Madrasa

4.2 Income and Expenditure of Madrasa

4.3 Main Sources of Income and Expenditure,

4.4 Regional Distribution of Donations to

5.1 Regional Distribution of Successful

5.2 District- and Standard-wise Distribution

5.3 District- and Standard-wise Distribution

1. Uttar Pradesh, with details of various districts xix

2. Azamgarh, showing Mubarakpur and adjoining areas xx

3. Purnea emphasising Amaur and Baisi xxi

3.1 The entrance of Madrasa Ashrafiya 81

6.1 Students and alumni congregate during the urs of

6.2 Recent madrasa graduates with their

6.3 Wall posters in one of the hostel rooms 169

adab: etiquette, proper behaviour (be-adab: without adab; ba-adab:

hadis: the sayings of Prophet Muhammad based on the authority

milad: literally birthday, used particularly for celebration of the

sarparast: patron of an institution, usually in an advisory role

It is with great pleasure that I acknowledge the help and guidance of

suggested that modern education be imparted in madrasas in an

traditions as well as secularism. As I show in this study, nothing

Towards a Preliminary Review of Literature

whether it meant autonomy for the madrasas or it remained

describes the process whereby elements of Islamic tradition like the

Moreover they are penned by disciples or scholars who claim their

identities and institutions have themselves evolved in the nineteeth

of reasoning also runs in another work, specifically focussing on

The Subject/Object of Study

them to receive education in that particular book and obtained

the medieval educational system. This distinction was the specific

the construction of religion as a new historical object: anchored in

In India, the British constantly encountered situations and

also commonly made in the sphere of education. In government

dichotomy was in the interest of the ulama as they positioned

among the Muslims of India. Such a change was obviously central

no longer present, the ulama’s power would solely depend upon

been variously commented upon in the Indian context. Part of the

The present study is an attempt to fill this gap in the extant

establish that education and more so religious education is hardly

enterprise, Durkheim sought to link systems of ideas with the

argued that the educational system was an integral element in the

reproduction. Since the work uses some of the concepts of

credentials contribute to ensuring the reproduction of social inequality

However, it was through his concepts of habitus, cultural capital

we must behave. It is the habitus which immanently transforms

Institutions are consolidated social groups which have the power

Doing Fieldwork Under Suspicion

to some documents. While they were suspicious of me, they also

social anthropology of the Ansaris of this qasba would be a

The New The New York Times Magazine, 25 June 2000.

Sikand, Bastions of the Believers: Madrasas and Islamic Education in

subjects, the government wanted to control their functioning. More

the Military’, Asia Report 36, 29 July 2002; Muhammad Qasim

World Civilisation, vol. 2, Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1974,