Cultural Fusion of Sufi Islam: Alternative Paths to Mystical Faith 2019029760, 2019029761, 9781138615038, 9780429463549

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Contents
List of Figures and table
Acknowledgments
Contributors
Introduction
Part I Cultural fusion
1 Tasting the sweet: Guru Nanak and Sufi delicacies
2 The “Sufism” of Monsieur Ibrahim
3 Promoting social and religious harmony: Bāul’s origin and migration West and Roji Sarker’s performance in the British Bangladeshi diaspora
Part II Poetry and literature
4 Making passion popular: sung poetry in Urdu and its social effects in South Asia
5 Shaping the way we believe: Sufism in modern Turkish culture and literature
6 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism in an early Ottoman context: Eşrefoğlu Rumi and his book of the Sufi path
Part III Devotional expressions in hagiography and music
7 Calligraphy as a Sufi practice
8 The abstraction of love: personal emotion and mystical spirituality in the life narrative of a Sufi devotee
9 “O beloved my heart longs for thee”: devotionalism and gender transgression in the songs of Miazbhandariyya Tariqa in Bangladesh
Part IV Political discourse
10 Injecting God into politics: modelling Asma’ ul Husna as a Sufi-based panacea to political conflict in contemporary Malaysia
11 Sufism and communism: the poetry of Fuʾad Haddad
Index

Citation preview

Cultural Fusion of Sufi Islam

It has been argued that the mystical Sufi form of Islam is the most sensitive to other cultures, being accommodative to other traditions and generally tolerant to peoples of other faiths. It usually becomes integrated into local cultures, and they are similarly often infused into Sufism. Examples of this reciprocity are commonly reflected in Sufi poetry, music, hagiographic genres, memoirs and the ritualistic practices of Sufi traditions. This volume shows how this often sidelined tradition functions in the societies in which it is found and demonstrates how it relates to mainstream Islam. The focus of this book ranges from reflecting Sufi themes in Qur’anic calligraphy to movies, from ideals to everyday practices, from legends to actual history, from gender segregation to gender transgression and from legalism to spiritualism. The International panel of contributors to this volume are trained in a range of disciplines that include religious studies, history, comparative literature, anthropology and ethnography. Covering Southeast Asia to West Africa, as well as South Asia and the West, they address both historical and contemporary issues, shedding light on Sufism’s adaptability. This book sets aside conventional methods of understanding Islam, such as theological, juridical and philosophical, in favor of analyzing its cultural impact. As such, it will be of great interest to all scholars of Islamic studies, the sociology of religion and religion and media, as well as religious studies and area studies more generally. Sarwar Alam is Visiting Assistant Professor at the King Fahd Center for Middle East Studies at the University of Arkansas, United States. He has published widely on the subject of Islam in various journals, as well as edited volumes and two books, Sufism, Pluralism and Democracy (2017), coedited with Clinton Bennett, and Perceptions of Self, Power, and Gender among Muslim Women (2018).

Routledge Studies in Religion

American Catholic Bishops and the Politics of Scandal Rhetoric of Authority Meaghan O’Keefe Celebrity Morals and the Loss of Religious Authority John Portmann Reimagining God and Resacralisation Alexa Blonner Said Nursi and Science in Islam Character Building through Nursi’s Mana-i harfi Necati Aydin The Diversity of Nonreligion Normativities and Contested Relations Johannes Quack, Cora Schuh, and Susanne Kind The Role of Religion in Gender-Based Violence, Immigration, and Human Rights Edited by Mary Nyangweso and Jacob K. Olupona Italian American Pentecostalism and the Struggle for Religious Identity Paul J. Palma Cultural Fusion of Sufi Islam Alternative Paths to Mystical Faith Sarwar Alam For more information about this series, please visit: www.routledge.com/ religion/series/SE0669

Cultural Fusion of Sufi Islam Alternative Paths to Mystical Faith Edited by Sarwar Alam

First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 selection and editorial matter, Sarwar Alam individual chapters, the contributors The right of Sarwar Alam to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Alam, Sarwar, editor. Title: The cultural fusion of Sufi Islam : alternative paths to mystical faith / edited by Sarwar Alam. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2020. | Series: Routledge studies in religion | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2019029760 (print) | LCCN 2019029761 (ebook) | ISBN 9781138615038 (hardback) | ISBN 9780429463549 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Sufism. | Mysticism—Islam. | Islam and culture. Classification: LCC BP189 .C85 2020 (print) | LCC BP189 (ebook) | DDC 297.4—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019029760 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019029761 ISBN: 978-1-138-61503-8 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-429-46354-9 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

To my parents, and Professor Vincent J. Cornell

Contents

List of Figures and tableix Acknowledgmentsx Contributorsxii Introduction

1

SARWAR ALAM

PART I

Cultural fusion31   1 Tasting the sweet: Guru Nanak and Sufi delicacies

33

NIKKY-GUNINDER KAUR SINGH

  2 The “Sufism” of Monsieur Ibrahim

57

MILAD MILANI

  3 Promoting social and religious harmony: Bāul’s origin and migration West and Roji Sarker’s performance in the British Bangladeshi diaspora

72

CLINTON BENNETT

PART II

Poetry and literature93   4 Making passion popular: sung poetry in Urdu and its social effects in South Asia

95

SCOTT KUGLE

  5 Shaping the way we believe: Sufism in modern Turkish culture and literature HUSEYIN ALTINDIS

115

viii  Contents   6 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism in an early Ottoman context: Eşrefoğlu Rumi and his book of the Sufi path

130

BARIŞ BAŞTÜRK

PART III

Devotional expressions in hagiography and music147   7 Calligraphy as a Sufi practice

149

MANUELA CEBALLOS

  8 The abstraction of love: personal emotion and mystical spirituality in the life narrative of a Sufi devotee

161

PNINA WERBNER

  9 “O beloved my heart longs for thee”: devotionalism and gender transgression in the songs of Miazbhandariyya Tariqa in Bangladesh

178

SARWAR ALAM

PART IV

Political discourse199 10 Injecting God into politics: modelling Asma’ ul Husna as a Sufi-based panacea to political conflict in contemporary Malaysia

201

AHMAD FAUZI ABDUL HAMID AND NOORULHAFIDZAH ZAWAWI

11 Sufism and communism: the poetry of Fuʾad Haddad

228

ABDULLAH RAMADAN KHALAF MOURSI AND MOHAMED A. MOHAMED

Index247

Figures and table

Figures 10.1 Razaleigh’s one-way communication method. 213 10.2 Root causes of the destructive opposition mentality. 216 10.3 Soul-emotion-brain-physical excellence model for opposition politicians. 217 10.4 The soul treatment process. 218 10.5 Model of treatment techniques for execution of strategies for problem solving. 219 10.6 Holistic model of excellent opposition based on the Asma ul-Husna.220

Table 10.1 List of Anwar Ibrahim’s cronies.

211

Acknowledgments

I gratefully acknowledge the dedication, commitment and patience of my colleagues who contributed to this volume. I also gratefully acknowledge the generosity of Routledge for granting permission for using a copyrighted chapter in this volume. I also appreciate the help of Joshua Wells and R. Yuga Harini of Routledge, as well as two anonymous reviewers of the proposal. I wish to express my gratitude to Dr. Joel Gordon, Professor of History and the former Director of the King Fahd Center for Middle East Studies at the University of Arkansas, as well as the editor of the International Journal of Middle East Studies. Special thanks to him for reviewing one of my chapters and for selecting the title of the volume. I also express my gratitude to Dr. Ted R. Swedenburg, Program Coordinator of the King Fahd Center for Middle East Studies, for reducing my class loads in order for me to complete my writing projects, and Dr.  Thomas R. Paradise, former Director of the King Fahd Center for Middle East Studies, for his encouragements. Special thanks go to Dr. Nikolay A. Antov for his continual encouragement and to Kaveh Bassiri for keeping my hopes up. I am grateful to Mahfuza Akhter and Nani Verzon of the King Fahd Center for their help, too. I  am also grateful for the sincere help of the staff of the Mullins Library of the University of Arkansas, especially Robin Roggio of the inter-library loan section. I am also expressing my gratitude to my teachers and colleagues at Emory University. I  especially thank Professors Vincent J. Cornell, Rikia E. Cornell, Gordon D. Newby, Joyce B. Flueckger, Allal el-Hajjm, Laurie L. Patton, Michael G. Peletz and V. Narayana Rao. I  wish to express my deep appreciation to my friends Nazrul Islam, ANMA Momin, Faruk Iqbal, Zillur Rahman, Mozammel Haque Chowdhury, Mamunur Rashid, Kabir Majumder, Dr.  Monoar Kabir and Dr.  Spencer L. Allen for their support and encouragement. Special thanks to Annika Tabassum of the University of Arkansas of Medical Sciences and Ghaleeb A. Hakim and Apanuba Puhama, who are always enthusiastic about anything I  write. Finally, I  thank my wife, Dr.  Najma Alam, for having confidence in me.

Acknowledgments xi I have learned and studied Sufism under the tutelage of Professor Vincent J. Cornell, mostly during my post-doctoral years at Emory University. He spent an immeasurable amount of his time in guiding me. At this point, I would also like to express my gratitude to my parents for their unconditional love and affection. It is to my father, Abdul Hakim Talukder; my late mother, Umme Elahi Begum; and my teacher, Professor Vincent J. Cornell, that I dedicate this volume.

Contributors

Sarwar Alam is Visiting Assistant Professor at University of Arkansas, United States. Huseyin Altindis is Assistant Professor at Selçuk Üniversitesi, Turkey. Barış Baştürk is a PhD student in the Department of History of the University of Arkansas, United States. Clinton Bennett teaches at the State University of New York at New Paltz, New York; Marist College, New York; and University of Cambridge, United Kingdom. He is the series editor of Studying Islam: The Critical Issues (Continuum). Manuela Ceballos is Assistant Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Tennessee, United States. Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid is Professor of Political Science, School of Distance Education, and Consultant Researcher with the Centre for Policy Research and International Studies, Universiti Sains Malaysia. Scott Kugle is Professor of Middle Eastern and South Asian Studies at Emory University, Georgia, United States. Milad Milani is Senior Lecturer in Islamic Studies at Western Sydney University, Australia. Mohamed A. Mohamed is Associate Professor of Sociology of Religion, Department of Sociology, at Northern Arizona University, United States. Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi is Associate Professor of Arabic literature, Faculty of Languages, at Al-Madina International University, Malaysia. Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh is the Crawford Family Professor of Religious Studies at Colby College, Maine, United States.

Contributors xiii Pnina Werbner is Professor Emerita in the Social Anthropology department at Keele University, United Kingdom. Noorulhafidzah Zawawi is Lecturer in Political Science, College of Government, Law and International Studies (COLGIS), Universiti Utara Malaysia.

Introduction

Introduction Sarwar Alam There are many faces of Islam; one such face is mystical or Sufi Islam, which comes with many forms and dimensions of its own. This volume attempts to introduce Sufism (tasawwuf ) in understanding Islam – an unconventional, ˙ often sidelined tradition. It has been argued that Sufi Islam is more sensitive to other cultures, more accommodative to other traditions and more tolerant to peoples of other faiths than the exoteric Islam. As Clinton Bennett points out, “Sufis, traditionally, are open and tolerant toward diversity, respecting other faiths and even emphasize commonalities. Some accept non-Muslim initiates.”1 It has also been argued that Sufi Islam is infused into local cultures and local cultures are infused into Sufi Islam in many ways. Examples of this reciprocity are reflected in Sufi poetry, music, hagiographic genres, memoirs and ritualistic practices. In some cultures, Sufi shrines are viewed as public places that are not only shared by Muslims but are also shared by adherents of other faiths. Some Sufi ideals, such as the idea of fanā’, or annihilation; yearning for the beloved; and contemplation, among others, resonate the ideals of other traditions. This volume attempts to unveil some of the Sufi ideals and perceptions that are infused in the cultural practices of various countries. In this volume, we perceive cultural fusions as an alternative path to understand Sufi Islam.

Islamic/Islamicized culture Culture is a way of life and a worldview of a certain group of people at a certain place and at a certain point of time, which is expressed in a complex system of signs, symbols and their meanings. It is a shared and learned system of meanings through which people orient themselves in the world. In his book titled The Interpretation of Cultures (1973), Clifford Geertz contends that the concept of culture is a semiotic one. He holds that the culture concept “denotes an historically transmitted pattern of meanings embodied

2  Introduction in symbols, a system of inherited conceptions expressed in symbolic forms by means of which men communicate, perpetuate, and develop their knowledge about and attitudes toward life.”2 Geertz also defines religion as a cultural system or a system of symbols.3 In his Islam Observed (1968), a comparative study of Islam in two Muslimmajority countries, Morocco and Indonesia, he demonstrates how Islam is grounded in local cultures. Engaging Geertz but grounded in Max Weber, Dale F. Eickelman argues that ideas, and systems of ideas, especially those which fundamentally shape men’s attitudes toward the world and their conduct in it, cannot be analytically construed as ahistorical Platonic entities, unaffected by the ravages of time. They are in constant tension with social reality, shaping it and in turn being shaped.4 Unlike Geertz, his research reflects the voices of his informants. Eickelman contends that his study “serves to document Marshall Hodgson’s claim that the so-called ‘folk’ culture of Islam shares substantially the same dynamic force that he found more visible in Islam’s ‘high’ culture.”5 However, going against the trend of generalization as well as essentialization of Islam, Abdul Hamid el-Zein (1977) explains the complexity in defining and using symbols with which to study religion. He holds that symbols and their meanings are fluid and indeterminate. In order to understand as well as to communicate the symbols and their meanings to others, an anthropologist stabilizes these meanings and thus makes symbols finite and well-bounded containers of thought.6 El-Zein claims that there is no single Islam but rather there are multiple islams, and as such the idea of a single Islam must be abandoned. According to him, a comparative study of Islam is not possible with fixed meanings of symbols. In this regard Robert Launay points out that “Islam is obviously not a ‘product’ of any specific local community but rather a global entity in itself,” and that “the problem for anthropologists is to find a framework in which to analyze the relationship between this single, global entity, Islam, and the multiple entities that are the religious beliefs and practices of Muslims in specific communities at specific moments in history.”7 In addressing the tension between the universality and diverse local practices, Talal Asad (1986) comes up with a concept that he calls “discursive tradition.” Arguing primarily against Geertz, he contends that if one wants to write an anthropology of Islam one should begin, as Muslims do, from the concept of a discursive tradition that includes and relates itself to the founding texts of the Qur’an and the Hadith. Islam is neither a distinctive social structure nor a heterogeneous collection of beliefs, artifacts, customs, and morals. It is a tradition.8

Introduction 3 According to Asad, a practice is Islamic “because it is authorized by the discursive traditions of Islam, and is so taught to Muslims – whether by an ‘alim, a khatib, a Sufi shaykh, or an untutored parent.”9 After a close review of Asad, Shahab Ahmed argues that the pre-­ conceptualization of Islam as a discursive tradition privileges Islam constitutive of those texts and practices whose purpose is to prescribe and prejudices against nonprescriptive discourses, texts and practices.10 He is also convinced that Asad’s conceptualization of Islam as a discursive tradition effectively collapses the categories of “Islam” and “orthodoxy,” meaning it functions superbly as the conceptualization of orthodoxy as discursive tradition but not as much of Islam as such.11 He holds that orthodoxy tends to rule out the authenticity of the less powerful and nonprescriptive texts and practices and suggests that to understand the discursive tradition of Islam, one must conceive not only of prescriptive authority but also of what he calls “explorative authority,” such as the Sufis and philosophers who set out into the unknown, the uncertain, the unsettled and the new.12 Aside from anthropologists, we may engage historians’ perspectives to have a different understanding in defining Islam, Islamic culture and Islamic civilization. While defining Islam and Islamic culture, Marshall Hodgson13 equates Islam with personal piety and other social and intellectual traditions of Muslims expressed in literature, art, philosophy or political organizations as less or less properly Islam or Islamic; rather, he labels these as Islamicate or cultural.14 “For Hodgson, literature and art are ‘Islamic’ only when they clearly treat ‘religious’ themes,”15 and “he sets up the pious core of Islamproper in opposition to adab/culture.”16 “However unwittingly, Hodgson’s distinction between Islamic and Islamicate, are less Islamic  – that is, less pure and authentic – than ‘faith’ or religion,’ ” a portrayal of Islam, observes Ahmed, not very distant from that of a fundamentalist or Salafi.17 By further explicating Hodgson’s conceptualization of the term Islamicate, Bruce B. Lawrence18 defines Islam as a religion or faith system and Islamicate as a global force or civilization. According to him, Islamicate civilization derives from Islam but these two concepts are neither synonymous nor interchangeable. He points out that Islamicate civilization relates to Islam but also exceeds it. Islamicate civilization is about the complex of social relations that comprise the vast historical canvas of the Muslim people.19 Lawrence’s conceptualization of Islam and Islamicate civilization implies that anything other than Islam proper, such as belief, ritual, doctrine, or law, is Islamicate.20 Unlike Hodgson and Lawrence but with a different intent and purpose, Ahmet Karamustafa holds that Islam cannot be understood as a culture, as particularism of any kind “has always been challenged, contested, and more often than not, counterbalanced in Islamic history by universalism.”21 He also draws attention to the fact that any particular culture cannot be identified thoroughly with Islam either; Islam is simultaneously in and above

4  Introduction cultures.22 Like many others before him, Karamustafa observes that Islamic civilization draws from other cultural wellsprings. It is an heir to the variegated cultural heritage of the Hellenistic Near East of late antiquity (with distinct Greek, Persian, Mesopotamian, Syrian and Egyptian strands, to name only the most prominent); the new civilization proceeded to incorporate many other cultural traditions – North African, Saharan/sub-Saharan African, Iberian, South-east European, Indian, Central Asian, South-east Asian – into its multicolored fabric. He holds, “Islam is a civilizational project in progress; it is an evolving civilizational tradition constantly churning different cultures in its crucible to generate innumerable, alternative social and cultural blueprints for the conduct of human life on earth.”23 By engaging Geertz, Asad, Hodgson, Karamustafa and others but with a different conclusion, Michael Cooperson points out that all Muslims share the belief that there is no god but God and Muhammad is His messenger. But this shared belief and some common rituals are only part of what any given Muslim may think of as his or her culture. A Muslim of a particular country may belong to both the perceived worldwide community of Muslims and to his or her national community, as well as other local groupings, at the same time.24 Considering the degree of diversity, overlapping and locationality in terms of time and space, Cooperson concludes that Islam is not a culture but rather a cultural system that incorporates contributions of the members of other faiths as well as civilizations, such as Jews or Christians and Greeks, respectively.25 Though Islam may not be viewed as a culture, experience shows the plausibility of expression of Islamicized cultures. Can a culture that absorbs, subsumes and nourishes Islamic symbols and expresses them in its own production of art, music, poetry, literature and architecture be called Islamicized? Islam, as Karamustafa noted, can be in and above cultures, but the culture of a particular group of people, location, or time can be Islamicized with the multiplicity of form, expression and practice. Sufism is one of the more creative or “explorative,” to coin Ahmed’s (2016) phrase, branches of Islam, one that not only infuses Islamic symbolisms into cultural artifacts, practices and worldviews of a particular community or locality; but in doing so also subsumes others’ cultural artifacts, practices and symbols in its fold. Most of the chapters in this volume reflect a reciprocity of cultural fusion of Sufi Islam in different communities.

Sufism defined Sufism is an umbrella term for a special type of Islamic piety that is expressed in the forms of extensive prayer; night vigil; fasting and bodily mortification; otherworldliness; devotion and love of God and the Prophet and, by extension, all the creatures of God. It began as a form of asceticism and, in some cases, as a personal and social protest against the perceived deviation of the early Muslims from the true path of God.26 Alexander Knysh observes:

Introduction 5 Acts of penitence and self-abnegation, which their practitioners justified by references to certain Qur’anic verses and the Prophet’s utterances, were, in part, a reaction against the Islamic state’s newly acquired wealth and complacency, as well as ‘impious’ pastimes and conduct of the Umayyad rulers and their officials.27 Some scholars view Sufism as a form of Islamic Protestantism in the sense that it deemphasizes traditional public worship in masjids, or mosques, in favor of individual study with a religious teacher, a pir or shaykh, who offers his disciples a deeply satisfying piety they do not experience in mosque services.28 The Arabic term for Sufism is tasawwuf, which denotes a particular type ˙ of piety, a way of living, a set of practices and an ideal.29 It is claimed that the very word “Sufism” derives from an Arabic root word suf, or wool. Thus, Sufis are sometimes also referred to as wool-wearers or wearers of undyed rough wool garments.30 It is also claimed that the word Sufism derives from the root safa, or purity, or from Suffa, indicating the ardent followers of the Prophet who lived or occupied the first row or rank in his mosque (ahl al-suffa).31 The word could also derive from the Greek word sophos, meaning wise.32 It appeared in the Islamic vocabulary during the Abbasid period, when it especially referred to an organized body of mystics.33 A Sufi was also sometimes referred to as faqir and darwish, meaning men of the spiritual life. However, the word Sufism gained its special meaning in the middle of the ninth century, as an ascetic way of life. The nickname Sufi was first applied to a certain Abu Hashim ‘Uthman b. Sharik (d. 776), and by the middle of the ninth century it had become the regular designation for those who practiced austerity.34 Sufism is individualistic and consists of a variety of personal piety concerned more with personal problems with a subjective awareness in order to deepen and purify inward worship;35 at least in the formative period, Sufism is meant to be a way of interiorizing Islam.36 Sufism is also defined as an experiential and imaginal method of knowing the unknown by contemplating the signs that are beyond the textual grasp.37 It is sometimes described as a journey toward the “Ultimate Reality,” a journey of realizing nothingness and annihilation of the self before God.38 It leads to self-knowledge as well as the knowledge of the divine, as one of the hadith qudsi or sacred hadith depicts: “Whosoever knows his self, knows his Lord;39 that is, self-­ knowledge leads to knowledge of the Divine.”40 “Sufism seeks to lead adepts to the heart, where they find both their true self and their Beloved, and for that reason Sufis are sometimes called “the people of the heart” (ahl-i dil in Persian),41 as the heart is where the Divine Reality resides. One of the sacred ahadith (sing. hadith) states, “The Heavens and the earth cannot contain Me, but the heart of My faithful servant does contain Me.”42 Sufism is also defined as the path of love;43 one of the names of God is al-Wadūd, or love. “And since love is part of the Divine Nature, all of existence, which issues

6  Introduction from Him, is permeated by love.”44 God is said to have created the world out of His mercy and love. According to the great Sufi theoretician Ibn al-‘Arabi (d. 1240), the divine mercy that gives rise to the universe is existence itself. The very act of bringing things into existence is an act of gentleness and kindness.45 The same point is made in terms of love in a saying constantly quoted in Sufi texts: “I was a Hidden treasure,” God says, “so I loved to be known. Hence, I created the creatures that I might be known.”46 One of the early Sufis of Baghdad, al-Junayd (d. 910), notes that Sufism means that God makes thee to die to thyself and to become alive in Him. It is to purify the heart from the recurrence of creaturely temptations, to bid farewell to all natural inclinations, to subdue the qualities which belong to human nature, to keep far from the claims of the senses, to adhere to spiritual qualities, to ascend by means of Divine knowledge, to be occupied with that which is eternally the best, to give wise counsel to all people, to observe the Truth faithfully, and to follow the Prophet in respect of the religious law.47 Sufis insist on remembering God not only in a contemplative way but also by witnessing (mushahada) the “signs” (ayat) around them. As some Sufis believe, this is because God discloses Himself in every existing thing.48 One of the signs of such disclosure (tajalli) is time itself; signs are also revealed in the Book and in nature.49 Witnessing as well as embodying the signs, a cultivated virtue called ihsan (doing the beautiful),50 along with sincerity (ikhlas) constitutes tasawwuf. ˙ of extinction in the love of God. Sufis endeavor to Sufism is a tradition discover the hidden treasure by deciphering the signs of God. Did God not say, “He is nearer to man than human’s jugular vein” (Qur’an 50:16)? The Qur’an also states reciprocal love between God and humanity. However, the notion of reciprocal love between God and humans is sharply objected to by the mainstream ‘ulama’. According to this view, love means loving God’s commands, that is, strict obedience. Yet it remained the central issue with the Sufi-minded people, whose love was directed not only to God but also to God’s beloved, the Prophet, love for whom became a highly important ingredient in Muslim life.51 “As the first Sūra of the Koran [sic.] begins with words al-hamdu lillāh,‘Praise be to God,’ thus praise of God fills the created world, ˙audible to those who understand the signs. Is not Muhammad’s very name derived from the root h-m-d, ‘to praise’?,” argues Annemarie Schimmel.52 The mutuality of love ˙expressed in the Qur’an (5:54)53 is oftentimes sidelined in the exoteric tradition. On the contrary, Sufis long for God’s love but also for the love of humanity and vice versa. To them, love is transcendent. Scholars like Fazlur Rahman, who viewed Sufism negatively and labeled some Sufis as spiritual delinquents,54 admit that with their love and pure devotion, Sufis challenge the legists’ concept of obedience and observance of

Introduction 7 the Law.55 So irresistible is its appeal to the masses that, notes Rahman, “the sobering voice of the ‘‘Ulamā’ gradually lost its influence, and orthodox Islam finally capitulated” after the fourteenth century.56 Sufism is perceived as the path of love. Sufism, notes Kabir Helminski, incorporates the vertical dimension of human experience, the ascent of the soul through known stages of purification. This ascent is, he holds, “accomplished by nothing less than the power of Love that is the transforming force within spiritual life, and without which Islam is incomplete.”57 The various manifestations of ihsan focus on the quality of love, especially in Sufism, “where love is typically presented as the key to Islamic life and practice.”58 Because of this, Sufism is described as the school of passionate love, or madhhab-i ‘ishq. It is ‘ishq, at once transformative and redemptive, human and divine, that has been a means of spiritual ascension for the seekers who yearn to behold God here and now, observes Omid Safi, who translated this mystical path as the path of radical love, or Mazhab-e eshq (Arabic: madhhab al-‘ishq).59

Chronology of development Sufism embodies two streams, asceticism and mysticism. Ascetic practices of some early adherents of Islam paved the way for the emergence of Islamic mysticism. It was not until Rabi‘a al-‘Adawiyya (d. 801) that asceticism turned toward mysticism.60 Some of the early ascetics were Abu’l-Darda (d. 652), his wife Umm al-Darda, Salman al-Farisi (d. 655 or 657), Hudhayfa b. al-Yaman (d. 657) and Imran b. al-Husayn al-Khuza‘i (d. 672 or 673).61 These pious Muslims were referred to as nussak (devout), zuhhad (world renouncer) and ‘ubbad (worshippers), who turned their backs on worldly life and devoted themselves to a life of self-mortification, self-purification and Prophetic piety. Some of the early ascetics were constant weepers, as they were concerned about salvation and the fear of God. Some of them wore woolen garments, which resembled the Christian monks’ and ascetics’ woolen robes, as a symbol of pietistic withdrawal,62 in contrast to the wealthy Muslims, who wore expensive silk and cotton. In some cases, ascetic practices began as a personal protest against the luxuries and perceived injustices incurred by the dynastic governing elites.63 The most prominent example of social protest of mystics is the group known as Malāmatīs as well as its offshoot Qalandarīs, who practiced an extreme form of asceticism and “sought to destroy social conventions in order to shock the good conscience of Muslim society.”64 In the course of time their reaction took various shapes and forms, with some of them utterly outstripping all religious and social norms.65 However, acts of penitence and selfabnegation of early ascetics were, in part, a reaction against the wealth and complacency and impious conduct of the elites.66 It has been argued that ascetic practices of some early adherents of Islam paved the way for the emergence of Islamic mysticism. It is said that the first known socially active Muslim ascetic was Abu Dharr Ghifari (d. 652), one

8  Introduction of the Companions (sahaba) of the Prophet, Muhammad. He was born in Medina and spent his later life in Damascus. Frustrated with the lavish and worldly lives of some of the Companions, Abu Dharr chose a way of living that marked the beginning of a new movement in later eras. According to him, “It is through asceticism that God makes wisdom and goodness enters men’s hearts.”67 He was famous for his criticism against the hypocrisy of the political elites of his days. Another example of this kind was Hasan alBasri (d. 728). He cited examples of Muhammad along with Moses, Jesus and David as models of the ascetic way of life.68 He opined, “Be with this world as if you had never been in it, and with the next as if you were never to leave it.”69 In Hasan’s environment and probably under his influence, men and women from Iraqi and Syrian lands appeared and practiced the art of controlling the temptations of the kernel self, or nafs, which according to a saying of the Prophet is the greatest jihad,70 and about which Rumi says, “Don’t make the Jesus of your being carry the donkey of your ego; let Jesus ride the donkey.”71 The practice of mortification, renunciation and the fear of God encouraged the later generation of ascetics to become more conscious about God, which gradually turned them to focus on the soul and its relationship with God. Rabi‘a al-‘Adawiya, asked once whether she loved God and hated the Devil, replied: “My love of God has prevented me from the hatred of Satan.”72 It was perhaps Rabi‘a, who first emphasized love in addition to mortification and renunciation, in defining the relationship between God and an ascetic. Rabi‘a is said to have prayed “O God! if I worship Thee in fear of Hell, burn me in Hell; and if I worship Thee in hope of Paradise, exclude me from Paradise; but if I worship Thee for Thine own sake, withhold not Thine Everlasting Beauty!”73 She was probably the first who claimed to teach the doctrine of Divine Love (muhabba)74 as the “doctrine of Pure Love,” the disinterested love of God for His own sake alone.75 Abu ‘Abdullah Harith ibn Asad al-Muhasibi was one of the early Sufis who were influenced by a contemporary, Dhu’l-Nun Misri. Al-Muhasibi was born in Basra in 781, came to Baghdad as a young man and died there in 847. He gave precedence on the total surrender to God over everything else, which he called ri‘aya. He asked for subordinating the regulation of acts or rituals and directing every individual action, continually renewed in the heart, to serve one Master – God, before anything else. He emphasized the transformation of man from within by means of a rule for living, which involves (a) distinguishing reason (‘aql) from science (‘ilm) and (b) distinguishing faith (’iman) from real wisdom (ma‘rifa). To him, obedience was more important than observance. He argued that ‘aql, or reason, should be used to discover God’s preference so that the soul could reach the loving pre-eternal providence with the divine touches. Like other ascetics before him, al-Muhasibi was haunted by the fear of death and wrath of God in the life Hereafter. To overcome unhappiness and adversity, he recommended

Introduction 9 practicing contentment (rida) and to express gratitude (shukr) and take everything as divine gift and grace.76 Dhu’l-Nun Misri (796–856) was another early mystic who was born in upper Egypt. He was said to have traveled widely: to Mecca, Damascus and the cells of the Christian ascetics on Mt. Lukkam, south of Antioch. He was one of the first propagators of sama‘ (music) sessions. Like Rabi‘a, he used love poems in describing the relationship between the lover and the beloved and the notion of union with God. A number of his sayings exhibited erotic symbolism; he often spoke of God as the mystic’s intimate Friend and Lover.77 One of his statements was as follows: “I  desired to glimpse You, and when I saw You, I was overcome by a fit of joy and could not hold back my tears.” He cited the Torah and David in envisioning the sight of God. He was also the first to define and teach “the classification of the mystical states (tartib al-ahwal).”78 According to him, there are four doors to wisdom: fear, hope, love and passionate longing. Like al-Muhasibi, he also argued that man could not achieve God’s fellowship without His aid, “For it is God who chooses his lovers from pre-eternity.”79 The counterpart of Rabi‘a and Dhu’l-Nun in the eastern region was Ibrahim b. Adham (d. 777), who also described the notion of love in attaining God’s grace. He was said to be a prince of Balkh and converted to mysticism after hearing a “call” when he was out on a hunting trip. During the trip he had heard a strange voice that said, “It was not for this thou wast created: it was not for this thou wast charged to do.” Having heard this call, he gave up his princely life and wandered from land to land. He visited Iraq and Mecca and lived for a long time in Jerusalem. He went out to live in the Syrian Desert, where he met Christian anchorites who taught him the true knowledge of God. Similar to Rabi‘a, he is also said to have prayed, O God, Thou knowest, that Paradise weighs not with me so much as the wing of a gnat. If Thou befriendest me by Thy recollection, and sustainest me with Thy love, and makest it easy for me to obey Thee, then give Thou Paradise to whomsoever Thou wilt.80 The mystical thoughts of the early Sufis, such as Hasan al-Basri, Rabi‘a, Ibrahim Adham, al-Muhasibi and al-Junayd, maintained a balance between their practices and the practices of the mainstream ‘ulama’; but two intoxicated mystics, Abu Yazid Bistami and Husayn b. Mansur al-Hallaj, provoked hostility against Sufism from the mainstream religious authorities by uttering their mystical knowledge in public. Bistami (848 or 874), argued some scholars, turned asceticism to mysticism.81 Bistami, the Iranian mystic, first studied religious law and then learned mystical knowledge from Abu ‘Ali Sindi. He was claimed to have said “I was stripped of my self, as a serpent sheds its skin; then I considered my essence, and I was He!” and “You obey me more than I  obey You!”82 Bistami is also claimed to have said “Glory to Me! How great is My Majesty!” He also used the Prophetic

10  Introduction example of Ascension (mi‘raj) to express his mystical experience. The following are some of his narratives of this sort (they will be discussed again in assessing the influence of Hinduism upon Islamic mysticism): As soon as I had come to His unicity, I became a bird whose body is oneness and whose two wings are eternity, and I flew continually for ten years in the air of similitude; and in those years I saw myself in the same skies a hundred million times. I did not stop flying until I came to the arena of Preeternity. There I perceived the tree of oneness. (He describes its earth, its trunk, its branches, leaves and fruits.) I  contemplated it, and I knew that it was all a snare (khad‘a).83 Once He raised me up and stationed me before Him, and said to me, ‘O Abu Yazid, truly My creation desire to see thee.’ I said, ‘Adorn me in Thy Unity, and clothe me in Thy Selfhood, and raise me up in Thy Oneness, so that when Thy creation see me they will say, We have seen Thee: and Thou wilt be That, and I shall not be there at all.”84 Here, he cast himself and the world aside and lost himself in God. This way of annihilation or losing oneself in God is known as the doctrine of fanā’ in Islamic mysticism. This notion of annihilation is, to some degree, similar to the Buddhist notion of nirvāna (discussed below). It has, nonethe˙ less, been argued that al-Muhasibi’s disciple al-Junayd (d. 910) of Baghdad developed the doctrine of fanā’, which turned out to be an integral part of a well-coordinated theosophy.85 This doctrine, it is argued, derives from the Qur’anic verses 55:26–27 that states that everything upon the earth passeth away, save His face. Bistami is also said to have introduced the notion of ‘ishq, or passionate love between the mystic and God as well, and thus left the Qur’anic usage of muhabba, or love (Qur’an 5:59).86 Similar to Bistami, yet a step forward, was al-Hallaj (d. 922), a mystic of Baghdad who traveled extensively throughout Khurasan, Transoxania and India. He was executed because of his alleged blasphemous utterance “Ana’l-Haqq,” or I  am the Truth (God), although it was not confirmed whether he had ever uttered these words.87 He might have been executed for his alleged involvement in political activities.88 He was accused of contracts with the Qarmatians in Multan and of revolutionary conspiracy against the Abbasid government.89 His poems reflect his passionate longing for the union with God. It has been argued that his poems are “the most tender expressions of mystical, non-sensual love that are known in Arabic,” and “he used for the first time the allegory of the moth that casts itself into the candle’s flame – an image that was to become a favorite with later Sufi poets in the Persianate world.”90 Al-Hallaj is viewed as the first martyr of love by numerous poets and Sufis. He represents the completion of Islamic mystical vocations that were in the air since Islam’s beginning.91 It appears that Sufism started with pure asceticism and ended with mysticism; it moved from simple renunciation of worldly comfort to the love of

Introduction 11 God and to the doctrine of fanā’, or annihilation of oneself in God. Theoretically developed by al-Junayd, the doctrine of fanā’ was made popular by Bistami and al-Hallaj. It may be mentioned here that most of the early Sufis did not view the Shari‘a as adequate enough in searching the soul and developing an intimate relationship between God and His human servants.92 The tension between the legists and the mystics emerged from the intoxicated mysticism, as it is said, of Bitami and al-Hallaj. Particularly, that of al-Hallaj followed a period of persecution of the mystics, which was ameliorated by the legist-cum-mystic Imam Abu Hamid al-Ghazali (d. 1111). Al-Ghazali bridged the normative Islam with those of mystics’ Islam. His major work, the Ihyā’ ‘ulūm ad-dīn (Revivification of the Sciences of Religion) “introduces˙ the believer into a life that is agreeable to God,” which, observes Schimmel (1992), “soon accepted as standard, thus tempering mainstream Islam with a moderately mystical flavor.”93 A  new form of Islamic mysticism, the organized Sufi orders with various branches, which we experience today, began shortly after the death of al-Ghazali.94

Fusion of Sufi Islam Sufism resembles mystical thoughts and practices of other traditions. Especially, early Sufism in many ways resembles the Eastern Christian asceticism. For example, wearing of the widely visible Sufi garb or woolen garment. Long before the appearance of Sufis in the scene, woolen garments were the symbolic mark of the Nestorian Christian ascetics. It is also apparent that the Sufi notion of “union with God” resembles the meditation practices of Neoplatonists and Hindu and Buddhist monks. These resemblances are the root of the debates about the origins of Sufism. As a way of life, Sufism is also debated within the Islamic culture. One of the oldest stereotypes in Islam is the eternal conflict between the legalist and the mystic.95 This is partly because the core idea of Sufism, ma‘rifa (gnosis or mystical knowledge), does not appear in the Qur’an or in any prominent prophetic report or Hadith.96 Mainstream ‘ulama’ (religious scholars and functionaries) of Islam emphasized the strict observance of the outward rituals, whereas Sufis emphasized the development of inward faculties of the adherents of Islam. They especially referred to the following Qur’anic verse in establishing their legitimacy: “Verily, on the friends of God (awliyā’ of Allah) there is no fear, nor shall they grieve” (10:62). Islam was originated in a predominantly pagan’s land surrounded by the followers of Jewish and Christian faiths.97 The pagans did not dominate the early epicenters of Sufi practices; rather, the people of Judeo-Christian religious traditions, who had a long history of mystical practices, dominated them. In the “Arab lands between Egypt and Mesopotamia,”98 there were as many as six ascetic centers in the mid-seventh and early-eighth centuries. These epicenters were located in the Arab peninsula (Mecca, Medina), Iraq (Kufa, Basra), Syria (Damascus) and Yemen.99 North Africa, especially

12  Introduction Egypt in the west; Armenia in the north; and Central Asia in the east were the heartlands of early Muslim mystics. These early epicenters of the mystics were also crossroads of other religious traditions, such as Zoroastrianism, Manichaeism, Hinduism and Buddhism. Some of the followers of these traditions were also mystics. In addition, political and administrative changes, especially wars and conflicts among the Greeks, Romans, Arabs and Sasanid Iran,100 may have inspired peoples of this region to know one another. Jonathan P. Berkey observes, The Sasanians, even at the height of their conflict with Rome in the sixth century, relentlessly borrowed from Byzantine culture everything from bath-houses to systems of taxation, and the shah Khusrau I  Anushirvan (r. 531–579) gleefully welcomed the pagan Greek philosophers whom the Roman emperor Justinian had expelled from their academy in Athens.101 Landbound as well as seaborne trade routes might also have influenced the interchanging of cultural traditions among different communities within and outside this region,102 as the mercantile classes consciously or unconsciously, through their transregional trading networks, brought the diverse peoples of this region close to one another and diffused religious ideas from one place to another.103 Muslim rulers, especially the ‘Abbasids (750–1258) also maintained the religiocultural exchanges among various communities. Especially, the House of Wisdom (Bayt al-hikma), established by Caliph alMa’mun (ruled 813–833 ce) in Baghdad as a center of learning and translation for scholars from around the world, brought the philosophical heritage of the Greeks, Persians and Indians within the realm of Islamic quest for wisdom.104 Because of its similarities to and parallelisms with the preexisting mystical traditions, Sufism created debates and controversies not only for its origin but also for its originality as an Islamic religious practice.105 Some scholars argue that Sufism is not an original Islamic idea but rather a replica of the Christian practice of asceticism, the Vedāntic notion of moksa and Bud˙ dhist idea of nirvāna. Prominent among the scholars who promoted these ˙ theses are Margaret Smith, Miguel Asin Palacios, Julian Baldic and Robert C. Zaehner, to whom we now turn. Influence of Christian mysticism According to Margaret Smith, the conception of access to God and union with Him is of Christian origin.106 She found a parallel between Ibrahim Adham and St. Hubert.107 Adham, while out on a hunting trip, heard: “Verily thou wast not created for this, and not in this wilt thou die.” St. Hubert heard a voice while out on a chase: “Hubert, unless thou turnest to the

Introduction 13 Lord and leadest a holy life, thou shalt quickly go down into Hell,” and St. Hubert then dismounted and gave himself up from then on to the service of God. She holds that the Sufic idea of tawba, or repentance, which Dhu’l-Nun and al-Junayd viewed as the first step toward God, is also of Christian origin. She notes that the emphasis on repentance (tawba) in early Sufism corresponds to conversion in Christian theology.108 Al-Muhasibi’s idea of contentment, which comes to pass by the divine decree and which has a tendency to quietism and otherworldliness and toward the subjugation of the carnal self, Smith believes, derives from the teachings of the New ­Testament – the Parable of the Sower.109 Stages of the Sufi path, such as patience (sabr), gratitude (shukr), poverty (faqr), renunciation (zuhd), trust in God (tawakkul) and satisfaction (rida), are also familiar steps of the Christian ascetics and mystics.110 According to Smith, Hasan al-Basri’s fear of the life Hereafter, his emphasis on meditation (fikra), his preaching to practice abstinence (wara’) and his avoidance of desire (tama’) are similar to Christian ascetic practices.111 Rabi‘a al-‘Adawiyya, as legend has it, responded to a marriage proposal by saying that she ceased to exist and passed out of Self, existed in God and was altogether His. So, the marriage contract must be asked from Him, not from her. Rabi‘a’s statement is similar, Smith argues, to the monk Aphraates to the Christian “Daughters of the Covenant,” who in response to such a marriage proposal said, “To a royal Husband am I  betrothed, and to Him do I minister; and if I leave His ministry, my Betrothed will be wroth with me and will write me a letter of divorce and will dismiss me from His house.”112 Smith also found identical similarity between Abu Yazid Bistami and Dionysius of Syria. She notes: Dionysius of Syria had said plainly that God gave himself for the deification of those who attained unto Him, and so also Bistami, and others of the Sufis declared that the “I” had vanished and God dwelt in the soul in its place. There was no longer any place for “I” and “Thou,” for the “Thou” and “I” had become one in perfect unity, and the human was now one with the Divine.113 Smith also argues that, in addition to the direct influence of Christian ascetics and mystics, Islamic mystical tradition is also influenced indirectly by Christian women. It occurs through the marriages of Christian women with Muslim men. She notes, “The definitely Christian tone of some Muslim writers, and especially of the Sufis, may with great probability be traced back, in part at least, to this heritage from Christian mothers.”114 Christian employees of Umayyad and Abbasid caliphs and Christian professionals mark their presence in the development of Islam, both in its orthodox form and mystical or unorthodox form, through their dialogues, through the translations of Greek and Syriac works into Arabic and through the replacement of pagan ideas by Christian materials.115

14  Introduction It is interesting to note that while searching for the Christian origin of Islamic mysticism, Smith did not pay much attention to the Qur’an. For example, the Qur’an mentions tawba in several occasions, such as in verses 2:160, 6:54, 9:118 and 42:25, in addition to a full chapter on repentance. Trust in God, or tawakkul, is the fundamental element of the Islamic faith (Qur’an 65:3). Meditation is related to remembrance or dhikr in the Qur’an (24:37). The Qur’an also calls on for fear and longing (7:56, 20:131), and shukr, or gratitude, is described in verse 14:7. Satisfaction, or rida, is expressed in the Qur’an as an emotional relationship of men with the loving God. In spite of the Qur’anic verses that do express the mystical dimension, the proximity to Christian ascetics surely inspired early Muslim mystics. Nevertheless, the Qur’an does not deny the importance of Judaism and Christianity in Islam; rather, it states that Islam is an attempt to restore the Abrahamic faith in its original form (2:85, 91; 3:2, 85); “for the Qur’an itself states clearly that the revelation vouchsafed to Muhammad was a confirmation of what had been revealed to previous Prophets.”116 The Qur’an also depicts the following: And unto thee have We revealed the Scripture with the truth, confirming whatever Scripture was before it, and a watcher over it. . . . For each We have appointed a divine law and a traced-out way. Had Allah willed He could have made you one community. . . . So vie one with another in good works. (5:48) It goes on: “Surely the believers and the Jews, and Christians, and Sabaeans, whoever believes in God and the Last Day, and whosoever does right, shall have his reward with his Lord and will neither have fear nor regret” (2:62). Thus, to follow a Christian ascetic is not an un-Islamic practice for many pious Muslims. Hasan al-Basri did not hesitate to give examples of Moses, David and Jesus, along with the Prophet of Islam, as role models for poverty and abstinence when he encountered caliph Omar b. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz.117 It is not unlikely that Muslim ascetics and early Sufis were primarily inspired by their own holy scripture, i.e., the Qur’an, and by the Prophetic traditions. For example, al-Muhasibi’s chief authority for any doctrine was the Qur’an and the Prophetic traditions, even though he could have been inspired by the Jewish and Christian sources as well.118 Rabi‘a is also the case in point. She could have been inspired by the Qur’anic verse 5:59, which speaks of love between God and His servants, and by verse 9: 72, which states that the greatest bliss is the good pleasure of God. In this regard, there is a Prophetic tradition that reports God as saying “My servant draws nigh unto Me, and I love him; and when I love him, I am his ear, so that he hears by Me, and his eye, so that he sees by Me, and his tongue, so that he speaks by Me, and his hand, so that he takes by Me.”119 However, for Ibrahim Adham, al-Junayd and Bistami we have different arguments to make, which shall be discussed later.

Introduction 15 Two other scholars, Miguel Asin Palacios and Julian Baldick, also found parallels between Islamic and non-Islamic mysticism. Like Smith, Palacios attempted to prove that Islamic mysticism copied the Gospels and other books of the New Testament. But he also remained silent about the Islamic sources of those similarities. He cited the parallels in the Gospel and the New Testament but did not pay attention to the Qur’an.120 Julian Baldick not only questioned the validity of Sufism but also that of the Qur’an and Islam.121 Like Smith and Palacios, he overemphasizes the influence of Christianity and argues that “Sufism is part of the emerging Christian wing of Islam.”122 The counterargument is expressed most forcefully by Reynold A. Nicholson, who observes, “The seeds of Súfíism are to be found in the powerful ˙ which arose within Islam during the and widely spread ascetic tendencies first century A.H.”123 He also notes that Sufism “owes comparatively little either to Christianity or to any foreign source. In other words, it seems to me that this type of mysticism was – or at least might have been – the native product of Islam itself”124 with a Neoplatonic flavor through Dhu’l Nun. Following Nicholson’s line of thought, Hodgson noted: To some degree, Sufism shared the traits of Christian mystical movement and developed it further; but, like the other main forms of Muslim piety, it was unmistakably Islamic. At least occasionally, men who might otherwise have become Christian monks were converted to Islam in its Sufi form when they felt the call to a more reflective life. In creativity, Sufism soon left contemporary local Christian movements far behind.125 Influence of Hinduism Some scholars argue that, as Sufism moved to the east from its heartlands, it became infused with other traditions, especially with those of the Hindus and Buddhists. Robert C. Zaehner strongly argues that the Islamic mysticism is indebted to Hindu mysticism in a number of ways. In support of his argument, Zaehner primarily focuses on Bistami. According to Zaehner, Sufism “becomes the unconscious victim of Vedāntin ideas transmitted by Abū Yazīd of Bistām and possibly also by Hussayn b. Mansūr al-Hallāj and ˙ ˙ that Bistami˙ (d. 848 ˙ or 874) 126 He points out Abū Sa‘īd ibn Abīi’l-Khayr.” was influenced by the Vedāntic mysticism developed by Śan˙kara (788–820). With the help of his mentor, Abu ‘Ali Sindi, Bistami developed the idea of union with God. It may be noted here that the Vedas revealed a polytheistic religious tradition without a clear idea of a transcended God, and as such differ significantly from the Abrahamic conceptualization of God. Nevertheless, the early Upanisads, such as Brhadāranyaka, Chāndogya and ˙ idea of Brahman ˙ Bhagavad-Gītā, developed the as ˙the divine. The idea of Brahman was identified as the sum-total of human existence. Brahman is the All, which appears in the human being as mind and in the external universe

16  Introduction as space.127 The Chāndogya Upanisad (3.12.7) describes this interrelation˙ ship as follows: That which is known as Brahman is surely this space which is outside a man; and this space which is outside a man is surely this space which is within a man. And that space which is within a man is surely that space which is within the heart. This is the plenum and is not subject to change.128 It also distinguishes the body from the soul (ātman); the first is perishable while the second is eternal. The Supreme Being on the one hand inaugurates Himself in the world as perishable, mortal and formed, which is bound by time and space. On the other hand, the other part of the Supreme Being remains immortal, formless and eternal, beyond time and space. Thus, the Bhagavad-Gītā makes a distinction between the higher Brahman (imperishable, immortal, changeless), with which the human soul is identical, and the lower Brahman (perishable, mortal). It may be mentioned here that some scholars of Islam argue that the Qur’an does not endorse any distinction between mind and body. Rahman points out that the term nafs, often translated as “soul,” means person or self, and the Qur’an uses the term most likely to mean the tendencies of human personality and mental state, which are not synonymous with mind as a separate substance.129 However, according to Śan˙kara, the phenomenal world is nothing but māyā, and the unqualified Brahman is beyond reach of the qualified beings. Yet moksa (liberation) is possible because of the advaita (non-dualism) unity between˙the soul and the Brahman. God or Brahman appears with his māyā in this world as Īśvara. For the unlettered masses, only bhakti is the key to achieve the bliss of Īśvara and then moksa. Zaehner points out that Śan˙kara’s ˙ māyā is the key to following Bistami, al-Hallaj, Ibn al-‘Arabi (d. 1240) and other later Sufis. He observes that in Bistami’s “thou art that,” especially the word “that,” is actually used to mean God. He noted, “ ‘That,’ indeed, for the Hindu is the normal way of referring to Brahman as the Absolute; ‘thou art that’ is the literal translation of ‘tat tvam asi’ of the Chāndogya Upanisad.”130 He concludes, “[T]he phrase came to the knowledge of Abū Yazīd ˙at a time when the great Śan˙kara had just revived and systematized the Vedānta in its most extreme form in India itself.”131 Bistami’s allegory of birds and trees and remarks like “then I looked, and I knew that all this was deceit” resemble, according to Zaehner, the cosmic tree of the Katha (6.1), ˙ Mundaka (3.1.1–3), Śvetāśvatara (4.6–10), Upanisads and Bhagavad-Gītā ˙ (15.1–2).132 There is another parallel between the sayings of Bistami and the Upanisads: “I sloughed off my self as a snake sloughs off its skin: then I looked into my self and lo! I was He.” This utterance parallels the Brhadāranyaka (4.4.7, ˙ ˙ 12). Bistami borrowed it from the Brhadāranyaka, argues Zaehner: “Abū ˙ ˙ Yazīd was directly influenced by a totally alien stream of mysticism and

Introduction 17 that it was through him that Vedāntin ideas became part and parcel of later Islamic mysticism.”133 However, Zaehner acknowledges that Dhu’l-Nun also used the allegory of birds, and Bistami might have followed him. He observes that Dhu’l-Nun’s idea of passionate longing, so also al-Muhasibi’s, is similar to Ramanuja’s.134 It might be noted that Ramanuja (d. 1137?) was born much later than Dhu’l-Nun (d. 856) and al-Muhasibi (d. 847). It seems that it was not the Indian merchant colony in Basra135 through which the Indian factor became so prominent in Islamic mystical tradition; rather, it was Abu ‘Ali Sindi, the teacher of Abu Yazid Bistami, through whom Vedāntin ideals permeated Sufism.136 It appears that, for Zaehner, Abu ‘Ali’s last name, or nisba adjective, Sindi, is the most important factor in determining the influence of Indian mysticism upon the Islamic one. For the Vedāntic influence upon Islamic mysticism through Bistami, Zaehner’s hypotheses can be summarized as follows: (1) Śan˙kara (788–820) was born before Abu Yazid (d. 848 or 874), so he must have been taught the Vedāntic ideals through his master Abu ‘Ali; (2) some of the utterances of Abu Yazid resemble the Upanisads and Bhagavad-Gītā, and the allegories ˙ of birds, snakes and trees also resemble the same early Indian sources, so he must have been imitating those allegories from those sources; (3) Abu ‘Ali hailed from Sind (a province of modern Pakistan), so Abu ‘Ali must have been familiar with and had access to the Vedāntic teachings; (4) Abu ‘Ali did not know how to perform the obligatory prayers, so he must have been a convert from another religious tradition, i.e., Hinduism; and (5) since Abu Yazid’s teachings were dramatic and new, there must have been a foreign influence upon him, the Vedāntic ideals of India.137 The likelihood of the Vedātic influence upon Abu Yazid Bistami may not be ignored altogether, yet Zaehner’s argument can be challenged in many ways: First, there is a village by the same name as Sind in Khorasan,138 and Abu ‘Ali could have been hailed from that village, and “there is nothing more natural than that the native of the one place should study under a native of the other.”139 Second, Abu ‘Ali did not know how to perform the obligatory Islamic prayer, but it does not necessarily mean that he was a new convert. If he was a convert from another faith, it could have been any other faith popular in that region. He could have even been a heterodox before his conversion. Third, if we accept Bistami’s year of death as 874,140 the time span between Śan˙kara and Bistami is still relatively short for the diffusion of highly intellectual arguments of the South Indian theosophist Śan˙kara beyond India. Śan˙kara, let alone the Muslims, was not even accepted by his coreligionists, as he was suspected to be a Buddhist monk. If we admit that Abu ‘Ali Sindi was a convert from Hinduism, he must have been a high-caste Brahmin, or he would not have had the access to the Vedas, Upanisads and Bhagavad˙ a highly educated Gītā, the sacred texts of Hindu traditions. Presumably person (since he is said to have been well aware of the Vedāntic ideals), Abu

18  Introduction ‘Ali was unlikely to teach Vedāntic ideals to his disciple, as he renounced his previous faith as incomplete and inferior to Islam. Fourth, Abu Yazid’s allegories resemble not only the Upanisads and Bhagavad-Gītā but also the Qur’an. The Qur’an discusses and˙ uses the metaphors of the bird, the soul’s resurrection and its immortality in various occasions (2:262, 3:43 and 67:19 are some examples). In the Qur’an, the tree represents man’s vocation and destiny (28:30; 14:29; 36:80). The allegory of the snake is popular among the adherents of all Abrahamic traditions. Abu Yazid also used the Prophet’s Ascension (mi‘raj) in expressing his mystical experience. As we have mentioned earlier regarding Bistami’s ecstatic utterances of “I” and “Thou,” Smith found parallels of these utterances in Dionysius of Syria, which contradicts Zaehner’s claim. Fifth, in Hinduism, the very existence of human beings is linked with the concept of karma; the present life is the reward or punishment for merits or demerits in a person’s prior existence. Śan˙kara’s mysticism, including his concept of māyā and sam˙sāra, revolved around the concept of karma. Moksa, or release of the human soul from the worldly bondage, is the ultimate˙ goal of moksa. Not moksa but rather fanā’ (annihilation) and baqā’ ˙ the goals of ˙ Islamic mysticism.141 (abiding in God) are We have already noticed that the conception of God in Abrahamic religious traditions is different from the conception of God in Hindu tradition. We have also noted that the conception of God varied in many ways in the Vedas, Bhagavad-Gītā and Upanisads. Based on these differences, different schools of Hinduism provided˙ different interpretations of God; some ¯ tman; some, as Īśvara; and some, described God as Brahman; some, as A such as Sām˙khya school, did not even acknowledge the existence of God. In the Bhagavad-Gītā, Lord Krishna suggests that with devotion in heart, anything could be worshipped as God. Thus, the conception of God in Hinduism differs from that of Abrahamic traditions. On the other hand, a Muslim, like a Jew and a Christian, believes that the life Hereafter is a permanent life. The status of a person in that life will be determined according to the performance of his or her Earthly life. This perception does not quite fit with that of endless cycles of sam˙sāra and the doctrine of karma. It appears that Zaehner did not take an account of this basic difference when he measured the influence of Vedānta upon Bistami. It seems that Zaehner plays with some translated words instead of using the spirit of the words, to which Tor Andrae later drew attention. However, there is evidence showing that, before the translation of Hellenistic philosophy into Islamic literature, there were exchanges of scientific knowledge between Hindus and Muslims through Basra, while Sind belonged to the Muslim caliphs in the eighth century. But Hindu metaphysics, argues Louis Massignon, did not find a congenial atmosphere in Islam, because of its complex idolatry, infinite cycle of karma and sam˙sāra and the caste system.142 Reciprocal influence occurred in a later period in India as a

Introduction 19 result of Muslim missionary activity but not as early as the eighth and ninth centuries, argues Nicholson.143 In this regard Martin Lings observed: Ever since Islam established itself in the subcontinent of India, there have been intellectual exchanges between Sufis and Brahmins; and Sufism eventually came to adopt certain terms and notions from Neoplatonism. But the foundations of Sufism were laid and its subsequent course irrevocably fixed long before it would have been possible for extraneous and parallel mystical influences to have introduced non-Islamic elements, and when such influences were finally felt, they touched only the surface.144 Ethnographic studies as well as content analysis of literary genres indicate contrary facts.145 The idea of incarnation popular among some Sufi traditions exemplifies the influence of Hinduism. Ibn al-‘Arabi’s concept of hama ūst (all is He), to a great extent, resembles Śan˙kara’s concept of Brahman, who manifests Himself, in part, as the phenomenal world. Ibn al-‘Arabi’s doctrine of wahdat al-wujūd, which is an extension of hama ūst, meaning ˙ as well as unity of existentialization or finding God in evethe unity of being rything,146 sounds Vedātic in origin. The representation of the longing soul in the form of a woman in Indian Sufi imagination reflects more of Gopīs, especially Radha’s longing for Krishna.147 For centuries, Muslim mystics and poets blended the stories and legends of their own traditions, such as Yusuf and Zulaykha, Shirin and Farhad and Layla and Majnun, with those of Radha and Krishna, Hir and Ranjha and numerous others in South Asia. Surely, the conceptualization of God and the doctrine of karma in Hindu worldviews differ from Islam’s conceptualization of God and life cycle, yet some practices popular among some Sufi traditions, such as breath control, yogic contemplation of God, bhakti and vegetarianism, appear to be of Hindu origin.148 Because of these, as observation shows, Islamic mysticism took a different form in South Asia; as Frithjof Schuon points out, Sufism seems to derive its originality, both positive and problematical, from the fact that it mixes – metaphorically speaking – the spirit of the Psalms with that of Upanishads, as if David had chanted Brahmasūtra, or Badarayana had implored the God of Israel (emphases in original).149 Influence of Buddhism The story related to Ibrahim Adham for the repudiation of his princely life in search of God with that of Siddhartha Gautama’s is probably one of the earliest sources of Buddhism’s influence upon Sufism. But theosophically, the influence of Buddhism is linked to the idea of nirvāna and the Islamic mystical idea of fanā’. According to Muhammad Enamul˙ Haq, Sufi ideas of

20  Introduction the unification of the soul with the Universal Soul or Real Being (al-Haqq) resemble the Buddhist doctrine of nirvāna. To achieve the state of unifica˙ tion, Sufism prescribes different stages, namely ithbat-i-nafi (affirmation of negation), nafi-i-ithbat (negation of affirmation), fanā’ (self-annihilation) and baqā’ billah (abiding in God), which, Haq argues, are fundamentally based on Buddhist doctrines of yoga. In addition, the Sufi tradition of Kashfu-’l-qubur, or Revelation from the Graves, also resembles the Tāntrīc sadhus’ practice of Sava-sadhana or performances of devotional exercises ˙through the medium of a dead body. He holds that the Arab Muslims knew Hinduism as well as Buddhism during the formative phases of Islam, and the later Persian scholars developed the doctrine of tasawwuf (mysticism) under the influences of Neoplatonists and Upanisads;˙ hence, “Islam was ˙ never free from the influence of India.”150 It appears that Haq’s conclusion is based on his misreading of Nicholson (1914), that Sufism is the product of Persian or Indian thought. Haq seems to be indifferent to Nicholson’s observation that “[e]ven if Islam had been miraculously shut off from contacts with foreign religions and philosophies, some form of mysticism would have arisen within it, for the seeds were already there.”151 Nicholson notes that on ethical grounds the two concepts, i.e., nirvāna and fanā’, are identical, but he also argues that the influence of Buddhism˙ on Islamic mysticism is exaggerated because Muslims view Buddhists as idolaters.152 In addition, he holds that while nirvāna is purely negative, fanā is accompanied by baqā, everlasting life in God. The rapture of the Sufi who has lost himself in ecstatic contemplation of the divine beauty is entirely opposed to the passionless intellectual serenity of the Arahat (perfected one).153 Similarly, Schimmel also holds that fanā is in the first place an ethical concept, i.e., the renunciation of human qualities and increasing spiritualization; it has nothing to do with Indian nirvana since it does not mean the attempt to be rescued from the painful cycle of birth and rebirth but rather the return of the creature to the state ‘as he was before he was.’154 It is interesting to note Tor Andrae’s observation here. He holds that fanā’ is identical with the sayings of Apostle Paul, such as, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.”155 He also observes that Islamic mystical piety “in its spirit and essence comes closer to Gospel than any other nonChristian religion known to us.”156 Both Nicholson and Zaehner speculate that Ibrahim Adham’s legend of conversion to mysticism is of Buddhist origin,157 and Smith, as mentioned earlier, speculates it was of Christian origin, i.e., the legend of St. Hubert, who heard a “call.” On the other hand, Massignon argues that the legend of Adham could be an adaptation of the

Introduction 21 Manichaen version of the story of the Buddha, not a direct imitation.158 He also holds that “the Qur’an, through constant recitation, meditation, and practice, is the source of Islamic mysticism, at its beginning and throughout its growth.”159 Similarly, Carl Ernst and Bruce B. Lawrence argue that “far from being dependent on or a derivative of Neoplatonism, Christianity, Buddhism, or Hindu yoga, Sufism is an original, comprehensive, and hence authentic form of knowledge.”160 In order to render its Islamic authenticity, Sufis are always conscious of their discursive links to the past precedent. As such, they tend to connect themselves to the exemplary life of the Prophet; the revelatory moment of the Qur’an; and the teachings and actions of those they identified as saints, who in turn connect them back to the Prophet’s own communion with God.161 Despite the arguments that it derives from numerous Qur’anic verses and Prophetic practices, Sufism is not immune to the influences of local cultural environments, practices, rites and even beliefs. Richard M. Eaton, while discussing the rise of Islam in Bengal, notes that Sufism is grounded in the local sociocultural heritage,162 because of which Islam, as a whole, was not perceived as a foreign tradition by the local inhabitants.163 Nevertheless, it is also true that, as observations show, Sufi beliefs and values permeate in many ways into local cultures. It simultaneously influenced others and is influenced by others. In addition, by granting legitimacy and equal standing to other faith traditions, some Sufi paths promote an inclusivist approach and practice of open spirituality.164 Because of these, Sufism has been attacked by puritanical reformists, and for the very same reason Sufism is also viewed as the most powerful antidote to the religious radicalism, called fundamentalism.165 However, this volume attempts to unveil some of the Sufi ideals infused in the local cultures of various countries. Contributors of this volume have analyzed and compared Sufi ideals as reflected in hagiographic narratives, musical genres, poetries and political discourses, as well as discussed Sufi Islam as a living reality and how the infusion of Sufi beliefs and ideals are integrated into the social and personal lives in various cultural contexts. The contributors of this volume are trained in a range of disciplines that include religious studies, history, comparative literature, anthropology and ethnography. The contributors are specialists of religion, particularly of Sufi Islam. Geographically they range from Southeast Asia to West Africa and also from South Asia and the West with their focuses on both historical and contemporary issues. The focus ranges from interpreting the Qur’an to poetries and movies, from ideals to practices, from legends to history, from gender segregation to gender transgression, and from legalism to spiritualism. Some of the contributors are new in this field and some are reputed for their scholarship with varieties of methodologies they have adopted, such as hermeneutics, social scientific research methods, ethnography and comparative studies of religion. We assume that there is no single or preoccupied method of studying religion, as such we expect that the authors of each chapter follow their own method that represents the real in their writings.

22  Introduction Why is there a need for a new book on Sufism when there have been hundreds of volumes written, edited and translated by pro-Sufi, anti-Sufi Islamic and non-Islamic scholars alike? This book approaches Islam culturally; it sets aside the conventional methods of understanding Islam, such as theological (relationship between God and humanity), juridical (sort of crime and punishment as understood by the legal scholars of Islam) and philosophical (a rational and reason-based approach to understand Islam). Contributors of this volume adopt, analyze and compare popular practices, rituals, myths and beliefs of the adherents of the Islamic faith that sometimes transcend the traditional boundaries of this faith tradition. The cultural fusion is more visible in the Sufi traditions of Islam. Very few scholars, books or volumes adopt this approach in understanding Islam.

Organization of the chapters The chapters of this volume are divided into four parts based on four themes: cultural fusion, poetry and literature, devotional expressions in hagiography and music and political discourse. All these themes overlap with one another; as such, the themes could also be divided into fusion, poetry, music, hagiography, gender transgression and political discourse. In this volume, Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh, Milad Milani and Clinton Bennett discuss the infusion of Sufi ideals in the Sikh traditions in film and musical practices. Scott Kugle, Huseyin Altindis and Barış Baştürk explore Sufi poetical genres in producing Islamicized cultures. Manuela Ceballos, Pnina Werbner and Sarwar Alam analyze devotional aspects of Sufism as reflected in calligraphy, hagiography and Sufi music; while Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid, Noorulhafidzah Zawawi, Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed analyze the ways Sufi themes could be integrated and contextualized in contemporary politics.

Notes 1 Bennett 2017, p. 7. 2 Geertz 1973, p. 89. 3 Ibid., p. 90. 4 Eickelman 1976, p. 1. 5 Ibid., p. 2. It is interesting to note that the authority of the holy men, according to Eickelman, rests on their genealogy, baraka (God’s grace) and their perceived closeness to God. However, Cornell (1998, p. 110) observes that the holy men’s authority rests rather on piety, asceticism, scrupulousness, seclusion, poverty, humility, charity, and fasting. 6 El-Zein 1977, p. 242. 7 Launay 1992, p. 6. 8 Asad 1986, p. 14. 9 Ibid., p. 15. 10 Ahmed 2016, p. 289. 11 Ibid., p. 290.

Introduction 23 12 Ibid., pp. 282–83. 13 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 57–9. 14 See Ahmed 2016, p. 162. 15 Ibid., p. 166. 16 Ibid., p. 170. 17 Ibid., p. 171. 18 Lawrence 2003, p. 62. 19 Ibid. 20 See Ahmed 2016, p. 172. 21 Karamustafa 2003, p. 101. 22 Ibid., p. 102. 23 Ibid., p. 109. 24 Cooperson 2010, p. 114. 25 Ibid., pp. 117, 120–121. 26 See Dale 2010, p. 13; Geoffroy 2010, pp. 65, 73; Khadduri 1984, p. 77; Rahman 1966a, p. 151. 27 Knysh 2017, p. 221, see also Gibb 1962, p. 207; Rahman 1966a, pp. 129, 155 28 See Dale 2010, p. 12. 29 Nicholson collected seventy-eight definitions of the term from early Sufi sources. For detail, see Nicholson 1906, pp. 330–348. 30 Baldick 1989, p. 3; Karamustafa 2007a, p. 249; Lings 1975, pp. 45–46; Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 104. 31 Knysh 2000, p. 5; Rahman 1966a, p. 132. 32 For detail, see Baldick 1989, p. 31. Annemarie Schimmel holds that the origin of the word Sufi from the Greek word sophos is philosophically impossible. For detail, see Schimmel 1975, p. 14, and see also Burckhardt 1976, p. 15 (footnote). 33 See Arberry 1950, p. 35. 34 Ibid. 35 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 393. 36 Schimmel 1975, p. 17. 37 See Rahman 1966b, pp. 409–19. 38 Nasr 2007, p. 10. 39 man ‘arafa nafsahu faqad ‘arafa rabbahu. See also Burckhardt 1976, p. 42. 40 Nasr 2007, p. 5. 41 Ibid., p. 10. 42 Ibid., p. 9. 43 See Helminski 2017, p. xiii; Safi 2018, pp. xx–xxi. 44 Nasr 2007, p. 61. 45 See Chittick 2000, p. 13. 46 Ibid. 47 See Smith 1935, pp. 17–18. 48 See Murata 1992, p. 192. 49 See Schuon 1998 [1961], pp. 161, 165. 50 See Chittick 2000, pp. 4–6. 51 See Schimmel 1994, p. 251. 52 Ibid., p. 252. 53 See Ernst 1999, pp. 435–447. 54 Rahman 1966a, p. 245. 55 Ibid., p. 130. Also see Green 2012, p. 2; Saritoprak 2018, p. 22. 56 Ibid., p. 150. 57 Helminski 2017, p. 8. 58 See Murata and Chittick 1994, p. 309. 59 See Safi 2018, pp. xx–xxi. 60 For details, see Cornell 2019.

24  Introduction 61 Knysh 2000, pp. 5–6. 62 Ibid., pp. 6–7. 63 Geoffroy 2010, p. 65. 64 Ibid., p. 68. 65 See Sviri 1999, p. 584. 66 See Knysh 2017, p. 221. 67 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 108. 68 Arberry 1950, pp. 34–35. 69 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 131. 70 See Schimmel 1992, p. 102. 71 Quoted in Helmniski 2017, p. 22. 72 Quoted in Fakhry 1997, p. 92. 73 Quoted in Arberry 1950, pp. 42–3. 74 Arberry 1950, pp. 42–43. 75 Karamustafa 2007b, p. 4; also see Knysh 2000, p. 31. 76 Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 165–9. 77 Knysh 2000, p. 41. 78 Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 143–6. 79 Zaehner 1960, p. 91; for the description of passionate love for God, see Schimmel 1958, pp. 165–7. 80 Arberry 1950, pp. 36–7. 81 See for a discussion on asceticism and mysticism Melchert 1996, pp. 51–70, especially p. 51. 82 See for detail, Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 185–6. 83 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 187. 84 Arberry 1950, p. 55. 85 Ibid., p. 56. 86 Karamustafa 2007b, p. 4. 87 See for detail, Massignon 1982 [1922], pp. 1, 126–34. 88 Karamustafa 2007b, p. 25. 89 Schimmel 1992, p. 108. 90 Ibid. 91 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 210. 92 Karamustafa 2007b, p. 21. 93 Schimmel 1992, pp. 109–10. 94 See ibid., p. 110. 95 Cornell 1999, p. 207; Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 79–81. 96 Karamustafa 2004, p. xi. 97 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 157, 159. Also see Newby 1988, and see Smith (1931) for early Christian mysticism. 98 Shahid 1984, pp. 4–8. 99 See Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 111–2. 100 See Bowersock 1983, pp. 1–2, 7, 13–15, 23–9, 36–7, 127–131; Shahid 1984, pp. 18–22; Berkey 2003, p. 4. 101 Berkey 2003, p. 4. 102 Bowersock 1983, pp. 2, 7, 21, 46–7, 70, 75, 111, 138; Shahid 1984, pp. 10, 28, 43, 43–8; Berkey 2003, pp. 3–5. Massignon (1997 [1922], p. 49) notes that there was an Indian merchant colony in Basra. 103 Berkey 2003, p. 5. 104 See Hussain 2003, p. 257; see also Cooperson 2010, p. 221. 105 Rahman 1966a, p. 131. See also Nicholson 1963 [1914], pp. 10–19. 106 Smith 1931, p. 147. 107 Ibid., p. 179. Also see the footnote on the same page. 108 Ibid., p. 170.

Introduction 25 109 Ibid., p. 191. 110 Ibid., pp. 171–2. 111 Ibid., p. 177. 112 Ibid., p. 186. 113 Ibid., p. 253. 114 Ibid., p. 113. 115 Ibid. 116 Arberry 1945, p. 55. 117 Ibid., pp. 33–5; also see Mourad 2005, p. 129. 118 Smith 1935, pp. 60–61. 119 Nicholson 1963 [1914], pp. 100–101. 120 See Arberry 1945, pp. 55–6. 121 Baldick 1989, pp. 13–49. 122 Ibid., p. 32. 123 Nicholson 1906, p. 304. 124 Ibid., p. 305. 125 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 393. 126 Zaehner 1960, p. 20. 127 Ibid., pp. 22–5. 128 Quoted in Zaehner 1960, p. 25. 129 See Rahman 1980, pp. 7, 112. 130 Ibid., pp. 94–5. 131 Ibid., p. 95. 132 Ibid., p. 96. 133 Ibid., p. 100. 134 Ibid., p. 92. 135 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 49. 136 Zaehner 1960, p. 100. 137 Ibid. 138 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 68; Arberry 1945, p. 37. 139 Arberry 1945, p. 37. 140 Massignon ascertained the date and year as 25 May 874. See Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 183. 141 See Nicholson 1963 [1914], p. 18. 142 Massignon 1997 [1922], pp. 58–9. 143 See for detail, Nicholson 1963 [1914], p. 9. 144 Lings 1975, p. 16. 145 See Harder 2011. 146 See Schimmel 1975, p. 267. 147 Ibid., p. 434. 148 Ibid., p. 358. 149 Schuon 2006 [1980], p. 19. 150 See Haq 1975, pp. 118, 112–42. 151 Nicholson 1963 [1914], pp. 19–20. 152 Ibid., pp. 18–19. 153 Ibid., p. 18. 154 Schimmel 1992, p. 106. 155 Andrae 1987, p. 124. 156 Ibid. 157 Nicholson 1963 [1914], pp. 16–7; Zaehner 1060, pp. 21–2. 158 Massignon 1997 [1922], p. 57 (footnote). 159 Ibid., p. 73. 160 Ernst and Lawrence 2002, p. 8. 161 See Green 2012, pp. 4–5.

26  Introduction 62 See Eaton 1993, p. 51. 1 163 See ibid., p. 310. 164 See Harder 2011, p. 299. 165 See Nasr 2007, p. xvi.

Bibliography Ahmed, Shahab. 2016. What Is Islam?: The Importance of Being Islamic. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Andrae, Tor. 1987. In the Garden of Myrtles: Studies in Early Islamic Mysticism, translated by Birgitta Sharpe. Albany: State University of New York. Arberry, Arthur J. 1945. An Introduction to the History of Sufism: The Sir Abdullah Suhrawardy Lectures for 1942. London: Longmans, Green and Co. ———. 1950. Sufism: An Account of the Mystics of Islam. New York: Dover Publications. Asad, Talal. 1986. “The Idea of an Anthropology of Islam.” Occasional Papers Series, Center for Contemporary Arab Studies, Georgetown University. Baldick, Julian. 1989. Mystical Islam: An Introduction to Sufism. New York: New York University Press. Bennett, Clinton. 2017. “Introduction.” In Sufism, Pluralism and Democracy, edited by Clinton Bennet and Sarwar Alam, 1–21. Sheffield: Equinox. Berkey, Jonathan P. 2003. The Formation of Islam: Religion and Society in the Near East, 600–1800. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bowersock, Glen W. 1983. Roman Arabia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Burckhardt, Titus. 1976. An Introduction to Sufi Doctrine, translated by D.M. Matheson. Wellingborough: The Aquarian Press. Chittick, William C. 2000. Sufism: A Beginner’s Guide. Oxford, UK: Oneworld. Cooperson, Michael. 2010. “Culture.” In Key Themes for the Study of Islam, edited by Jamal J. Elias, 104–122. Oxford, UK: Oneworld. Cornell, Rkia E. 2019. Rabi‘a from Narrative to Myth: The Many Faces of Islam’s Most Famous Woman SaintRabi‘a al-‘Adawiyya. Oxford, UK: Oneworld. Cornell, Vincent J. 1998. Realm of the Saint: Power and Authority in Moroccan Sufism. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. ———. 1999. “Faqih versus Faqir in Marinid Morocco: Epistemological Dimensions of a Polemic.” In Islamic Mysticism Contested: Thirteen Centuries of Controversies and Polemics, edited by Frederick De Jong & Bernd Radtke, 207–224. Leiden: Brill. Dale, Stephen F. 2010. The Muslim Empires of the Ottomans, Safavids, and Mughals. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Eaton, Richard M. 1993. The Rise of Islam and the Bengal Frontier, 1204–1760. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Eickelman, Dale F. 1976. Moroccan Islam: Tradition and Society in a Pilgrimage Center. Austin and London: University of Texas Press. El Fadl, Khalid A. 2003 [2001]. Speaking in God’s Name: Islamic Law, Authority and Women, reprinted. Oxford, UK: Oneworld. El-Zein, Abdul Hamid. 1977. “Beyond Ideology and Theology: The Search for the Anthropology of Islam.” Annual Review of Anthropology 6: 227–254. Ernst, Carl W. 1999. Teachings of Sufism. Boston and London: Shambhala.

Introduction 27 Ernst, Carl W and Bruce B. Lawrence. 2002. Sufi Martyrs of Love: Chishti Sufism in South Asia and Beyond. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Fakhry, Majid. 1997. Islamic Philosophy. Oxford, UK: Oneworld. Geertz, Clifford. 1973. The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books. Geoffroy, Eric. 2010. Introduction to Sufism: The Inner Path of Islam, translated by Roger Gaetami. Bloomington, IN: World Wisdom. Gibb, Hamilton A.R. 1962. Studies on the Civilization of Islam, edited by Stanford J. Shaw and William R. Polk. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Green, Nile. 2012. Sufism: A Global History. West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell. Harder, Hans. 2011. Sufism and Saint Veneration in Contemporary Bangladesh: The Maijbhandaris of Chittagong. London and New York: Routledge. Haq, Muhammad Enamul. 1975. A History of Sufi-ism in Bengal. Dhaka: Asiatic Society of Bangladesh. Helminski, Camille A. 2003. Women of Sufism: A  Hidden Treasure. Boston and London: Shambhala. Helmniski, Kabir. 2017. Holistic Islam: Sufism, Transformation, and the Needs of Our Time. Ashland, OR: White Cloud. Hodgson, Marshall G.S. 1974. The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, 3 vols. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Hussain, Amir. 2003. “Muslims, Pluralism, and Interfaith Dialogue.” In Progressive Muslims: On Justice, Gender, and Pluralism, edited by Omid Safi, 251–269. Oxford, UK: Oneworld. Jong, Frederick De and Bernd Radtke, eds. 1999. Islamic Mysticism Contested: Thirteen Centuries of Controversies and Polemics. Leiden: Brill. Karamustafa, Ahmet. 2003. “Islam: A Civilizational Project in Progress.” In Progressive Muslims: On Justice, Gender, and Pluralism, edited by Omid Safi, 98–110. Oxford, UK: Oneworld. ———. 2004. “Preface.” In Knowledge of God in Classical Sufism: Foundations of Islamic Mystical Theology, translated and edited by John Renard. New York: Paulist Press. ———. 2007a. “What Is Sufism?” In Voices of Islam, 5 vols., edited by Vincent J. Cornell, 1: 249–269. Westport, CT: Praeger. ———. 2007b. Sufism: The Formative Period. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Khadduri, Majid. 1984. The Islamic Conception of Justice. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Knysh, Alexander. 2000. Islamic Mysticism: A Short History. Leiden: Brill. ———. 2017. Islam in Historical Perspective, 2nd edition. New York and London: Routledge. Launay, Robert. 1992. Beyond the Stream: Islam and Society in a West African Town. Berkeley: University of California Press. Lawrence, Bruce B. 2003. “Islamicate Civilization: The View from Asia.” In Teaching Islam, edited by Brannon M. Wheeler, 61–74. New York: Oxford University Press. Lings, Martin. 1975. What Is Sufism? Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Massignon, Louis. 1982 [1922]. The Passion of al-Hallaj: Mystic and Myrter of Islam, vol. 1, [1922], translated by Herbert Mason. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

28  Introduction ———. 1997 [1922]. Essay on the Origins of the Technical Language of Islamic Mysticism, translated by Benjamin Clark. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Melchert, Christopher. 1996. “The Transition from Asceticism to Mysticism at the Middle of the Ninth Century C.E.” Studia Islamica 83: 51–70. Mourad, Suleiman A. 2005. Early Islam between Myth and History: Al-Hasan al-Basri (d. 110 H/728 ce) and the Formation of His Legacy in Classical Islamic Scholarship. Leiden: Brill. Murata, Sachiko. 1992. The Tao of Islam: A Sourcebook on Gender Relationships in Islamic Thought. New York: State University of New York Press. Murata, Sachiko and William C. Chittick. 1994. The Vision of Islam. St. Paul, MN: Paragon House. Nasr, Seyyid Hossein. 2007. The Garden of Truth. New York: HarperOne. Newby, Gordon D. 1988. A History of the Jews of Arabia: From Ancient Times to Their Eclipse Under Islam. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press. Nicholson, Reynold A. 1906. “A  Historical Enquiry Concerning the Origin and Development of Sufiism, with a List of Definitions of the Terms ‘Súfí’ and ˙ ‘Tasawwuf,’ Arranged Chronologically.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 38: ˙ 303–348. ———. 1963 [1914]. The Mystics of Islam. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Rahman, Fazlur. 1966a. Islam. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. ———. 1966b. “Dream, Imagination and ‘Alam al-Mithāl.” In The Dream and Human Societies, edited by G.E. Von Grunebaum and Roger Caillois, 409–419. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. ———. 1980. Major Themes of the Qur’an. Minneapolis, MN: Bibliotica Islamica. Renard, John (trans. and ed.) 2004. Knowledge of God in Classical Sufism: Foundations of Islamic Mystical Theology. New York: Paulist Press. Safi, Omid (trans. and ed.) 2018. Radical Love: Teachings from the Islamic Mystical Tradition. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Saritoprak, Zeki. 2018. Islamic Spirituality: Theology and Practice for the Modern World. London and New York: Bloomsbury. Schimmel, Annemarie. 1958. “Ibn Khafif: An Early Representative of Sufism.” Journal of the Pakistan Historical Society 6: 147–173. ———. 1975. Mystical Dimensions of Islam. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press. ———. 1992. Islam: An Introduction. New York: Sate University of New York Press. ———. 1994. Deciphering the Signs of God: A  Phenomenological Approach to Islam. New York: State University of New York Press. Schuon, Frithjof. 1998 [1961]. Understanding Islam. Bloomington, IN: World Wisdom. Schuon, Frithjof. 2006 [1980]. Sufism: Veil and Quintessence, A New Translation with Selected Letters. Edited by James S. Cutsinger. Bloomington, IN: World Wisdom. Shahid, Irfan. 1984. Rome and the Arabs: A Prolegomenon to the Study of Byzantium and the Arabs. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Smith, Margaret. 1931. Studies in Early Mysticism in the Near and Middle East. London: The Sheldon Press.

Introduction 29 ———. 1935. An Early Mystic of Baghdad: A  Study of the Life and Teaching of Harith b. Asad al-Muhasibi A.D. 781-A.D. 857. London: The Sheldon Press. Sviri, Sara. 1999. “Hakim Tirmidhi and the Malamati Movement in Early Sufism”. In The Heritage of Sufism, Volume 1: Classical Persian Sufism from its Origins to Rumi (700–1300), edited by Leonard Lewisohn, 583–613. Oxford, UK: Oneworld. Zaehner, Robert C. 1960. Hindu and Muslim Mysticism. London: University of London.

Part I

Cultural fusion

1 Tasting the sweet Guru Nanak and Sufi delicacies Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh

It was India’s historic destiny that many human races and cultures and religions should flow to her, finding a home in her hospitable soil . . . Eleven hundred years of common history have enriched India with our common achievement. Our languages, our poetry, our literature, our culture, our art, our dress, our manners and customs, the innumerable happenings of our daily life, everything bears the stamp of our joint endeavour. – Abul Kalam Azad, Presidential Address at Ramgarh, 19401

Introduction In his 1940 address at the Fifty-Third Session of the Indian National Congress, the President of the National Assembly, Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, reminded Indians of their shared Hindu and Muslim history on the Indian subcontinent. He gave this address during the height of identity politics fomented by the colonial Raj, seven years prior to the Partition of India in 1947. This chapter goes almost five centuries further back – to Guru Nanak (1469–1539), the founder of the Sikh religion. Guru Nanak was born in the village of Talwandi (now in Pakistan) and lived in the rich cultural, ethnic, linguistic and religious Hindu and Muslim world celebrated by Maulana Azad. Divinely inspired, Guru Nanak set forth to systematize his intense personal experience of the universal One for his contemporaries to re-experience its boundless infinity. He initiated the new script Gurmukhi to record his poetic reflex and to crystallize his message he instituted a guru successor, community gathering (sangat), community meal (langar) and selfless service (seva). He clearly “founded” Sikhism, one of the five world religions today. The repository of his 974 hymns is the Sikh canon, the Guru Granth Sahib, which was compiled by Guru Arjan (Guru Nanak’s fourth successor, 1563–1606) and enshrined in the modernday Golden Temple in 1604. Based on the founder’s vision and syntax, Guru Arjan gathered together the verses of his predecessor Gurus as well as Muslim Sufis and Hindu Bhagats. The text is scripted in the Gurmukhi, and it spans across centuries, languages and regions. Its earliest author is the first recognized Punjabi poet, Chishti Sufi saint Shaykh Farid (1175–1265),

34  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh nicknamed Ganji Shakar, the “treasury of sugar.” The Guru Granth Sahib constitutes the core of Sikh ethics, philosophy and aesthetics and presides at all public and private ceremonies, rituals and worship. The twenty-five million Sikhs worldwide rely on its existential power, and so the Sufi ingredients are an essential part of Sikh life. This chapter brings attention to Guru Nanak’s visual representations in early Sikh art and to his sublime lyrics recorded in Sikh scripture. Both these genres resound with Maulana Azad’s inspirational words, as they highlight the pluralistic dimensions of Guru Nanak’s personality and poetics. We find here not only a rich confluence of colonial constructs “Hinduism” and “Islam” which Maulana Azad was referring to in his speech in a prepartitioned India but also the infusion of diverse Buddhist, Jain and Nātha yogi traditions current in medieval India. To illustrate the important theme of Sarwar Alam’s volume, I will here focus only on the Sufi currents, and I am most grateful to Sarwar for inciting me to explore this neglected topic in Sikh studies. Sadly, because of identity politics, Sikh writers have ignored the Sufi connections in their religious heritage, and because of their own assumptions, objective historians have outrightly dismissed them. The influential historian William H. McLeod has repeatedly postulated his “admixture” theory, which denies Guru Nanak as the rightful “founder” of a new mode of thought and praxis and instead categorizes him as “reworking the Sant tradition.” McLeod defines the Sant tradition essentially as “a synthesis of the three principal dissenting movements, a compound of elements drawn mainly from Vaisnva bhakti and the hatha-yoga of the Natha yogis, ˙˙ with a marginal contribution from Sufism. . . .”2 His theory affirms a basically Hindu origin and holds that Muslim influence, although certainly evident, is no-where of fundamental significance in the thought of Guru Nanak. The religion of Guru Nanak, and so of Sikhism as a whole, is firmly imbedded in the Sant tradition of northern India, in the beliefs of the so-called Nirguna Sampradaya. The categories employed by Guru Nanak are the categories of the Sants, the terminology he uses is their terminology, and the doctrines he affirms are their doctrines.3 Such theoretical formulations fail to recognize Guru Nanak’s personal sensibility, originality and genius, and they deter scholars from exploring and savoring the direct, dynamic course of Sufi delicacies in Guru Nanak’s biography and imagination. Scholarly warnings to “exercise caution in our comparisons with Sufi belief”4 are appetite suppressants. Guru Nanak does not acknowledge following any spiritual “Sant” teacher or upholding any Sant doctrine or principle anywhere in his vast oeuvre. We do not find him emulating any specific mystic or school of thought or reworking out ideas anywhere; in fact, we hear Nanak criticize hatha-yoga and other Natha perspectives posited in McLeod’s “admixture” theory.

Tasting the sweet 35 What Guru Nanak felt was a profound spirituality common to all people in his milieu  – Hindu, Muslim, Yogi, Buddhist, Jain or Sikh  – and what he created were enduring relationships with people of other faiths. Both our visual and literary sources provide evidence of Guru Nanak’s personal revelation and of his rich engagement with Sufi poetics and practitioners. We see Guru Nanak as a typical Sufi saint warmly meeting with a host of Sufis, and we hear his rhythmic speedy verse flowing with Sufi metaphors, symbols and images, often set in Sufi musical measures. Of course, there are some fundamental differences between the existing traditions and the Sikh world Guru Nanak was ushering in. For our topic in particular, certain essential elements of Sufism – the fear of judgment, the eschatological perspectives,5 worship at the graves of Sufi masters and the instrumentality of erotic love (‘ishq-e majazi) for metaphysical love (‘ishq-e haqiqi) – are missing in Guru Nanak’s poetic horizon. Yet there are many splendid ingredients with Sufi flavors throughout his vast repertoire. The more we recognize Sufi and Sikh affinities, the more we cognize the reflexes that emerge from our common human ligaments, reflexes – preceding all manmade divisive and fanatic doctrinal conceptualizations and promulgations. My overall aspiration in this chapter is to realize Aristotle’s statement that poetry is concerned with the universal (chapter 9 of the Poetics) and get to feel the impact of art as defined by Tolstoy: “a means of union among men” (What Is Art?). I very much hope the Sufi delicacies in Guru Nanak’s visual representations and in his sonorous melodies nourish us, so we may practice in our own dangerously divided global society the pluralism Maulana Azad remembered in a religiously torn colonial India. The subsequent independence of India from the British, in 1947, came with forced migrations and ethnic violence. Carved out of India, Pakistan was the first modern nation founded on the basis of religious identity. The provinces of Punjab and Bengal were split between two nations (by now three – Pakistan, Bangladesh and India). A horrific holocaust ensued as millions of Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs began to migrate across the national borders. To this day that ghastly past continues to haunt the South Asian psyche and politics. Muslim-Sikh hostilities are just too entrenched. Indeed, by going beyond the conventional theological, juridical and philosophical Muslim studies, Sarwar Alam’s innovative theme for this volume discloses the primal Sufi infusion  – the emotion of love – that flows in human blood and emerges in human emotions, imagination and expressions, be they Muslim, Sikh, Hindu, Jewish, Christian, Parsi, Jain or Buddhist.

Historical context Islam had come to the Sindh as early as 711 ce, but it was not until Mahmud of Ghazna started his conquests around 1000 that the Punjab developed several Muslim religious centers and a substantial Muslim population. By the late eleventh century, Delhi became the capital of Muslim dynasties,

36  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh and the Punjab, being the caravan route from the Middle and Near East to Delhi, was enriched with Sufi shrines, khanqas (hospices), langars (food halls) and mosques. The graves, or dargahs, of Sufi masters became vital sites of pilgrimages where people from diverse religious backgrounds came together to seek blessings. David Gilmartin explains how these shrines embodied “diverse local cultural identities, whose variety reflected both the diversity of ecological, social and kinship organizations in Punjab and the diversity in the spiritual needs of the people.”6 Culturally as well as politically, Sufis were extremely important on the Indian subcontinent for the Muslim rulers, notes Barbara D. Metcalf, as they “patronized them as inheritors of charisma (baraka) derived through chains of succession (silsila) from the Prophet himself.”7 Guru Nanak, born in 1469, lived mostly during the relatively peaceful Sultanate period – the Sayyid Sultans ruled from 1414 to 1451; the Lodi Sultans, from 1451 to1526. The sultans created networks throughout India and into Central Asia while cultivating “a new religious and classical culture in the Arab and Persian traditions.”8 Militaristically strong, the sultans provided protection from the thirteenth-century Mongol devastations, and many Muslim scholars and holy men found a sanctuary on the subcontinent and in turn sanctified its soil. Guru Nanak’s life stories recount his meeting with many spiritual persons. The Sikh Guru in his lifetime also witnessed the terrible defeat of the last Lodi Sultan by the descendant of Timurs and the Mongols, Zahiruddin Muhammad Babur (1483–1530), who established the Mughal empire, “the most powerful and richest polity the subcontinent had ever known.”9 Rather than the official theologians or religious scholars, it was the Sufis who played a critical role in the expansion of Islam in India, acquiring a following that constitutes the largest concentration of Muslims in the world.10 To begin with, Sufis were flexible and tolerant to divergent views, but they were also very effective in communicating their views and tapping into the human heart. They infused the Pillars of Islam in the popular local folk songs – sung at weddings, sung as lullabies, sung during corn grinding and cotton spinning.11 The esoteric and abstract mystical stages and states formulated by Sufi philosophers such as the Arabo-Hispanic Ibn al-‘Arabi (d. 1240) were utterly simplified and conveyed in the accessible vernacular regional languages. Arabic and Persian, the Muslim religious and elite languages, were replaced by the spoken languages of the specific regions, and Classical Sufism was modified and adapted into the local idioms. Growing up in his village, Nanak would have breathed in the air, blowing with the Sufi love for God, fragrant with Islamic vocabulary, concepts, ideals and practices. He also traveled widely, visiting sacred spaces and meeting with holy men from different religious traditions. Sikh historians recount that during his travels Guru Nanak met with Shaykh Farid’s twelfth successor, from whom he procured the compositions that were enshrined in the Guru Granth Sahib in 1604. Though some scholars question the identity of the earliest Guru Granth Sahib author,12 most believe he is indeed the venerated

Tasting the sweet 37 Shaykh Farid, one of the founding fathers of the popular Chishti Sufi order in India. As such, his four hymns and 130 couplets, composed in Punjabi and part of the Sikh scripture, form the earliest extant example of Punjabi writing. Shaykh Farid was a devout Muslim who settled in Pakpattan on the river Sutlej in central Punjab. Fleeing the Mongol invasions, Shaykh Farid’s ancestors left their home in Central Asia and came to the Punjab. He was born near Multan and was named after the Persian Sufi poet and philosopher Farid-ud-din Attar. Shaykh Farid expressed the ideas derived from the Sufi models of Iran, Iraq and Central Asia in the local Punjabi language and metaphors. As Ali Asani observes, the Muslim intellectual elite had a deep-seated prejudice against anything Indian until 1600 or so;13 therefore, to opt for the vernacular would have been very challenging for the Sufi Shaykh. With his arduous passion, he was able to reach the hearts of the Indian masses and gained enormous success in promoting Islam among many ethnically distinct groups. In hopes of receiving the Sufi saint’s baraka (spiritual power) and favors like good crops, female fertility and cure from disease, millions of villagers visit his tomb and shrine at Pakpattan. With Shaykh Farid, the Chishti movement gained tremendous influence, surpassing the Qadiri, Suhrawardi and Naqshbandi Sufi orders. Guru Nanak was born several centuries after Shaykh Farid, and he, too, was attracted by the Chishti saint’s perspective even though Shaykh Farid’s rigorous asceticism, his intense anxiety in this world and his haunting tone were very different from those of Guru Nanak. Shaykh Farid’s hymns are most respectfully included in the Sikh sacred book with full acknowledgment of their distinctiveness and difference. The conscious choice of including his hymns imbued with Sufi patterns and Qur’anic allusions in the Sikh canon highlights the genuine openness of the Gurus and their respect for Islam. The founder Guru’s statement that “Sufis receive the Truth, they live in the divine Court forever” (GGS:15) – though often mistranslated! –14 captures his esteem and appreciation for mystical Islam.

Visual resemblances Since Guru Nanak’s life stories (Janamsakhis) frequently set up a stage for his scriptural hymns, they disclose a symbiotic relationship between the biography of Nanak and his poetics. Janamsakhis came into circulation shortly after his passing away, and they have been very popular in the collective Sikh imagination. They have come down in a variety of renditions, such as the Bala, Miharban, Adi and Puratan. Many of them are also illustrated in vibrant colors. This pattern of mythologizing is part of Indian culture, for over the centuries narratives from the Hindu Ramayana, Mahabharata, Puranas, the Buddhist Jatakas and the Jaina Sutras have been told, read and illustrated. By the time that the Janamsakhis were produced, miraculous stories (mu’jizat/karamat) about Prophet Muhammad and about Muslim saints

38  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh had also become widespread in the Punjab through Sufi orders. The Janamsakhis locate Nanak within a pluralistic society, living out his vision of the singular Divine. Accompanied by Muslim rabab15 player Bhai Mardana, Nanak travels far and wide. He visits Hindu temples, Muslim mosques, Buddhist viharas and Sufi khanaqahs. He attends a multitude of fairs and festivals. He converses with people of different faiths and genders. For our analysis we will look at a few painted illustrations of Guru Nanak from one of the early manuscripts, the B-40 Janamsakhi (dated 1733).16 It surfaced in Lahore in the nineteenth century and was acquired by the India Office Library in 1907.17 The B-40 Janamsakhi is a very important resource because it is one of the very few manuscripts with extensive historical documentation: It was compiled by Daia Ram Baol at the request of the patron Sangu Mal and illustrated by Alam Chand Raj in 1733. The stylistic fusion of the illustrations flows from Alam Chand’s strong Punjabi rural impulse, stroked in the charming folk arts style from the Rajasthani Malwa School, which was a major development in the history of fifteenth-century Indian miniature paintings. In his fifty-seven illustrations, Alam Chand evokes Guru Nanak’s human personality, transcending religious boundaries current in his milieu. The artist accomplishes it by utilizing disparate motifs of the tilak (Hindu) and the seli (Muslim): The Guru almost always has a vertical red tilak mark on his forehead, just as he has a woolen cord, seli, slung across his left shoulder coming down to his right waist. Explained by Hans-Georg Gadamer, “[W]hat makes a motif is that it has unity in a convincing way and that the artist has carried through this unity as the unity of meaning, just as the viewer understands it as a unity.”18 Evidently, the bright red line between the Guru’s dark eyes or the dark semicircle sinuously clinging his yellow robe is not mere art design – the tilak is saturated with the holiness of the Vaishnava Hindus; the seli, with the devotion of the Muslim Sufis. Each has enormous unity of meaning for its specific community, and the artist brings them together on the Sikh Guru’s body to project his inclusive personality. The Muslim Bhai Mardana is also painted with the tilak. Alam’s designs from two different traditions do not reproduce some sort of a “composite” or “hybrid” model; rather, they convincingly convey to the viewer a figure beyond the either/or religious categories prevalent in medieval India. As we travel with Guru Nanak in his multiethnic, multireligious and multicultural cosmos, we become sensitive to the multifaceted sensory richness of human existence. Guru Nanak’s pluralistic personality is reflected in the Sikh canon, which as we noted contains not only the verses of the Sikh Gurus but also those of Hindu and Muslim holy men belonging to different centuries, different social classes and different regions and cultures. Besides the seli, Guru Nanak in many of the illustrations carries a tasbihlike rosary in his hand, he has a soft round beard and he dons the typical Sufi turban. Such Islamicate motifs are very pronounced across the B-40 set. The illustrations affirm the artist’s predilection for Muslim Sufis over Hindu holy

Tasting the sweet 39 men and strongly dismantle the scholarly stress on Guru Nanak’s “basically Hindu origin.”19 No matter what the setting may be, there is a perpetual calm and at-homeness in the world about Nanak. Most often there is a lush tree above and beside him; in simple profile view, his Muslim companion, the musician Mardana, strums on his rabab (In the next section we will sample Mardana’s melodies recorded in the Guru Granth Sahib) The Sikh Guru’s proximity with Islam and the melodious vibrations bursting from Muslim Mardana are critical for the artist, and they are effectively conveyed throughout the B-40 manuscript. We can see and hear the harmony between the sublime words spoken by Guru Nanak and the sonorous notes played by Mardana on his rabab, and this harmony of sound and word, music and language, Sikh and Muslim, opens us to the wondrous infinity of which we all partake. The sequence of B-40 Janamsakhi illustrations begins with a 7-year-old going to school (#1). The little boy on his first day at school wears an Islamicate yellow full-sleeved robe coming down to his ankles with an elegant reddish sash neatly tied around his waist and a matching turban over his head. His father is dressed in the same manner. The chooridar (literally “bracelet forming”) trousers peep out from below little Nanak’s robe, as do his curly locks from the turban on each side of his face. It is a most endearing portrait. Guru Nanak’s formal dress and upright demeanor are markedly different from the rest of the children, who are meagerly dressed and romping around. The turban customarily donned by Mughal princes, Sufi saints and Rajput nobility imparts Guru Nanak a maturity beyond his years. He confidently greets his mustached teacher dressed (so different looking from the father-son pair) in the typical upper-caste Brahmin-Hindu outfit of a pleated dhoti tucked around his waist with one end draping from his right shoulder down his bare chest. Caught at the liminal threshold between “home” and “society”  – behind him stands his father and across sits his teacher on a pedestal with food and books  – little Nanak displays great dignity. Over the course of Alam’s fifty-seven paintings, he grows from a little boy to a teenager to a dark-bearded youth into the gray-bearded middle age and subsequently to a white-bearded elderly man (Baba). An early scene (#6) depicts the parents visiting Nanak with trays of mouth-watering sweets. The text describes the Guru and Mardana returning to the Punjab after twelve years of travel. Mardana alone goes to visit Nanak’s home, and the Guru’s parents follow him to the spot where Guru Nanak is seated, on a rectangular piece of cloth under a tree. Alam paints the parents in profile facing their son. Following the Punjabi sociocultural norms, they have brought two large platters of goodies to welcome their son, which we see placed in front of him on each side. The one farther away is smaller, creating an illusion of space. The round saffron ladoos and white squares of barfi so neatly arranged are all too tempting! The gooey sweets on the Guru’s left are partially covered by cloth  – probably to keep bugs away. Those on his right are uncovered, and it is their covering that we

40  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh see in the Guru’s right hand. Alam’s brush captures the Guru’s gesture in motion – he is lifting off the cover from the sweets in a most inviting manner. The parents greet their spiritually exalted son, and he in turn greets the audience to partake of those delicious sweets while being cognizant of the transcendent Infinite saturating the wondrous landscape. As we see those sweets our ears hear the scriptural verse in Shaykh Farid’s voice: “Farida, sakar khandu nivat guru makhio manjha dudhu – says Farid, brown sugar, white sugar, rock candy, molasses, honey, rich buffalo milk . . .” (GGS:1379 [the passage is cited in full in the following section]). Alam’s joyous scene sumptuously affirms the unity of spiritual and digestive processes, evoking another scriptural verse that the Divine be remembered in every “morsel of food – sas gras,” (GGS:961). Alimentary canals are considered elementary to spiritual progress. Body and spirit are not binaries, and spiritual knowledge is not to be confined to the realm of the upper-caste Hindu Brahmin or Plato’s philosopher-king. The delicate transparent textural coverings and the covered delicacies are made of the same material. The saffron ladoos in the middle of Alam’s composition delightfully replay in the designs on Mother Tripta’s large full dupatta on Guru Nanak’s turban and on the sashes of Father Kalu and Bhai Mardana. Altogether, the festive platters in this illustration as well as in the preceding classroom scene (#1) create visual links amongst the protagonists, and they feed us with positive associations for eating and learning. Alam’s depiction of Guru Nanak’s revelation (# 28) corresponds with internal evidence provided by Guru Nanak in the Guru Granth Sahib (p. 150, to which we will return in the next section). In Sikh public memory, this is the starting point of their religion. Alam positions the Guru standing in the middle of a panoramic view. Trees and shrubs in a round horizon stretch into infinity, and bunches of little colorful flowers pop up all over the green grass. Bhai Mardana’s curled fingers spell out the vigor with which he is striking his rabab, making us see melodious sound waves bursting in the air. In this visually and aurally rich scene, Guru Nanak’s hands, holding the tasbih-like rosary, are joined in homage and reach above him. His face is tilted. Extending both below and above, it is an intriguing multidimensional perspective. According to the written text, “baba nanak” is in this Palace of the formless One – “baba nanak nrinkār de mahal vic” (B-40:100). The scene reiterates Guru Nanak’s autobiographical verse – “the songster was called into the Palace by the Owner (dhādhi sacai mahal khasami buliā)” (GGS:150). Evidently, the Palace (mahal) of the formless One is no different from this world of ours. The figure of the bird in the tree echoes Guru Nanak’s human body. The Guru appears in total ecstasy. With his eyes halfclosed, his lips in a smile, he stands (stasis) outside himself (ec), a perfect intersection of the physical and the spiritual spheres. Guru Nanak’s numinous experience is with and through his own body. His fluid emotional state corresponds with the expansive circular landscape. Demarcations between mind and body, individual body and the bodies of others, lok (world)

Tasting the sweet 41 and parmarth (transcendental reality), are obliterated. Without seeing the Divine in any “form” – whether physical or cosmic – Guru Nanak appears to feel the formless One pulsate in each and every form. There are no hints of any Sant mediations but clear evidence of “unmediated inspiration from on high.”20 Guru Nanak’s vision of the singular infinite formless Divine, his moral impulse to connect with everybody around him and his heightened sensuousness constitute Guru Nanak’s revelation. These currents are perfectly captured, artistically and verbally crystallized into Sikh metaphysics, ethics and aesthetics. Over and again Alam illustrates Guru Nanak animatedly engaged in discourse with important historical figures popular in the Punjab, such as Shah Abdul Rahman, Hajji Rattan, Shaykh Braham, Bhagat Kabir, Gorakhnath and Shaykh Sharaf. He meets with many other Sufis, saints, Siddhas and ˙ across as Nāthas, as well as Kala, the god of death. Guru Nanak comes a genuine pluralist who does not simply accept or tolerate diversity but reaches out to others. However, most enchanting in Alam’s pictorial constellation is the physical and spiritual proximity between Guru Nanak and the Sufi saints. The quantity and quality and placing of Sufi figures and imagery in the B-40 manuscript overcome the distance between Guru Nanak and the mystical world of Islam calculated in all those scholarly warnings and assumptions (pointed out at the outset of this essay). The Janamsakhi, created in 1733 for a Sikh patron for the use of the Sikh community, conveys the seventeenth-century Sikh self-consciousness: the Sufi significance over any and all Hindu and Nātha characteristics in the religion of Guru Nanak. In #7 we see Guru Nanak conversing with Shah Abdul Rahman. The Sufi saint is dressed in a rosy-pink outfit amid flora and fauna. Why so much pink, we wonder? It is but the perfect pictorial statement of the physical and spiritual closeness between the Sufi saint and the Sikh Guru! According to the Janamskahi, when Shah Abdul Rahman returns home, his disciple comments on his flushed body, and the saint replies: “ajju khudai ka lāl miliā – today I met with Khuda’s ruby” (B-40:43–4). The polysemous term “lāl” denotes the color red, or radiance, or ruby, or a lover, so the rosiness divulges the Muslim saint’s infusion of Guru Nanak’s spiritual radiance.21 The artist translates the Shaykh’s words into the language of colors. The encounter is complex: There is the initial seeing, which produces an immediate insight into the Sikh guru as a radiance/lover/ruby of Khuda for the Muslim saint, and he in turn transforms into a passionate pink. The intimacy between the two spiritual bodies is beautifully emitted. In another intriguing illustration, Guru Nanak is in conversation with the Sufi Shaykh Sharaf (#50). This celebrated figure in the Punjab lived two centuries before Guru Nanak. In Alam’s painting he is a young black-bearded saint ornately dressed like a woman with all her feminine accoutrements. In both content and form, it is a fascinating scene. The background with single-, double- and even triple-storied buildings and a fluted dome reaching up to the skies give the impression of an urbanized Muslim town (identified

42  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh as Baghdad in the text). The balconies and windows are intricately latticed, and the walls are decorated with colorful arabesques. Closer, we get a side view of a mosque set in a compound with its entrance opening up to the right. Its latticed window repeats the pattern of those far in the distance, exhibiting the genius of Islamic art – the conversion of stone into lace. With the dome of the mosque receding into the left horizon and the branches of a vibrant bush across from it into the right, the eye is left to wander beyond both borders. This bush in the compound of the mosque has been rendered realistically, for we can spot eight different birds sitting in a circle on its distinct branches and leaves. Quite unfamiliar in Alam’s repertoire of abstract foliage, this image immediately evokes the proverbial Conference of the Birds by the Muslim mystic Farid ud-Din Attar (after whom Shaykh Farid is named). Rows of tiny shrubs, brownish-pink rocks and sprightly flowers run parallel to the mosque and the discoursing birds. Against this backdrop charged with Islamic aesthetics, the blue-robed Guru and the bride-like, bearded Sufi are having their own discourse. As the two figures face each other sitting on their knees on the green grass, the tasbih-like rosary in the Guru’s stretched hand appears right in the middle. This rhythmic circle of beads reaches out horizontally to unite them and vertically to the three rose-like flowers, higher to the five daisies, still higher to the mosque and finally to the houses and buildings in the distance. According to the narrative, the Guru invites the Shaykh to sing ghazals, for which he was renowned. The Sikh Guru has the desire to hear with his own ears the Sufi saint sing on the theme of love. The delighted Guru looks upon him, and as the story ends, the saint bursts into bliss. Especially interesting is that Shaykh Sharaf, like Shah Abdul Rahman in #7, palpably feels the impact of Guru Nanak’s sight: Babeji di najari bhar dekhne nal sekh tai drib drist hoi gai/rom rom daru divaru masatu hoi gaia/hari jame andar har burqe andar brahm hi paia najar avai. (B-40:140–1) With Babaji’s look upon him, the Shaykh’s sight turned divine. His every pore became ecstatic. Inside every outfit, behind every burqa, he saw the Divine! The terms jama and burqa evoke the human body, and they bring to mind figures of jama-wearing men and burqa-wearing women. The Sufi saint touches the Sikh Guru with his beautiful song of love and is, in turn, physically touched by the Guru’s visual pulsations. His hair stands erect in joy, and he begins to see the metaphysical Being in every corporeal figure.22 This powerful scene of Sikh-Sufi reciprocity is also very popular with the contemporary group for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered Sikhs as visual evidence that the progressive Guru Nanak did not condemn cross-dressing

Tasting the sweet 43 or same-sex relationships.23 Alam’s scenes have great relevance, and if their visceral impact were to reach wider audiences, there could be a real shift in the divisive and oppressive paradigms dominating contemporary society. For our final visual, we turn to a late nineteenth-century watercolor at the Government Museum and Art Gallery in Chandigarh, India. Here we see Guru Nanak wearing a mesmerizing full-sleeved robe.24 With the patronage of the first Sikh emperor, Maharaja Ranjit Singh (1780–1839), Sikh art had reached new heights. In this memorable painting, the Guru has a full beard and in addition to Alam’s iconography he has a halo, and his turban has a high flap and a domed top, and he is framed in a regal setting. One of the Janamaskahis recount Guru Nanak receiving a cloak of honor during his visit to Baghdad, with verses from the holy Qur’an embroidered on it.25 In the watercolor tinted in a golden hue, the Guru’s robe is inscribed all over with calligraphy in Arabic characters in the naksh script. The Guru, deep in thought, with a rosary in his hands, is seated on a terrace. Some branches in brush strokes on the right echo his profile. In the far background is an impressionist rendering of sizeable foliage. Closer, we get a glimpse of the Mughal styled balcony balustrade with latticework. Closer still is a big round pillow-cushion associated with Mughal emperors, and the Guru, with his left leg tucked under and the right one placed over the left knee, sits perfectly aligned with his royal backdrop. The rich horizontal folds of his pillow-cushion dynamically intersect with the vertical stripes of his pajama-trousers; the circular designs on his turban rhythmically repeat the circles on the pillow, the necklace around his neck and the tasbih-like rosary in his right hand. The triangles, decorated with yet more triangular florets on his draping shawl, join the rectangular border of the Islamicate carpet he is seated on. In this scene of perpetual motion, the Guru is wrapped in a robe spun with verses from the holy Qur’an and the sublime Japji that cover his entire front and sleeves. The Islamic invocation bismillah al rahman al rahim and the Sikh adi sacu jugadi sacu hai bhi sacu hosi bhi sacu appear together.26 The diverse threads of Guru Nanak’s dress powerfully weave the One who is beyond all external designs and forms. In its visual hermeneutics, the work unravels not only the meaning of the term “text” (derived from texere, to weave) but also the singular transcendent matrix from which all the materials are born. The call for rahimat or rahim is the perennial womb of Truth (sacu), which always was (jugadi sacu), is (hai bhi sacu) and will be evermore (hosi bhi sacu). Without halting the mind anywhere, the painting gives a visual and sonorous push to imagine and intuit That Infinite One, common to everybody – Muslim and Sikh alike. The Sikh Guru’s body, his gestures, his garments and the items held by him are imbued with enormous spiritual values typically associated with the mystical dimensions of Islam. They function as symbols, for they bring about a “coincidence of sensible appearance and supersensible meaning,” which Gadamer notes is the original significance of the Greek symbolon,

44  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh “the union of two things that belong together.”27 The visuals draw us spectators into an empowering Sikh-Muslim closeness, they shatter our fears and phobias about the religion of the other and they incite us to experience a wholesome spiritual efficacy. Tolstoy perfectly defined the function of art: Art is not, as the metaphysicians say, the manifestation of some mysterious idea of beauty or God; it is not, as the aesthetical physiologists say, a game in which man lets off his excess of stored-up energy; it is not the expression of man’s emotions by external signs; it is not the production of pleasing objects; and, above all, it is not pleasure; but it is a means of union among men, joining them together in the same feelings, and indispensable for the life and progress toward well-being of individuals and of humanity. What Is Art28

Poetic affinities Even a cursory hearing of Sufi and Sikh lyrics proves Aristotle’s point that poetry is concerned with the universal. The singular subject of Sufi and Sikh verse is the divine Reality, and the ultimate goal is to experience that Transcendent One most sensuously. According to Sufi Shaykh Farid, the earliest author recorded in Sikh scripture, nothing compares with the sweetness of God: Brown sugar, white sugar, rock candy, Molasses, honey, rich buffalo milk – All these are delicious things, but O Rabb,29 none come close to You! GGS:1379 While most philosophers and theologians view food and drink as antithetical to seeing, knowledge, morality and male preoccupations, Sikh and Sufi poetry so stress the experiential dimension that they establish a close partnership between tasting and knowledge and shift the normal equation  of seeing and knowledge. The sense of seeing has dominated Indic and Greek thought. The Hindu texts – Vedas (traditionally the Rig, Yajur, Sama and Atharva) and Darśanas (different schools of philosophy) – are literally the sense of “seeing” (from the Sanskrit roots vid and drś). Likewise, from Aristotle and Plato onward, Western philosophy regard sight as the “most excellent of the senses;” “the noblest activity of the mind, theoria, is described in metaphors mostly taken from the visual field,” such as “eye of the soul” and of the “light of reason.”30 To come to think of it, “seeing” does maintain some sort of gap between the object of knowledge and the perceiving subject, whereas tasting overcomes all distance by intimately bringing the “other” into the very body of the percipient. Mind and body are integrally united in the phenomenon of tasting.

Tasting the sweet 45 Tasting the sweetness so deliciously expressed by Shaykh Farid forms the backdrop of the entire Sikh canon. The first Guru tastes the Divine as the sweetest of the sweet. “Embracing You we taste all that’s sweet” sings the Guru and goes on to expand the various facets of spiritual experience: Hearing, we taste the savory Telling with our mouths we taste the tart and the sour Playing Your mystic melody we taste the spicy Those blessed by the gaze of love Taste thirty-six ambrosial flavors in their one love. GGS:16 The diverse and rich tasting takes the Divine physically inside the body, and so the transcendent One blends with the bloodstream and feeds each person. Take this exquisite simile: “Like lilies and lotuses in the water savor its elixir, colored in the holy word we savor the sweetness of sugarcane” (GGS:152). Even his supreme ethical ideal of humility takes on a “sweet” note: “Sweet humility is the core of virtues and good deeds, says Nanak” (GGS:470). For the Guru tasting is vitally important to the cognition and experience of the Divine and to the development of individual morality. As a result, the language of eating and drinking sumptuously pervades his poetic repertoire and the Guru Granth overall. The very origins of the Sikh religion are in fact traced to Guru Nanak’s revelation, sapiential in nature. Savoring “the meal of the true elixir of the divine Name” is how he identifies his transformative epiphany. Lyrically, Guru Nanak admits he was a useless songster, but once he tastes the divine elixir, he sets on his mission to resound the holy word and inspire his contemporaries with what he got to savor himself (GGS:150). His autobiographical record from Sikh scripture is confirmed in the Puratan Janamsakhi (illustrated by Alam #28): Nanak is ushered into the presence of the divine One, he wears the outfit of true praise and glory, he consumes the meal of the true elixir of the Name and he takes up the assignment to play the holy word and spread it far.31 Guru Nanak’s patron is the infinite One, and the songster is charged to spread the holy word. Something radically new came on the horizon. Guru Nanak’s personal experience of divine inspiration recorded in the Guru Granth Sahib (repeated in the Janamsakhi verbal and visual renderings), soundly refutes Mcleod’s premise that “we can hardly accept the claim that it was delivered by direct, unmediated inspiration from on high.”32 Guru Nanak, I argue, experienced the unicity of the infinite Divine so palpably that his elemental, dynamic and spiritually charged verse burst out as a somatic reflex – giving birth to the Sikh religion. Nanak is not reworking or rearticulating or mediating through the Sant tradition – he is immediately voicing the infinite One across time and space, high and low, within and without, in the universal language of poetry.

46  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh The oral and aural equation made by Guru Nanak is carried forth by his successor Gurus. Language (bānī) is ambrosia (amrit), and it is qualified as delicious essence (amio rasa; GGS:963). Rasa is integral to Indian aesthetics as it incorporates qualities and experiences common to food and arts. Literally, the juice of plants, rasa is the refined essence of an object, its taste or flavor, the relishing by the taster, a cultivated sensibility and a base for many sophisticated theories.33 In the Guru Granth Sahib, the organ of the tongue is literally rasana: “amrit bānī rasana cākhai – my tongue tastes the ambrosial language,” divulges Guru Arjan (GGS:395). Guru Nanak’s initial aesthetic tasting was vitally important for the compiler-editor. Guru Arjan took up the momentous task of creating a literary platter with rich and pluralistic ingredients – the lyrics of Sikh Gurus, Muslim Sufis and Hindu Bhagats. They would add their own sweetness to the dishes, enhance the variety, deepen the taste and nurture the readers/hearers on a healthy multinutrient diet. He intended for readers and hearers to gain supreme enjoyment from the literary volume, and in his epilogue to the Guru Granth Sahib, we clearly hear his objective: In the platter lie three things: Truth, contentment, contemplation . . . They who eat, they who savor are liberated. GGS:1429 The sacred text is configured as a platter with three dishes: truth, contentment and reflection, and we are exhorted not simply to “eat” (khāvai) but to “savor” (bhūncai) them. The epistemological value of these three on the textual platter of plenitude and jouissance is somatically swallowed and enjoyed. The Sikh scriptural tasting bears striking affinities with Sufi dhawq, defined by Seyyed Hossein Nasr as “sapiential knowledge or vision.”34 Leonard Lewisohn translates dhawq as “heart-savor” and cites its importance in the aesthetics and philosophy of the classical Sufi Abu Hamid al-Ghazali: The most special characteristic of the highest Sufi mystics, and what is uniquely theirs, [this] can only be attained by taste, not by learning . . . [it is] like witnessing with one’s own eyes and taking in one’s own hands.35 By tasting the elemental nutrients of sacred poetry, awareness and appreciation heighten. The universal sacred lyrics bring about a shift from the object to the subject, from the divine word to its human reception, from knowing to savoring. That immediate feeling or experiencing cannot be put into any words or mediations – it has to be felt spontaneously. As the beloved thirteenth-century Persian Sufi Jalaluddin Rumi evocatively relays,

Tasting the sweet 47 Somebody asked us, what does it mean to be in love? You will know, I said, “Only when you become a lover like us.”36 As far as I see, the raison d’être of Sufi and Sikh poetics is to taste the divine One by feeding on and enjoying the universal values of truth, contentment and contemplation. In tasting, we realize, except for hearing, our senses do come together: We can feel the touch of what we eat and drink; we can see the articles we consume; we can smell their fragrance; our tongue gets to taste them; and importantly, the food and drink become a part of our physical self, our emotions, our consciousness – and even impacts our unconsciousness! And sonorous rhythms of poetry give presence to the absent aural sense. A dynamic synesthesia, tasting serves as a complex and intricate metaphor in Sufi and Sikh literature, reproducing in turn many more novel metaphors, tropes and symbols. The sapiential process opens up the fundamental Islamic and Sikh principle of divine Oneness – tawhid (Islamic), ikkoankar (Sikh), giving us a taste of the Unity of Being (wahdat al-wujud). The mystical doctrine of wahdat al-wujud, formulated by the school of Ibn al-‘Arabi, establishes unicity of God and creation. The phenomena all around us are more than what they appear (zahir): Created by the Creator they reveal the numinous latent reality (batin) and mirror the “Hidden Treasure.” While Ibn al-‘Arabi’s doctrine inspired enormous mystical poetry in the Islamic world, the conservative Muslims who interpret tawhid strictly find the blurring of Creator-creation division problematic. As a result, the “greatest of masters” for his numerous followers across continents, was for his critics, the “master of infidels.”37 For the ecstatic heart though, Sufi or Sikh, there is nothing except for the divine One. Guru Nanak excitedly writes, “There is You, there is no second, You are immersed in all of us.” Without any abstractions or speculations, the Sikh Guru directly reaches out – “Khuda alone remains, there is You, only You.” The refrain “There is You, only You” (ek tūhī ek tūhī) is repeated seven times in this hymn alone (GGS:144–145). Its Persian parallel, huma ust (All is He), is the quintessential utterance of many illustrious Muslim mystics. Guru Nanak frequently uses the Arabic term qudrat (in the sense of what is created or natural) as a disclosure for the universal reality. Everything, everyone is the creation of the sole Creator: The divine One generated planets, constellations, and spheres below What was hidden began to show. GGS:1036 For Guru Nanak the various cosmic phenomena are created by and in turn manifest the Divine. Every bit of creation in and around all over is the Creator’s vibrancy. Physical matter including the earth, skies and nether regions;

48  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh the psychological states of joy and fear; the religious texts of Hindus and Muslims; practical activities like eating, drinking and dressing up; and so is all love – the universal Creator. What we see is the One’s qudrat   What we hear is the One’s qudrat, Qudrat is at the core of happiness and fear, The skies, the nether regions and all that is visible is the One’s qudrat The Vedas, the Puranas, the Qur’an, indeed all thought is qudrat, Eating, drinking, dressing up is qudrat, so is all love qudrat! GGS:464 Everything visible is the nature of that utterly invisible One, our first principle. It is the original force, the sole reality. As such, there can be nothing beside the One and nothing outside the One. In the wahdat al-wujud sensibility, Guru Nanak perceives the Creator and creation in complete unison. Ibn al-‘Arabi’s “Hidden Treasure” is no different from Guru Nanak’s “precious jewel hidden in each heart.” But creatures with inflated egos (haumai, literally I/hau + me/mai) are split from the Creator. The dualistic barrier kills the taste; it prevents any immediate tasting or seeing or hearing or touching or smelling of that One within and without all over. There is no feel for the Creator, who gives each morsel we taste, no marvel for the beauty of His creation. Guru Nanak frequently expresses divine Reality as the “Light in all,” akin to the Sufi Nur al-anwar flowing from the metaphysical implications of the light verse from the holy Qur’an (24:35). The immaterial transcendent Light is the ontological, epistemological and aesthetic matrix of this multiverse. The infinite One dwells in the individual itself: “sabh mai joti joti hai soi – there is a light in all and that light is That One” (GGS:13). Such scriptural verses, Granthian verses, reflect the Qur’anic “we are closer to him than his jugular vein” (Qur’an 50:16), popularly cited by Sufis. In the Islamic vein, the Divine is never incarnated: “not imaged in any form – thāpia na jāe” categorically states Guru Nanak at the very beginning of Sikh scripture (GGS:2). Aesthetic sensibilities need to be honed so we feel the flow of the transcendent One flowing through the multiverse in our own veins. The selfish self (haumai) has to die (fanā’) before it can subsist in the divine Being (baqā’). The central fanā’-baqā’ Sufi correlative pair of concepts underlies Guru Nanak’s metaphysics: “Those struck by love die quickly, they free themselves from their selfish self” (GGS:1411). Beings really come alive when the I-me dies and the infinite One is tasted. Both Sufi and Sikh lyrics exalt the universal emotion of love (bhau, pyar, ishq, muhabbat, rang) as the supreme religious principle.38 The rapturous flow in the body carries many physiological associations: “Love came and spread like blood in my veins” wrote the celebrated Chishti poet Amir

Tasting the sweet 49 Khusrau (d. 1325). Analogously, “true food is love, and feeding on it we blossom,” says Guru Nanak (GGS:146), “my teaching, instruction, food is love” (GGS:221) and yet again, “the diet of love, flushes out doubts and fears” (GGS:355). Hearts that soak in the ambrosial Divine, “their thirsty egoism is flushed out, they are ever radiant sipping ambrosia.” (GGS:1281). Being nurtured on love gives the power of blood and energy. We taste love and we burst in crimson flush. This nexus between the sensuous and the sacred was depicted in the language of colors by Alam in the Shah Abdul Rahman and Guru Nanak encounter (B-40 illustration # 7). But “when we don’t blush with divine love or get drunk on its elixir, we only sear and scorch” (GGS:945). The Guru revels: I am colored in the crimson passion of love No other color colors me as colorfully O Nanak, my tongue revels in the reveler The divine One glowing in each of us. GGS:1332 For Guru Nanak, then, the red color is the glow from the transcendent One within the human heart. There is an entire musical measure, Rāga Sūhī, from the term sūhā (crimson). Suha symbolizes the joyful state of a bride, and the words for bride (suhāgan) and groom (suhāg) derive from it. The Sikh wedding hymn “Lavan” (by the fourth Guru) is recorded in this measure. Annemarie Schimmel unfolds the large fabric of red hues used by Sufi poets  – colors of wine, roses, flames and blood. Some of them, like the bridal dress red, signifying life and fertility, are easily identifiable in Guru Nanak’s verse, but others like “redāʾ al-kebrīā,” the divine cloak of glory under which some Sufis experienced the divine presence, are quite unique to the Sufis and interestingly incite new Sufi-Sikh arabesques.39 Schimmel also illustrates a poignant usage of red by the mystic Farid-uddin Attar in his tragic retelling of al-Hallaj’s cruel execution in Baghdad (in 922 for proclaiming “Ana’l Haqq,” or “I am the Reality”). As the story is retold, “his [Hallaj] hands being cut off, rubbed the bleeding stumps over his bleakening face: thus he became surkh-ra which means both red-faced and honoured.”40 The admirable crimson color evokes the metaphor of God as the supreme Dyer, and both the holy Qur’an and Guru Granth Sahib partake of this imaginary. Highlighting the divine Dyer’s unequivocal strength, the holy Qur’an poses, “Who is better than Allah at coloring?” (Sura 2:138), and Guru Nanak perceives the palpable effect of the Colorer’s unparalleled talent: “If my body were the coloring vat O’ Beloved, the divine Name its crimson dye, and the Dyer were my Sahib, such a color would not be seen!” (GGS:722).41 Dyeing has been a very old and important profession in Islam, and the Sikh-Sufi usage draws upon that expertise in the chemistry of colors.42 Guru Nanak details the activity of dyeing – the fabric has to be

50  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh soaked in alum, it has to be steam cleaned so it is free of all stains, the color is then poured into it and it is properly treated. The stains are from the egoistic self (Sufi nafs; Sikh haumai). In Sufi and Sikh literature, human ego is the cause of the split from the divine One, the root of doubts, the source of all negative psychic forces. How can we absorb the Truth until we get rid of the stains of vice and doubt? How can we fill ourselves with divine love until we empty out all the lust, anger, greed, attachment and pride within? In Guru Nanak’s words, Raw fabric absorbs color after steeping in alum Pour divine awe into the coloring vat So this body dyes in beauty O Nanak, a body colored in devotion Hasn’t the faintest false stain. GGS:468 All soaking and steam cleaning and treating is but the loving devotion of the divine One. To repeat, Sufi and Sikh poets reject conventional codes and ceremonies, they reject all societal prescriptions and habits and they reject institutional religion with all its formalities and modes of worship. “Those who drink from the cup of love, why should they care about fasts or prayers?” said the famous Punjabi Sufi Bullhe Shah.43 His cup of love overflows with intoxicating wine. Based on this widely used metaphor of wine and intoxication, Sufis created a highly complex and sophisticated mystical map. The tasting, drinking, quenching and getting intoxicated was an amelioration of the physical, emotional, psychological and spiritual planes of our being. In his analysis of Persian poetry, Nasrollah Pourjavady writes, “The most powerful metaphor that the Sufis have found to express the different psychological states of the lover (technically called ahkām-i vaqt) is wine drinking and its affect on the person.”44 Though we ˙ not find as elaborate an exposition as in Sufism, we see Guru sipping the do wine and getting inebriated in symbols typically associated with Sufis. He specifies: True wine is not made from molasses It’s made from the true Name45 Those who hear and praise it I joyously revolve around them A mind that finds a place in the divine Palace Is drunk indeed. (2) GGS:15–16 We hear similar melodies from Bhai Mardana. Interestingly, the Guru Granth Sahib contains only three hymns by Bhai Mardana, and all three have the wine leitmotif:

Tasting the sweet 51 1 This rapacious mind reaches for the dark hour’s vat Full with the liquor of lust Arrogance serves the cup Made of anger and attachment In the company of deceit and greed We sit and drink more and more, till We are completely wrecked. If good deeds are our distillery and truth our molasses, We distil the supreme wine of Truth. 2 When body is the distillery, and arrogance the wine With craving the company we drink in, And the cup of mind brimming with evil Is served by the messenger of Death, Sipping this wine says Nanak We consume many a vice. 3 When body is the distillery, and reality the wine, Ambrosial nectar flows Meeting up with good company, The more we drink of the overflowing cup, The more of our vices spill out. GGS:553 Bhai Mardana (1460–1530) belonged to the same village as Guru Nanak, and he was Guru Nanak’s constant companion during his extensive travels. In such physical proximity, who is to say who influenced whom? Sufi tropes are spontaneously expressed. There is no need to assume Guru Nanak was using Sant mediators or translators or interpreters. Not all wines are the same – Guru Nanak and Bhai Mardana make distinctions based on the ingredients and the impact. They take us to the waters of memory, to Rumi’s classical poem, “The Many Wines”: . . . There are thousands of wines that can take over our minds. Don’t think all ecstasies are the same! Jesus was lost in his love for God. His donkey was drunk with barley.

52  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh Drink from the presence of saints, not from those other jars. Every object, every being, is a jar full of delight. Barks, The Essential Rumi: 646 Jesus was drunk on his love for God; his donkey was high on the intoxication of barley. In both instances the consciousness is overtaken but in utter contrast – in the Prophet’s case by the brilliance of God; in his donkey’s case by ignorance. Analogous to the donkey’s barley, which produces oblivion, Guru Nanak shuns wine made from the usual molasses. He endorses the one made from the transcendent materials of the true Name, akin to “Jesus’ love for God.” Such a wine gets us drunk with perfect awareness – we live in the Palace (mahal) of the universal One, the Palace where he was initiated by the divine One with the ambrosial elixir. A smitten Bhai Mardana condemns the liquor of lust served arrogantly in the cup of anger and attachment, and drunk in the company of deceit and greed; instead, he sanctions the wine made out of the molasses of Truth and distilled with good deeds. Just as Rumi urges us to drink from the presence of saints, Mardana urges us to keep drinking the overflowing cup of wine in good company. Noteworthy twentieth-century poet Firoz Din Sharaf (1898–1955) further extends the inebriation motif in his vivid depiction of Guru Nanak himself. Sharaf was born in pre-divided Punjab in a Muslim family and is duly remembered for his phenomenal contributions to the Punjabi literary world. The period was rife with religious conflict, his own Muslim community was staunchly promoting Urdu, yet Sharaf was courageously advancing Punjabi language. Greatly respected by people across borders, he served as the Cabinet Minister of the Punjab in the newly created Pakistan. The way in which Sharaf brings Sikh history and philosophy palpably alive through simple idiom is remarkable indeed.47 He wrote several poems on Guru Nanak, reinforcing the Guru’s pluralistic personality: “hindu kahin sādā, muslim kahin ˙ to us. . . .” He sādā – Hindus say he belongs to us; Muslims say he belongs ˙ also has some lovely poems on Guru Nanak’s companions, the Muslim Bhai Mardana and the Hindu Bhai Bala. In the case of Bhai Mardana, Sharaf uses the ubiquitous Sufi symbol of a mystic lover as a moth attracted to the candle’s flame and makes a delightful pun on his name: “Discerning the divine light of Nanak, Mardana came flying over and became intoxicated with his Name. . . . In his love, he died over and over (mar mar ke) and so became Mardana.” At the flash of the divine light, The moth came flying over; Drinking the name of Nanak, He was inebriated.

Tasting the sweet 53 People thought he was drunk, But he was gone far beyond; Sharaf, he died in the name of love, And so Mardana he was born.48 For the Hindu Bhai Bala: As the divine light appeared, Thick darkness receded within. Seeing the Guru’s intoxicated eyes, He was inebriated. On the rosary of his mind, He turns the beads day and night. Sharaf, for his devotion to the Guru, Bala is known across the world.49 The companion here is specifically taken with Guru Nanak’s “intoxicated eyes” (nain nasheele). Guru Nanak is so in love with the divine One that his individuality is annihilated (fanā) and taken over completely by the Beloved (baqā), and in turn his divine ecstasy becomes contagious. The Guru’s externally “drunk” eyes show it all. With his Sufi aesthetics, Sharaf presents a mesmerizing portrait of the first Sikh Guru. Sufi-Sikh verses create a powerful synergy. Drinking them nourishes the growth of cells, muscles, neurons, images and emotions that expand our essential selves; we get the confidence to enter the world of others. Unfortunately, exegetes and translators are often reluctant to do so; some internal mechanism switches them off. In his English translation Sri Guru Granth Sahib, 4 vols. (Patiala: Punjabi University, 1984), G. S. Talib translates Guru Nanak’s term “Sufis” as “sober”; widely used internet resource www. srigranth.org translates Sufis as “those who do not use intoxicants.”50 There is no need to dilute Guru Nanak’s connotations. The words used by Guru Nanak are multivalent, for each is endowed with an endless semantic potential. His language is the “language of infinite love  – bhākhia bhāu apār” (GGS:4). Let us not be armed with scholarly warnings or threatened by globalism and withdraw into some narrow fanatic insularity. The intoxicating lyrics awaken our psyche – they relate us across religions, cultures and languages; they boost our appetite to taste, see, touch, smell, hear and revel in “every object, every being” around us brimming with the universal divine Love – “a jar full of the sweetest delight.”

Notes All translations from the Guru Granth Sahib here are by the author. For more translations from the Guru Granth, see Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh, The Name of My

54  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh Beloved: Verses of the Sikh Gurus (HarperCollins 1995 and Penguin Classics 2001), Of Sacred and Secular Desire: An Anthology of Lyrical Writings from the Punjab (London: I.B. Tauris, 2012), and Book of the Sikh Teachers (forthcoming, Harvard University Press). In this chapter Guru Granth Sahib, abbreviated: GGS. 1 www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00litlinks/txt_azad_congress_1940. html (accessed 27 August 2018). 2 William H. McLeod, Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), p. 152. 3 William H. McLeod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak,” in History of Religions, Vol. 7, No. 4 (May 1968), p. 303. This article reasserts his thesis in his book Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion, pp. 151–163. 4 Mcleod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak,” p. 312. 5 Schimmel (1975, p. 107) comments on the early Sufis: “Even though Paradise and Hell did not matter to the devotees of mystical love, they were well aware that their deeds would bear fruit, and one of the favorite sayings attributed to the Prophet was constantly repeated by the moderate mystics: “This world is seedbed for the Otherworld.” 6 Gilmartin 1988, pp. 40–41. 7 Metcalf 2009, p. 8. 8 Ibid., p. 8. 9 Ibid., p. 12. 10 Asani 1988, pp. 81–94. 11 Eaton 2000, pp. 189–224. 12 The controversy started with Macauliffe. For details see Macauliffe 1909, p. 357. Also discussed by McLeod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak.” 13 According to Asani, “most Sufis, at least until approximately 1600, began their compositions with an apology and justification for the use of a “profane” medium for “sublime” religious matters” . . . It was “Pir-i Roshan, a sixteenth century religious leader, who brought about a change: “God speaks in every language, be it Arabic, Persian, Hindi or Afghani. He speaks in the language which the human heart can understand . . .” in 1988, p. 83. 14 In his English translation, Gurbachan S. Talib Sri Guru Granth Sahib, 4 vols. (Patiala: Punjabi University, 1984) translates Guru Nanak’s term “Sufis” as “sober.” The valuable and widely used internet resource srigranth.org translates Sufis as “those who do not use intoxicants.” 15 Rabab, a stringed instrument, was popular in Afghanistan, the Middle Eastern countries, Kashmir, and the Panjab. 16 B-40 Janamsakhi Sri Guru Nanak Devji. Edited by Piar Singh. Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University, 2009. For an extensive analysis of the B-40 visuals, see my article, “Corporeal Metaphysics: Guru Nanak in Early Sikh Art,” in History of Religions, Vol. 53, No. 1 (August 2013). 17 These factual details are from McLeod 1980, pp. 5–6. 18 Gadamer 1989, p. 92. 19 McLeod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak,” p. 303. 20 McLeod denies Guru Nanak’s divine inspiration, Ibid., p. 302. 21 “Precious objects were often called la’l ‘ruby’ ” notes Annemarie Schimmel, in “Color Symbolism in Persian Literature” Encyclopedia Iranica www.iranicaon line.org/articles/color-pers-rang 22 In his otherwise most valuable edited and translated volume, the B-40 Janamsakhi (Amrtisar: Guru Nanak Dev University, 1981), McLeod translates, “In everything that he could see he perceived God – in everything that existed, both visible and concealed . . .” p. 212. I feel his translation glosses over the textual

Tasting the sweet 55 emphasis on jama and burqa, and thereby on what is behind them in the Sikh original text – the bodies of Muslim men and women. 23 www.sarbat.net/nanak-b40janamsakhi.htm (accessed 27 August 2018). 24 Goswamy 2000, pp. 38–9. 25 Ibid., p. 38. 26 Translation of the Islamic invocation: “In the name of God, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.” The translation of the Sikh verse: “Truth it always was, is, and will be evermore.” 27 Gadamer 1989 [1975], p. 78. 28 Tolstoy 1899, p. 43. 29 Arabic term for “God” found frequently in the GGS. 30 Jonas 1954, p. 507. 31 For details see my article. “The Myth of the Founder: The Janamsakhis and Sikh Tradition,” in History of Religions, 1992, Vol. 31, No. 4, pp. 329–43. 32 McLeod, “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak,” p. 302. 33 Carolyn Korsmeyer offers an accessible explanation of rasa. See Korsmeyer 2002, pp. 44–5. See also Coomaraswamy 1957. 34 Nasr 1972, p. 20. 35 Lewisohn 1997, p. 11. 36 Rumi 1985 [1925], p. 1: 246. 37 Green 2012, p. 79. 38 Shackle 2006, pp. 87–108. 39 Schimmel, “Color Symbolism in Persian Literature” in Encyclopedia Iranica www.iranicaonline.org/articles/color-pers-rang 40 Schimmel 1962, p. 166. 41 The Arabic term “Sahib” another scriptural term for Allah, is a verbal articulation of the numeral One celebrated throughout the GGS. 42 Ghabin 2009, pp. 232–4. 43 Singh 2012, p. 100. 44 Pourjavady 2012, p. 133. 45 For Guru Nanak, the subtle alchemical process happens with the ingredient of the true Name. 46 Barks 2004, p. 6. 47 For Sharaf’s biography and works, see Singh 2012, pp. 151–7. 48 My translation, Of Sacred and Secular Desire, p. 200. 49 Ibid. 50 Why else would G.S. Talib translate Sufis as “sober” and srigranth.org as “those who do not use intoxicants?” See note 14.

Bibliography Asani, Ali S. 1988. “Sufi Poetry in the Folk Tradition of Indo-Pakistan.” Religion & Literature 20(1), The Literature of Islam (Spring): 81–94. Barks, Coleman. 2004. The Essential Rumi: New Expanded Edition. New York: HarperCollins. Coomaraswamy, Ananda. 1957. The Hindu View of Art. Bombay: Asia Publishing House. Eaton, Richard M. 2000. “Sufi Folk Literature and the Expansion of Islam.” In Essays on Islam, edited by Richard M. Eaton. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gadamer, Hans-Georg. 1989 [1975]. Truth and Method, 2nd revised edition, translated by Joel Weinsheimer and Donald G. Marshall. New York: Crossroads. Ghabin, Ahmad. 2009. Hisba, Arts and Craft in Islam. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz.

56  Nikky-Guninder Kaur Singh Gilmartin, David. 1988. Empire and Islam: Punjab and the Making of Pakistan (Berkeley and London: University of California Press. Goswamy, Brijinder N. 2000. Piety and Splendour: Sikh Heritage in Art. New Delhi: National Museum. Green, Nile. 2012. Sufism: A Global History. West Sussex: Wiley Blackwell. Jonas, Hans. 1954. “The Nobility of Sight.” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 14(4) (June): 507–519. Korsmeyer, Carolyn. 2002. Making Sense of Taste: Food and Philosophy. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Lewisohn, Leonard. 1997. “The Sacred Music of Islam: Samā’ in the Persian Sufi Tradition.” British Journal of Ethnomusicology 6: 1–33. Macauliffe, Max A. 1909. Sikh Religion: Its Gurus, Sacred Writings and Authors, 6 vols. Oxford: The Clarendon Press. McLeod, William H. 1968. “The Influence of Islam upon the Thought of Guru Nanak.” History of Religions 7(4) (May): 302–316. ———. 1968. Guru Nanak and the Sikh Religion. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ———. 1980. Early Sikh Tradition: A Study of the Janam-sakhis. Oxford: Clarendon Press. ———. 1981. B-40 Janam-sakh. Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University. Metcalf, Barbara D. 2009. “Introduction.” In Islam in South Asia in Practice, edited by Barbara D. Metcalf, 1–39. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Nasr, Seyyed H. 1972. Sufi Essays. London: George Allen & Unwin. Pourjavady, Nasrollah. 2012. “Love and the Metaphors of Wine and Drunkenness in Persian Sufi Poetry.” In Metaphor and Imagery in Persian Poetry, edited by Ali Asghar Seyed-Gohrab, 125–136. Leiden: Brill. Rumi, Jalaluddin. 1985 [1925]. The Mathnawi, vol. I, edited by Reynold A. Nicholson. London: Gibb Memorial Trust. Schimmel, Annemarie. “Color Symbolism in Persian Literature.” Encyclopedia Iranica. www.iranicaonline.org/articles/color-pers-rang ———. 1962. “The Martyr-Mystic Hallāj in Sindhi Folk-Poetry: Notes on a Mysti˙ 161–200. cal Symbol.” Numen 9 (November): ———. 1975. Mystical Dimensions of Islam. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina. Shackle, Christopher. 2006. “The Shifting Sands of Love.” In Love in South Asia: A Cultural History, edited by Francesca Orsini, 87–108. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Singh, Nikky-Guninder Kaur. 1992. “The Myth of the Founder: The Janamsakhis and Sikh Tradition.” History of Religions 31(4) (May): 329–343. ———. 2001 [1995]. The Name of My Beloved: Verses of the Sikh Gurus. New Delhi: Penguin Books. ———. 2012. Of Sacred and Secular Desire: An Anthology of Lyrical Writings from the Punjab. London: I.B. Tauris. ———. 2013. “Corporeal Metaphysics: Guru Nanak in Early Sikh Art.” History of Religions 53(1) (August): 28–65. Singh, Piar (ed.). 2009 [1974]. B-40 Janamsakhi Sri Guru Nanak Devji. Amritsar: Guru Nanak Dev University. Talib, Gurbachan S. 1984. Sri Guru Granth Sahib, 4 vols. Patiala: Punjabi University. Tolstoy, Lyof N. 1899. What Is Art?, translated by Aylmer Maude. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.

2 The “Sufism” of Monsieur Ibrahim Milad Milani

Introduction1 This chapter focuses on the representation of Sufism in the 2003 film Monsieur Ibrahim (MI). My examination is undertaken in isolation of ÉricEmmanuel Schmitt’s 2001 short novel Mr. Ibrahim and the Flowers of the Koran, which developed upon an earlier French play written by the same author.2 In examining the film, I do not presume to know Schmitt’s thoughts about Sufism, nor do I purport to discover anything in this regard. Rather, what follows is an analysis based on my observation of the film’s representation of Sufism. The question of “what is Sufism” is a deliberately vexing issue that has become a fabled Sufi strategy and is generally meant to activate a previously unrealized process of deep introspection within the framework of religious thinking. This is comparable to the longstanding Socratic method of provocation through a line of questioning that will inevitably lead to uncovering certain truths about one’s own nature (or process of thinking), rather than a perceived external/objective truth. The intention to not define Sufism, one might suspect, is not due to some misguided romanticism about what and who Sufis “really” are, because to do so misses the point of the possibility that it represents within (and on rare occasion through) Islam. What is Sufism? Islamic mysticism. Perhaps this is enough. But it is much more than this. To put it in the existentialist/phenomenological terms that Heidegger would have used, it is about the search for meaning in the Islamic context. In this chapter, I  explore what Sufism might signify in open-ended representation. I  take “Sufi” to mean the embodiment of their message: the present3 God, the experience of whom was shared through theophanic utterance and allegorical verse and enacted through their love of, and service to, others, and which is preserved in hagiographical stories. There are, indeed, those who would additionally claim that the Sufi characterized the psychological and spiritual state of their religion and the experiential core of Islamic doctrine, or as al-Ghazali claimed in the twelfth century, they were preoccupied with “the revival of the religious sciences” (Ihiyāʾ ʿulūm ad-dīn). Such a declaration resides at the heart of the mystical ˙tradition of Islam, whose

58  Milad Milani custodians would uphold the view that Sufism today is the same as it was in the past, that is, the virtue (ʾihsān) of the Prophet’s unspoken Islam. ˙ But this is not a paper on Sufism as the appropriated mysticism for traditional Islam. Scholars of Sufism, some of them Sufi, have agreed upon terminology and definitions, which they have utilized to legitimate the proper claims of the Sufis and have therefore established the most accurate information that is historically available about who the Sufis were and what they taught. That being said, very little, if any, attention is given to what might be possible to gain from investigating the religious and, in particular, non-religious appropriation of the same historic references right now. After all, Sufism is not a religion, even though it is an “understanding” that is contextualized in Islam, and this is where the “Sufism” of Monsieur Ibrahim comes into the picture. I am going to use the language of Heidegger to help describe the latter task as a “retrieval” of the possibilities that are still available and remain dormant in the Sufi message about divine imminence. The Sufis are heir to a long tradition of ascetic devotion to holiness, but their own tradition proper is defined over the course of the years by their trademark piety of what Christopher Melkert has described as “communion with God.”4 Contrary to mainstream religiosity, their method would delineate the experience of the imminence of God, of being able to receive divine presence through the very stuff of the world that others rejected. What is distinct about Sufism is that for the first time in the history of Islam, understanding God began with subjective experience and not through rational means or devotional worship. In its popular form, the mystical message was further freed up from the restraints of religious formalism. The Sufi message was dispersed far and wide across the Muslim lands by wandering Sufis and, for that matter, non-Sufi poets who favored their method (and stories, mind you), through poetic verse that celebrated the Sufi way. Sufi stories were for a long time the favorite subject of poetry. For better or for worse, Sufism historically contributes to the flexibility in the process of Islamic religious meaning-making. Its mysticism (that is, its silence on doctrinal specificity and vagueness toward legalism) ensures that a good portion of what it means to be Islamic remains undecided, and as such, leaves open the inevitability of interpretation. The sophistication of the Sufi method, over the years, is expressed through the Sufi joint-notions of fanāʾ wa baqāʾ (annihilation and subsistence), which I see as limited perpetuity of experience in this world, in that it outlines the journey of the human being through a numberless series of self-transcending experiences within the limitations of its mortality and the finality of physical death, beyond which the Sufi references to this idea do not even begin to describe. Here is clue for the careful observer. Certain Sufi exhibit an experience of going into and through religion, not to be confused with the general experience of Sufism as sunna, and which can be described “apophatically” as the un-categorized mystical Islamic non-Islam. It is “Islamic” because Sufism is still a phenomenon that is part of Islam, and the Sufi as the agent

The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim  59 of Islamic experience, regardless of how unique in this instance, but Sufism is “non-Islam” because for want of a better phrase it is no longer an experience of Islam that is recognizable in the traditional format. The categorical definition, as well as the category, of Sufism as Islamic mysticism has been subverted in – and through – the experience of Sufism as a consequence of an exercise of hermeneutics. Such an occurrence in Sufism gives the impression of what seem to be tensions as to Sufism’s relationship to the Islamic tradition. But this is a false dichotomy. Rather, the hermeneutical experience of Sufism ties in directly with a significant question about Islamic history. Is it the Qur’an or the Prophet Muhammad that sits at the center of Islamic tradition? This simple question defines fourteen hundred years of hermeneutical interpretation. The answer most assuredly is Revelation, which is neither the text that contains the message nor the person who has been absent for almost the same amount of time. Islam’s tradition of religious opinion (aqida) is colorful and rich, and they are, each of them, focused on the meaning of Revelation either as they find it or through what they find in it. In the case of the latter, there are numerous examples of excerpts from the Qur’an utilized for support of a specific reading of scripture, where for instance the Sufis read love into the Qur’an as a doctrine.5 This makes Sufism highly interpretive and contextualized as an area of study.

What is in it is in it In this chapter I am particularly interested in an analysis of the film in relation to its less obvious affiliation with Idries Shah’s tale, “What is in it,” from his Wisdom of Idiots.6 I would like to open the segment with the short tale in full: A certain Bektashi was respected for his piety and appearance of virtue. Whenever anyone asked him how he had become so holy, he always answered: “I know what is in the Koran.” One day he had just given this reply to an enquirer in a coffee-house, when an imbecile asked: “Well, what is in the Koran?” “In the Koran,” said the Bektashi, “there are two pressed flowers and a letter from my friend Abdullah.” The allusion to the book title being palpable, it is also the consistent reference to the content of his personal Qur’an, also in the book but especially pronounced in the film, which is identified as the main thread in the film’s mystic-like cadence. It so happens that Ibrahim’s character fools the car salesman that the piece of paper in his possession during the purchase of the car is his driver’s license; it is, of course, a letter from his friend, Abdullah (written in Arabic). Whatever our moral standing on this move, it is a nice little thread through all three materials.

60  Milad Milani The film is not overtly about Sufism. In fact, we do not learn Monsieur Ibrahim is a Sufi until partway into the film. It is the slow process of the film’s release of this information that again plays to the mystic theme of its meditative style. True to form, it is not important to know it as a fact but to come to understand it (Sufism) as an experience, as a viewer following Momo’s journey. Sufism is not presented as creed or doctrine but as an ordinary subjective comprehension, which carries a certain aesthetic as portrayed through Monsieur Ibrahim’s character. This aesthetic is colored by multiple facets of old-meets-new motifs such as Ibrahim being a mystical Muslim who is a modern-day grocery store owner. He is placed in repeated screen-shots sitting at his counter, busying himself with various tasks while speaking with Momo: we see him serving customers, patiently re-stacking coins for the register, enjoying roasted peanuts, or being engrossed in his Qur’an. Ibrahim and Momo are engaged in meaningful conversation about life while events pass around them, symbolized by the customers’ comings and goings and purchases, without losing sight of what is important. Ibrahim patiently observes Momo’s occasional visits without reaction, knowing that Momo has been regularly stealing from him. This shows his steadied presence in modernity, though rooted in tradition; it further speaks to the constant truth of his mystical insight in the face of changing events and fluctuations in Momo’s behavior. The dialogue between the two is repeatedly brought back to reference the Qur’an; Ibrahim’s Qur’an, to be specific. But what exactly does this reference entail? And here the mystery of Ibrahim’s teaching unfolds as he dispenses valuable insights to his newfound companion. This reference to the Qur’an is not accidental. The Book becomes the seedbed of discussion as it deliberately arouses curiosity in Momo who begins to wonder about Ibrahim’s identity and the source of his knowledge, his Qur’an. What comes implicitly to bear by the end of the film is that it is not the Qur’an the religious text but the Qur’an of life. Qur’an in Arabic is derived from qara’a, “to recite.” Ibrahim slowly imparts his one indispensable teaching to Momo: the “Qur’an” (of life) is an open book filled with your own story.

Time finds meaning in death The transparent tropes in the film are the contrast of the old and the young man, a father and son relationship. It poses a kind of “rite of passage” narrative. Upon closer inspection, this choice of obvious transparency is an invitation to step inside the world that is about to be revealed. This is about not just the evident youth and age paradox but also, particularly, a reference to temporality. This trope of young and old can also be read in episodic terms; that is, as the period of time that has elapsed but that has been given a unique opportunity to converse with an earlier event horizon of itself. Ibrahim has this once-in-a-lifetime chance, which is given to him and which he realizes in Momo, making every moment spent with him count. It is as

The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim  61 though time, which is typically conceived of as linear, has the rare occasion to loop back to preserve the future present. What I am suggesting is that it is possible to read the film’s depiction of Ibrahim and Momo as one and the same person come face to face differentiated by age, which is a consequence of time passed, but separated only by death. There is a playfulness with the idea of time, as shown through Ibrahim and Momo’s relationship. Here, the typical trope plays out in the characters in the film as the passion of youth and the wisdom of age. Momo is impetuous, while Ibrahim is nurturing. Presenting Momo predominantly in the red shirt and Ibrahim in the gray outfit speaks to this concept of time bending back on itself in two characters of the one person. The color red on Momo, in the face of the gray of Ibrahim’s attire, signals the viewer’s focus to be placed on the younger man, who is the focus, and of course the youthful Ibrahim. The gray is indicative of absent-presence – the mature version of the youthful character. I would assert that when the characters are read in the light of a play on time, the narrative of the film unfolds in accordance to the key events that set the scene for Momo and Ibrahim’s numerous encounters as a process of similarity and dissimilarity, continuity and discontinuity, right up until the end of the film. The finiteness of their encounter is everpresent, and as we near the end of the film, it is clear something is about to happen. Ibrahim’s death is the beginning of Momo’s meaning-making. Time finds meaning in death because it is the latter that makes sense of being-inthe-world coming to an end. Ibrahim made meaning for Momo, but now Momo must make sense of his own place without Ibrahim. As such, I suggest that the film is best examined in broad terms, whereby the events shown follow a coherent pattern about the experience of being. It starts with the lack of loving affection, a void that is filled with the exploration of the physical body, explicitly in having sex; the paradox of estrangement and friendliness; receiving loving affection; learning to smile, finding beauty and happiness; change of religion analogous to change of shoes; falling in love and being heartbroken; journeying to a new land; learning about diversity but finding your feet where you stand; and letting go to become yourself. In my reading, this outline of events, which play out as the open clearing of human experience, presents the embodiment of the Sufi journey in the characters Ibrahim and Momo. The film’s representation of the meaning of Sufism is framed by the character of Ibrahim and is a deliberately (and meaningfully) subjective indulgence about Sufism as the Sufism of Monsieur Ibrahim. The value of the film’s representation of Sufism is, in this way, found in the exercise of coming to be aware of oneself as a present-meaningful-existent rather than in a literal quest for defining and locating Sufism in Islam. In fact, the film has nothing really to do with religion, let alone Islam. It is truly existentialist in its telling of the story of Momo. The film does not prescribe a pedantic interpretation of Sufism, though it plays with the absurdity of Sufism having a definition at all; rather, the film offers a reading into one of many possible

62  Milad Milani meanings through the characters involved. In this sense, the quest for Sufism cannot start but with the subject, the individual, and proceed outward to the world (and likely back again). What we see throughout the film is a confirmation of the relatability of subjective experience and its being-in-the-worldness in the quest for meaning. “I  thought Muslims didn’t drink,” asks Momo. “But I’m Sufi,” replies Ibrahim. Observing Momo’s puzzled stare, Ibrahim says: “It’s not a disease, it’s a way of thinking.” “Although, some ways of thinking . . . are diseases too.” Back at home, in his father’s study, Momo is looking up the term “Sufism” in the encyclopedia: “Sufism: mystical form of Islam. Opposed to legalism, it stresses inner religion.” Then he looks up “legalism”: “Legalism: meticulous observance of the law.” He recalls “opposed to legalism,” and ponders “he’s against the law[?].” Momo remembers Ibrahim telling him how to shop frugally with the little money his father gives him, such as exchanging a tin of cat food for pâté, diluting cordial in table wine, reheating stale bread under the grill and so on, all of which are for his father, but telling him that he can select anything for himself free of charge. This was Ibrahim’s response in the face of catching Momo steal from his store. Here, Momo pauses to think, “He isn’t always honest.” He responds by saying that “respecting the law means being like him [his father], that’s terrible. I’d rather be against legalism.” And on he goes repeating the mantra: “Inner religion . . . Inner religion.” The concept of death is a peculiar one. In the film it has two destinies: one that is presented through the destiny of Momo’s father, who takes his own life by jumping in front of a train; and the other through the destiny of Ibrahim, who is killed in a car accident. In the former, death is forced at the hands of the subject; while in the latter, death is out of Ibrahim’s hands. Here the nobler notion of death is presented with Ibrahim as one that is the end of the journey of meaning, since death is never at our disposal; it is not an event in our lives, although Ibrahim’s is an event in the life of Momo. And this is what adds the point that the one experiencing time finds meaning in death.

Heart-thinking in the world-space The Muslim philosopher al-Farabi followed Aristotle in giving prominence to the heart as the seat of intelligence. The philosophy of the heart therefore had a significant impact on Sufi metaphysics in subsequent years. Sufi subtle body systems incorporated this bodily organ to convey the pragmatism of their understanding by placing the heart between the soul and the body.7 It is of course possible to read Sufi literature as advocating a body/spirit dualism, but this would be too simplistic a reading of the genre. Sufi mystical literature is heavily nuanced, and it is difficult to say with certainty that the Sufis unreservedly denigrated worldliness to a base classification. For me, the Sufis were generally not in the habit of harboring an attitude that was

The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim  63 derogatory toward the world, which is a view consistent with the general Muslim outlook. That is not to say that Sufi ideology was not in tension with the things of this world, but it certainly was not at odds. In exploring this segment, I  do not intend on catering to the cliché of religious dualism in splitting up spirituality and physicality as if they were two separate things. Quite the opposite is true, especially when it comes to the representation of Sufism in Monsieur Ibrahim. Most classic Sufi manuals begin with (or at the very least contain) an exposition on the passions. This is, without doubt, the starting point of the spiritual journey. Human passion, far from being the enemy to be destroyed, is the necessary driver that moves the seeker along the path toward its goal of liberation. Many times, Rumi insists, as discerned from the many stories he shares with his audience in the Mathnawi, the passions cannot be destroyed (at least not by ordinary Man); they need to be mastered. There is a famous story about a would-be hero who finds a serpent frozen in the mountains – assuming the creature is dead – and, thinking that he would become famous for its capture, brings the creature to town. In the town, the ice slowly melts, and a dragon tears lose to devour the people and the hero. The story ends with Rumi’s advice about our imprudent regard for the passions.8 So it is that in the film we are introduced to Momo as he observes what is going on in the world outside his apartment. This basic message is introduced in the first segment of the film. It is a strong statement to start the film with Momo’s sexual awakening. His first sexual encounter is with one of several prostitutes who line the street across from his residence. We are shown that Momo has a clear line of view, and he watches the women as they go about their day. He breaks his piggy bank to fund the first encounter. Oddly, Momo’s next encounter occurs when he stops a thief who had stolen the purse of one of the prostitutes, and he is rewarded for his chivalry with sex. Once he develops a taste for it, he begins selling off his father’s library collection to pay for future visits with the other women. Of course, even Ibrahim is implicated as visiting the women. In the previous meeting, Ibrahim encourages Momo to smile more often. The advice is reminiscent of a well-known adage, “A smile costs nothing, but gives so much.” Yet sensuality is again at the forefront, the lips parting to reveal the teeth. Playing further on the sense-perceptions, Momo confides in Ibrahim that his father had told him his teeth were crooked and that he will need braces. Ibrahim smiles and says they are fine, just smile less. He continues, “Can you imagine your mouth full of metal? The girls won’t believe you’re sixteen.” In doing so, Ibrahim reveals to Momo that he knows about his visits to the prostitutes, and that it is okay. Momo is surprised but realizes Ibrahim speaks from experience. When he asserts that Ibrahim must go too, Ibrahim says “Heaven is for all of us, not just for minors,” then changes the topic and proposes a walk on a Sunday afternoon. Sensuality is ever-present in the film’s ambience. It is portrayed through feminine sexuality, the youthful Momo, the red convertible, walks along the Seine, the road trip across

64  Milad Milani Europe, the boat trip through the Port of Istanbul, the scent of candles in the Catholic church, incense in the Orthodox and the smell of feet at the mosque. Finally, there is the dance of the whirling dervishes. It would seem the film communicates a cardinal Sufi theme about the journey toward the spiritual as being within the mundane (a point that is made known through the connecting frames of the film), placing special emphasis on the notion that the sacred is within the experience of the profane. During their drive to Ibrahim’s village, Ibrahim invites Momo to reflect on the vastness of life’s journey. He says: “Can you imagine the distance between dust and what we are now? Later, you’ll become angel, after you finish with the Earth.”9 This is a key moment because Ibrahim has been teaching Momo all along about the existential value of life as the key to self-transformation. Earlier in the film, Momo says to Ibrahim that smiling is “for happy people.” Ibrahim responds, “You are wrong. Smiling is what makes you happy.”

The intelligible openness When Ibrahim reveals to Momo that he knows his secret about visiting the prostitutes on Blue Road, Momo asks, “You know about that?” “I don’t know anything,” replies Ibrahim. “I  just know what’s in my Koran.” If we recall for a moment our earlier discussion about Momo searching for a definition of Sufism in the encyclopedia, it was clear that the book cannot help him gratify his awakened curiosity. “Dictionaries always use words you don’t understand,” he admits to himself. Yet an important seed had already been planted. On their outing on Sunday afternoon in Paris, Momo remarks, “It’s too beautiful here for me,” to which Ibrahim replies, “You can find beauty wherever you look. That’s what my Koran says.” When Momo finally asks if he should read Ibrahim’s Qur’an, Ibrahim responds, “If God wants to reveal life to you, he won’t need a book.” In this final part of the chapter I want to discuss how the film carefully portrays Sufism as a journey from an inauthentic existence to an authentic one. The message that comes to us through the film is about arriving at a level of understanding about one’s presence in the world and as part of the world but not restricted by the world, though never beyond it or of anywhere else than the world. Sufism, which was, in the Middle Ages, the people’s antidote to the misery of recurrent barbaric incursions, was never an escapism; rather, it was a way of being with the world despite its horrors. The Sufi were experts in navigating daily life. Now, in the film, the juxtaposition is made between Momo’s father and Ibrahim in that the former says to an infant Momo that money is the path to happiness, a path that we see later on in the film at which his father had failed to follow and because of which his person was depleted of not only cash but also spirit. He finds no happiness to that end. Conversely, Ibrahim imparts to Momo the understanding of how to be in the world and find happiness from himself.

The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim  65 “How do you manage to be happy?” Momo asks. “I know what’s in my Koran,” Ibrahim responds. This is that very reference to “inner religion” that Momo contemplates but which is always presented to him in words of Ibrahim about his Qur’an. “His Koran” is the metaphysical representation of his existential self-present-understanding. Momo still thinks it is about a text, the book of the Qur’an. “Maybe I should pinch it one day” he teases Ibrahim. But Ibrahim gives him the book to take home. When Ibrahim senses that Momo’s father is no longer present, he uses the Qur’an he has lent to Momo as a pretext to enquire: “How’s your dad, I  haven’t seen him lately?” When Momo deflects the question, Ibrahim asks, “Isn’t he angry about the Koran?” Momo offers a half-honest answer: “I hide to read it” (a lie), and “I don’t understand much” (the truth). Ibrahim responds in kind, “When you want to learn, you don’t pick up a book. . . . You talk to someone.” That is, he has used the reference to his Qur’an as a foil for revealing the true method for understanding. “But you always say you know—” Momo is interrupted by Ibrahim. “What’s in my Koran,” he finishes Momo’s sentence with a smile. Now Momo understands. Indeed, there is another use of a foil in the film by way of the subplot of Momo’s father’s story. He is the opposite of Ibrahim. This is not about the standoff of religions (Judaism and Islam), as is in the background by chance of the assigned faith of the characters in play. The film would have worked just as well in a role reversal, with Ibrahim as a Kabbalist and Momo’s father as a miserly Muslim. I would rather point out that the issue is the intelligible openness of the characters in question. That is to say, to what degree has each character found their authenticity of being. Neither is less authentic than the other, but what makes one inauthentic with regard to its authenticity is what produces the measure of inauthentic and authentic state of each character’s existence. Here, the film deals with the matter through the analogy of religion, which is further layered within the actual storyline of the film by way of a discussion over shoes. “What does being a Jew mean to you?” asks Ibrahim. “I don’t know. For my dad, it means being depressed all day. For me, it’s why I can’t be different,” replies Momo. “Your shoes are no good,” comments Ibrahim as if to change the subject. “We’ll buy you some tomorrow.” “I don’t have any money,” says Momo. “It’ll be my treat,” Ibrahim replies. “You only have one pair of feet. Look after them. If your shoes hurt you, you change them. You can’t change your feet.” The analogy of shoes releases the tension over religious rivalry. It instead reduces the topic to a life choice. If something does not work for you, you change it, like a pair of shoes. Ibrahim’s legal adoption of Momo seals the bond between them that was always there, though now it becomes formal. In other words, the connection between them, the nature of their relationship, as the film shows us, was firstly one of substance of “father and son;” it is only subsequently and through a tedious litigious process that it is also ceremonially recognized.

66  Milad Milani Throughout the film, the storyline does not detract from Momo’s lesson in relating to others, particularly the lessons in love. The bathhouse scene is one of the deeper moments in the film. It is contextualized by Momo’s heartbreak after realizing the girl whom he had fallen for was simultaneously dating someone else. He is in pain from losing out on love, but Ibrahim corrects him on the nature of love. We often feel the pain of love because it hurts to lose someone we have felt such a deep connection with, whether through breakup or other means, but this pain is also compounded by the amount of shame that we feel in somehow having been fooled (or tricked) by the Fates, as it were, yet again, against our better judgement. But love is not about our better judgement, and it certainly is not the domain of the rational. As it is said: “A donkey stuck in mud is logic’s fate – love’s nature only love can demonstrate.”10 Momo is additionally irritated by the fact that “there’s always a Paulie” in his life eating him up inside. Paulie, we learn, was the fictional brother created by Momo’s father to taunt him into doing better by having him always measured against an imagined older brother who was perfect in every way. In a manner gentler and warmer than the steaming Turkish bath, Ibrahim responds to Momo to put his mind and heart at ease: “It doesn’t matter,” he gently breaks his silence. “Your love for her is yours. It belongs to you.” Momo is perplexed by the response. “She rejects it, but she can’t destroy it. She’s just missing out on it,” continues Ibrahim, unfazed. Then he turns to look at Momo directly and delivers the point of the message: “What you give, Momo, is yours for good. What you keep is lost forever.” Startled, Momo pursues Ibrahim with tangential questions that are deliberately placed through the character as superficial in nature: why we don’t see Ibrahim’s wife and why he, too, is circumcised and could be easily Jewish. Ibrahim avoids both questions. “You didn’t answer me,” Momo says. “Momo, no answer is an answer,” replies Ibrahim. “I don’t understand,” persists Momo. “You can’t understand everything with your mind,” replies Ibrahim. In this dialogue, Ibrahim reveals something so profoundly ordinary about the sacredness of love. The paradoxical language of Ibrahim’s character is demonstrative of the unexpectedly perceived state of love’s nature. The love you feel is an experience that principally belongs to you and not to anyone else. You give it at the risk of being rejected or hurt but not destroyed, because the love you give is yours. In other words, it extends out from its source – you. That is why those who reject the love you give only miss the opportunity of a love shared. But the essential part of the paradox is that, in order to keep that love, you feel always alive in your heart, and you must give it away without holding back; the triumph of giving is the act itself.

The horizon-future-now The last half of the film starts with a journey to a new land. Or rather, it is a return (to Ibrahim’s homeland). In Rumi’s poetry, the Mathnawi, the

The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim  67 many stories track the journey of the fallen state of Man through the toils and trials of earthly life until that time when each is made ready for its “return.” While in Rumi we cannot but read his message as one upward toward the heavens, in Monsieur Ibrahim the audience is being opened up to another possibility, that of inevitability of interpretation and undecidability of meaning. The truth of our return is more accurately about an honest realization that if we are going to hold on to the upward flight to the heavens, we cannot truly value the present, because if we did, the present would be a means to an end. We could not value the present if we did so for the sake of a future. Ibrahim knows this as he is imparting his final lessons to Momo from “his Koran.” The reason why he says to Momo, “Later, you’ll become angel, after you finish with the Earth,” is to assert the finality of death and thus the illusion of eternity. Ibrahim is fulfilled, especially now that he has Momo as his son, and together they are returning “home.” “I’m happy, Momo. You’re here and I know what’s in my Koran.” There are obvious clichés that can be easily picked up on in this segment of the film that relate to Sufi tropes about the state of the dervish (literally, poor in the face of divine richness) and the breathing technique during a Sufi ceremony, which includes a routine of inhalation and exhalation. Such can be linked to Momo’s random occupational choice in “import-export” or the drive across Europe, where Ibrahim explains to Momo how to tell that a country is rich or poor: “Look at the bins [!],” he says as they travel through Switzerland, Albania and Greece. “If there are bins and no rubbish, it’s rich . . . if there’s rubbish by the bins, it’s neither rich nor poor. . . . it’s touristy . . . and if there’s rubbish but no bins, then it’s poor.” But this is too obvious a trope to be intended to be treated too seriously. I would instead take the view that Ibrahim is teaching Momo about the horizon that is ever receding. The faster you chase after it, the quicker you arrive at the end without having lived. That is why Ibrahim pauses to appreciate Greece, using the history of its people and their wisdom to make a delicate point. This stopover is symbolically pertinent. Momo asks about the place they have arrived (Greece) to inquire whether it is rich or poor. Ibrahim shifts the conversation to the actual point of the lesson: “Smell that? The scent of happiness. This is Greece. People don’t move. They take the time to watch us pass.” He then tells Momo that he has worked hard all his life but taken his time about it, and the key to his happiness has been “slowness.” Now, of course, a central principle in Sufi praxis is the ability to slow down the breathing and retain a state of meditation in one’s daily activities even outside the ritual practices. To sip a cup of tea with mindfulness, or to take a stroll in the garden and appreciate the flowers and the song of the birds, or to simply do daily chores with effortlessness all the while being fully present in the moment. Ibrahim’s lesson is reinforced once he and Momo arrive in Ibrahim’s homeland, Turkey. Ibrahim is silent, taking in his surroundings. He has missed his home. Momo asks if there is anything wrong and why Ibrahim

68  Milad Milani is not speaking. Ibrahim tells him to “listen  .  .  . smell.” In this penultimate segment of the film, the sensuality of worldliness is again center stage, except this time it is not of the passions but of the aesthetics of religion. Ibrahim takes Momo on a tour of the religious sanctuaries, but he blindfolds Momo to teach him to recognize each religious tradition through the senses. “I smell incense.” “It’s Orthodox,” says Ibrahim. “I smell candles.” “It’s Catholic,” says Ibrahim. “It stinks of feet!” “And your feet don’t stink? You’re no better than others,” responds Ibrahim. “That odor reassures me. I smell myself, I smell you.” As they continue on their journey inland toward Ibrahim’s village, Momo is homesick, and Ibrahim says that he will make him dance. Here, the journey into religion is complete. But it is not the end of understanding. From church to mosque to “love’s temple”  – the Sufi house of worship – the lesson about religion goes deeper. Ibrahim’s reference to dance is about the whirling dervishes, whom they watch perform. Where Momo was before blindfolded; he is now permitted to see. The order of the film’s sequence is more than coincidental in that it implies a tacit truth: what we think we see with our eyes, we do not; and what we do not see with our eyes, we do (with our hearts). Momo’s seeing with his eyes is metaphoric of the seeing with the eye of the heart in the scene where the blindfold is off and he is witness to the dervish ceremony. In the cliché that unfolds, the religious traditions are most visible to our external senses with their magnificent architecture and lavish ritual, but they keep from the very same eyes – through distraction – the reality of the message they hold. The truth of the message is seen with an internal vision not blinded by the material aesthetic but liberated through the spirit of aesthetics. When Ibrahim and Momo are watching, Ibrahim whispers to Momo, “A man’s heart is like a caged bird. When you dance, your heart sings . . . and then rises to heaven.” In explaining this, Ibrahim is not dispensing with the religions but guiding Momo toward the interior of religion. It is a common belief among Sufis that the core of religion, its sacred heart, is where the combustion of love resides. So, Ibrahim tells him why the dervishes dance: They spin around their hearts. God is there, in their hearts. It’s like a prayer. They lose all their bearings, that burden we call balance. They become like torches. They burn in a blazing fire. This unspoken experience of love’s mystery constitutes a widespread basis for Sufism’s creed about purifying the heart and mind. “My head’s clear. All my hatred . . .” Momo is yet again genuinely surprised by Ibrahim’s humanity. “Do you feel hatred too?”

The journey’s end “The journey ends here,” Ibrahim murmurs in his dying state. “No,” replies Momo desperately. “Yes,” says Ibrahim with certainty. Death is the final

The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim  69 state of life. Ibrahim’s death marks the end of his life’s journey. But with this end there is a new beginning in Momo. “I’ve arrived,” says Ibrahim. This unassumingly simple statement conveys both points of view about the end and beginning  – that Ibrahim has arrived at the end of his journey and Momo at the beginning of his, at that very moment in time. With the anticipation of all that is to come, Momo remarks that he is scared. Ibrahim reassures him that there is nothing to fear, because he knows what is in his Qur’an. “I’ve had a good life. I’m old. I’ve had a wife. She died a long time ago . . . but I still love her. I’ve returned home.” The distraught Momo is further consoled by Ibrahim’s words. But these are not just words of comfort; they point Momo to the present-future of his life. “The store was doing well. The Blue Road is pretty . . . even if it isn’t blue. And then . . . there’s you.” But Momo does not want to lose Ibrahim. So Ibrahim conveys the same sentiment in blunter terms: “I’m not dying. I’m going to join . . . the immensity.” To return to the question that we began this chapter with, “What is my Qur’an?” I  want to draw on a lesson that Thomas Sheehan shared once in a book I  admire: The point is not to cling to the mentor or tradition (­religion) – these attempts are to take the object as an answer; the point is to discover oneself as a question.11 The phrase “I know what is in my Qur’an” is an affirmation of the question as prominent over traditional knowledge but not necessarily at the expense of it. There is more in this film than could be discussed here; but I know what is in my Monsieur Ibrahim.

Notes 1 In writing this chapter, I  took inspiration from reading Thomas Sheehan’s, “From Divinity to Infinity,” in The Once and Future Jesus, edited by Robert Funk, 27–44. Santa Rosa, CA: The Westar Institute. Similarly, I seek to problematize traditional readings of the content of Sufism through philosophical hermeneutics. 2 There are thematic parallels with an earlier novel, The Life Before Us (1975), by Romain Gary (written under the pseudonym Emile Ajar). 3 I refer to Heidegger’s usage of Anwesen (“presencing”), contra metaphysics; and in similar vein to demonstrate that Sufis did not originally objectify deity, that is, as a reductionist rationality for creating an object for the subject, but instead this is an idea that emerges with certain Muslim mystics who appropriate the “Sufi” experience of phenomenality as an objectification of the divine. On Heidegger’s terms, see Sheehan 2015, p. 23; further, ch. 2 and 6. On the discussion in Sufi history, see Milad Milani, The Nature of Sufism (forthcoming with Routledge). 4 See Melkert 2015, pp. 3–23. 5 Cf., Lewisohn 2015, pp. 150–82. Note, Lewisohn’s implies that love is a doctrine within the Qur’an. 6 Shah 1969, p. 174. 7 See Milani 2013, pp. 168–84. 8 For the full story of “the snake-catcher who thought the frozen serpent was dead and wound it in ropes and brought it to Baghdad” see the M3, line: 1030–1065;

70  Milad Milani Nicholson 1982 [1930], pp.  59–60. While the asceticism in Rumi’s message is evident, and maintained, it does not determine the moral of the story to be monastic. The point is not necessarily for one to avoid the world, but to keep the spiritual vigil in it (M3, line: 1061). Rumi’s advice is that the carnage of Man is ignorance of himself through being consumed by worldliness, because “Wretched Man does not know himself: he has come from a high estate and fallen into lowlihood” (M3, line: 1000). And so, Man’s fate is determined by his insatiable nature, by his disregard of his ‘true’ state, and so the worldly self as a “little worm” when starved and stricken is then made a dragon when fed by “power and riches” (M3, line: 1056) – “So long as that dragon of thine remains frozen, (well and good); though art a mouthful for it when it gains release” (M3, line: 1058). There are two meanings conveyed in Rumi’s verse: that the dragon is the monster within and the world as beast; the monster will lash out without mercy and the beast will devour without regard. The moral of the story is sine qua non a question of directionality, that is, in what pursuit do we, as humans, invest ourselves? In point of fact, Rumi can be read as asserting the necessity, if not realizing the value, of the passions properly directed. 9 The silent reference in the film is to Rumi’s story about the minister who fell afoul of the prince and fled, but then love drew him back to face his death. The specific line that is referred to here, which appears in the story is well known, but it is in the context of a larger story about the intentionality of dying as lover for in order to reach the state of divine union and be fulfilled in becoming. Heidegger’s notion of Dasein is paramount as Being is toward death, always becoming until death. In Eastern Orthodox theology, theosis carries a similar sentiment in that the domain of the living is for the sake of becoming as toward God, a transformation only completed in death. On Rumi’s story see M3, line: 3901–3; Nicholson, Mathnawi, pp. 218–9. On theosis see George Kapsanis, Theosis: The True Purpose of Human Life, 1st ed. (Mount Athos, Greece: Holy Monastery of St. Gregorios, 2006). 10 M1, line: 115; Mujaddedi 2006, p. 11. 11 Sheehan 1986, p. 223.

Bibliography Kapsanis, George. 2006. Theosis: The True Purpose of Human Life, 1st edition. Mount Athos, Greece: Holy Monastery of St. Gregorios. Lewisohn, Leonard. 2015. “Sufism’s Religion of Love, from Rabi‘a to Ibn ‘Arabi.” In The Cambridge Companion to Sufism, edited by Lloyd Ridgeon, 150–182. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Melkert, Christopher. 2015. “Origins and Early Sufism.” In The Cambridge Companion to Sufism, edited by Lloyd Ridgeon, 3–23. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Milani, Milad. 2013. “The subtle body in Sufism.” In Religion and the Subtle Body in Asia and the West: Between Mind and Body, edited by Geoffrey Samuel and Jay Johnston, 168–184. London: Routledge. Mujaddedi, Jawid (trans.) 2006. Rumi The Masnavi Book One. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Nicholson, Reynold A. (trans. and ed.) 1982 [1930]. The Mathnawi of Jalaluddin Rumi: translations of Books III and IV. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Shah, Idries. 1969. The Wisdom of Idiots. London: Octagon Press.

The ‘Sufism’ of Monsieur Ibrahim  71 Sheehan, Thomas. 1986. The First Coming: How the Kingdom of God Became Christianity. New York: Dorset Press. ———. 2000. “From Divinity to Infinity”. In The Once and Future Jesus, edited by Robert Funk, 27–44. Santa Rosa, CA: The Westar Institute. ———. 2015. Making Sense of Heidegger. New York: Rowman  & Littlefield International.

3 Promoting social and religious harmony Bāul’s origin and migration West and Roji Sarker’s performance in the British Bangladeshi diaspora Clinton Bennett Introduction: Bāul as love gift to humanity Bāul derives from the eclectic music of itinerant singers and performers in Bengal who mingled Buddhist, Vai snvite – Bhakti, Tāntrīc and Sufi elements ˙˙ with deep reverence for the sacredness of human life. Love of music and poetry was always a socially harmonizing influence across religious boundaries in Bengal and continues to function as such in modern day Bangladesh. Indeed, the existence of such “boundaries” may be challenged. Both the classical genres of Rabindra Sangeet and Nazrul Geeti are heavily influenced by Bāul. Some describe Bāul as the source of all Bengali folk music. One respondent in the United Kingdom on the nature of Bāul told this writer that it is “the folk music of Sylhet” (the region from which most of British Bangladeshis originate). This statement is not incorrect; all districts can claim that their folk music is rooted in Bāul, which would have reached Sylhet relatively late. Bāul is increasingly popular among the South Asian British community, where it offers the wider public an alternative face of Islam to the popular negative perception that fuels Islamophobia. First, this chapter locates Bāul’s origin in fifteenth century Bengal. Second, it explores how a musical and lyrical tradition that began as a phenomenon of cultural fusion expanded its influence when, through encounters with North American artists such as Allen Ginsberg and Bob Dylan and United Kingdom artists such as George Harrison and Mick Jagger, it crossed from the East into the West, building bridges and blurring boundaries. Bāul music’s universal themes represent a gift to humanity. Some have described Bāul music performed by non-Bāuls as cultural appropriation, yet this accusation fails to recognize that Bāul has always crossed and challenged boundaries and divisions. It is a love gift to all humanity. This was recognized when UNESCO declared Bāul an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity (2008) and began to sponsor the recording and preservation of Bāul music with an action plan for saving these songs, which traditionally are passed on orally. Finally, this chapter explores the Bāul phenomenon in the British diaspora as a cultural catalyst promoting

Promoting social and religious harmony 73 inter-religious understanding though the performances of popular Christian artist Roji Sarker, who has appeared on television in Bangladesh and in the United Kingdom. Many who perform Bāul music in the West do not belong to the Bāul tradition  per se, even if they wear the saffron robe. They are unlikely to subscribe to all aspects of Bāul philosophy, but they almost all champion many of the same themes – human equality, solidarity and freedom from oppression – and want to build bridges rather than walls between people of different faiths and races. Reference is made to appropriate literature, although the paper also draws on the author’s experience in Bangladesh and on some research among the Bengali diaspora in the United Kingdom.

Bāul: a pioneer example of cultural fusion The Bāul (বাউল) tradition began in Bengal sometime during the fifteenth century as an eclectic fusion of various religious practices and beliefs. Various theories have been proposed about the origin of the word Bāul. Generally, Bāul is said to mean “mad,” but it is also seen as synonymous with “mendicant” and “recluse” in English and with such words as faqir, Bairāgīs and dervish. These terms are all associated with the practice of devotional austerity. Bāuls are traditionally either celibate minstrels or married practitioners who live in their own Para (পাড়া, neighborhood) and live off what they earn for their singing. Celibate Bāul are often itinerant but may also live in ashrams. Bāuls may be male or female. Membership of either category is through initiation by a mentor. Kushtia District, in modern Bangladesh, was an early center of the tradition and remains important for its annual festival in honor of Lalon Bāul (1772–1890), one of the best-known and renowned practitioners. There may be several thousand ascetic Bāuls in Kushtia district. West Bengal’s Birbhum is often cited as the tradition’s birthplace, from where it spread across Bengal and beyond to Assam, Bihar, Orissa and Tripura. In Bangladesh, Chittagong, Sylhet, Mymensingh and Tangy districts are also famous for their Bāuls. Mendicant Bāuls are often encountered near Rabindranath Tagore’s experimental school (now VisvaBharati University) at Shantineketan, where many perform at the annual Poush Mela. Europeans in search of Bāuls frequently begin at Shantiniketan. While the number of traditional Bāuls has declined, recent fieldwork – by, among others, Jeanne Openshaw (2002),1 who carried out her research in two areas of West Bengal; Lisa Knight (2013),2 who spent several years researching on both sides of the border, including in Sylhet, and focused on the everyday lives of Bāul women; and Kristin Hanssen (2018),3 who lived with Bāul women belonging to one family in West Bengal – shows that the tradition continues to flourish. Charles Capwell (2011)4 also researched in West Bengal and presents the tradition as one that has evolved and adapted so that today it reaches an international audience. Other works will be cited below by people with firsthand exposure to the tradition rather than exposure gained from carrying out academic research.

74  Clinton Bennett Today, Bāul themes reach an increasingly global audience through export to the West and adaptation by non-Bāuls. Deben Bhattacharya, in his ­UNESCO-sponsored collection of Bāul songs, is somewhat critical of how some have appropriated Bāul music while “donning fancy robes . . . to impress their audiences,” which “cancels their claim to being Bāuls,” since “Bāuls are free spirits” who “would not wish to be trapped in a uniform.” However, he adds, “But anyone is free to sing his moving songs to seek the man within,”5 suggesting that what he finds objectionable is not non-Bāuls singing Bāul songs but rather singers pretending to belong to the tradition when they do not. It may be useful to distinguish a Bāul performer and a performer of Bāul. Knight comments that her use of the term “Bāul” in her book is “fluid and unbounded, reflecting a diversity of meaning among the people” whom she met (p. 14). Similarly, Openshaw refers to how Upendrenath Bhatacariya “deplored the appropriation” middle class, urban education amateurs of Bāuls songs or their co-option “in the service of conventional religiosity,” suggesting inauthenticity.6 Bāul is both a spiritual and a musical sampraddy, or tradition. Its spiritual roots lie in the mingling of religious ideas and practices that historically characterized the Bengal region. Brahmanical Hinduism, with rigid caste and class divisions, was a relatively late development in Bengal, although it had been introduced by the first king of the Sena dynasty, who invited five Brahmans to settle at the end of the tenth century. However, Buddhist and Jain temples and shrines continued to flourish alongside Brahmanism. Other alternatives, especially those related to Tāntrīc and devotional Hindu paths, flourished for centuries. Brahmanism did not dominate among Hindus until the sixteenth century. Vai snva Bhakti, who challenges both caste and gender distinctions, became very˙ ˙popular in the sixteenth century. Hanssen comments that the Bāuls she met used “Vashnava” and “Bāul” interchangeably (p.  6). In places like Sylhet, though, with a strong Sufi presence, practicing Bāuls may be more likely to have stressed that aspect of their identity. Knight describes attending a late-night event at a durgah in Sylhet where Sufis mingled with Bāuls, talking; singing; and, she writes, smoking “ganja” (p. 19). Muslim rulers patronized Hindu scholarship. Brahman attempts to control these more spontaneous, even liberational, movements were only ever partly successful. Even in the early British period, large segments of the Bengali population remained outside the formalized class and caste systems. In the villages of the Gangetic delta, devotion to local snake and crocodile deities also survived. Although Islam reached Bengal in the twelfth century, large-scale conversion did not begin until the Moghul period (from 1572). The British did not even realize that most Bengalis in the East were Muslim until the census of 1872, possibly because many people connected loosely to religious identities drawing on anything available that helped them deal with life’s challenges rather than identifying exclusively with only one religion. The phenomenon known as multiple religious participation characterized the Bengal landscape. Islamic evangelism was mainly carried out by

Promoting social and religious harmony 75 Sufi teachers who helped clear and settle land across the delta. Sitting under a tree already revered locally as sacred, making “saints” out of crocodiles and snakes, incorporating Muslim figures alongside those from Hindu epics into their vocabulary, these Pirs (Sufi teachers) blurred boundaries between Islam and preexisting religions, including animist traditions, in Bengal.7 Many continued to attract Hindu as well as Muslim disciples well into the modern period. In parts of Bengal, people were known by Hindu and Muslim names. Hindus and Muslims attended each other’s festivals, as some still do in Bangladesh today. Conversion from another religion into what might be described as an observant Muslim was a long, intergenerational process. Sufi musicians found it easy to adapt Hindu devotional songs for their use. Bengali was mainly used in poetry at this period because Farsi was the language of administration. Sufis have always used poetry as the main medium of theological expression and quickly adapted Bangla. Bangla, the language of the people, not of religious or intellectual elites, became a common language among devotees of various religious figures. Sufi and Hindu mendicants mixed and mingled. The Bāuls emerge within this matrix. Almost all studies of Bāul religion identify Buddhist, Vai snva and Tāntrīc ˙˙ Hindu beliefs and practices and Sufism as its major components. Behind all these, too, lie animist and mystical elements that look to the divine within nature and humanity. At an early point in Bengal, Muslim Sufi thinkers were attracted to aspects of Tantra and Yoga because these do not assume the need of priestly mediation between people and God. At an early period, an Arabic translation of a Tāntrīc yoga manual circulated widely. Later, the first Bangla translation of the Qur’an was by a Hindu, Bhai Girishchandra Sen (1886).8 Close to the emergence of the Bāul traditions saw Vai snva˙˙ Sahajiyā gain popularity in Bengal, which became its center. A  left-hand path, this uses sexual intercourse to reenact the union between Krishna and Radha as that of the female and make divine principles. Sahajiyā employs the five senses to achieve spiritual enlightenment, in which the body plays an indispensable role. Such practices as consuming bodily fluids (rasa) and engaging in acts that Brahmans consider polluting contribute to Tantra’s left-hand status. Tāntrīc practice involves control over one’s sexual seed and the ability to reverse its flow (Bindu sadhana). Maithuna (Tāntrīc sexual union) could involve a high-caste man and a low-caste woman breaking purity rules. Due to these practices, members were secret about their beliefs. Reference to the yoni and the lingam may be explicit or in code: The “frog” represents the “former,” and the “snake” represents the “latter.” Thus, the words in this specific song, “The frog eats the snake’s head,” can be coded as “twilight” or “mystical language.”9 This derives from Buddhist Tantra. Reference to male and female geese and swans carries the same meaning.10 The “moon” symbolizes semen. Numbers and Perso-Arabic letters are also ciphers. Alif is for Allah, while Mim is for Muhammad. Although ˙ be some Shaivite Bāul is indisputably related to Vaisnava, there may also Śākta Tāntrīc influence, given the popularity of Kali and of Mother-God

76  Clinton Bennett veneration in Bengal, where the goddess is synonymous with the land itself. The anti-partition movement in 1905 sung Kali’s praise. A branch of the mendicant Bairāgīs also practiced sexual rites within the Vaisnavite tradition. Like the more eclectic Bāul, Bairāgīs performed music and danced but wore the tilak and shaved their heads, making them more obviously Vaisnvite. The Bāuls resisted being confined to any single reli˙ ˙ regarding this as restrictive. Usually categorized as outcasts, gious tradition, although some (especially the gurus) were descended from Brahmans, they challenged caste and class distinctions. Anything that could limit freedom and restrict the human spirit was anathema. Bāuls are either professed ascetics (fourth āśrama) or married couples as householders (second āśrama). Both live off their musical performances. Knight comments that the tradition is “fiercely opposed to the caste system, sectarianism and the discrimination of women,” and Bāuls “regularly cross religious and social boundaries as they speak, sing, practice and live their lives.”11 Buddhist Sahajiyā was also recruited to fuse a preexisting religion in Bengal into Bāul sadhanā. ˙ Datta explains how the principles of attainment (upāya) and of knowledge (Prajñā), when brought into alignment to realize bliss, were “symbolized as male and female” and could be “transformed into Kr sna and Rādhā.”12 ˙ ˙ ˙ who may be difBecoming a Bāul involves three stages of initiation by gurus, ferent for each of these. Husbands and wives are gurus to each other. While Bāuls resist being labeled Hindu or Muslim, Sirajul Islam (2004), which lists some of the earliest known names of Gurus, says that Bāuls from Muslim background refer to their mentors as faqirs.13 However, initiates enter a single community; June McDaniel comments: “There is no clear distinction between Hindu and Muslim Bāul,” but points out that Muslim initiates will use dhikr for mantra; Allah for Bhagavān; and baqā’ for unity with the divine (rather than Samadhi) and speak about states (ahwāl) and stages (maqamat) ˙ 14 along the path of spiritual development, as do Sufis. Bāul belong to a Kul, or lineage, such as that of the Vaisnva saint Srii Nityananda (1474–1541), ˙ ˙ a close friend of Caitanya (1486–1534), possibly the oldest. Nityananda was an important figure in the developing of the Bhakti path. Initiation involves the giving and receiving of mantras. Bhattacharyya, describing the mantras involved, says that for Sufi initiates it “is a chant in praise of the murshid and Allah,” while Vaisnava initiates are given apparently meaningless “monosyllabic sounds” that “contain semantic roots” of deep significance “in praise of the Guru and Krishna.”15 Lalon used to say that he was “neither a Hindu nor a Muslim” and that the only religion he believed in was humanism.16 The first initiation (Diksha, preparation) involves learning Yogic postures, mastering breathing techniques and other external aspects of the tradition. The second initiation (Shiksha, student) focuses on inner aspects of the sadhanā, or philosophy, which sees the divine in nature and the human soul ˙as a microcosm of the universe. Sexual rites are also taught. Some Western scholars chose to concentrate on these as examples of Oriental decadence or merely to eroticize Bāul, while others make more of an attempt to appreciate

Promoting social and religious harmony 77 that sex can become a spiritual discipline when intended to mirror the cosmic union of the male and female divine that stands behind the very existence of the universe in some Indic thought. It is inaccurate to reduce Bāul to Tāntrīc sexual practices but equally inaccurate to expunge any reference to these. Sexual union leads to the blurring of the immanent-transcendent duality that binds us to mortality. The void, or bliss, or oneness with the Absolute can be experienced. An interesting aspect of Bāul thought is recognition of masculinity and femininity in both sexes. Tantra has undoubtedly at times degenerated into sexual abuse and exploitation, but Western notions that sex and religion do not mix can prevent a more nuanced understanding of its role in Tantra-related traditions, such as Bāul. Other Tantic terms are used, too, including chakra (wheels, seven centers of energy referred to as lotuses and identified by the number of petals) and kundalini (energy at the base of the spine – the coiled serpent goddess). In the final initiation (Siddha, ascetic – for those who do not live in households), the novice becomes an Adept and takes on the saffron robe – women may wear white – as a sign of having become a sadhu (or Bhek), ˙ although married Bāuls do not follow the strict ascetic lifestyle. They do vow to perform devotional rites. Recruits may be male or female, Muslim or Hindu. Progression depends on being judged ready for each stage. Men wear beards and beads and leave their hair long. Women do not wear jewelry. Traditional performers add Bāul to their names. Ascetic Bāuls often have consorts who may vow to “have no more children.” Initiation as a consort of a male Bāul (known variously as khelp, Sadikha and sevadasi) resembles a marriage ceremony. Single female ascetics are celibate, which, as Knight points out, is countercultural in terms of social and Bāul expectations.17 Bāul rituals involve song and dance, but no images are used. The attribution of madness may derive from their ecstatic style of singing and dancing in a God-intoxicated or frenzied state. They are mad with love for the divine. Songs are composed both for the purposes of instructing members and for performances attended by non-Bāuls who offer financial support. Traditionally, performance is a Bāul’s sole source of income, which is why people who perform Bāul songs but do not live off these may be regarded as amateurs or even impostors. Some songs containing secret teaching and cryptic messages are only performed for members. Songs are set to music often using the 4 + 4 + 4 + 2 meter (beats in a line).18 Partly because the possibility that their practices might be misunderstood and partly because their audiences were illiterate and party to maintain control of their tradition, neither lyrics nor their musical notations were recorded. Neither were records kept on the lives of the earliest Bāuls, about whom almost nothing is known in terms of biographical data. Rabindranath Tagore (1861–1941) pioneered collecting and notating Bāul songs in 1883, arguing that educated Bengalis had lost touch with their roots and could benefit from exposure to this material, which resonated with reference to the soul and soil of the land. The themes expressed in Bāul songs include human solidarity, the search for

78  Clinton Bennett the divine within, darkness, light, joy, pain, love and the praise of nature. When speaking about divine-human love sexual metaphor may be used. Positive Love (prem) is contrasted with negative lust (kāma), although lust can kill lust; a song says, “They kill lust with lust and enter the city of love” (Osho, p. 54). The much-loved fauna, forests and rivers of Bengal feature and play symbolic roles in these songs. The divine is formless yet omnipresent in multiple forms around us. An anonymous Bāul song says: He [God] is here In his form without form To adorn the hamlet of limbs, And the sky above Is the globe of his feelings The platform of spontaneous matter.19 Even names for the divine can limit understanding, just as rituals on which orthodox religious authorities insist can intrude between ourselves and genuine worship of the divine, which Bāuls identify as the “Tat” (तत् , THAT) of the Vedas. Attempts to trace Bāul as far back as the Vedic period almost certainly intend to represent the path as “legitimate.” Śāha attributes this to the search for their roots by late-nineteenth-century educated Bengalis in the colonial context (p. xvii). On the other hand, Bāuls do see Vedic precedent for many of their beliefs. Madan (a Bāul of Muslim origin) wrote, “I hear your call, O Lord, but I cannot advance, prophets and teachers bar my way.”20 Bāul songs mesh with traditions of folk music, which helped spread the appeal of these songs. Performers wear saffron kurtas, have bells strapped to their ankles and play stringed instruments – famously the single-stringed ektara, kettle drums (duggi) and handheld cymbals (juri). Songs contain Muslim and Hindu images perpetuating the tradition’s cross-­ religious character of belonging to all religions and not only to one religion. A biography of Nazrul Islam cites this typical Bāul song: I am a mad Baul, brother, this my very body is my temple The God of my heart does not live far away, the temple That is his house is my own mind, He lives always in my heart In all joys and sorrows.21 This example, by Jādubindu from Panchloki village in Bardhaman district, who loved to use images of rural life, shows how Bāuls employed reference to the landscape: Plowman Are you out of your wits A squadron of six birds [the six weaknesses of man, (lust, anger, greed, infatuation, vanity and envy]

Promoting social and religious harmony 79 Is picking at the rice . . . The fence of consciousness Lies in the dust Leaving gaps for cattle to clamber through To feast on your harvest . . .22 Two recent books by people intimate with Bāul contain a great deal of firsthand material that illustrates the tradition’s ongoing vitality in its Bengal heartland. Mimlu Sen’s Baulsphere (2012) describes accompanying Paban Das Baul, whom she heard perform in Paris twenty-seven years ago, back to India, through several Bāul villages, to a festival at Kunduli, to Shantiniketan and to other venues before taking initiation herself, which included learning esoteric sexo-yogic secrets. Since then, she has helped produce Paban Das’s recordings. Born and raised in Shillong, she now lives at Shantineketan. Penguin India describes her as “translator, musician, music producer and composer.” The couple now records at studios across the globe. At first Sen hesitated to undergo initiation, since she was not a religious person. However, this did not deter the guru for whom explicit belief in God is irrelevant when God is innate in all people – and she became Paban’s consort. Her description of the initiation reads very much like a Hindu marriage rite, with use of neem, herbs, turmeric, bathing, wearing new clothes and receiving a tilaks. After this, she writes about how a deeper bond existed between herself and Paban when they performed. This writer experienced some of these customs when he first visited his in-laws in Bangladesh and was smeared with yellow (holud) turmeric. Bhaskar Bhattacharyya’s (1993) book became a New Age classic. Already well known for his filmmaking in India and Europe, Bhattacharyya writes about his long encounter with Bāuls whom he first met while filming Tantra (1969).23 Later, he met them again at Shantiniketan.24 Having studied Tantra at Varanasi, he was searching for “secret knowledge.” Attending the Mela, he found himself transported into a “different reality, a place full of spirit of love.” He says that he was “adopted” as a Bāul with a father, sisters and brothers.25 The book contains eighty-four songs translated into English, with commentary and chapters on the tradition’s history, philosophy and practice. He calls it the way of love. Professional researchers such as Knight initially found gaining access to Bāul circles difficult because, when she enquired about Bāul philosophy, they assumed that she wanted to penetrate the more secret aspects and made themselves unavailable. She made progress when she told them that she lives and stories of the women. She never had to state that she was also interested in men’s stories because they told them to her without being asked.26

Bāul travels West: Tagore, Ginsberg, Dylan, Harrison and Jagger In different ways, Tagore, Allen Ginsberg, Bob Dylan, George Harrison and Mick Jagger have played crucial roles in the dissemination of this musical

80  Clinton Bennett heritage beyond India. These men, including two Nobel Laureates, closely identified or identify with the Bāul tradition, with some describing themselves as Bāul. The acclaimed Bāul, Lalon, lived on a Tagore estate in Kushtia district. Tagore’s father sketched his only known portrait. He has been furnished with a Sufi-style mausoleum in what was probably a deliberate attempt to legitimize him in Muslim eyes.27 It was while helping manage family property in East Bengal that Tagore first encountered Bāul minstrels. He was attracted to the songs in which he saw so many parallels with his own poetry and his themes of the divine in nature and humanity. Tagore’s Universalist humanist philosophy and dislike of organized, formal religion (he left the Brahmo Samaj of which his family were leading members) resonated with many aspects of the Bāul tradition. Tagore, who is called the Vishwa Kobi (বিশ্ব কবি, Universal Poet) in Bengali, began to write down lyrics and their musical notation. He would compose one hundred and eighty-seven songs in what he called Rabindra Bāul style, although much of his work reflects Bāul influence. He referred to himself as Rabindra Bāul and played a Bāul character in one of his own dramas. Tagore omitted sexual references, though, which may have sanitized the tradition in a way that made it palatable for his bhadralok (gentleman class) readers.28 Some see this as a form of cultural appropriation that, as Upendranath Bhattacharrya later argued, made it impossible for readers to fully understand their meaning.29 Bhattacharrya published a collection of 517 songs.30 Tagore’s Gitanjali, which won him the 1913 Nobel Prize for Literature, a prize yet to be awarded to another Indian, is replete with the nature-mysticism of Bāul philosophy. Several motifs can be identified in poem eleven: Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads! Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee! He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the pathmaker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, and his garment is covered with dust. Put of thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil! Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found? Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he is bound with us all forever. Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense! What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained? Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.31 Bāuls see worship in Mosques and Temples as restrictive. In his Hibbert Lectures for 1930, published as The Religion of Man, with the theme of God’s humanity and human divinity, Tagore described how he had discovered Bāul music32 and added an appendix describing the Bāuls by Kshiti Mohan Sen (1880–1960),33 one of the first scholarly monographs on the

Promoting social and religious harmony 81 subject. Sen also translated some songs into English. Tagore saw in what he described as these unsophisticated songs a “clue to the inner meaning of all religions  .  .  .,” which “are never about a God of cosmic force, but rather about the God of human personality.”34 Even though he did sanitize some of their songs, one writer described Tagore as “the greatest of the Bāuls of Bengal.”35 In the “Introduction” to a 1930 collection of Bāul songs, whose editor, M. Mansur Uddin (1904–1987), he had encouraged, Tagore wrote that these gave the “fullest expression” of the “deeper consciousness of the village mind of Bengal” in building a “common seat” for Hindus and Muslims.36 Mention should also be made of how Bāul influenced Tagore’s friend, Nazrul Islam (1899–1976), Bengal’s rebel poet (Bidrohi Kobi, বিদ্রোহী কবি), who saw Tagore as his mentor, as apt to use Hindu as he was Muslim imagery in his poetry. Nazrul was drawn away from what some saw as a more orthodox Muslim poetic form to folk music, to the Sufis and especially to the Bāuls. As did the Sufis, he found ways of linking the rivers of Bengal with Islam’s sacred center in Arabia, to which they might carry the singer away. Given the popularity of Nazrul Geeti throughout Bangladesh, his musical legacy also helped disseminate Bāul themes to a wider constituency. His passionate plea for Hindu-Muslim harmony, social equality and tolerance remains a powerful message. In one Bāul-like allusion, he wrote about feeling “agony and pain” in his “heart,” and being “a madcap.”37 In “Manush,” he wrote, I sing the song of equality / There is nothing greater than a human being, Nothing nobler! Caste, Creed, Religion / there is no difference. Throughout all ages, all places / We are all a Manifestation / Of our common humanity.38 Prophets speak, he said, to all people, and all religions are in our hearts because that is where we encounter God. His sons were given Hindu and Muslims names. His wife was a Brahmo Samaj Hindu. Tagore’s Amar Sonar Bangla (আমার স�োনার বাংলা) is Bangladesh’s National Anthem; Nazrul, its National Poet. Others contributed to collecting Bāul songs, but it was much later that this was perceived as an urgent task in the light of the numerical decline of the tradition’s membership. When Deben Bhattacharya published the first edition of The Mirror of the Sky: Songs of the Bāul of Bengal in 1969, with sponsorship from UNESCO, American poet Allen Ginsberg (1926–1997) and singer Bob Dylan had re-introduced Bāul to the West. Ginsberg, already a Buddhist, went to India in 1962 at age thirty-seven with Peter Orlovsky (1933–2010), where he traveled and ended up spending nine months in Bengal. In the village of Siri, Birbhum, he met Nabani Das Baul, who told the two Americans that they were “born a Bāul” and would spread its message “of true peace” and “friendship” in the West.39 A friend and colleague of

82  Clinton Bennett Tagore, Das had taught at Shantineketan and traces his Bāul lineage to Srii Nityananda. Ginsberg, who was known as a rebel poet, featured the “holy bum” in his work, which celebrated nature and the inner-self. Opposed to materialism and to militarism, he also popularized the use of flowers, bells and mantras in the anti-war movement. He did much to promote Buddhism and forms of Hinduism in the West. At times he called himself a “Buddhist Jew,” a designation that resonates with Bāul’s refusal to identify exclusively with one religion. Triglio comments that he preferred “unfixed, anti-­ logocentric language for the sacred.”40 Ginsberg also befriended and helped the founder of the International Order of Krishna Consciousness, Abhay Charanaravinda Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupada (1896–1977). During his week with Das, Ginsberg learned to play the ektara and the tanpura. He had learned to play the harmonium earlier at Varanasi and sometimes used this to accompany his poetry recitals. However, it was perhaps his role in bringing the first Bāul artists to the United States that really fulfilled Das’s commission. This was a time when Western artists were going to India and came under the influence of Indian spirituality, including the Beatles in 1968, who trained in Transcendental Meditation at Maharishi’s ashram. No few were attracted by the Body-Mind-Spirit aspect of Indic thought, which became central to what some describe as New Age thinking. Of the fabulous four, George Harrison (1943–2001) was most attracted to Indian spirituality and music and visited India frequently. He wrote several songs in Indian style, including “My Sweet Lord” (which include the Hare Krishna mantra) on his 1970 album All Things Must Pass (disc 1, track 2).41 Released as a single in 1971, it topped charts worldwide. He studied sitar in India with Ravi Shankar (1920–2012), performing and recording with him and with Nabani’s son, Purna Das, and his son, Babukishan Das, pioneering the raga rock trend. Harrison edited Ravi’s 1997 book, Raga Mala.42 Babukishan’s repertoire includes fusion music (which he has recorded at Sally Grossman’s Woodstock studio), as well as traditional Bāul. Grossmann travels regularly to India to update the Bāul Archive43 that she founded in 2010 with Charles Capwell. Four Indian artists played instruments for the acclaimed album Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band (1967)44, on which Harrison sang, “Within You, Without You” (track 8) in Indian classical style. The Manor house now known as Bhaktivedanta, which he gifted to ISKCON in 1973, has morphed into a sacred sight for the wider Hindu community in Britain. In 1987, this writer helped to defend against the threat of the Manor’s closure because of complaints about traffic congestion and the bias against it, which some saw as a cult. Harrison’s 1969 version of the Hare Krishna Mantra (1969) shot into the top ten on the music charts.45 However, Rolling Stone Mick Jagger was even more influenced by Bāul than Harrison, who was more interested in the classical raga. In 1971, Jagger heard Purna Das and his son playing at Hyde Park, London. This led to a lifelong friendship. They collaborated on an album, produced by Jagger, Jai Bangla: Bauls of Bengal, in 1973. Jagger also produced the

Promoting social and religious harmony 83 documentary Tantra (1969). Bāul had traveled a long way from village Bengal to the musical repertoires of some of the West’s most celebrated popular musicians. In 1965, Dylan’s manager, Albert Grossman, at Ginsberg’s suggestion, invited Purna Das Baul and his brother, Luxman, to a cultural festival in San Francisco while visiting Kalkata with his wife, Sally. Later, Grossman introduced Das to Dylan in Woodstock, which became Das’s base for the next year. After this, the two performed together about twenty times in various locations. Dylan learned to play the ektara and jammed along to Das’s singing. After Dylan’s award of the 2016 Nobel Prize for Literature, Das, pictured with Luxman on the cover of Dylan’s album John Wesley Harding (1967), told the Indian Telegraph that Dylan’s songs mirrored the soul of humanity, as did those of the Bāuls.46 Bāuls’s influence on Dylan is less in terms of musicality or lyrics than in reinforcing his belief that folk music has a role beyond entertainment to provoke, challenge and advocate for social change. Other sources cite Dylan telling Das that, just as he was a Bengali Bāul, he would become America’s Bāul (interview with Livemint, October 21, 2016).47 In 1990, Dylan attended Dibyendu’s (Purna’s son) wedding in Kolkata, wearing a red kurta and white pajamas. Talk about cultural appropriation seems inappropriate given that Ginsberg and Dylan were encouraged by trained Bāuls to become ambassadors of Bāul in the West. Returning the compliment of being called India’s Dylan, Purna and his son produced a Bangla version of Mr. Tambourine Man accompanied by the ektara.48 With Selina Thielemann, Das wrote Bāul Philosophy (2003), which begins with the question “who am I” and continues with self-­examination of “the inner reality referred to as the maner mānusa, ‘the man of the heart.’ ”49 India’s first president awarded Das the title˙ “Bāul Emperor” in 1967. He denies that Bāul philosophy has a sexual element: “Many people assert that the Bāuls perform sadhanā through sex. . . . It is ˙ not so, it is absolute nonsense.”50 Neither Ginsberg nor Dylan represents the dominant culture, which, in appropriation theory, devalues a minority culture by commandeering its symbols, songs, practices and music. Both men were rebelling against many conventions in their own contexts. Rather, they played the role of cultural brokers disseminating Bāul themes and music to the West. Around this time, the Indian government began to sponsor Bāul performances as “representative of South Asian spirituality and folk culture” at festivals and as contributors in seminars, as well as “workshops . . . and other intercultural encounters.”51 In Bangladesh, the Shlipakala Academy similarly sponsors national and international events that showcase Bāul and is committed to helping preserve the tradition. Since UNESCO declared Bāul a cultural masterpiece (proclaimed 2005, inscribed 2008) and as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, it has overseen a collecting and recording project. Several reports of Dylan’s Nobel Prize award have described him as the first songwriter to win the prize. Strictly speaking, this is true. Tagore was also a songwriter, but his prize was

84  Clinton Bennett for his English poems and hymns in Gitanajali (1913); while his Bengali verse is intended for singing, he did not compose music for his English poetry. Yet two Nobel Prize winners have links with Bāul. Before describing the role that Bāul is beginning to play among expatriate Bengalis in the West, two interesting examples of cultural fusion, one in India and one in the United States, both involve Bāul music. In India, the group Bolepur Bluez was founded in 2010 by its drummer, Kunal Jundu, to blend Bāul and rock. He thought that the combination of blues-rock and Bāul lyrics, which can be “dark,” would synthesize well. The band’s Facebook page says that it aims to “to re-create the ethnic traditional sound from the soil of West Bengal, which is known as ‘Baul’ ” and to “take this traditional Bengali music to an international platform, where we are amalgamating Baul with the age-old traditional sound from the grass roots of the Western countries, known as the ‘Blues.’ ” Based in Kolkata, they have already had their music covered by other bands. This is an example of adapting an older tradition to new formats, though one that may divorce the music from its spiritual roots and spiritual aims. Members of the Hohm Community in Prestcott, Arizona, United States, also fuse these musical styles, calling themselves Western Bāuls. The Community also has an ahsram in India and France. The Arizona headquarters is known as the Sahaj Mandir, or the Hohm innate Divinity Temple. Members include “a high  percentage of talented artists, writers, singers and musicians . . . [who] emphasize poetry and writing in addition to music, dance and song.”52 Founder Lee Lozowick (1943–2010) emphasized that it is the “Body,” not the “mind,” that leads us to the divine. Lozowock went to India in 1977, where he studied with Yogi Ramsuratkumar (1918–2001). He started his community in New Jersey before moving to Arizona in 1980. Lozowock later identified with the Bāuls through Purna Das, among others. His writing draws on Tantra. He published widely on natural health, spirituality, parenting and other issues. In a book published by the Hohm Press, Mary Young (2014) identifies Sahaja as the heart of the Bāul path, credits Lozowock with bringing the tradition to the West and refers to exchanges with Bāuls in India who were already expecting to meet their brother from America.53 Hohm Press has released two CDs by Purna Das and republished The Mirror of the Sky with an accompanying CD. The book’s foreword is written by acclaimed Bāul performer Parvarthy Bāul, who tells her own story in her Song of the Great Soul (2005).54 She spent seven years traveling and performing with her Guru in India, receiving her initiation at Sanatan Das Baul’s ashram. She also studies under a Sufi master. Since 2011 she has followed the Bāul tradition full time, reaching an international audience through concerts and leading seminars at universities. She teaches an annual class at the International School of Theatre Anthropology in Denmark and runs her Ektara Baul Sangeetha Kalari music school in India. While not a direct offshoot of Bāul, Hohm is a product of the reverse flow of religious ideas from East to West, of which the presence of Bāul practitioners in the West (or encountered in India by Europeans) are

Promoting social and religious harmony 85 part. This follows in the footsteps of many others, from Swami Vikekananda (1863–1902) through Swami Prabhupada and Inayat Khan (1882–1927), the pioneer of Universalist Sufism, which does not insist on Muslim identity for initiation. Compared with the Bāuls, ISKCON is more evangelical – Bāuls do not try to convert people, but they do accept those who express an interest in joining. The Hohm community formed two bands, one rock ‘n’ roll and the other, consisting mainly of women, blues. Both fuse musical genres. According to James R. Lewis, unlike Bāul music, these bands have little “spiritual flavor” but the “lyrics are often challenging and confronting, addressing the hard issues of our times,” which does not represent a totally negative assessment (per the book Cults and Sects).55 However, the bands have performed in India with Bāuls.

Bāuls in diaspora: focus on the United Kingdom Bengali community This chapter focuses on the United Kingdom, but as more Bāuls find their way to the West, it is not unusual to see them perform on the streets of large cities as well as in prestigious venues. It was hearing a Bāul on the streets of Paris that led Sen to embark on her personal journey into the tradition. In the predominantly Muslim Bangladeshi diaspora in Britain, performances of Bāul music are increasingly popular. John Eade, writing in 2014, describes attending an event at East London’s Nazrul Islam Cultural Centre, where a Bāul artist from Sylhet performed. Speaking after the performance, he asserted that all Bengali music evolved from Bāul, citing Tagore and Nazrul as examples. For him, Bāul could be used to support Bangladeshi grievances in the United Kingdom related to “discrimination and disadvantage.” In contrast, the centre’s manager saw Bāul as a way of reaching beyond the Muslim Bangladeshi community with a form of music that seeks to “transcend social and cultural differences,” although this has been “sharply criticized by leaders at the East London Mosque” on the basis of being deviant.56 An online YouTube search for Bāul events in the United Kingdom showed a number of videos posted between April 2016 and the date of this writing featuring the popular singer Roji Sarker, who also performs classical Bengali music and Sylheti folk songs, although she was born in Barisal district and educated at Bangladesh National University in Dhaka. She performs regularly at cultural and social events throughout Britain and has also sung on television shows in Bangladesh and the United Kingdom. Roji is a third-generation Christian whose paternal grandfather converted from Vai snva Hinduism. Family lore has it that before the British renamed the family˙ ˙Sarker – denoting government service – they were Bairāgīs. Traditionally, Bairāgīs were also mendicant minstrels, which could be why every member of the Sarker family sings and plays an instrument, ranging from the tabla to the harmonium to the sitar. It is probably mere coincidence that this tentative link exists between Roji’s ancestral past and her current role

86  Clinton Bennett as a Bāul performer. Her training, though, was as a classical musician; she did not train under a Bāul mentor but is adept at extending her musical repertoire. Sylhetis tells me that they admire her because of how she renders their songs (Roji has not visited Sylhet). In Bangladesh, Christians represent less than one  percent of the population but generally take the same pride in Bengali language, culture and music as their Muslim and Hindu neighbors. Muslim women habitually wear saris. Many wear a bindi, which is associated with Hindus. Hindu and Muslim cultures have blended into a single identity (although Muslims speak a Persianate form of Bangla). When this writer’s mother-in-law showed him the trees and plants at the Sarker family home in Barapaika, Barisal district, her delight in testing whether he knew their Bengali names was so deeply infused with her love of the land that he could not but think of Tagore’s “My Golden Bengal,” which almost certainly reflects Bāul influence and is set to a tune composed by a Bāul, Gagan Harkara (1845–1910): My golden Bengal, I love you. Your skies, your breezes, ever with my breath play the flute. O mother, in Phalgun the per fume of your mango groves drives me mad. Ah, mother, What honeyed smile have I seen in your laden fields in Aghran. What light, what shade, what boundless love, what chang ing bonds, what sari’s border have you spread round Oh mother, the flow of words from your lips strikes my ear like a stream of nectar. Alongside admiration for Tagore and Nazrul, Christians – as do others – regard Michael Madhusudan Dutt (1824–1873) as a third member of a literary Trinity. A convert to Christianity from Hinduism, Dutt, or Dutta, was a poet, playwright and novelist who pioneered the sonnet and the satirical play in Bangla. Bengalis across the religions also acknowledge the role played by the Baptist missionary William Carey 1761–1834) in stimulating the Bengali Renaissance by helping develop Bangla for prose as well as poetic use. Tagore acknowledged this, calling Carey “the pioneer of the revived interest in the vernaculars.”57 Bangladeshi Christians are proud of the Carey legacy, regarding his Bangla translation of the Bible with the reverence that many English speakers have for the King James Version. Roji has experienced no obstacles in becoming a fixture at events mainly attended by Muslims, which suggests that Bengal’s long tradition of respect across boundaries has continued in diaspora. Sadly, there are Islamist groups in Bangladesh that target non-Muslims to cause social and political instability that could result in a breakdown of governance and an opportunity for extremists to seize power. When Islamists have stood for election in Bangladesh, they have

Promoting social and religious harmony 87 failed to gain more than a handful of seats. In diaspora, many Muslim Bangladeshis want people to see Islam as peaceful and tolerant. By promoting Bāul events where a Christian performs and some non-Muslims attend, they present an alternative face of Islam – almost all my respondents saw Bāul as rooted in Sufi Islam with Hindu elements, which is how some regard Bengali Islam generically – to the Islam that attracts Islamophobic responses. When this writer first went to Bangladesh, almost forty years ago, hardly any Christians had joined the migration chain of economic advancement or the search for more stable employment in Britain, although some were educated there. One physician had practiced medicine in the United Kingdom but recently returned to Bangladesh. During my years in Bangladesh, the president of the Bangladesh Baptist Sangha served as a state minister and senior adviser on NGOs to President Ziaur Rahman, accompanying him on a visit to China; another Christian has more recently held a cabinet post, as have several Hindus in successive governments elected by a predominantly Muslim electorate. Today, several dozen Bangladeshi Christian families have settled in Birmingham, United Kingdom, where they gather for worship at the International Bengali Christian Fellowship. This indicates that, despite the tradition of religious harmony in Bangladesh, some Christians no longer regard themselves as safe there; some members of the Fellowship are asylum seekers. Yet in the United Kingdom, Bengali Christians, Hindus and Muslims mix, especially on such occasions as Bengali New Year, Ekushey February (Language Martyrs’ Day) and other national nonsectarian holidays, such as Victory Day, National Mourning Day and Independence Day, all of which provide opportunities to cross religious boundaries. It seems that organizers and performers, regardless of how much they know about the history of Bāul, value the songs for their cross-cultural appeal. This perpetuates the Bāul tradition of crossing sectarian divides. Performance of Bāul songs by non-Bāul, including Roji Sarker, may depart from how the tradition originally functioned, yet it represents a continuation in terms of using music to champion many of the same themes expounded by the earliest Bāuls  – human equality, solidarity, freedom from oppression and harmony across different religious communities. Whether fused with other genres or performed in traditional style, Bāul invites cultural exchange and dialogue between all who listen to the lyrics and appreciate their message. Like the word Sufi, in today’s world, Bāul may have different meanings. Some restrict Sufi to heads of Sufi orders or to their accredited deputies. Others include initiated members; others, anyone who occasionally attends a Sufi meeting; and others still, those who have no contact with a Sufi order but whose thinking is flavored by Sufi ideas. For some, a Bāul is an initiated member of the tradition. Merely to sing a Bāul song may not make you a Bāul! You may be accused of inauthenticity or cultural appropriation, especially if you decide to dress up as a Bāul. Roji usually wears a colorful Sari. Yet, when the intent of singing is to spread the message of human friendship and love to all, such a singer may be said to stand within

88  Clinton Bennett a wider tradition of a Bāul-flavored worldview, building bridges between religions, cultures and different ways of being human and to have the heart and soul of the Bāuls of Bengal.

Notes 1 See Openshaw 2002. 2 See Knight 2014. 3 See Hanssen 2018. 4 See Capwell 2011. 5 Bhattacharya 1999, p. xxxiii. 6 Ibid., p. 29. 7 See Eaton 1993 on how Islam spread across the delta and on porous religious boundaries. 8 See Khan 1982. 9 Bhattacharyya, Douglas, and Slinger 1993, p. 10. 10 Urban 2001, p. 169. 11 Knight 2014, p. 6. 12 Datta 1978. 13 Islam 2014, p. 117. 14 McDaniel 1989, p. 163. 15 Bhattacharyya, Douglas, and Slinger 1993, p. 103. 16 Chaudhury 2017, p. 278. 17 Knight 2006, p. 192. 18 See example pp. 30, 31 in Deben Bhattacharya, The Mirror of the Sky: Songs of the Bauls of Bengal (Prescott, AZ: Hohm Press, 1999). 19 Bhattacharya 1999, p. 43. 20 Ibid., p. 24. 21 Chakravarty 1969, p. 43. 22 Bhattacharya 1999, p. 120. 23 Tantra: Indian Rites of Ecstasy, directed by Nick Douglas (New York: Mystic Fire, 1969). 24 Bhattacharyya, Douglas, and Slinger 1993, p. ix. 25 Ibid., p. xii. 26 Knight 2014, p. 12. 27 See Salomon 1991, p. 269. 28 Lorea 2016, p. 32. 29 Knight 2014, pp. 30–2. 30 See Bhattacharya 1957. 31 Tagore 1920, p. 21. 32 Tagore 1931, p. 16. 33 Sen 1931, pp. 207–20. 34 Tagore 1931, p. 17. 35 Dasgupta 1946, p. 215. 36 Cited by Chaterji and Chatterji 1972, p. 5. 37 Nazrul Islam, “My Expectation,” translated by Basudha Chakravarty, 1968, pp. 71, 73. 38 Ibid., p. 40. 39 Baker 2008, p. 175. 40 Trigilio 2007, p. 84. 41 George Harrison, All Things Must Pass (London: Abbey Road Studios, 1970). 42 Ravi Shankar and George Harrison, Raga Mala (Guildford: Genesis, 1997).

Promoting social and religious harmony 89 3 Baularchive.com accessed 10 August 2018. 4 44 The Beatles, Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band (London: EMI Studios and Regent Sound Studio, 1967). 45 George Harrison and the London Radha Krishna Temple, Hare Krishna (London: Abbey Road Studios, 1969). 46 Arindam Chatterjee and Mathures Paul, “Friend Who Bought Bob, the Baul, to Calcutta,” Telegraph, October  14, 2016, available at www.telegraphindia. com/1161014/jsp/nation/story_113412.jsp accessed 24 July 2018. 47 Shamik Bag, “Bob Dylan and the Bauls,” Livemint (Delhi: HT Media, 2016), available at www.livemint.com/Leisure/qjaPL5lDYAtYJUrqeLdEkL/Bob-Dylanand-the-Bauls.html accessed 24 July 2018. 48 From Another World: Tribute to Bob Dylan, track 2 (Paris: Buda Musique, 2013). 49 Bāula and Thielemann 2003, pp. 2–3. 50 Ibid., p. 247. 51 Openshaw 2002, p. 4. 52 Crovetto 2006, p. 69. 53 See Young 2014. 54 See Baul, Nair, and Śivadās 2005. 55 Lewis 1998, p. 392. 56 Eade 2014, pp. 56–7. 57 See Daniel 2018, p. 40.

Bibliography Bag, Shamik. 2016. “Bob Dylan and the Bauls.” Livemint (Delhi: HT Media), October 21, 2016. Available at www.livemint.com/Leisure/qjaPL5lDYAtYJUrqe LdEkL/Bob-Dylan-and-the-Bauls.html (accessed 24 July 2018). Baker, Deborah. 2008. A Blue Hand: The Beats in India. New York: Penguin. Baul, Parvathy, Ravi Gopalan Nair, and Pi Ke Śivadās. 2005. Song of the Great Soul: An Introduction to the Baul Path. Thiruvananthapuram, Kerala: Ekatara Baul. Bāula, Pūrnadāsa and Selina Thielemann. 2003. Bāul Philosophy. New Delhi: ˙ A.P.H. Publishing. Bhattacharyya, Bhaskar, Nik Douglas, and Penny Slinger. 1993. The Path of the Mystic Lover: Baul Songs of Passion and Ecstasy. Rochester, VT: Destiny Books. Bhattacharya, Deben. 1999. The Mirror of the Sky: Songs of the Bauls of Bengal. Prescott, AZ: Hohm Press. Bhattacharya, Upendranath. 1957. Banglar Baul OBaul Gan. Kolikata: Orient. Capwell, Charles. 2011. Sailing on the Sea of Love: The Music of the Bauls of Bengal. New York: Seagull Books. Chakravarty, Basudha. 1969. Kazi Nazrul Islam. New Delhi: National Book Trust India. Chatterjee, Arindam and Mathures Paul. 2016. “Friend Who Bought Bob, the Baul, to Calcutta.” Telegraph, October  14, 2016. Available at www.telegraphindia. com/1161014/jsp/nation/story_113412.jsp (accessed 24 July 2018). Chaterji, Suniti Kumar and Suniti Kumar Chatterji. 1972. “Hindu-Muslim Baul and Marafati Songs in Bengali Literature.” Indian Literature 15(3): 5–27. Chaudhury, Sushil. 2017. Trade, Politics and Society: The Indian Milieu in the Early Modern Era. Abingdon: Routledge. Crovetto, Helen. 2006. “Embodied Knowledge and Diversity: The Hohm Community as Western-style Bäuls.” Nova Religio: The Journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions 10(1): 69–95.

90  Clinton Bennett Daniel, Sam. 2018. “William Carey’s Contribution to Indian Languages.” In William Carey: Theologian, Linguist, Social Reformer, edited by Thomas Schirrmacher, 37–42. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock. Dasgupta, Shashibhusan. 1946. Obscure Religious Cults as Background of Bengali Literature. Calcutta: University of Calcutta. Datta, Rajeshwari. 1978. “The Religious Aspects of the Baul Songs of Bengal.” The Journal of Asian Studies 37(3) (May): 445–455. Eade, John. 2014. “Representing British Bangladeshis in London’s East End: The Global; City, Text, Performance and Authenticity.” In Writing the City in British Asian Diasporas, edited by Sean McLoughlin, William Gould, Ananya Jahanara Kabir, and Emma Tomalin, 49–69. Abingdon: Routledge. Eaton, Richard M. 1993. The Rise of Islam and the Bengali Frontier, 1204–1760. Berkeley: University of California Press. From Another World: Tribute to Bob Dylan, track 2. Paris: Buda Musique, 2013. Hanssen, Kristin. 2018. Women, Religion and the Body in South Asia: Living with Bengali Bauls. Abingdon: Routledge. Harrison, George. 1970. All Things Must Pass. London: Abbey Road Studios. Harrison, George and the London Radha Krishna Temple. 1969. Hare Krishna. London: Abbey Road Studios. Islam, Kazi Nazrul. 1968. The Rebel and Other Poems, translated by Basudha Chakravarty. Calcutta: Sahitya Academy. Islam, Sirajul Islam. 2004. Sufism and Bhakti: A Comparative Study. Washington, DC: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy. Khan, Mofakhkar Hossain. 1982. “A  History of the Bengali Translations of the Holy Qur’ān.” Muslim World 72(2) (April): 129–136. Knight, Lisa I. 2014. Contradictory Lives: Baul Women in India and Bangladesh. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lewis, James R. 1998. The Encyclopedia of Cults, Sects and New Religious Movements. Amherst, NY: Prometheus. Lorea, Carola Erika. 2016. Folklore, Religion and the Songs of a Bengali Madman: A Journey between Performance and the Politics of Cultural Representation. Leiden: Brill. McDaniel, June. 1989. The Madness of the Saints: Ecstatic Religion in Bengal. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Openshaw, Jeanne. 2002. Seeking Bāuls of Bengal. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Osho. 2004. Bauls: The Seekers of the Path. New Delhi: Diamond Books. Salomon, Carol. 1991. “The Cosmogonic Riddles of Lalan Fakir.” In Gender, Genre, and Power in South Asian Expressive Traditions, edited by Arjun Appadurai, Frank J. Korom, and Margaret A. Mills, 267–303. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Sen, Bhai Girishchandra. 1886. Qur’an Sharif. Kolkata: Srii Girishchandra Chakravarty. Sen, KshitiMohan. 1931. “Appendix 1: The Bäul Singers of Bengal.” In The Religion of Man, edited by Rabindrantah Tagore, 207–220. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Shankar, Ravi and George Harrison. 1997. Raga Mala. Guildford: Genesis. Tagore, Rabindranath. 1920. Gitanjali. New York: Macmillan. ———. 1931. The Religion of Man. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Promoting social and religious harmony 91 The Beatles. 1967. Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band. London: EMI Studios and Regent Sound Studio. Trigilio, Tony. 2007. Allen Ginsberg’s Buddhist Poetics. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press. Urban, Hugh B. 2011. Songs of Ecstasy: Tantric and Devotional Songs from Colonial Bengal. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Young, Mary. 2014. The Baul Tradition: Sahaj Vision East & West. Chino Valley, AZ: Hohm Press.

Part II

Poetry and literature

4 Making passion popular Sung poetry in Urdu and its social effects in South Asia Scott Kugle

Introduction There is a popular saying that older women tell younger women facing marriage: “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” meaning if you know how to cook well, a new husband will fall in love and stay faithful. There may be some truth in this for women, though the history of elusive marital bliss probably proves it mostly wrong. Sufis are less concerned with marital happiness and more concerned with religious ideals, ethical reform and social integration. With that goal in mind, Sufis would adapt the proverb: “The way to a man’s heart is through his tongue.” One needs to explore the skillful means of language to reach the hearts of people, to find words that reach deep within them beyond their selfish conceits and routine defenses. How did Sufis experiment with language to reach people’s hearts, especially in environments where Muslims were newcomers and a minority? Social integration is not possible without a common language – a “vernacular.” A common language means a medium of communication that is common by being accessible to divergent social classes (not elite) and useful to diverse communities (not limited to one ethnicity or religious group). Yet a common language also needs to be spiritually charged if it is to inspire ethical social integration; it needs to have literary refinement, artistic adaptability and religious vision. Urdu is one such vernacular language that is extremely influential in South Asia and during contemporary times in the South Asian global diaspora. Urdu-Hindi is certainly the most widely spoken language of Muslims in the contemporary world. According to Ethnologue Web Archive, the number of speakers of Urdu-Hindi as a first language amounts to almost 324 million worldwide, more than speakers of Arabic, Persian, Turkish, Malay-­ Indonesian or Bengali.1 Leaving aside the focus on Muslims, Urdu-Hindi is a major world language: It is technically the fourth most widely spoken language, after Chinese, Spanish and English. The history of how Urdu developed as a vernacular language is fascinating, and Sufis contributed greatly to crafting it from a spoken language of trade into a literary language used in spiritual music and ethical teachings that elevate passionate love over all

96  Scott Kugle other values. Thus, looking closely at the Urdu poetry and song helps us to better understand how Sufism – through language, poetry and song – can contribute to the goal of social integration. This article will examine several Sufi poets belonging to the Chishti tariqa to explore how they moved from Persian to Urdu and helped to transform Urdu from a vernacular language of trade into a literary language. It will do so by focusing on an early period and a remote location rarely associated with Urdu. In contemporary times, Urdu is politically associated with Pakistan, which adopted it as a national language. In early modern times, Urdu was associated with regional capitals like Lucknow, Lahore, Rampur, Hyderabad and Delhi. But in its formative period, Urdu took shape in the Deccan, a region of south-central India. This article focuses on the “Khuldabad-Burhanpur” axis that Carl Ernst identified as an important social, political and literary environment for Chishti Sufis (Ernst 1993, pp. 169–183). The article selects poetry from the fourteenth century until the eighteenth century to illustrate how Sufis negotiated between Persian and the maturing idiom of Urdu; it will do this by focusing on Sufis’ owing allegiance to popular Chishti Sufi master Burhan al-Din Gharib (whose life will be detailed below), who lived in Khuldabad (where he emigrated and is buried) and Burhanpur (a city named after him posthumously). In the medieval era, Burhanpur was the northern gateway to the Deccan. It is located in Madhya Pradesh, near the border with Maharashtra, not far from the urban complex of Dawlatabad fort, Aurangabad city and Khuldabad necropolis. Burhanpur was an important center for Sufis of the Chishti community whose literary, musical and spiritual activities helped to shape the emerging vernacular language of Urdu. For Sufis in South Asia, Persian was an essential language (although now it is nationalistically associated with Iran). Persian was the language of government and elite literary discourse, and as such it acted as a “secular” language of power in South Asia (Alam 2004). Sufis participated in elite discourses but also inflected Persian with South Asian expressions and brought this cosmopolitan language down to the common people. Through Sufi writing and song, local languages were infused with Persian words and expressions. Many South Asian languages were enriched by interactions with Persian. In particular, the interface between Persian and local South Asian vernaculars gave rise to a new language that became known as Urdu. This essay will explore the early forms of Urdu, known as Gujari and Deccani. Burhan al-Din Gharib and Amir Hasan Sijzi Burhanpur was named after Burhan al-Din Gharib, a Chishti Sufi who migrated from Delhi to the Deccan in the fourteenth century. Burhan al-Din was a delegate (khalifa) of Nizam al-Din Awliya (died 1325 in Delhi) who institutionalized the Chishti Sufi order in Delhi. Nizam al-Din sent Burhan al-Din to settle at Dawlatabad. When the Sultan of Delhi, Muhammad bin

Making passion popular 97 Tughlaq, moved the empires capital to Dawlatabad in 1327, many Chishti Sufis were forced to move there and looked to Burhan al-Din Gharib as a spiritual guide and teacher. He and his brother, Muntajab al-Din “Zar Zari Zar-Bakhsh,” were the center of a lively Chishti community. Burhan al-Din Gharib spread Chishti teachings in the Deccan, focusing on ethical poverty mixed with samaʿ sessions of poetry, rhythm and music. His admirers over many generations would prove instrumental in forging Urdu into a poetic medium for spiritual teachings. Nizam al-Din Awliya is the best-known Sufi of India because of poets who collected his sayings, recorded his biography and composed songs for him. Among them were Amir Khusro (d. 1325) and his friend Amir Hasan Sijzi (d. 1336). Amir Hasan’s reputation has been overshadowed by Amir Khusro, but both were fantastic poets in Persian. Amir Khusro invented qawwali as a distinctively South Asian style of Sufi music. Amir Hasan published the oral discussions (malfuzat) of Nizam al-Din Awliya, titled Fawaid al-Fuad, or “Morals for the Heart,” which initiated a new genre of prose in Persian that is a distinctive, long-lasting and extremely rich contribution of the Chishti order to Sufi literature. Amir Hasan is neglected because he migrated to the Deccan, died there and is buried near Burhan al-Din Gharib. In contrast, Amir Khusro is buried at the dargah of Nizam al-Din Awliya. There is little evidence from the era of Amir Hasan that Chishtis used South Asian languages for literary composition. There are only a few indications that Chishtis used South Asian languages, especially “Hindavi,” which was the spoken vernacular around Delhi, for their religious teachings. This article’s analysis will begin with the Persian poetry of Amir Hasan, since Persian was the dominant language that Sufis used at this time. Amir Hasan’s poetry is an excellent example of Sufi cultivation of love and longing, and it set a high standard that would be imitated and adapted in later Urdu poetry. One morning, Nizam al-Din Awliya was strolling along the Jamuna River with his disciple. When they observed some Hindus bathing and offering prayers to the dawn sun, the Sufi master noted their style of worship with approval (paraphrasing Qur’an 22:66): “To every community there is a religious way and a direction for prayer.” His disciple spontaneously added, “I turn in prayer to face the captivating one whose caps awry,” making this line into a rhyming couplet that is sung to this day in qawwali. Amir Hasan composed a ghazal with this couplet as its opening:2 Every community has a direction to pray and a right way I turn in prayer to face the charming one whose cap is awry Get up, preacher, mount the pulpit and shout whatever you wish Seeing him is my Eid, his brow is the niche toward which I pray Although the cypress and moon can never be joined as one His loftiness is a cypress pointing to the moon, one could say

98  Scott Kugle I have repented, trust me, my heart has forgotten all its sin But one glimpse of his lip and I remember my days astray If that cruel oppressor’s curls should hang this poor wretch Each strand, like twists of a noose, shouts that justice fades away Each morning you see tears clinging to my eyelashes Just like on leaves of verdant herbs the dewdrops wearily lay Oh Lord, I implore you, look after my welfare and health Just don’t let him see the sorry state of my hearts dismay Why search for witnesses to my love play, oh judge? No witness is needed for a public offence repeated night and day In the presence of passion for you, what to make of Hasan’s mind? Before the emperor of the world can an ignorant boy hold sway? Some sources say that the initial couplet belongs to Amir Khusro, while others assert that it comes from Amir Hasan. Even if Amir Khusro first spoke the couplet in the context of discussion with Nizam al-Din Awliya, Amir Hasan immortalized it by writing a ghazal with its rhyme and meter. In this poem, Amir Hasan boasts of the power of love and passion (ʿishq) over mere mind and reason (ʿaql), which is a persistent theme in his poetry. It is through music that that love dominates reason and passion overtakes calculation. Amir Hasan was an ardent exponent of musical ecstasy, as was Burhan al-din Gharib. As one of his companions in the Chishti order, Amir Hasan helped spread his teachings through Persian poetry. Some of his poems are sung (though surely not as many as Amir Khusro’s) in qawwali; a contemporary collection of poems from the repertoire contains only one ghazal of Amir Hasan (Ahmed 1998; Ayaz and Party 2012).3 The heart bows prostrate at this style of strolling of yours The eyes give a thousand thanks at catching a sight of yours Divine light shows through the beauty of your countenance If not for fear of infidelity I would worship this form of yours Sometimes he gives a soul to me and at others takes my soul away Sometimes I never inquire and at others I ask about this state of yours Until I hear that you’re coming my way to visit the sick My sickness inflames a longing for that inquiry of yours Isn’t it rude of you, Hasan, to stoop low and kiss his foot? Such a delicate foot should not be damaged by a kiss of yours

Making passion popular 99 The Chishti order had some practices that were controversial among Muslims because they embraced Indian customs. These included kissing the feet of one’s spiritual teacher (qadam-busi), prostrating before one’s teacher out of reverence, using words from local Indian languages in meditation and listening to music as a form of worship. Amir Hasan advocates several of these practices in his Persian poems. Listening to music was the most distinctive Chishti practice. The qawwali repertoire contains poems composed in Hindavi, most of which are attributed to Amir Khusro, yet since qawwali is an oral tradition, it is difficult to authenticate this attribution. There is little firm evidence of Chishtis using South Asian languages in this era, but it is possible that devotional songs in local languages were sung along with poems in Persian. Burhan al-Din Gharib and his followers called listening to music and sung poetry “the prayer of lovers” (namaz-e ʿushshaq). An early biographer of Chishti Sufis writes of Burhan al-Din, In samaʿ, this saint was completely extreme, experienced much ecstasy, and said the prayers of lovers. He had a distinctive style in dancing, so that the companions of this saint were called Burhanis among the lovers. Whoever was in the presence of this saint for an hour fell in love with the beauty of his saintliness, because of the ecstasy of his passionate words and the purity of his enchanting conversation. (Ernst 1992, p. 120; quoting Mir Khwurd, Siyar al-Awliya) As this description indicates, musical meditation could lead those in attendance into states of ecstasy that could erupt into dancing, gesturing, spontaneous recitation of poetry or spiritual boasts, uncontrollable sobbing or even unconsciousness. All these various behaviors were signs of the subject’s experience of self-surrender or even selflessness (Lawrence 1983). Baha al-Din Shah Bajan Burhan al-Din Gharib fostered the growth of the Chishti order in the Deccan. After his death in 1337, his influence continued through his patronage of sung poetry, his oral teachings (recorded in no less than four malfuzat texts) and pilgrimage to his tomb (Ernst 1992, p.  126).4 By the mid-­fourteenth century, the Delhi Sultanate had weakened, and its southern province had broken away to form the Bahmani Sultanate, which moved its capital from Dawlatabad to Gulbarga. After this, Burhan al-Din Gharib’s personality was overshadowed by that of Muhammad Husaini Gesu-Daraz, who settled at Gulbarga (Hussaini 1983).5 Yet some Sufis looked to Burhan al-Din Gharib as the patron saint of the Deccan. As the Bahmani Sultanate broke up in the fifteenth century, the region of Khandesh – which contained the cities of Dawlatabad and Burhanpur – became independent. This region was ruled by the Faruqi dynasty from 1399 to 1601, when it became absorbed into the expanding Mughal Empire. The first Sultan of the Faruqi dynasty,

100  Scott Kugle Malik Raja, had been a governor of the Bahmani Empire. As he threw off allegiance to the Bahmani rulers, he claimed legitimacy of his own, based upon his purported family lineage from ‘Umar al-Faruqi (the second Caliph, according to Sunni understanding of political rule) and his being blessed by Chishti Sufis. Faruqi dynasty rulers claimed that Burhan al-Din Gharib had blessed their forefather, Malik Raja, and foretold of his becoming a king. The Faruqi dynasty built its capital on the banks of the Tapti River over a village where Burhan al-Din was supposed to have stayed while traveling from Delhi to the Deccan. Under their royal patronage, his tomb at Khuldabad was built up as a shrine (dargah) and pilgrimage place (mazar).6 In Burhanpur, the admirers of Burhan al-Din saw music and poetry as the best expressions of mysticism. One of the outstanding members of this Chishti community was Shah Bajan, the “Master Music-Maker” (d. 1507). His writing gives us some of the earliest examples of Urdu poetry. His poetry gives evidence of how Sufis helped to nurture the Urdu language and to cultivate it as a medium for expressing spiritual teachings and promoting social reforms. His poetry also reveals how Sufis of the Chishti community used local poetic forms and religious images, including those sometimes associated with Hindi literature and Hindu devotion (Bawa, 2009). Shah Bajan (d. 1507) was born in Ahmedabad and was named Baha alDin.7 When he was young, he joined the Chishti Sufi order by taking initiation from a spiritual teacher named Rahmatullah. Rahmatullah trained in the Chishti Sufi way under his father, named ʿAzizullah Mutavakkil (Shattari 1326 AH, p.  204). These two saints were famous for their outward piety (taqva) and reliance on God (tavakkul) in the rigorous and ascetic style of Chishti spirituality that was strong in Gujarat. ʿAzizullah lived in Ahmadabad but wanted to settle in Dawlatabad, yet experienced doubts about the piety of its residents. ʿAzizullah is famous for refusing gifts from anyone and relying solely on God for his daily provision; therefore, he earned the title “Mutavakkil.”8 This was a central teaching of Chishti Sufis. One must accept voluntary poverty: This means maintaining strict distance from rulers, staying close to the common people and never hoarding money or goods.9 His son Rahmatullah carried on this tradition in Ahmedabad. Their most famous disciple was Shah Bajan, who is known for his music and poetry. It seems that Shah Bajan developed a taste for samaʿ in the Deccan. When Shah Bajan was twenty-one, he left his Chishti teacher in Ahmedabad and traveled extensively in Central Asia and Iran. He intended to perform the hajj pilgrimage but heard a voice in a dream telling him that God had accepted his intention to visit the Kaʿba; he did not have to complete the outward journey to Mecca. The voice commanded him to return, for his real work lay in Burhanpur.10 Arriving in Gujarat, Shah Bajan found that his spiritual guide, Rahmatullah, had died but had declared him to be his spiritual successor. Rahmatullah had left his cloak (khirqa), a symbol of spiritual authority and renunciation

Making passion popular 101 of worldly concerns for his successor. As Shah Bajan was full of grief and self-doubt and hesitated to take up the role his Sufi master had left for him. Instead of taking up the cloak, Shah Bajan laid it as a shroud over the tomb of his dead master. As he laid the cloak over his master’s tomb, in a gesture that said he was not worthy to take up his calling, he heard the Qawwali singers nearby call out the verses in Gujari, “Shah Rahmatullah munjh peh milao/tum baj lagun kis ke pao?” (Let me meet you, Shah Rahmatullah / Without you, whose feet will I touch?). From the tomb, he heard a voice address him as “Bajan,” or musical one: “Go touch the feet of the Musicmaker!” Hearing this, he fell into a state of rapture. Coming back from his swoon, he took the cloak off the tomb and laid it over his shoulders. He was ready to accept his destiny and consider himself the successor to Rahmatullah Mutavakkil. From that day on, he was known by the nickname Shah Bajan, or “Master Music-Maker.” This scene carries many symbolic meanings, centered on the sound baj. At first, he felt insecure, obsessed by self-doubts and oppressed with sorrow for his dead teacher, such that he could not take up his calling. He could only think, What am I without you (tum baj)? But when he heard the Qawwal’s singing this line – “Without you, whose feet will I touch?” – he found that loss could lead to love. By finding himself empty, he could be filled with another. Empty like the wood and leather of a musical instrument, he discovered himself resonating with a powerful vibration that came from beyond his own egoistic self-concern. Just then, his dead spiritual guide called out to his hearing, addressing him as Bajan, or music-maker, acknowledging that his was a creative emptiness and that he was already well tuned, like a musical instrument resonating with melodious promptings from a world unseen. These symbols create a theatrical scene in which the Sufi concepts of fanā’ (being extinguished) and baqā’ (remaining subsistent) play out in a creative harmony. In fact, Shah Bajan would become an expert musician (baja), transmitting Sufi teachings through song. Shah Bajan took on his new name but was still at a loss as to how to advance. He first visited the tomb of Burhan al-Din Gharib. During three nights there, he saw the same dream, in which Burhan al-Din Gharib said to him, “I am dead now and this territory that was under my care, namely Burhanpur, I  now entrust to you, and I  give you a written document of authority.”11 After staying for some time at Burhan al-Din Gharib’s tomb, Shah Bajan headed to Bidar. There he took a second Sufi initiation with Shaykh Manjheli, who was a follower of Masʿud Bakk (died around 1389 in Delhi), another Chishti master renowned for his ecstasy, poetry and love.12 Masʿud Bakk was also known as an ardent admirer of Burhan alDin Gharib, whom he praised in a poem; so it is natural that Shah Bajan would seek out a follower of Masʿud Bakk in order to revive his spiritual link to Burhan al-Din Gharib (Ernst 1992, p. 339). Shah Bajan returned to Ahmedabad for another seven years of isolated meditation, before he finally accepted his visionary commands to settle in Burhanpur. He traveled there

102  Scott Kugle and stopped outside the city, until the Faruqi ruler of Khandesh came out to greet him, show submission to his spiritual authority and invite him to settle in the capital. There he built a mosque and Sufi center (khanqah) for his community of disciples and followers. He was an example of the classic Chishti Sufi, emulating the model of Burhan al-Din Gharib, and Shah Bajan became famous for his love of musical sessions and his original devotional poetry in the early Urdu dialect called Gujari. On the model of Amir Hasan, Shah Bajan composed a malfuzat text (titled Khazaʾin-e Rahmat, or “Treasuries of Compassion”) in which he collected sayings by his own teachers.13 This text also contains Shah Bajans Urdu poetry, which makes it one of the earliest examples. The spoken vernacular of Delhi and its surrounding region, called “Hindavi,” evolved as an informal spoken language of the marketplace and army camp and spread along with imperial rule of the Delhi Sultanate. From the fourteenth century, Hindavi, or early Urdu, spread into the Deccan, where new dialects of this common vernacular developed. Shah Bajan is a witness to this, for he was the first to specify that the vernacular language spoken around Delhi be called Hindavi. Shah Bajan specifies that the vernacular dialect of this language spoken in Gujarat, Malwa and Burhanpur be called “Gujari.” In a similar way, the same vernacular was called “Deccani,” as spoken in more southernly regions of Karnataka, Marathvada and Telangana. All three names applied to regional dialects of the same vernacular that was later called Urdu. We can refer to “Deccani” and “Gujari” as early Urdu (some scholars use the term “proto-Urdu”). In the late fifteenth century, Shah Bajan’s poetry gives us a glimpse of the language in the midst of its evolution. Early Urdu was continually enriched by an inflow of terms and expressions from varied sources and religious traditions. Shah Bajan, for example, composed poems in Persian and wrote Khazaʾin-e Rahmat, a prose text, in Persian.14 But in that text are many poems he composed in Gujari. This article offers some of Shah Bajan’s poems in transliteration from Gujari and translation into English, based on reading them with my Urdu teacher, Dr. Oudesh Rani Bawa.15 I owe a debt of gratitude for her expert assistance. There is no modern edited version that corrects scribal errors of the past. Akhtar Parvez from Burhanpur has recorded variations, but readers are left to judge which version of any single poem is clearest. These poems have never been translated into English, yet the poems are compelling despite the difficulty in deciphering them. The first poem translated here gives evidence of the evolution of Urdu, which was often called rekhta. Rekhta is a Persian term that means “mixed,” and it designates a language in which local South Asian languages were mixed with Persian. Yet before rekhta was applied to a language, the term was applied to a genre of song or poem, in which some lines were in Persian and other lines were in an Indian language, mainly early Urdu. These songs or poems in rekhta style show how Persian was interacting with South Asian languages. Sufi poets (and mainly Chishti Sufis) are famous as authors of

Making passion popular 103 such poems.16 Some of the earliest rekhta poems with authentic attribution are to Shah Bajan, such as the one below. In the transliteration of the poem, the lines in Persian are given in italics so the reader can see how the lines alternate from Gujari Urdu to Persian and back again.17 Alone in public you and I keep talking come what may You are not mine yet except you no other comes my way Live long livelong, this poem to you I’ll say no other comes my way Why don’t you come to me I’ll have no other come what may I am weeping so show your face, don’t toss me hints of scorn Make me laugh weep burn my heart, don’t toss hints full of scorn Except his love, lord and friend, Bajan cannot think of anyone Except one hidden in body everybody, he cannot conceive of anyone Khalvat jalvat bajna tujh minjh hoi so hoi Yehi tun nahin mera tujh bin aur na koi Jiu jiu jiu re tujh dohra kahun aur nahin koi Chun to biyasham deegar na bashad tujh minjh hoi so hoi Roi roi munh pragat kije hans hans san na lije Khandan giryan ba dil biryan pur hans san na lije Bajan sajan surjan sathi us bin aur na sujhe Pinhan tanha tan tan-e tanha duja kori bujhe Shah Bajan calls this poem a dohra, a Hindavi genre. Its language and meter owe little to Persian genres like ghazal or masnavi. The Gujari has a tone of a simple person in love, yet there are a few lines of Persian interlaced that restate the meaning in a more formal tone. One can think of the Gujari words as “translating” the Persian into a more easily understandable medium; or one can think of the Persian words as “making significant” the Gujari by connecting it to the formal and interregional language associated with Islamic dominance. In either case, the Sufi poet is connecting the “local” South Asian spoken idiom to the “universal” Islamic symbolic world invoked by Persian. It is the social role of Chishti Sufis like Shah Bajan to bring Islam down to their local context, make its practices meaningful in their society and translate its values through symbols that are easily understandable by common people. His prime symbol, of course, is passionate love. It is a basic teaching of the Chishti Sufis that God is best approached as a lover. Only by cultivating passionate love for God can the mystic or worshipper ensure sincerity of heart. But this is always coupled with another basic teaching – if one loves God, one must reject worldly attachments and distractions (tark-e dunya). Shah Bajan expresses this teaching in another Gujari poem:18 When has anyone got the better of this world? No sooner do you grasp it than it cheats you

104  Scott Kugle With love that cheat keeps new tricks trying It sobs a bit yet leaves everyone crying When it moves it is only to ambush you When it captivates you it is to topple you That deceitful one leaves you in the lurch So don’t give the world your heart to touch Don’t get close, not even this much Why crave the world so intensely If you get it, you enjoy temporarily The world gets them hot with longing But gives them no abode of belonging So learn to never hold the world dear If you chance to get it just steer clear The heart looks to the world joyfully And drags them through it shamelessly So careful, Bajan, the worlds a big sham It says sweet words but thinks up a scam From the worlds snare you better scram! yeh fitni kise milti hai jab milti hai tab chhilti hai un chhil muhabbat chhilae un ro kar bahut rolae un jhu kar bhi ghate un muhabbat ghire parhe un bingi vairan chharhe vali ji rehe us thi niyari vali jae na us ke pare us karan tez tarsana jag mile to us sana milasna ye fitni unhon tapave jag pas na bhavan ave je us kon kadhi lorna jo mile to tab hi chhorna ji dekhat us then bhage ye nilaj un sun lage dekh, Bajan, ye to jhuti mukh meethi chit neethi ye ahe aise dheethi The form of this poem owes much to Hindavi, rather than to Persian genres. Its expressions are simple and direct. The world is like an unfaithful lover who offers the illusion of pleasure through flirtation and seduction but who will quickly leave you. All mystics preach about the world’s illusory nature and warn people about the impermanence of this life. But through

Making passion popular 105 the metaphor of the unfaithful lover, Shah Bajan makes this teaching emotionally appealing and vivid. This ephemeral world “says sweet words but thinks up a scam,” so no complex theology is required to grasp the poems meaning and digest its advice! The simplicity of his images and language does not mean the Shah Bajan did not know theology and Islamic sciences. To the contrary, he knew them so well that he found creative ways of expressing the essential features of Islam. He did this through the simple idea that everything consists of three levels, moving from outward to inward. The person consists of body, heart and mind. Shah Bajan begins by urging his listeners to awaken the mind to keep watch over the heart and thereby restrain the actions of the body.19 Of all bad deeds the heart is the king Keep watch over that lazy arrogant thing Uphold shariʿah’s discipline, that’s the best Don’t let idols into the cavern of your chest Tariqat is where the Prophets acts are found Follow him with faith, don’t just mess around The real haqiqat is like an ocean vast and wide Most who enter drown, few reach the other side Ji to ahi bad ka rao U rehna dekh pisare pao Shariʿat ke tun bat na chhor Ji tujh sanam na la ke khor Tariqat ahi nabi ka fiʿl Yakhin bat na ahi khil Haqiqat darya ahi be-kinar Bahut dube kuchh utre par The poem begins by addressing the heart (ji), which in Sufi thought is the center of the person. If the heart is enlightened by a wakeful mind and insight, it is the vehicle for good; but if the heart is darkened by a selfish nature and lust, it is the vehicle for evil expressed in our bodily actions. The Qur’an says, “God has not made two hearts in one chest” (Qur’an 33:4). The human heart can have only one orientation of love, either toward the world and its pleasures or toward God and spiritual realities. From this first division into three levels, Shah Bajan elaborates other corresponding levels of three. Every person consists of body, heart and mind. For a person to become a real human being, she or he must understand the relationship between matter, soul and spirit. When aspiring to be a real human being, the person takes her or his rightful place in the cosmos, which consists of the world, the human being and God. Finally, continuing in threes, according to Sufi teachings we get to our rightful place in the cosmos by following religious duty (shariʿat), practicing mystical training (tariqat)

106  Scott Kugle and realizing ultimate reality (haqiqat). This spiritual realization is the fruit of following shariʿat and cultivating tariqat and is the essential goal of both. But it is achieved by only a few, who come to realize that their own ego is passing away and that God alone is real. Everyone lives in this reality, or they would not be alive; but few realize it, comprehending that their own ego is what veils God’s presence. This is what Shah Bajan means when he says haqiqat is “an ocean vast and wide – Most who enter drown, few reach the other side.” This poem is remarkable for condensing such complex ideas into simple images and charmingly direct language. The translation tries to convey something of its original quality by using colloquial English and insistent rhyme. The poem takes Islamic terms and expresses them in images that anyone could understand, regardless of her or his professed religion. Chishti Sufis, like Shah Bajan, actively tried to find commonalities with members of other religions and communities. In his poetry, we can see evidence of this active pursuit, through words and images, of a common foundation for ethics that is wider than one’s own dogmatic community. The newly developing language of Urdu (in its Gujari or Deccani dialects) was an ideal medium for this pursuit. It was a language that was already “common” and used by both Muslims and others who interacted with them. It was a language that did not exclusively belong to any single religious or ethnic group but rather grew in the interactions between different groups. It was a language that absorbed words, phrases and images from many different communities. In this way, Urdu was a language whose practical form mirrored the abstract philosophy of Sufis; therefore, it is no surprise that Chishti Sufis were early and active patrons of the newly developing language. Shah Bajan was a pioneer in this movement and wrote his poems specifically to be sung. His poems often come with a heading declaring in what raga to sing them. The previous poem, about the Prophet during his ascension, was to be sung in Raga Kedar. His poems recall this use of music as meditation, as in the one below: When lute and cymbals play they reveal divine secrets This is God’s temple, how can you meet God without clapping? Everyone wants to see God, so call out the name of the true One Aiwan bajan baje bajan baje re asrar chajhe yeh pava shah ka ava an dastak dikh kanava har kon haqq haqq lava Shah Bajan called some of his songs jikri, a Gujari pronunciation of zikr, or meditation, that repeats God’s names. In India, some Sufi orders demanded silent zikr, while other orders advocated group Zikr with only a drum to keep rhythm or chanting only in Arabic. In contrast, Chishti Sufis taught that the best zikr is musical, with devotional poems in the local language

Making passion popular 107 and a variety of instruments (both Indic and Iranian) as accompaniment.20 One of the earliest examples we have of a Chishti Sufi using early Urdu in devotional poetry and song is Shah Bajan. Though he is not so famous today, he is an important figure in the history of Sufism in the Deccan. He wrote prose in Persian and songs in Gujari and composed poetry in Persian. Siraj Aurangabadi After Shah Bajan, many Sufis in the Deccan began to compose mystical poetry in dialects of Urdu. The authors of this growing literature were mainly from the Chishti community. Their use of Urdu showed their aspiration to make Islam understandable, appealing and useful for the common people. Other Chishti Sufis in Bijapur formed a network of innovators in Urdu.21 Several essays in this volume discuss their legacy. Their poetry, prose and song shaped a new dialect, called Deccani. Deccani is comparable to Gujari, but it took shape in a later era and a more southern locale. A new era began for the Burhanpur-Khuldabad axis with the expansion of the Mughal Empire. Khandesh was the first Deccan kingdom absorbed into the Mughal realm in the time of Akbar; the Mughals pushed steadily southward to conquer Ahmednagar (which then controlled Dawlatabad and Khuldabad), then Bijapur and finally Golconda. The Emperor Aurangzeb advanced with the project and built a new capital city at Aurangabad. Just as Gujari dialect of Urdu had given way to Deccani, so now had Deccani begun to change under pressure of new Mughal immigrants from the north. Mughals favored the use of Persian as both an administrative and a literary language, but with their conquest of the Deccan they began to admire Urdu and see it as a vehicle for literary and spiritual pursuits. Deccani poets had raised Urdu to a refined poetic language. In the Mughal era, poets from the Deccan spread the use of Urdu to the north. But with this new context, the language also changed. Deccani distinctiveness began to erode, and the modern form of Urdu, which is now considered standard, took shape. The ghazal, a genre adopted form Persian, also rose to new heights. In Aurangabad, the poet Siraj provides examples of ghazals that are both wonderful Sufi expressions and evidence of the changing language. Sufi literati like Siraj cultivated Urdu but continued to compose poetry in Persian as well.22 His name was Sayyid Siraj al-Din Husayni, but he is best known by his pen name, Siraj. He lived in Aurangabad from around 1712 until his death in 1763. Histories of Urdu literature usually mention only that he was a younger contemporary of Vali Deccani (d. 1707), who brought the new style of writing Urdu ghazals to Delhi and other northern cities. But Siraj is one of the most expressive Sufi poets in Urdu, just when the Deccani dialect was giving way to modern standard Urdu. As a Sufi poet in Urdu, only Khwaja Mir Dard (d. 1785) from Delhi can compare to him.23 Siraj grew up in a scholarly Sufi family. But as an adolescent, he experienced a tragic

108  Scott Kugle romance, suffered greatly and fell into despair. A kind of madness rose from within him, and he left Aurangabad and his family to wander in the wilderness. His friends recall him reciting his own Persian ghazals to the animals and empty spaces. After many years, he took refuge at the dargah of Burhan al-Din Gharib at Khuldabad. He later joined the Chishti Sufi community and returned to Aurangabad. There he began to compose Sufi ghazals in Urdu, which was an innovation. In seven years, he compiled a voluminous divan containing ghazals with experimental boldness, spiritual subtlety and a lively sense of musicality. Siraj’s Persian poetry was never collected. His contemporaries reported that “if his Persian ghazals had been committed to paper, they would constitute of thick Divan and if people read them, they would consider them a miraculous act of God.” (Sarwari [ed.] 1982, p. 40). Though Siraj claims his Persian poems were lost in the wilderness, at least a few were preserved. A  few were preserved by Afzal Beg Khan “Qaqshal” in his memorial to poets from Aurangabad, Tuhfat al-Shuʿara, written in 1752.24 Because these are rare and were considered lost, this article presents two of them in translation here. The first contains images of longing, sorcery and alchemy; it rhymes with the verb chakeed, meaning dripped, congealed, oozed or distilled (Qaqshal, 35). Respectfully stifled cries distill into a perfumed sweat This droplet that is falling cannot be my choked-back tear In this party, I caught sight of a black eyelash scattering drops Rosy tears dripped from the candles scarlet-rimmed eyes A drop of ink fell from the pen of the divine writer, that’s why The pure page of the lover’s breast is stained with a dark fear No wonder I’m ensnared in one look of his charming sight Every reflection refracts into a fairy’s endless hall of mirrors In spring time’s blush, both take and give are out collecting roses Dew drops huddle among petals until generosity’s morning is near So long I thirsted for you and now you are ready to sacrifice me Thank God! You may notice whose blood drips from the blade By now your heart is fully charred in passions blaze, Siraj from the ashes with mercury you can extract a golden elixir The final couplet of this poem alludes to alchemy and chemistry. When coins were minted, the ashes from the smelting furnace were collected and processed with mercury, in order to extract any remaining fragments of gold. In

Making passion popular 109 the same way, Siraj examines the ashes of his love-charred heart. It is ruined. Completely torched. Yet the ashes might still contain something valuable! If treated with alchemical mercury, they might still yield precious gold. Despite painful destruction, the love-charred heart might transmute into the gold of spiritual insight. A second Persian ghazal that was saved from oblivion shows that even in his wild youth, Siraj was experimenting. It rhymes with the verb uftad, meaning “it fell” or “it happened” (Qaqshal, 36). Yet again, as at the start, the brand of madness falls on my heart From the heat of love, a spark flies and falls on my reason’s tinder Today I long to gather roses, so my shirt has become wet My heart’s blood turned to water and falls from my teary eyes With a single glance, I gladly lost the wealth of faith and merit Yet my idol of enchanting gaze never falls within my sight The sun is dishonored and lies in ruins in this separation’s night Without you, even its golden bowl falls from heaven’s high terrace In every moment, my heart conceals the pain of remembering you But what to do with my sorrow when falls away the curtain of secrecy? This closing couplet will remain as Siraj’s heart-felt constant refrain Yet again, as at the start, the brand of madness falls on my heart This ghazal takes that rare form of a loop with the first line of the beginning couplet repeated exactly in the last line of the closing couplet. This loop is not just a formal innovation but also an allusion to the poem’s inner meaning. The repeated line, which Siraj calls his “heart-felt refrain,” uses the term vird to mean a line that is recited constantly as a mantra or meditation. Vird is a term from Sufi practice; it is a saying that exerts power over one’s inner spiritual life as one grows disciplined in repeatedly saying it. When he was composing these Persian poems, Siraj was caught in a loop of madness, revisiting his painful loss in a youthful love affair that caused him to flee society: “Yet again, as at the start, the brand of madness falls on my heart.” The few Persian poems we have of Siraj seem to capture the despair of this youthful tragedy. Another couplet is preserved that reads, “I am stained with accusations and my secrets are unjustly known to all/ how low into ruin is my fall! Does not innocence matter at all?”25 Siraj’s poems in Persian were largely lost, though the few preserved ones show signs of his talent, which would blossom in his innovative Urdu poetry. His most famous ghazal is still sung in qawwali: “Hear news of loves bewilderment: no beauty remains, no feverish madness/no you remains, no I  remains  – all that remains is unselfconsciousness.”26 I  have

110  Scott Kugle written elsewhere about this ghazal as an example of Siraj’s spiritual art.27 The language used preserves inflections of Deccani in grammar but is easily understood by speakers of modern Urdu. Siraj’s poetry points toward the future of Urdu as a modern literary language, though it preserves deep roots in the past of Sufi thought.

Conclusion Burhan al-Din Gharib sowed the seeds of musical mysticism in the Deccan along with his admirer, the poet Amir Hasan Sijzi. Later, Shah Bajan ensured its perpetuation in the new regional capital of Burhanpur, while Siraj embodied this tradition with vibrancy in Aurangabad. These figures flourished in the “Khuldabad-Burhanpur axis,” a region of the Deccan that is often ignored and understudied. They all belonged to the Chishti Sufi order, which contributed to its poetic and musical expression of Islamic spirituality. Their poems document the shifting contours of language use, as Chishti Sufis innovated to bring their spiritual message to the common people at the frontiers of language. Persian was the cosmopolitan language of Islamic civilization in South Asia; Muslims as well as non-Muslims used it for both secular and sacred purposes. Sufis composed poetry in Persian, even while they experimented with using other local South Asian languages. The result was a rich interaction between Persian language and local vernacular languages. From this interaction developed a new language whose dialects evolved slowly in different regions under different names. It began as Hindavi around Delhi, became Gujari in the northern frontier of the Deccan, including Burhanpur; and later developed as Deccani in the south. This language in Mughal times became the language now called Urdu. From the fourteenth to the eighteenth centuries, Chishti Sufis were at the vanguard of using this common language in prose, poetry and song in a complex dialogue and interplay with their continued use of Persian. This analysis has focused on the early evolution of Urdu literature, in which Hindavi language was recorded in Persianate script derived from Arabic letters. We could shift the focus to Hindi literature, in which Hindavi was recorded in Devanagari script derived from Sanskrit letters. Doing so, we draw a similar conclusion: Sufis were the vanguard of crafting Hindi literature through long allegorical epics to be recited rather than through shorter love lyrics to be sung. Recent scholarship by Aditya Behl and others has brought to the fore this once-neglected tradition of Sufi Muslim authors of Hindavi epics written in Devanagari script.28 What does this all have to do with the challenges we face in the present? I  noted in the introduction that today English surpasses Urdu-Hindi as a global spoken language. In many ways, English has also displaced UrduHindi as a language of governance and cosmopolitan communication, even in South Asia. Yet it remains to be seen whether English can foster social

Making passion popular 111 integration as deeply as Urdu did. Perhaps Sufis today must now make use of English, as they once crafted Urdu and other regional vernacular languages. While there is ample evidence that Sufi works and projects are being translated into English, this effort is mainly in prose and on the internet. It remains to be seen whether poetry and song retain their place as the most effective way to communicate Sufi ideals in newly emerging vernacular languages. The Chishti Sufis of the past remind us today that singing is more effective than preaching and that personal examples of loving kindness have a deeper impact than religious ideology.

Notes 1 www.ethnologue.com/statistics/size accessed 29 October  2015. This website artificially separates the categories of Hindi speakers and Urdu speakers; in fact, as a spoken medium this is one language but it is written in two different scripts and thus separate literary traditions. 2 Amir Hasan, 1356 ah: ghazal 895, pp. 390–1; 1383 ah: ghazal 873, pp. 406–7. Its first couplet is: Har qawm ra-st rahi dini o qiblah gahi /man qiblah ra-st kardeem bar simt-e kaj kulahi. 3 Miraj Ahmed Qawwal, Surud-e Ruhani: Qawwali ke Rang (Delhi: Maktaba Rabita, 1998), p.  96. Its opening couplet is “Dil kunad sajda ba-een taraz-e kharameedan-e tu / deeda sad shukr bi-ja arad az-een deedan-e tu.” The poem’s last couplet is sung as an introduction to “Teri Re Main To Charnan Lagi [I lay my head on your foot, lyrics attributed to Amir Khusro],” recorded by Fariduddin Ayaz and Qawwal Party in Jashn-e-Khusro: A Collection (New Delhi: Roli Books, 2012), CD 1 song 6. 4 These Sufi texts from the Deccan shaped the tradition of malfuzat writing back in Delhi. 5 Syed Shah Khusro Hussaini, Sayyid Muhammad al-Husayni-i Gisudiraz: on Sufism (Delhi: Idarah-e Adabiyat-e Delli, 1983) is the best study in English but does not discuss his involvement with Bahmani Sultans. The father of GesuDaraz migrated to the Deccan and is buried near Burhan al-Din Gharib in Khuldabad. 6 Burhanpur was founded in 1399 ce by Nasir Khan Faruqi, the second ruler of the Faruqi dynasty. The main settlement was Burhanpur while the settlement on the opposite bank of the river Tapti was dubbed Zaynabad after Zayn al-Din Shirazi, the successor of Burhan al-Din Gharib. 7 Shah Bajan’s biography is found in several modern Urdu sources: Mutala 1993; Khan 1997; Parvez 2005. 8 Anonymous, Bahr-e Zakhkhar (mss. Hyderabad: Andhra Pradesh State Oriental Manuscript Library 238 Farsi Tazkira), pp. 262–264. 9 Muhammad Ghawthi Shattari, Gulzar-e Abrar [Garden of the Pious], translated by Fazl Ahmad Jewari, as Azkar al-Abrar (Agra: Matbaʿ-ye Mufid-e ʿAm., 1326 ah), pp. 204–5. 10 Shattari, Gulzar-e Abrar, p. 212. Chishti Sufis advocated shrines of local South Asian saints, especially the Dargah of Muʿin al-Din Chishti at Ajmer. Shah Bajans aborted pilgrimage confirms this strong feeling among Chishtis that it is an ethical duty to stay local in devotional style than to make the journey to Makka or adopt Arabizing airs. 11 Bashir Muhammad Khan, Tarikh-e Awliya-ye Kiram-e Burhanpur [History of the Sufi Saints of Burhanpur] (Pune: Sihr Art Press, 1997), p. 78.

112  Scott Kugle 12 Masʿud Bakk was born into a royal family but became a poet-philosopher. He gave expression to the experience of ecstasy in poetry and exposition to the ideals of vahdat al-vujud in prose. Carl Ernst, “From Hagiography to Martyrology: Conflicting testimonies to a Sufi martyr of the Delhi sultanate,” History of Religions, Vol. 24/4 (May 1985), pp. 308–327. See also Ernst and Lawrence 2002, pp. 41–2. 13 Akhtar Parvez, Shah Bajan: Ek Mutaliʿa [Shah Bajan: A  Study] (Burhanpur: Raja Offset, 2005), p.  111 reports that there were five manuscript copies of Khazaʾin-e Rahmat of which only three exist today. One copy owned by the scholar Hafiz Muhammad Sherani (and was wrongly titled “Gulistan-e Rahmat”) is now held at Lahore (Punjab University 2282/5289 formerly called “Oriental College Collection”); this is the manuscript that has been seen by author of this article. 14 For an example of Shah Bajans poetry in Persian, see Kugle 2009, p. 96. 15 Few copies of the manuscript survive and those that do are evidently in bad repair, so readers have had to guess at the proper wording and sometimes just leave gaps where deciphering it is impossible. 16 Rekhta poems are attributed to Amir Khusro but this attribution is most likely not correct and rekhta poems like the famous Ze Hal-e Miskeen that is sung in qawwali are probably retroactively attributed to him. 17 The text of this poem is found in Tarikh-e Awliya-ye Kiram-e Burhanpur, p. 87; that text has been corrected in places from a transcription of the same poem from other manuscripts as found in Parwez, Shah Bajan, p. 157. 18 The text of this poem is found in Tarikh-e Awliya-ye Kiram-e Burhanpur, pp. 85–6, corrected in places from Parwez, Shah Bajan, pp. 109–110 and 131–2. 19 The poems text found in Tarikh-e Awliya-ye Kiram-e Burhanpur, p.  86; and found in Parvez, Shah Bajan, p. 149. 20 The most sophisticated discussion of Samaʿ or listening to music is found in Carl Ernst and Bruce B. Lawrence, Sufi Martyrs of Love: The Chishti Order in South Asia and Beyond (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), pp. 34–46. 21 These include the famous Miranji Shams al-ʿUshshaq (died 1499), his son Burhan al-Din Janam (died around 1597) and his followers, Mahmud Khush-Dahan (died 1617) and Amin al-Din ʿAli ʿAla (died 1674). Eaton 1972, pp. 141–5; see also Schimmel 2003, p. 59. 22 For an in-depth biography of Siraj Aurangabadi, see Kugle 2015 (forthcoming). 23 Vali Deccani was born in Aurangabad, was educated in Ahmedabad in both Islamic sciences and Sufism, and travelled to Delhi in 1701 where he popularized the practicing of composing ghazals in Urdu. In Delhi, several poets ushered in the “golden age” of the Urdu ghazal, such as Mir Taqi Mir, Arzu, and Sauda but Khwaja Mir Dard was best known for ghazals steeped in Sufi symbolizism, for he was a practicing Sufi master in the Naqshbandi order. 24 Afdal Beg Khan Qaqshal wrote a collection of biographies of poets from his city, Aurangabad, titled Tuhfat al-Shuʿara [Gift of the Poets: Persian Language Poets of Aurangabad] (manuscript Hyderabad: Salar Jung, 1752). It was written during the lifetime of Siraj, so the author probably knew Siraj personally. Two copies of this text exist in manuscript form in Hyderabad (Salar Jung, Farsi Tadhkira 8) and also (Andhra Pradesh State Oriental Manuscript and Research Library, 122 Tazkira Farsi). 25 Only a single couplet is preserved that reads: tuhmat aludeem o asrar na-haqq ʿaleem ast / ba vujud-e paki-daman cheh rusva-eem ma. See Qaqshal, Tuhfat al-Shuʿara, p. 36. 26 ʿAbd al-Qadir Sarwari, ed., Kulliyat-e Siraj [Collected Poems] (New Delhi: Taraqqi-ye Urdu Bureau., 1982), p.  667. Its first line is: “khabar-e tahayyur-e

Making passion popular 113 ʿishq sun na junun raha na pari rahi / na to tu raha na to main raha jo rahi so be-khabari rahi.” 27 “Qawwali between Written Poem and Sung Lyric . . . or How a Ghazal Lives,” The Muslim World, Vol. 97/4 (October 2007), pp. 571–610. 28 Aditya Behl, Love’s Subtle Magic: An Indian Islamic Literary Tradition, 1379– 1545, ed. Wendy Doniger (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012).

Bibliography Ahmed, Miraj Qawwal. 1998. Surud-e Ruhani: Qawwali ke Rang [Spiritual Songs: in Qawwali Style]. Delhi: Maktaba Rabita. Alam, Muzaffar. 2004. Languages of Political Islam: India 1200–1800. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ayaz, Fariduddin and Qawwal Party. 2012. Jashn-e-Khusro: A  Collection. New Delhi: Roli Books. Bawa, Oudesh Rani. 2009. “The Role of Sufis and Saints in the Development of Deccani Urdu.” Deccan Studies Journal 7(2) (July–December): 69–81. Behl, Aditya. 2012. Love’s Subtle Magic: An Indian Islamic Literary Tradition, 1379–1545, edited by Wendy Doniger. New York: Oxford University Press. Eaton, Richard. 1972. Sufis of Bijapur. University of Wisconsin – Madison. Ernst, Carl. 1985. “From Hagiography to Martyrology: Conflicting Testimonies to a Sufi Martyr of the Delhi Sultanate.” History of Religions 24/4 (May): 308–327. ———. 1992. Eternal Garden: Mysticism, History and Politics at a South Asian Sufi Center. Albany: State University New York Press. ———. 1993. “The Khuldabad-Burhanpur Axis, and Local Sufism in the Deccan.” In Islam and Indian Regions, edited by Anna Libera Dallapiccola and Stephanie Zingel-Avé Lallemant, 1: 169–183. Beiträge zur Südasienforschung, SüdasienInstitut der Universität Heidelberg, 145 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag). Ernst, Carl and Bruce B. Lawrence. 2002. Sufi Martyrs of Love: The Chishti Order in South Asia and Beyond. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hasan, Amir. 1356 ah. Divan-e Hasan Sijzi Dihlavi [Collected Ghazals]. Hyderabad: Maktaba Ibrahimiyya. ———. 1383 ah. Divan-e Hasan Dihlavi [Collected Ghazals]. Tehran Anjuman-e Asar o Mafakhar Farhangi. Hussaini, Syed Shah Khusro. 1983. Sayyid Muhammad al-Husayni-i Gisudiraz: on Sufism. Delhi: Idarah-e Adabiyat-e Delli. Khan, Bashir Muhammad. 1997. Tarikh-e Awliya-ye Kiram-e Burhanpur, 71–92 [History of the Sufi Saints of Burhanpur]. Pune: Sihr Art Press. Kugle, Scott. 2009. “Burhan al-Din Gharib: Enduring Sufi Example in the Eternal Garden of Khuldabad.” Deccan Studies VII/2 (July–December): 82–111. ———. 2016. When Sun Meets Moon: Eros, Ecstasy and Gender in Urdu Poetry of the Deccan. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Lawrence, Bruce B. 1983. “The Early Chishti Approach to Sama.” In Islamic Society and Culture: Essays in Honor of Professor Aziz Ahmad, edited by Milton Israel and N.K. Wagle, 69–83. New Delhi: Manohar. Mutala, Yusuf. 1993. Mashaikh-e Ahmadabad [Sufi Masters of Ahmedabad, Gujarat], vol. 2, 36–42. Ahmadabad: Maktaba Mahmudhiyya. Parvez, Akhtar. 2005. Shah Bajan: Ek Mutaliʿa [Shah Bajan: A Study]. Burhanpur: Raja Offset.

114  Scott Kugle Qaqshal, Afdal Beg Khan. 1752. Tuhfat al-Shuʿara [Gift of the Poets: Persian Language Poets of Aurangabad] (manuscript). Hyderabad: Salar Jung. Qawwal, Miraj Ahmed. 1998. Surud-e Ruhani: Qawwali ke Rang. Delhi: Maktaba Rabita. Sarwari, ʿAbd al-Qadir (ed.). 1982. Kulliyat-e Siraj [Collected Poems]. New Delhi: Taraqqi-ye Urdu Bureau. Schimmel, Annemarie. 2003. Islam in the Indian Subcontinent. Lahore: Sang-e-meel Publications. Shattari, Muhammad Ghawthi. 1326 ah. Gulzar-e Abrar [Garden of the Pious], translated by Fazl Ahmad Jewari, as Azkar al-Abrar. Agra: Matbaʿ-ye Mufid-e ʿAm.

5 Shaping the way we believe Sufism in modern Turkish culture and literature Huseyin Altindis

Introduction Literature helped to create a national identity for the Turks while playing a seminal role for Turkish culture in the Muslim world. Literature of modern Turkey, after the collapse of the Ottomans, aimed to give a proper historical identity to the Turks. The trajectory starts with the first great Turkish Sufi poet, Ahmad Yasawi. In his book Early Mystics in Turkish Literature, Fuad Koprulu argues that Yasawi, in the course of his life, established a new genre in Turkish literature, namely mystical folk poetry, and founded a Sufi brotherhood, Yassawiye tariqa, from which Naqshbandiyya tariqa, one of the most powerful tariqa in Muslim world, emerged. The trajectory of this chapter follows the history of mysticism in Turkish culture and literature and then specifically focuses on Rumi’s influence on Elif Safak’s (pronounced as Shafak) novels Pinhan (1997) and Aşk (The Forty Rules of Love: A Novel of Rumi) and Ahmet Ümit’s novel Bab-ı Esrar to portray the dense impact of Sufi practices in modern Turkish culture and society. It is important to inquire how and when Sufi movement, Islamic mysticism, began to influence Turkish culture and life and how it differs from mainstream Islamic practices. It is acknowledged by many scholars that when Islam was introduced to the communities outside the Arabian Peninsula, it began to differ from its original form because of cultural and traditional characteristics of the communities that had recently converted into Islam because they introduced a great many changes on the most fundamental points. For example, in Iran, Zoroastrian belief amalgamated itself into some aspects of the daily life and has maintained itself until present time, which is sometimes mistakenly considered as a part of Islamic practice. In Early Mystics, Koprulu explains the spread of mysticism among eastern cultures. He states that “various religious doctrines practices held sway throughout the Muslim world and the personal and political ambitions of the rulers gave great scope to their development” during the sixth to twelfth centuries.1 Although Sufism hardly existed in the first century, the practice became prevalent under the influence of Iranian; Greek; Indian; and, to some degree, Christian philosophies. It quickly spread among the

116  Huseyin Altindis Muslim world. The most important center to Sufism’s flourishing at that period was Khorasan in Iran, from where the practice inevitably entered the Turkish world. Koprulu explains the spread of Sufism among Turkic civilizations as follows: Because the Turkish rulers were so devoted to Islamıc beliefs, they have accepted Hanafism with great vigor and conviction This tendency, which essentially rose from social conscience of the Turkish nation, on the one hand hindered the spread of heretical Shii and Mu’tazili doctrines within Islam, and on the other, also as a natural result of this, created a profound and sincere harmony between legal religious norms and the Sufi ideas that developed in Turkish circles.2 As of the tenth century, the Turkish world had already been accustomed to Sufi ideas, which were a source for Yasawi. Before him, dervishes traveling throughout the region carried oral culture and religious doctrines through the reciting of hymns and poetry; performed many good works for the people to please Allah; and instructed people in the ways of happiness and entering paradise, which received great recognition and support among Turks. Because of their popularity and instructional and leadership roles in the community, these ozans are called ata (father) or Bab (spiritual leader). These ozans were spreading Islamic principles and beliefs among nomadic Turks. Without doubt, Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi is one of the most eminent Sufi poets that Khorasan produced. He was born September 30, 1207, and died December 17, 1273. At the age of twenty-two, he moved to Konya, where, for the rest of his life, he influenced Turkish cultural and religious practices profoundly. Rumi started delivering sermons that brought him recognition as an eloquent interpreter of orthodox Islam. He introduced Sufism, which is, according to William C. Chittick, “The most universal manifestation of the inner dimension of Islam; it is the way by which man transcends his own individual self and reaches God.”3 One of the most memorable encounters in the history of Sufism is surely the first meeting of Shams-i Tabriz and Mawlana Jalal-Ud-Din Rumi. In The Life and Work of Jalal-Ud-Din Rumi, Afzal Ikbal writes: It was here (Konya) that Rumi’s personality found its proper contours, it was here that it underwent a sudden and unique metamorphosis and  it was here that it started radiating the rays which were alter to illuminate the whole Muslim world. Though the town did not have the honor of giving birth to him, it had the infinitely greater honor of giving him the spiritual birth and today it claims the proud privilege of having within its bosom the mortal remains of a soul that was truly immortal.4 It was this idea of immortality and mysticism that influenced writers, scholars, thinkers and knowledge-seekers around the world. For Annemarie

Shaping the way we believe 117 Schimmel, mysticism “may be defined as the consciousness of the One ­Reality – be it called Wisdom, Light, Love, or Nothing”5 or as “love of the Absolute.”6 “Love of the Absolute” is the essence of immortality and thus mysticism, which found its reflection in Rumi’s doctrines and teachings, thus sustaining its impacts in modern times. As Chittick writes, “Following his father’s footsteps, Mawlana became attracted to Sufism early in life and became a disciple of a number of spiritual masters.”7 Through Sufi doctrine, Rumi emphasizes the importance of gnosis (irfan) for spiritual realization as being synonymous with love, yet love, for Chittick, in Sufi discourse, “excludes the sentimental colorings usually associated with this term in current usage.”8 For Rumi, knowledge and love are in separable. According to Sufi teachings, the path of spiritual realization can only be undertaken and traversed under the guidance of a spiritual master, someone who has already traversed the stages of the Path to God and who has, moreover, been chosen by Heaven to lead others on the Way.9 Rumi himself is a globally recognized figure. UNESCO declared 2007 as the International Year of Rumi. This has led to the general teachings of Sufism and the biographies of Sufi masters attracting more attention within the nation and worldwide, resulting in the popularization of Sufism in Turkey. Mass media also contributes greatly to the circulation of Sufi ideology through Rumi’s stories and poetry via several television shows in which Rumi and his philosophy is discussed. These shows and discussions influence the popular imagination and reaction to Sufism. Rituals, ceremonies and teachings recently have become so popular that this popularity has inevitably attracted major authors and booksellers. However, it needs to be mentioned here that all publications are not in favor of Sufism, as there are some hostile approaches. It is thus possible to claim that while there is growing interest and curiosity toward Sufism, there is also (still) skepticism and criticism. Two famous contemporary authors who utilize Sufism as a subject matter in their texts are Elif Safak and Ahmet Ümit. In the following section of this chapter, some of their works and the role of Sufi philosophy that they aim to convey to their readers are discussed.

Elif Safak and mysticism Elif Safak is one of the renowned and prolific writers of contemporary Turkish literature. The world literary market has been showing a growing interest to Safak since her debut on the international scene with her first novel in English, The Saint of Incipient Insanities (2004), which has laid the basis for a successful series of novels in English. Born in Strasbourg as a daughter of a Turkish diplomat, Safak spent her formative years first in Spain and the United States, where she held teaching positions. Due to her nomadic life and exposure to various cultures and ethnicities, it is not surprising that her writing revolves around the themes of multiculturalism, cosmopolitanism and the promotion of a post-national society.

118  Huseyin Altindis Most of her works  – including Pinhan (The Mystic, 1998), Aşk (The Forty Rules of Love, 2009), Sehrin Aynalari, Bit Palas, Araf, Baba ve Pic (The Bastard of Istanbul, 2007), Mahrem and Siyah Sut – are woven with mystical elements that shaped the way we live under the influence of Rumi’s doctrine. She contributed greatly to the recognition and improvement of Turkish literature because of her linguistic, religious and ethnic presentations and her diversity of themes and characters. In order to emphasize and portray the cohesive aspect of communities, she references mysticism and Sufism as the ontological and phenomenological grounding of some of her works. She writes about the universal aspect of mysticism, in which it is believed that all people are created by God and will eventually return to him and about which “mystics in every religious tradition have tended to describe the different steps on the way that leads toward God by the image of the path.”10 Schimmel explains that the path “on which mystics walk, has been defined as ‘the path which comes out of Shari‘a, for the main road is called shar‘, the path, tarīq.”11 Safak, who analyzes “we” as a completion ˙ basis of identity problem, grounds her novels in of “I” and “you” on the the concept of multiculturalism, which is harmoniously presented through the cohesive elements of mysticism. Her approach differentiates her from traditional usage and interpretation of mystic elements, and mysticism has a modern functionality in her novels. In her novels, mysticism is presented through symbolic and fantastical elements and implies that eventual return is to the only source of energy and element, Allah. In so doing, she reminds the reader of the fact that all differences actually come from one source. Her philosophical stance reminds us of a universal and scientific approach of Darwin that classifies all people or ethnicities as a type. The real essence is the absolute power of the God that created people in different types so that we can learn each other and communicate with each other through accepting the differences that create a rich, colorful tapestry on Earth. On her personal interest in mysticism and Rumi, Safak states that she is interested not only in Sufism rooted in Anatolia but also in universal Sufism. She explains that she read all the sources on Sufism, English and Turkish that she could access, searched for the Rumi era and read biographies.12 In many interviews, she has stated that she has been interested in mysticism for almost fifteen years as a result of her own quest.13 Safak’s novels, utilizing mystic philosophy, aim to reflect the cultural richness and accentuate the significance of tolerance that glue differences together, creating a peaceful society. In that sense her novels have an esoteric meaning and need to be unpacked, as both content and form, by the reader within the light of mystic philosophy. Among her works, Pinhan is the one heavily ornamented with mystical symbols. The mystical elements presented through lexical meanings of the words act like a lifestyle. Pinhan is a bildungsroman in which the protagonist, Pinhan, is androgynous from birth and quests to reach to unity from abundance. He becomes a disciple in a tekke, an Islamic monastery, to hunt

Shaping the way we believe 119 a bird with a pearl necklace (Pinhan, 14) and decides not to leave the tekke, getting lost at the blueness of the sea in the eyes of the Shaykh Durri Baba. The journey symbolically represents the first step of the unification of the opposite sexes in his body. His recognition and acceptance of the doubleness in his body recalls the dawr (the cycle of existence passing out from the Divine Reality down through the Arc of Descent and then back into the Godhead in the form of the Perfect Man). Koprulu explains this cycle as “something that comes into existence in this material world, which is the lowest of the existing worlds, is first manifests ıtself in the form of an inanimate object, then as a plant, animal, and man, and finally it enters the form of the perfect man and reaches God.”14 The cyclic relationship between the land and the sky manifests itself in the equality of contrasts. Pinhan’s androgynous situation embodies the unification of these contrasts and reaches into unity in one body. In the novel, a circle is associated with a point and even resembles a bitten apple, which connotes the story of Adam and Eve. Through the symbol, Safak attempts to remind the reader of the fact that people descend from one source and then separate into numerous types through reproduction. She prescribes Sufi doctrine as a remedy to unite these separated parts. Through the protagonist, the text problematizes the cultural aspect of multiplicity and implies that, as in the case of Pinhan’s body, we possess the contrast from which life eventually emerges. The fact that humans interpret the whole as a combination of various parts creates “the Other” because of the self-defined nafs in religious discourses. Though nafs generally has negative connotations related to the feelings that humans possess, in some contexts, it means inner power and soul. For that reason, the text suggests that it is not a good idea to kill the nafs but rather to know what it is and act accordingly. Durri Baba’s advice to Pinhan, in that sense, is worth considering here. When Pinhan decides to leave the tekke, Durri Baba recommends that he know his nafs rather than kill it.15 His purpose in doing so is that he aims to help Pinhan struggle with the distracting force that he has to deal with. The following scene depicts how Pinhan is controlled by his nafs upon meeting with Cuce Cafer (Dwarf Cafer), who opens the doors of a world he has never been to before. With Cuce Cafer, Pinhan goes to a bar, enjoys the ecstasy of intoxication and loses self-control, which shows that Pinhan acts according to the wishes of his nafs rather than his logic, because he stops searching for the lost pearl given him by Durri Baba. This is problematized because, unless people use their reason and common sense, they can become a slave of their nafs, which may eventually cause an emotional and physical destruction or disaster: Yet a voice from within was whispering at length that getting back the pearl was not the only reason that did not leave now. This damp, dirty, and detached space; these addicted, impudent, this sharp and opened a door to a completely new life that he never knew before and which he insanely wonders about now. He wanted to see what was behind the door.16

120  Huseyin Altindis His decision to pursue discovering the unexperienced behind the symbolic door actually shows that Pinhan has followed Durri Baba’s advice. The nafs has wickedness and horribleness, which will create a sense of caution and would enable people to turn an undesired situation into a desired one. The wicked and dangerous side of the nafs is portrayed through an image of a snake, which was a part of the show in the bar where Pinhan had enjoyed himself. The slithering of the snake and its gazing directly at Pinhan’s eyes17 are the embodiment of the impact of the new environment on him and on his soul. The snake becomes a source domain for the metaphor, in which the target domain is the wicked side of the soul. The snake’s directly gazing at Pinhan’s eyes implies that Pinhan is hypnotized by the new environment and is under the control of his nafs now. The writer believes that ecstasy is a gift from Allah rather than an instrument that encourages people to perform religious duties with enthusiasm. She believes that in our modern world it is highly difficult to appreciate the state of ecstasy, for some regard that state as nonsense. However, the author discovers the ecstasy that the modern world has ignored and focuses on this ecstasy. Thus, she aims to reach and influence more people on the philosophy of mysticism. The summit of the ecstasy is manifested in Rumi’s actions. Rumi displays the state of ecstasy by writing poems after he has left Shams. He states that the poems that he is reciting actually do not belong to him: “I am writing whatever is whispered to my heart, but I am not the whisperer.” This implies that this is a divine inspiration.18 Through Pinhan’s example, the text emphasizes that the most important opponent of someone in his or her journey to God is the nafs within him or her. It is our conscience that decides whether we should follow the desires of our nafs or not. Those who use reason and avoid the wicked desires of the nafs, which are associated with the snake in Pinhan, reach their ultimate target. Pinhan does not submit himself to his nafs and accomplishes unification in his body. A similar message is given in her 2009 novel, Aşk. In Aşk (The Forty Rules of Love: A  Novel of Rumi), Safak prescribes the mystic doctrine of embracing tolerance and multicultural society. The novel follows Ella Rubinstein’s self-discovery journey, examining life and love through Sufi mysticism. Ella is a 40-year-old unhappily married woman with three children, and there is something missing in her heart, an emptiness that was once filled by love. She works as a reader for a literary agency. Her first assignment is to read and report on Sweet Blasphemy, a novel written by a man named Aziz Zahara. Ella is mesmerized by his tale of Shams’s search for Rumi and the dervish’s role in transforming the successful but unhappy cleric into a committed mystic, a passionate poet and an advocate of love. She is also taken with Shams’s lessons, or rules, that offer insight into an ancient philosophy based on the unity of all people and religions, and the presence of love in each and every one of us. As she reads on, she realizes that Rumi’s story mirrors her own and that Zahara – like Shams – has come to set her free. On the surface level, it is a story about

Shaping the way we believe 121 the relationship between Ella and Zahara, but on a deeper level, it is the love story of Shams and Rumi; their quest of the meaning of divine love and reaching to the divine love is explained. According to Elana Furlanetto, the novel “takes advantage of the Rumi narrative to formulate an energetic invitation to abandon nationalism and revive multiculturalism,”19 which can be clearly seen in Rumi’s verses: I am neither a Moslem nor a Hindu I am not Christian, Zoroastrian, nor Jew I am neither of the West nor of the East Not of the ocean, nor an earthly beast I am neither a natural wonder Nor from the stars yonder Through Rumi’s philosophy, the novel highlights that so long as we approach “the Other” with love and tolerance, we would have a chance to see that “the Other” is not different from us in many qualities.20 This attitude at the same time problematizes the biases we have toward others that result in distancing ourselves from many values and peculiarities that “the other” has. A Sufi with a heart full of love toward all created because of the creator embraces everybody irrespective of language, religion, ethnicity, race and gender. This approach unites every difference in one absolute entity, which Rumi defines as a Divine Unity, while Walt Whitman, who wrote “A Persian Lesson” under the influence of Rumi poetry, defines this as “Soul.” The forty rules of love that Shams tried to explain in order to clarify the meaning of Love emphasize that the love we have is not for the beautiful, but for the beauty, which overlaps with Greek, Socrates, definition of love. The fortieth rule of love, according to Shams, is to love everything, everybody and observe the existence of God manifested in every item around us. Sometimes this love is achieved metaphorically. For that reason, metaphorical love acts like a bridge uniting abstract and concrete love in one body. Through Sham’s discourse, the text problematizes the fact that Love is divided into various parts, divine love, metaphorical love, worldly love, somatic love.21 The protagonist, Ella, though Rumi’s therapeutic narrative and rhetoric, learns to embrace a spiritual lifestyle that opens her heart to love. The love that Rumi’s philosophy – mysticism – prescribed for the seekers of true love acts like a healer that ushers the sufferer into divine love. In that sense, the text highlights the factuality that institutionalized creeds can be substituted by a more universal and appealing alternative, Sufism. In regard to this philosophy, the fictional Shams calls for the demolition of religion, seeing it as an idol standing between the individual and God, along with “fame, wealth

122  Huseyin Altindis and rank.”22 For that reason, it is highly noteworthy that Rumi is presented as one with “the ability to dig deep below the husk of religion and pull out from its core the gem that is universal and eternal.”23 In Ask, the four doors of mysticism are defined as steps to be passed to reach divine love. When Shams mentions the four doors, he also clarifies the difference between “lover” and “ascetic.” The four doors that the Sufis dedicated themselves to on the path of Allah are defined as shari‘a, cult, mystique and truth. In Safak’s text, these four doors are described from Shams’s point of view: Shams, who states that people cannot defat their nafs and do nothing to reach the Divine Love, explains that people cannot reach the divine reality. Shams explains the situation as follows: “Shari‘a says your stuff is yours and my stuff is mine. Cult says your stuff is yours and my stuff is yours. Mystique says neither I have something nor you have, and Reality says, neither you exist nor do I.”24 The relationship between shaykh and disciple is presented through these four steps in Safak’s novel. In fact, Shams declares that he seeks neither for a shaykh nor a disciple. He frequently states that he quests for a soul companion. In that sense, Shams is a companion to help him to be reality in divine reality or be a mirror of his soul. Shams notes in the novel that Rumi’s transformation is almost completed. While he was a strict pundit and a rhetor runs quickly in the flow of his own voice, he is now on the verge of being a poet to be a voice of all silenced. As for me, I have also changed and changing. I am going from entity to nonentity. From one rant to another, from life to death. Our friendship and companionship was a grace of and a gift from Allah . . . With Rumi I am reaching toward the end of my time here in this world. During our companionship, we watched eternity in each other during our friendship like two mirrors that reflect each other.25 The universal values are presented through mystical lessons of religious tolerance and corollary to the multiculturalism that the text introduces to its readers. This act requires people to distance themselves from extremism. Shams, for example, states that “Sufis don’t go extremes. A  Sufi always remains mild and moderate.”26 To support his point of view, Shams sharply criticizes religious fundamentalism in the following manner: “Instead of searching for the essence of the Qur’an, the bigots single out a specific word or two, giving priority to the divine commands that they deem to be in tune with their fearful minds.”27 To prove his claim and to problematize the exploitation of religion, Shams uses a verse from the Qur’an: “Those who have led a virtuous life will be rewarded with exotic fruits, sweet waters and virgins.”28 Some bigotry use verses in this nature to fulfill their carnal and worldly desires. However, sophist philosophy prescribes a more humanistic and multiculturalist approach that would embrace all differences as richness, leading to excellence regarding social and intellectual spheres. In

Shaping the way we believe 123 almost all of her novels, specifically Pinhan and Aşk, Safak uses mystic elements and Rumi’s doctrine to remind people of the importance of brotherhood and living together as a community in harmony whether one runs into traveling musicians, Arabs, Christian pilgrims, Jewish merchants, Buddhist priests, Frankish troubadours or Persian artists in the streets of Konya. The narrative strategy of the text explains this richness with a purpose: Despite their seemingly endless differences, all of these people gave off a similar air of incompleteness, of the work in progress that they were, each an unfinished masterwork.29 In Aşk, there is an understanding of unity of existence. For that reason the narrative voice explains this existence, stating: “You must change so much that you should not be yourself anymore.”30 However, there is not a direct definition of a perfect human being in Aşk. With Shams’s help, Rumi completes what he lacks and reaches maturity.31 Sama‘ acts like a bridge that transforms entities from the material world to the spiritual one. In Aşk, sama‘, which is defined as a ritual, is explained through the narratives of Shams and Sultan Valad, Rumi’s son. Before performing sama‘, Rumi, Shams and others contemplate on the existence of Allah, then take ablution and pray. Valad decribes the emergence of sama‘ in the following manner: He approached with careful steps and bending slowly greeted to others. Following him, [sic] dervishes appeared all of whom were my father’s previous disciples. Wearing canonical caps, tenure,32 they tied their hands on their chests bend in front of my father to get permission to start sama. They walk around the square three times. With the increasing sound of music, dervishes started to whirl one by one. First they whirl slowly and then gets faster as they whirl. They had four greeting in the intervals. I do not know how long they whirled. Finally the music slowed down and the dervishes stopped, they crossed their arms on their chests and greeted people.33

Ahmet Ümit’s Bab-ı Esrar (the dervish gate) Another contemporary and very popular writer who utilizes Sufi elements in his novels is Ahmet Ümit. In Bab-ı Esrar (2008), similar to Safak’s Aşk, the protagonist, Karen Kimya34 Greenwood, embarks on a journey to the land of Rumi, where she eventually comes to perceive the world in an enlightened manner. The journey is arduous, and like a Sufi disciple, Karen Kimya passes through different stages in order to achieve her ultimate state of awareness. Only then is she able to come to terms with her internal personal struggles, which for her start with her earlier abandonment by her Sufi father. The book’s popularity indicates widespread interest in the book, which is linked to both its genre and its subject matter, which is Sufism and the relationship between Rumi and Shams.

124  Huseyin Altindis Although on the surface level the main theme of the novels looks like a detective story, at the core of the novel lies Sufi doctrine. In an interview, Ahmet Ümit explains that the novel has a spiritual purpose to answer the question of “when will we learn to look at Islam unshackling ourselves from the clichés? Because mysticism is not known exactly in our country.”35 The story revolves around two main secrets  – one is the “secret of a passion spanning over seven centuries: a flame first lit between Jelalledin Rumi and Shams of Tabriz;” the other is the “secret behind a seven hundred year old crime: the murder of Shams of Tabriz” (back cover,  The Dervish Gate, 2011). As readers, we witness Karen Kimya’s life-changing experiences in Konya, where she investigates a hotel fire and a murder in the present time. The novel also functions as a revisionist historical novel, which presents the reader with multiple perspectives on the relationship between Shams and Rumi and Shams’s murder. These multiple perspectives are presented through Karen Kimya’s dreams, hallucinations and several fantastic events, which happened during her stay in Konya, including becoming Shams of Tabriz himself and experiencing what he had gone through firsthand.36 Sufism is presented as a medium for and an alternative to the question of identity, and Bab-ı Esrar proposes looking at one’s inner self as a means of separating religion from politics. As Carl Ernst rightly argues, “In the contemporary situation, Sufism has been officially pushed into a dubious and marginal posture, while still providing spiritual and intellectual tools that hold their appeal in many diverse and irreducibly local contexts related to religion and politics.”37 The accounts of Shams and Rumi’s life in the novel were taken from Ahmet Eflaki’s Ariflerin Menkıbeleri (Intellectual’s Saga) and Şems-i Tebrizi’s Makalat. It is clearly stated that the mystic stories described in the novel are taken from these sources. Apart from that, there are descriptions of terms such as mysterious, human-perfection, divine love, sama‘, unity of existence, ecstasy and nafs (desire). It is part of another complete story in itself that Shams enters into Karen’s dreams and asks her to search for the truth. The relationship between Karen’s father, Poyraz Efendi, and Sah Nesim resembles that between Rumi and Shams. Through their relationship, the text aims to show that the path of mysticism is hard and grueling, and requires a tough training of nafs. The novel describes this as follows: Whereas in our journey lightness is the main issue; our hearts cannot bear any other load than that divine love. It is necessary to untangle all kinds of bonds that will shackle our souls. Dervish is one who is free of body, free of soul and emotions. However, this job is not an easy task, the dervish walk down the hill, a day comes and he becomes a crane flying in the sky, a day comes when he loses his way among steep mountains, and a day comes when he runs like strong rivers and a day comes he crawls in hot deserts.38

Shaping the way we believe 125 The novel mentions two different worlds, and mysticism is one. The text prescribes Sufi doctrine that, in order to be a perfect human being and reach the divine love (and thus God), one needs to learn to get rid of the pleasures of this material world. The text highlights that this can be achieved through the eye of the heart, not with reason: “There are two realms: the first is the realm of existence, the second is the realm of meaning. The world of beings is like daytime, you can clearly see what is happening, it shows itself easily. The realm of meaning, on the other hand, is like a night, you must absolutely burn the light of your heart to find it.”39 Anyone who aims to adopt mysticism as a philosophy seeks absolute knowledge and thus the creator. In mystic philosophy, death is not an end in itself but a beginning. Ümit’s text reminds his readers of this teaching: “Sama does not talk about death; it actually describes life itself, I mean it tells rebirth.”40 The first step to adopt mystic philosophy is to accept shari‘a law. To do so the disciple should have a solid religious knowledge and background. The knowledge of shari‘a law becomes inadequate for the disciple because he wants to reach the secret that would take him to the creator, Allah. To reach Allah means to come from him and to return to him eventually. For Sufis, “Every single word and letter has hundreds of meanings hidden in the word or letter itself.”41 Ümit consciously emphasizes the fact that Shams was killed by fundamentalists who accepted religion as dogma and never questioned or discussed the religion. Dervish, Izzet Efendi, tells Karen that people who misinterpret shari‘a could not understand Shams and killed him. They declared Shams a transgressor because their minds and hearts were blackened, and they were zealots.42 The text portrays the case as follows: They did not understand. They consider things bad when they do not understand them . . . because what they know as a religion is a sacrilege. The thing they know as worshipping is a sin. They were eating human flesh and drinking human blood. The worst thing is that they were doing it on the name of Allah. Their understanding of the religion is to strictly follow what is written in the book as if the creator needs voluntary salves. What they think worship was intolerance as if the creator likes hatred. They believed that belief was their guarantee of salvation. Repentance for this world and hereafter as if the creator was a merchant.43 This portrayal harshly problematizes and challenges traditional mainstream interpretation of religion. The criticism underscores the necessity of reading the Qur’an and the verses between the lines and considers the messages figuratively, not just literally. Only in that case can we grasp the deeper meaning that the creator aims to convey through his language and messages. To achieve this in mysticism, the disciple is always tested on what is halal (permissible) and what is forbidden by the religion. Shams, for example, asks Rumi to find the most beautiful woman to meet his needs, a boy to

126  Huseyin Altindis help him and some wine. It is sinful to be with a woman without a marriage contract, and drinking wine is not permissible. If Rumi were a wise man who followed only the rules of shari‘a, he would not obey Shams, because of his loyalty to the creator. However, Rumi fulfills Shams’s requests without questioning them. Upon that, Shams describes someone who would complete all the steps of mysticism: “A lover of god is someone who could sell all his disciples, honor, and pride for a glass of wine.”44 The reason behind Shams’s test is that Rumi becomes a person who is never afraid of what the community will say about him. By obeying the orders of the spiritual leader, he became more mature  – before he met Shams, Rumi had a strong religious training and was a teacher at a madrasah (Muslim theological school); however, this was not adequate for him to reach to the creator. He needed a spiritual leader like Shams. In Bab-ı Esrar, Rumi explains this in the following manner: “Sheikh is not a believer but one who makes you believe, shaykh is not the one who explains but shows, not the one who teaches but the one who uplifts the curtain. You raised the curtain before my eyes. You showed me the one inside of me. You are the sheikh, you are the sage, you are the real mate, you are the truth.”45 To explain the relationship between Shams and Rumi, the text implies that their meeting is arranged by the divine power. Shams prays one day and asks God to give him a name among his beloved ones.46 When Shams declares that he can die to see the face of his mate, Rumi, the creator talks to Shams and states that “this is the meaning. This is Love. Love has only one price that is the soul. Love that is not blessed with death is not love.”47 Their friendship, which contributed to the maturation of Rumi, needs to reach an end. Shams explains this necessity as such: “The adventure of love starts with one person and when that person finds the beloved one, they continue together for some time and at the end we are alone again. That started with us ends with us.”48 This chapter analyzed two contemporary Turkish authors and their presentation of mysticism in their selected texts. Different from Pinhan, both Aşk and Bab-ı Esrar have similarities due to their themes and settings. Both novels depict Western protagonists, Ella and Karen, who struggle to find the meaning of life and search for the truth. The characters meet mystic philosophy and Rumi’s teaching. The relationship between Shams and Rumi becomes their healer, and they find the meaning of love and life and finally reach to the creator through the teachings of these two wise men. Through the relationship between these two men, we learn about deeper dimensions of mystic love toward the creator. The studied works explain the basics of mysticism and aim to create awareness toward multiculturalism and tolerance in the community. This awareness aims to recognize and respect “the other” to create harmony and tolerance in the community, which reminds us of the famous motto “to love the created because of the creator.” The selected works sometime give definitions and sometimes convey messages through the stories of Shams. Mysticism, in a sense, is an esoteric

Shaping the way we believe 127 explanation of Islam. One who decides to take this path has to undergo a hard training. This hardness and tedious work that a disciple needs to undergo is explained in Aşk in detail as follows: I spent the first forty days of my life here in this place in a small, dingy and dark cell (suffering house). You can neither stretch yourself nor stand still. You can turn neither your left nor right. You have to sit on heels. They strictly caution you: if you are afraid of darkness, if you starve, or God forbid, if you have a wet dream and desire a woman, ring the bell on the ceiling immediately and search for a spiritual support! I stayed in this cell for forty days. I have not rung the bell even once. It is not because I did not had bad feelings. . . . After being freed from this suffering house, this time Sertarik came and delivered me to Asci Dede stating that “don’t spare the rod.” To my surprise, the suffering in the kitchen was the worst until Shams arrives. The night he arrived, Asci Dede beat me since I escaped from the kitchen. Then, he took my shoes and put them out point the front outside of the house implying that it is time for me to leave the place.49 In Aşk, Safak’s reinterpretation of love and life is revealed through the shake that people create in their souls. The mystical dimension of love becomes the main theme of the novels discussed. In Safak’s novels, we can observe her personal reflection of mysticism. The foundational concepts of mysticism, love and affection are presented as the very center of life. Love is alone a world itself. The novel ends with Shams’s words: “It is either in the middle, center or outside the circle, in longing,”50 which aim to explain the transformation in Ella’s love from worldly to divine. In the transformation process depicted by both authors, the main purpose is to kill one’s desires. In this journey, one has to find a shaykh to himself. The shaykh helps him unveil the truth and accept the reality that all creatures are a representation of God and behave accordingly. The disciple who reaches the level of maturity and finds the creator wants to destroy himself within the creator. For that reason he spends most of the time praying. He wants to reach God a step closer with every action he performs. Selected works give detailed steps of this disciple’s journey. Shams and Rumi become both shaykh and disciple for each other and fill the gaps in their hearts. The relationship between Shams and Rumi is sometimes misinterpreted by the community. The selected works aim to restore this misunderstanding and present a complete picture of their relationship.

Notes 1 Koprulu 2006, p. 7. 2 Ibid., p. 8. 3 Chittick 2005, p. 9.

128  Huseyin Altindis 4 Ikbal 2014, p. 40. 5 Schimmel 1975, p. 4. 6 Ibid., p. 5. 7 Chittick 2005, p. 3. 8 Ibid., p. 10. 9 Ibid., p. 16. 10 Schimmel 1975, p. 98. 11 Ibid., p. 98. 12 Guvenc 2009, n.p. 13 Öztürk 2009; Aygündüz 2009. 14 Koprulu 2006, p. 318. 15 Safak 2009, p. 63. 16 Ibid., p. 151. 17 Ibid., p. 219. 18 Ibid., p. 356. 19 Furlanetto 2013, p. 211. 20 Safak 2009, p. 14. 21 Ibid., p. 415. 22 Ibid., p. 290. 23 Ibid., p. 68. 24 Ibid., p. 230. 25 Ibid., pp. 339–40. 26 Ibid., p. 153. 27 Ibid., p. 182. 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid., p. 109. 30 Ibid., p. 339. 31 Ibid., p. 374. 32 A garment worn over a man’s undergarments that reached from the shoulder to the ankle. 33 Ibid., p. 330. 34 Kimya means Chemistry in Turkish. Naming the protagonist as Karen Kimya, the name implies the change of spiritual and body chemistry is required to achieve the ultimate goal of reaching god. The author may have implied the chemical reactions. The love toward the beloved and though that to the Divine love is possible through chemical reactions in the brain that would enable the lover burn himself with the love of the creator. 35 Quoted in Ferhatoglu and Akpinar 2012, p. 48. 36 Tufekcioglu 2011, p. 13. 37 Ernst 2009, p. 30. 38 Ümit 2011 [2008], p. 380. 39 Ibid., p. 115. 40 Ibid., p. 60. 41 Ibid., p. 351. 42 Ibid. 43 Ibid., p. 159. 44 Ibid., p. 169. 45 Ibid. 46 Ibid., p. 6. 47 Ibid., p. 133. 48 Ibid., p. 309. 49 Safak 2009, p. 114. 50 Ibid., p. 415.

Shaping the way we believe 129

Bibliography Aygunduz, Filiz. 2009. Yazdığım Her Kitap Aşkımızı Tazeliyor, (Elif Şafak İle Söyleşi), Milliyet, March 1, 2009. Chittick, William C. 2005. The Sufi Doctrine of Rumi. Bloomington, IN: World Wisdom Press. Ernst, Carl. 2009. “Sufism, Islam, and Globalization in the Contemporary World: Methodological Reflections on a Changing Field of Study.” Memoriam: The 4th Victor Danner Memorial Lecture, Bloomington, Department of Near Eastern Languages and Cultures, 2009. Ferhatoglu, Filiz and Esra Akpinar. 2012. “The Use of The Doctrines of Sufism in Modern Turkish Novels.” International Journal of Social and Economic Sciences 2(1): 47–58. Furlenetta, Elena. 2013. “The Rumi Phenomenon Between Orientalism and Cosmopolitanism: The Case of Elif Shafak’s The Forty Rules of Love.” European Journal of English Studies 17(2): 201–213. doi: 10.1080/13825577.2013.797210. Guvenc, Refik Sıla. 2009. “Göle Atılan Taşın Hikâyesi; Aşk” (Elif Şafak İle Söyleşi), Evrensel Gazetesi, 22 March 2009. Ikbal, Afzal. 2014. The Life and Work of Jalal-Ud-Din Rumi. Kuala Lumpur: The Other Press. Koprulu, Mehmet F. 2006. Early Mystics in Turkish Literature, translated and edited by Gary Leiser and Robert Dankoff. New York: Routledge. Rumi. Why Think Thus O Man of Piety, translated by Shariar Shariari. A Tribute to Molana Jalal-e-din Mohammad Molavi Rumi, July 10, 2018. Available at www. rumionfire.com/shams/rumi116.htm. Ozturk, Çiğdem. 2009. “Sen Sadece Bir Kalemsin” (Elif Şafak İle Söyleşi), Radikal Cumartesi, March 21, 2009. Schimmel, Annemarie. 1975. Mystical Dimensions of Islam. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press. Safak, Elif. 2009. Aşk. Istanbul: Doğan Kitap. Tufekcioglu, Zeynep. 2011. “Sufism in Turkish Crime Fiction: The Mystery of Shams-i Tabrizi in Ahmet Ümit’s Bab-ı Esrar.” European Journal of Turkish Studies [Online] 13. http://journals.openedition.org/ejts/4532 (accessed 20 July 2018). Ümit, Ahmet. 2011 [2008]. Bab-i Esrar (The Dervish Gate), translated by Elke Dixon. Istanbul: Everest.

6 Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism in an early Ottoman context Eşrefoğlu Rumi and his book of the Sufi path Barış Baştürk Introduction Gör ol şeyhsiz gidenleri Kimi mülhid kimi dehri Olma sen cebri ya kaderi Zinhar şeyhe eriş şeyhe Hakk habibi iken resul Şeyhsiz Hakk’a varmadı yol Kim şeyhi yok şeytandır ol Zinhar şeyhe eriş şeyhe1 See those who walk without a shaykh Some are heretics, some materialists Be neither a Jabrite nor a Qadarite2 So reach a shaykh, a shaykh When the Messenger was a lover of God The road did not reach God without a shaykh One who is without a shaykh has the devil as shaykh So reach a shaykh, a shaykh3 In the two previous quatrains, Eşrefoğlu Rumi advises his audience to find a shaykh (spiritual guide). This call reflects his emphasis on the role of a shaykh in his understanding of Sufi Islamic piety. With the advice to follow a shaykh, Eşrefoğlu Rumi lays out the foundation of his understanding of piety. In the same quatrain, he also makes the argument that those without a shaykh are heretics or materialists. Therefore, with this quatrain, Eşrefoğlu Rumi not only points out his vision of ideal piety but also addresses the question of how those who fall outside this vision are to be labeled. In this instance, they are not only excluded from the higher levels of piety but also placed outside the boundaries of his understanding of Islamic “orthodoxy,”

Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 131 that is, what he understood to be “true Islam” and “correct” doctrine and practice. Instead, Eşrefoğlu Rumi hints that the groups who do not possess spiritual guides (shaykhs) are heretics. What does this fifteenth-century Ottoman Sufi figure’s vision of a shaykh-centered piety as the foundational ideal of his Sufi vision tell modern scholars about the peculiarities of late medieval and early modern Islamic religiosities? How does this vision relate to a particular notion of Islamic Sufi piety as associated with “correct doctrine” as well as a spiritual ideal? Different scholars have used terms like confessional ambiguity, metadoxy, doctrinal fluidity and religiously promiscuous ambiance in reference to Islam in the post-Mongol and early Ottoman eras.4 The way modern scholars evaluate this period has not been independent of their understanding of what Islam is.5 Much of our current understanding of early modern, as well as modern, Islam in the Ottoman Empire can be traced to the developments of the sixteenth century, particularly to the Ottoman-Safavid wars and to the reconfiguration of sectarian divisions that followed the initial Ottoman-Safavid conflict. These developments led to a transformation of the late medieval understanding of Islam during the Early Modern period. From the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Ottoman Empire presented itself as a champion of Sunni Islam. This endorsement of Sunni Islam can be seen as a reaction to the emergence of the Safavid Empire as a major Shiite power. The sixteenth century witnessed the rise of these two major Islamic empires while two imperial polities were also engaged in an intense struggle along sectarian lines. The Ottoman state came to see and present itself as the upholder and defender of Sunni Islam, increasingly using Sunni rhetoric to legitimize its existence and policies. In turn, the founder of the Safavid Empire, Shah Ismail I (1501–1524), proclaimed Twelver Shi’ism the religion of the state, thus giving preference to “high,” “scriptural” Shi’ism over “ghulat” Shi’ism, which was favored by Ismail’s semi-nomadic Turcoman Qizilbash supporters, who, indeed, played a central role in bringing the Safavid state into existence but were seen as “heretics” by both Sunni and Shi’ite ulema on account of ghulat Shi’ism’s embracement of some concepts that ran counter to shariʿa, such as reincarnation (hulul) and transmigration of souls (tanasukh).6 The Ottomans experienced a similar transformation throughout the fifteenth century. Though the nomadic religious tendencies did not completely die out, they were contained. This reconfiguration is important because it continues to influence the sectarian divisions in the Islamic world today. Thus, scholars’ understanding of Islam today is not independent of this reconfiguration. But how was pre-sixteenth-century Islam experienced and understood? A close study of the works and ideas of Eşrefoğlu Rumi (d. 1469), a prominent Sufi figure who lived in fifteenth-century Anatolia, could offer modern scholars invaluable insights into understanding Islamic religiosity in presixteenth-century Ottoman society.

132  Barış Baştürk This chapter will briefly explore Eşrefoğlu Rumi in the historical and religious context of the early Ottoman polity. It will examine two particular concepts: orthodoxy and sectarianism. I will then discuss Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s ideals of Sufism, which are characteristic of the emergence of a particular version of early Ottoman piety. Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s Sufi ideals include the centrality of the shaykh, asceticism, an emphasis on a spiritual hierarchy of shaykh, disciples and common believers and different Sufi rituals and pious behavior. The analysis of these concepts in Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s works and his ideals of Sufism can offer fresh perspectives to scholars focusing on this particular era. His understanding and expression of a specific kind of piety may help attain a better understanding of the evolution of the notion of “orthodoxy” during this period. What was the framework of Islam in Anatolia and the Balkans before the sixteenth century? Scholars have utilized terms such as religious syncretism, heterodoxy, Islamization, popular Islam and folk Islam to discuss the religious framework of this period.7 What were the main characteristics of Rumi/Ottoman8 Islam in the fifteenth century? The answer to this question is closely related to the debate about the Islamization of the lands of Rum. The Turkification and Islamization processes that had started in Anatolia in the eleventh and twelfth centuries reached a milestone roughly around the fifteenth century, when most of the population had become Turkishspeaking and Muslim.9 In the Balkans, by contrast, these processes began in the fourteenth century, and, by the fifteenth century, Turkish and Muslim populations were still a very small minority. Despite the limited size of the Turkish-speaking and Muslim populations, the Balkans became part of the dar al-Islam (the Abode of Islam) under the Ottoman Empire, and Ottoman Turkish became the language of the administrative elite within the Empire. In this context, it is possible to see the fifteenth century and even the early sixteenth century as a period in which the development of high Islamic culture concluded its formative period in the lands of Rum and had become a dominant cultural force. From the second half of the fifteenth century onward, the institutions of the emerging “Ottoman high Islamic culture,” such as state-sponsored madrasas and some urban dervish lodges, educated, employed and sponsored a self-sustaining Ottoman Islamic establishment.10 This proliferation of Ottoman religious institutions brought Ottoman high culture into Anatolia and Balkans, where it interacted with the local population. This process allowed for the development of a local high Islamic culture.11 Scholars have pointed out that Islamization and Sunnitization are historical processes that are results of certain intellectual accumulation of religious culture and education.12 In this context, scholars and Sufi figures, such as Eşrefoğlu Rumi, contributed to the spread of a certain religious culture and Sufi education among the Ottoman population. William Hickman describes Eşrefoğlu Rumi as “one of the major figures of 15th century Ottoman Sufism: inspired teacher, author of manuals of mystical belief and practice, and poet of lasting renown.”13 It was in this

Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 133 transitional environment of fifteenth century that Eşrefoğlu Rumi became a disciple of the famous Sufi figure Hacı Bayram. Later, Eşrefoğlu Rumi went to Hama in Syria to join the Qadiri Sufi order, which had been established by Abd al-Qadir al-Gilani.14 On his way back to Anatolia, he founded a Sufi lodge in the town of İznik (Nicaea) in northwestern Anatolia. He was a member of the Qadiri order in Anatolia, which would evolve into what would later be referred to as “the Eşrefi branch” of the order. Hickman suggests that the established account that most modern scholars have accepted about Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s life originates from the hagiographical account of his life, Menakıb-ı Eşrefzade. He states that the oldest source for Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s life is Al-Shaqa’iq al-Numaniyya, by Ahmed Taşköprüzade, which discusses Eşrefoğlu Rumi as a scholar. Hickman argues that Al-Shaqa’iq al-Numaniyya should not be dismissed by scholars, but at the same time it should not be accepted without reservations.15 The life story of Eşrefoğlu Rumi reflects the developments that were taking place in this period. His Sufi training and the articulation and propagation of his version of the Qadiri Sufi path is characteristic of his time. During this period, many scholars and Sufi figures sought knowledge and mystical enlightenment in the central Islamic lands. These figures contributed to the transmission of culture from the central Islamic lands to the lands of Rum and became influential in the creation of Ottoman Islamic institutions. Atçıl discusses how polities like the early Ottoman state benefitted from the knowledge and expertise of scholars, while increasing their legitimacy through patronage of scholars.16 Eşrefoğlu Rumi wrote two major works, as well as a poetry collection (divan). According to Taşköprüzade, Eşrefoğlu Rumi was a scholar who taught at the madrasa in Nicaea.17 He authored the work Müzekki anNüfus (The Purifier of Souls) to popularize his Sufi ideas and educate common believers about Islamic principles. His work Tarikatname (The Book of the Sufi Path) has a more specific audience in mind. It can be seen as an attempt to reach and provide guidance to the potential disciples, who were interested in the path of Sufism.18 Eşrefoğlu Rumi provides stories with morals embedded in Sufi ideals to disseminate his opinions on the basics of Sufism. He presents to these potential disciples with his own ideals of Sufi piety and urges them to identify the “right” spiritual master. The book contains sections on the qualities of the right shaykh, his duties and the importance of following a shaykh; the characteristics of the awliya’ (saints) and anbiya (prophets); the hierarchical order of different Sufi positions; criticism of some “munafiq”19 groups; the qualities of ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib20 in comparison with other caliphs; and sections on some ascetic ideals, such as remembrance of God (dhikr), isolation (khalwa) and taming the soul (nafs). These works can be seen as instructive manuals that aim to guide the recently Islamized and Turkified Rumi Muslims and teach them the basics of the Islamic faith, rituals and Sufi ideas. As several scholars have pointed out, the early Ottoman authors produced literature comprising hagiographies

134  Barış Baştürk and ‘ilm-i hals (catechetical works) to educate the Muslim population in Anatolia and Balkans, including recent converts, about the basics of the Islamic creed.21

The shaping of Ottoman “orthodoxy”: historical and conceptual perspectives How did Eşrefoğlu Rumi fit into the framework of fifteenth-century Ottoman society and Ottoman Islam? In the fifteenth century, the institutionalization and the imperial transformation of the Empire were still in the making. Karen Barkey demonstrates that the Ottoman Empire was in the process of subjugating Islam to the state and would maintain different Muslim religious groups at court. The Ottomans came to function as the protector of a particular Sunni Islamic ideology without diminishing the legitimacy of and coexistence with a variety of different interpretations.22 She states that, for ordinary believers, the state and religion came to be perceived as two sides of the same coin. Therefore, state-endorsed Ottoman imperial Islam should not be seen as a uniform religiocultural phenomenon but rather as a network of different interrelated Islamic religiosities. The Ottoman state’s multidimensional stance on Islam may be seen as tolerating the coexistence of diverse and competing Ottoman Islamic “orthodoxies” rather than one particular “Ottoman orthodoxy” dominating other forms of Islamic religiosity.23 This brings us to the issue of how Islamic orthodoxy can be defined. Several scholars have claimed that the use of the term orthodoxy is not suitable when discussing Islam, as Islam is a religion of orthopraxy. According to this view, orthopraxy, or how people behave as Muslims, holds greater importance than what followers believe.24 Brett Wilson suggests the usage of the term orthodoxy in Islamic studies brought more confusion than clarity.25 Norman Calder cites scripture, community, gnosis, reason and charisma as categories that capture religious belief.26 He argues that Sunni Islam is more strongly influenced by the notion of community than any of his other categories. Madrasa-style Islam is usually seen as the purveyor of Islamic high culture and is associated with Islamic orthodoxy. However, in Sufi and Shiite traditions, other categories, such as gnosis and charisma, came to be key factors in the making of Islamic orthodoxies. Talal Asad defines Islam above all as a tradition. He explains that “a tradition consists essentially of discourses that seek to instruct practitioners regarding the correct form and purpose of given practice.” His definition of tradition emphasizes the correct form and purpose of a given practice. He argues that it is misleading to claim that Islam is a religion of orthopraxy and not orthodoxy. In his assessment, the statement that Islam is a religion of orthopraxy and not orthodoxy undermines the importance of what can be defined as “correct belief” in Islam. Asad criticizes scholars, such as Abdul Hamid El-Zein and Ernest Gellner, who, in the case of El-Zein,

Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 135 deemphasize the importance of orthodoxy or, in the case of Gellner, define it as mere doctrine. Instead, Asad defines orthodoxy as “a distinctive relationship – a relationship of power to truth.”27 Asad clarifies that orthodoxy is not a “mere body of opinion” but is based on the power of Muslims to regulate practices.28 Asad accepts the idea that the definition of a tradition will be contested by the power structures that surround it.29 As discussed previously, the absence of an official, centralized clergy in Islam complicates the question of orthodoxy.30 For instance, W. Montgomery Watt argues that the absence of a decision-making body similar to that of the Christian church means that terms such as “orthodoxy” and “heterodoxy” are not applicable in the case of Islam.31 If this is the case, how and why is the usage of “orthodoxy” still so prevalent in modern Islamic studies? Could scholars of Islam decide on a definition of orthodoxy? The absence of an official clergy and church structure complicates defining an Islamic orthodoxy because it means that there is no singular authoritative institution to decide doctrine in religious matters within the Islamic religious and cultural space. In this kind of environment, scholars, as well as individual religious leaders, such as leaders of various religious and mystical orders, have a larger role to play and can make their case in the debates about defining Islam and formulating a “correct doctrine” as a part of Islamic tradition. For this reason, one can talk about the existence of multiple and competing orthodoxies. The main presumption in the discussion about Islamic orthodoxy is scholars’ belief in the existence of a particular version of Islam that is “correct.” According to this approach, the interpretations and practices of Islamic religion that do not follow this specific “correct” approach have usually been labeled as “heterodox” versions of Islam. Scholars connected the abundance of concepts, such as orthodoxy in Islamic studies, to the imposition of Western religious categories on studies of Islam. Brett Wilson suggests that, although the term orthodoxy originally meant “correct doctrine,” it is currently used in the English language to mean religious beliefs and practices that are conventional, prevalent, normal, conservative, hardcore or overzealous.32 This usage demonstrates how the original meaning of orthodoxy shifted with time from “correct doctrine” to the “mainstream belief.” Perhaps this shift could be interpreted as evidence of the prejudices of some scholars generally working on religion and more specifically on Islam. Robert Langer and Udo Simon suggest that the concept of zandaqa in Islam has been applied to any kind of “heresy.” They remind the reader that this term became prevalent in the tenth century by classical Sunni heresiographers to denote a large spectrum of non-conformist beliefs.33 Scholars have generously utilized concepts such as orthodoxy, heterodoxy and heresy in their studies of early Ottoman Islam. Alexander Knysh argues that students of Islam and social anthropologists have adopted an ahistorical notion of a timeless orthodoxy.34 Some scholars have doubted the necessity of the usage of these concepts in the study of Islam. Knysh suggests that

136  Barış Baştürk scholars usually fall into one of two groups: those who define a group as orthodox for the purpose of their study, and those who are critical of the use of the term orthodox in the context of Islam.35 One might argue that terms like orthodoxy, when used without a clear definition, put the author at risk of making theological assumptions. Recently, the dichotomization of Islamic doctrine and practice as heterodox and orthodox have been criticized by scholars.36 Scholars who were critical of the dichotomization of Islamic doctrine and practice as “orthodox” and “heterodox” seem to prefer utilizing terms such as “shariʿaminded,” “shariʿa-abiding” or “non-shariʿa-minded” (Islam), instead of “orthodox” and “heterodox.”37 This dichotomization could make it easier for scholars to distinguish among different approaches to Islamic doctrine and practice. However, one should also consider the non-static, evolutionary nature of shariʿa. The interpretation of Islamic law has changed depending on the subject and time, which challenges the assumption of a timeless and unchanging Islamic law. The relativity of concepts such as orthodoxy, heterodoxy and heresy does not necessarily mean their usage should be avoided. I suggest that these concepts only be used in reference to a particular point of view espoused by an individual or a group. Clearly, believers will tend to consider themselves and their interpretations to be orthodox rather than heterodox or heretical.38 In other words, orthodoxy can be used by acknowledging the usage of multiple and competing orthodoxies. Different groups will see their own interpretations of Islam as correct doctrine and practice. Respectively, they will see other interpretations as incorrect, hence multiple orthodoxies. The concepts of orthodoxy and heterodoxy are useful if the author using these terms clearly defines his or her use of the terms in the context of a work. For instance, scholars should not attempt to impose their own judgements about whether Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s ideas are orthodox or not. Instead, they should be able to analyze how Eşrefoğlu Rumi is building his understanding of “orthodoxy,” either by attempting to understand his own version of “correct” doctrine or by defining those groups or beliefs that he considers heterodox or heretical. Islamic institutions have played a role in the development of an orthodoxy in the sense of an orthodoxy defined by a centralized authority. The o ­ fficial support that the ‘ulama’ establishment enjoyed in the Ottoman Empire could theoretically bring them close to being “makers of an orthodoxy.” But did the ulema have the monopoly on the formulation of an Islamic orthodoxy, or could Sufi orders, or other individuals and institutions, play a role in the making of orthodoxy? Nikolay Antov suggests that the process of Ottoman “articulation of a religious orthodoxy” began even before the emergence of the Safavid Empire as a challenger to the Ottoman religious ideology in the second half of the fifteenth century. Nevertheless, the Safavid challenge did increase the Ottoman need to articulate an imperial religious ideology.39 As seen in the case of the Ottoman-Safavid rivalry, political concerns can

Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 137 be influential in the understanding of orthodoxy. In the case of Ottoman Islam in particular, the Ottomans created the post of the chief mufti (Shaykh al-Islam) and sponsored madrasas and other similar institutions. These actions could be seen as Ottomans attempting to formulate or shape their own orthodoxy. Thus, one could claim that by the sixteenth ­century, the Ottoman state had become an important actor in the conceptualization of orthodoxy.40 Could we see state-sponsored religion as the orthodox form of Islam? Where did scholars such as Eşrefoğlu Rumi fit in the making of “Islamic orthodoxy”?

Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s construction of orthodoxy I will claim that Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s Tarikatname can be seen as a Sufi’s attempt to construct his own version of an Ottoman Sunni-Sufi orthodoxy. The “orthodoxy” that Eşrefoğlu Rumi strove to construct is connected with his particular Sunni Sufism, in which the spiritual guidance of the shaykh plays a seminal role. His version of Sufi Islam does not reject shariʿa-minded piety and includes non-mystical approaches to Islam. This distinguishes him from the antinomian Sufi movements prominent in the fifteenth-century lands of Rum.41 Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s understanding of true religion and piety can be defined by evaluating his conception of what falls outside the boundaries of his own understanding of proper Islam, i.e., his orthodoxy. He criticizes groups that fall outside his ideals of Islamic piety and “true doctrine.” An analysis of what he considers improper Islam will provide an understanding of his own views on the ideals of Islamic piety and orthodoxy. Eşrefoğlu Rumi criticizes people who follow the basic tenets of religion solely for receiving benefits from God but do not hold the Sufi ideal of reaching God for the sake of reaching God in and of itself. He considers the people who do pious deeds for worldly reasons to be people without religion and people of “wrong” belief.42 He claims that their actions cannot truly be counted as pious deeds.43 This fact demonstrates the importance that Eşrefoğlu Rumi places on intention in piety. His emphasis on the Sufi idea that seeking God is its own reward demonstrates the centrality and importance of Sufi piety in the making of his own “orthodoxy.” Eşrefoğlu Rumi criticizes certain groups without specifying who they are and labels them münafiks.44 He claims that these people read books such as Arşname and Gencname, which are the works of Fadlallah Astarabadi, the founder of the Hurufi movement.45 These claims strongly suggest that these groups could be Hurufis or groups who hold certain Hurufi beliefs. Modern studies demonstrate that Hurufi beliefs included the centrality of human being in the Hurufi theology.46 Eşrefoğlu Rumi claims that these groups do not believe in the Qur’an and the hadith and that they treat the Qur’an as the divan (poetry collection) of the Prophet Muhammad (i.e., they saw Muhammad as the creator/author of the Qur’an).

138  Barış Baştürk Eşrefoğlu Rumi makes the seemingly contradictory claims that these presumably Hurufi groups do not believe in the existence of God but believe that God is the one who encompasses everything.47 Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s critique seems to come from the fact that the Hurufi conceptualization of God differs from his own. He appears to be critical of some pantheistic strains of Hurufism that diminish the distinction between God and his subjects. Eşrefoğlu Rumi continues his criticism, claiming that these groups call each other God, implying they attribute divinity to men. He makes clear that prostrating themselves before one another rather than before God is not acceptable.48 Eşrefoğlu Rumi is critical of these ideas probably because he believes that it will lead to belief in the divinity of man, which would be considered heresy by most interpretations of Islam. He also suggests that their ‘ilm49 is satanic in origin.50 Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s opinions show us that a Sufi figure, in this case Eşrefoğlu Rumi, is making his own case in defining the boundaries of “orthodoxy” and definition of heresy in Islam. Eşrefoğlu Rumi mentions some Sufi groups who claim that their prayers were already being performed and have thus abandoned the practice of prayers (namaz). He claims that, because of their abandonment of prayer, these people have become münafık (Ar. munafiq) and kafir.51 Thus it is legitimate Islamic practice to kill them. He cites the hadith, which claims that the abandonment of namaz will lead to unbelief (kufr).52 He gives the example of Muhammad and Ali who, according to Eşrefoğlu Rumi, never abandoned the ritual prayer (salat).53 Eşrefoğlu Rumi provides a discussion of some debates in Islamic theology (kalam). He provides his views on the theological debate of whether the Qur’an is eternal or created. According to Eşrefoğlu Rumi, the Qur’an was created and eternal at the same time.54 He argues the Qur’an is created only in the sense that it was written down and compiled by people. However, the text of the Qur’an was revealed by God and is thus eternal, not created. Eşrefoğlu Rumi claims that the groups who suggest that the Qur’an is only created and not revealed are to be considered infidels. His arguments on the nature of the Qur’an represent another point at which he draws a boundary of who can claim to be a Muslim and what falls outside the Islamic religion.55 With these pronouncements, Eşrefoğlu Rumi is acting as a Sufi leader, setting the boundaries of his own understanding of Islamic orthodoxy by taking stances on subjects such as the nature of the Qur’an.

Sectarianism As already mentioned, a major reconfiguration of sectarian boundaries in the Islamic world occurred in the sixteenth century with the emergence of the Twelver Shi’ite Safavid Empire of Iran and the conflict between the latter and the Ottoman Empire, which would, in turn, increasingly style itself as a defender of “Sunni orthodoxy.” Prior to this major sixteenth-century conflict, Ottoman Islam placed less emphasis on sectarian differences.56

Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 139 For this reason, the pre-sixteenth-century framework of sectarian boundaries was very different from the later, more institutionalized framework. Cemal Kafadar interprets this early period of Anatolian Islam as a period in which the distinctions between orthodox and heterodox aspects of Ottoman Islam had yet to develop. For this reason, Kafadar also employs the term “metadoxy” for this early period of Ottoman Islam.57 According to Kafadar, metadoxy is “a state of being beyond doxies, a combination of being doxy-naive and being doxy-minded, as well as the absence of a state that was interested in rigorously defining and strictly enforcing an orthodoxy.”58 Kafadar applies this understanding of metadoxy to sectarianism as well. In the same section, he states: “In this context, even if one were able to identify some particular item of faith as heterodox, this would not necessarily imply ‘Shi’i’ as it is usually assumed; questions of orthodoxy and heterodoxy, even if they are meaningful, should not be formulated along the lines of Sunni/Shi’i sectarianism.”59 Thus, the early Ottoman era can be interpreted with less emphasis on sectarian differences between the mainline Islamic sects of Sunnism and Shiʿism. In several different instances in Tarikatname, Eşrefoğlu Rumi expresses the value of the lineage of ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib, the cousin and son-in-law of the Prophet. Eşrefoğlu Rumi argues that real Muslims would value the house of the Prophet. He criticizes the Kharijites and considers them “worse than infidels” because of their distaste for the lineage of ‘Ali.60 Eşrefoğlu Rumi discusses the murder of ‘Ali’s children Hassan and Husayn, cursing their murderers. He concludes by indicating that no further discussion on the issue is required.61 Eşrefoğlu Rumi is self-consciously Sunni. His affiliation is made clear when he claims that the Sunni sect is the right one, using the term mezheb-i evla (the favored path) to describe the Sunni sect. He compares sectarian differences regarding certain rituals in Islamic religious practice.62 From here, we further get a sense of his sectarian preference toward the Sunni sect. While Eşrefoğlu Rumi uses the term mezheb (Ar. madhhab, Tr. mezheb) to refer to the Sunnis as a “sect” in Islam, he utilizes the same term in the traditional sense (as a school of jurisprudence or legal thought) when discussing the four Sunni schools of legal thought; but he claims that the ideal dervish should hold the four Sunni madhhab as one. He also suggests that the dervish should follow the madhhab that is the most compatible with the Sufi ideal of takwa,63 whatever that madhhab might be. Unlike his endorsement of the Sunni sect, he does not explicitly name his madhhab preference.64 At the same time, Eşrefoğlu Rumi attributes a very seminal and central position in his Sufi theology to ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib. Although this seminal position might be surprising in light of a post-medieval Sunni Islamic point of view, it is not unusual for some Sufi groups, including Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s order, to pay great respect to ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib. In various instances in the Tarikatname, Eşrefoğlu Rumi constructs an image of ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib that is fundamental to his understanding of Sufism and Islam. He praises ‘Ali

140  Barış Baştürk as the most virtuous (efdal) and saintly (evliya), emphasizes his relation to Muhammad and describes him as “the lion of God.”65 He perceives ‘Ali as the perfect Sufi, whose examples should ideally be emulated by all Sufis. He cites the hadith, which allegedly includes the Prophet’s words “I am the gate of ilm and Ali is its gate” to emphasize the prestigious spiritual position of ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib in his Sufi theology.66 The most central part of Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s Sufi theology is the central position of the spiritual Sufi leader (the shaykh). According to Eşrefoğlu Rumi, one key marker of the right shaykh is his pedigree, which should be traced back to ‘Ali.67 Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s conceptualizes ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib as incapable of sin (masum), in contrast to the first three caliphs, who were sinners. Eşrefoğlu Rumi suggests that, while the first three caliphs were sinners, they sinned only in the Age of Ignorance (jahiliyya), before the revelations of the Prophet. He claims that they drank wine and adored idols before they became Muslims. Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s criticism of three caliphs is therefore limited. Nevertheless, the account of the three caliphs contrasts with the account of ‘Ali. Eşrefoğlu Rumi suggests that ‘Ali, even in the jahiliyya, never sinned, drank wine, lied, committed adultery or committed any other sin.68 It is obvious from the text that Eşrefoğlu Rumi is attempting to conceptualize an image of ‘Ali that is essentially good, pure and superior to ordinary human beings. He separates this image of ‘Ali from the image of the first three caliphs, who were respected in many interpretations of Sunni Islam. He advises the followers of the Sufi path to love ‘Ali more than all other caliphs. Even though Eşrefoğlu Rumi remains within the boundaries of Sunni Islam, this sacralization of ‘Ali is reminiscent of some Shiite interpretations of Islam. Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s emphasis on the “right” shaykh, who is supposed to have an ‘Alid lineage, resembles the position of the Shiite imam, who is also supposed to have an ‘Alid lineage, according to Shiite political theory. Shiite political and religious theorists emphasized the necessity of imams of ‘Alid lineages. These imams were and are considered the spiritual and political leaders of the Islamic community, not unlike the shaykhs with ‘Alid lineages in Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s cosmology, who are supposed to be leaders of Sufi orders. This spiritual leadership could appear the most religiously prestigious from the perspective of Eşrefoğlu Rumi. In contrast to some interpretations of Shiite political theory, spiritual leadership does not necessarily translate into political leadership of the community. The Shiite conceptualization of the imam also perceives ‘Ali as a sinless human being and challenges the legitimacy of the first three caliphs. The similarity between the ideal Sufi shaykh with ‘Alid lineage and the Shiite conceptualization of an imam has led some scholars to argue that Sufism and Shiʿism experienced a rapprochement.69 It is this lack of strong sectarian differences in this period – in contrast to the strong sectarian rhetoric of the Safavid-Ottoman rivalry – that has been interpreted as a rapprochement between Sufism and Shiʿism. Could scholars consider a similarity in the form of emphasis on the position of the ‘Ali as a rapprochement between Sufism and Shiʿism? Is this

Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 141 similarity simply the feature of Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s Sufi ideals? To what extent was the reverence for ‘Ali and ‘Alid lineage a characteristic shared by Sunni Sufi figures of the age?

Sufi ideals of Eşrefoğlu Rumi Eşrefoğlu Rumi attributes a seminal role to the shaykh. Possessing a “rightful” shaykh is one of his key ideas in Tarikatname. He attempts to persuade his readers that a disciple can only succeed with a proper shaykh. Eşrefoğlu Rumi suggests that a person who does not have a rightful master in the Sufi path will have the devil as his guide.70 He encourages potential disciples of the Sufi path to search for a “rightful” shaykh.71 The search for the right shaykh has a substantial importance in Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s understanding of Islamic piety. This is made clear by his particular emphasis on the spiritual guidance of the right shaykh. This emphasis on the centrality of the spiritual guidance of the right shaykh may be the single most important reason that Eşrefoğlu Rumi wrote a manual like Tarikatname. Eşrefoğlu Rumi establishes a hierarchy of discipleship. He considers the shaykhs to be the spiritual guides of the Sufi novices, while God is the spiritual guide of the shaykhs. He suggests that the shaykhs possess human as well as angelic characteristics.72 For this reason, he favors a strong adherence to the authority of the shaykh on the part of the disciples. Eşrefoğlu Rumi claims that attempting to follow a shaykh is more important than completing a pilgrimage. He argues that the primary reason for pilgrimage is to reach paradise; whereas, the primary reason to follow a shaykh is to reach God.73 Eşrefoğlu Rumi quotes al-Ghazali’s warning that false shaykhs can lead Muslims down the path of heresy. For this reason, Eşrefoğlu Rumi provides his readers with several guidelines to distinguish a “correct shaykh” from a false one. He suggests that a correct shaykh should have four characteristics. The shaykh should be ‘alim (learned, scholar), he should follow the shariʿa without introducing innovations, he should be ready to provide guidance and assistance and be capable of doing so and he should be a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad and ‘Ali.74 Trimingham suggests that the silsila (chain of succession) of the tariqas (Sufi orders) are usually traced back to ‘Ali and sometimes to Abu Bakr or Umar.75 Eşrefoğlu Rumi believes in the existence of a qutb (spiritual pole) that guides humanity in each age. The descendants of the Muhammad-‘AliHusayn line are believed to continue the mission of guiding humanity. Eşrefoğlu Rumi suggests the existence of different qutbs. Some of them live in different parts of the world. However, he points out that in each age, there is only one qutb al-aqtab (Pole of Poles; i.e., a superior qutb). This one is considered spiritually higher than other ones.76 Eşrefoğlu Rumi does not consider reading of the Qur’an to be a replacement for following a shaykh. According to him, a higher level of piety may

142  Barış Baştürk only be obtained with the spiritual guidance of a shaykh. He criticizes the people who consider the Qur’an alone to be their master.77 This critique is intended to place the spiritual emphasis on the person of the spiritual guide (shaykh) rather than piety through self-study and the reading of the Qur’an. Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s argument against self-made piety demonstrates the significance he attributes to the position of a shaykh. In this case, it is given a status higher even than the most prestigious and holy book of Islam, the Qur’an. Another Sufi ideal for Eşrefoğlu Rumi is reaching God for God’s sake. He associates this behavior exclusively with the people of the Sufi path.78 In other words, his piety not only is very shaykh-centered but also clearly distinguishes between the common people and the people of the Sufi path. His statement that “the sins of the Sufis are preferable to the goodness of the common people” encapsulates this ideal.79 He claims that, as opposed to the Sufis, the common people do good for fame, not for God.80 With this understanding, Eşrefoğlu Rumi establishes a spiritual hierarchy in the scene of Islamic religiosities and attributes different spiritual levels for people according to their relationship to his Sufi theology.

Conclusion In this chapter, I attempted to demonstrate Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s ideals of Sufi piety. He endorses the Sufi ideal of reaching God for God’s sake, rather than reaching God for any personal benefit. The angelic characteristic that he attributes to the shaykhs demonstrates the importance of the concept of wilaya, the Companionship of God, in the cosmology of Eşrefoğlu Rumi. This shaykh-centered Sufi piety is so central for Eşrefoğlu Rumi that it is conceptualized as a higher level of piety. In this context, even performing the pilgrimage – which has been seen as one of the essential Islamic pillars, as well as using the Qur’an as a main guide for pious behavior – becomes less meritorious than following the guidance of the “right” shaykh. Eşrefoğlu Rumi endorses a hierarchical vision of Islamic piety that characterizes the piety of Sufi shaykhs and their disciples as the correct doctrine. Additionally, he places this vision on a higher spiritual stage than what he considers the popular religiosity of the “common people.” The emphasis on a separation of theSufi elite from popular religious pieties is a very central feature of Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s piety. I have attempted to convey that the categories that modern historians continue to utilize are shaped tremendously by our modern assumptions about religious ideas. Studying and attempting to understand the mentalities of medieval and early-modern scholars and religious figures, such as Eşrefoğlu Rumi, will challenge these categories and conceptualizations and lead to a more sophisticated and nonbinary understanding of medieval and early modern religiosities. A rigorous analysis of Eşrefoğlu Rumi’s Sufi piety and ideas will challenge the established categories of orthodoxy versus heterodoxy and Sunni Islam versus Shiite Islam. In response to this challenge,

Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 143 scholars could establish a new framework and categories that do not fall into the trap of binary oversimplicity. Concepts such as orthodoxy and heterodoxy could be used in relation to the opinions of particular individuals or institutions rather than in projecting a scholar’s own assumptions about different religiosities. According to this perspective, different individuals and institutions, such as scholars, Sufi leaders and the state, can be seen as alternative and sometimes competing foci. These foci articulate their own ideas about what is the “correct” Islamic piety and are thus all “makers of orthodoxy” on their own terms.

Notes 1 Rumi 1972, p. 91. 2 Jabrites (Jabariyah) and Qadarites (Qadariyah) were two opposing theological currents that emerged in the eighth century. The former supported the idea of predestination and the latter supported the idea of “free will”. [Montgomery Watt, The Formative Period of Islamic Thought (Chicago: Aldine Atherton Inc, 1973), p. 117.] 3 Translation is mine. 4 Woods 1999, p.  4; Kafadar 1995, p.  76; Terzioğlu 2012, p.  91; Arjomand 1984, p. 106. 5 Ahmed 2016, p. 6. 6 Roemer 1990; Babayan 1994. 7 Krstic 2011, pp. 16–17; Karamustafa 2015, pp. 349–64. 8 Here, I am mostly referring to the Rumi lands to denote Anatolia and the Balkans. Throughout the 15th century, the Ottoman state gradually expanded to most of the Anatolia and the Balkans. Thus, I am referring to a geographical unit that encompasses these two names. 9 Vryonis 1971; Karamustafa 2014, p. 338. 10 Atcil 2017, p. 5. 11 Karamustafa 2013, pp. 329–42. 12 Krstic 2011, pp. 26–7; Terzioğlu 2012–2013, p. 302. 13 Hickman 2015, p. 2. 14 The Qadiri Sufi order was established by the followers of Abd al-Qadir al-Gilani (d.1166) in Baghdad. They followed the Hanbali school of law. Qadiris were involved in ascetic practices such as isolation, remembrance and fasting. 15 Hickman 2015, pp. 25–6. 16 Atçıl 2017, pp. 22–3. 17 Hickman 2015, p. 25. 18 Hickman 2015, pp. 17–8. 19 Adang 2002. 20 ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib was the cousin and son-in-law of Muhammad. He served as the fourth caliph. 21 Krstic 2011, p. 27; Terzioğlu 2013, pp. 82–3. 22 Barkey 2005, p. 15. 23 Ibid. 24 Trimingham 1998, p. 148. 25 Wilson 2014, pp. 154–5. 26 Calder 2000, p. 71. 27 Asad 2009, p. 22. 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid., pp. 22–4.

144  Barış Baştürk 0 Wilson 2014, p. 158. 3 31 Ibid. 32 Ibid., p. 155; Knysh 1993, p. 155. 33 Langer and Simon 2008, p. 284. 34 Knysh 1993, p. 237. 35 Ibid., p. 225. 36 Langer and Simon 2008, pp. 273–74. 37 Hodgson 1974, pp. 1, 351; Karamustafa 2007, p. 73; Antov 2017, p. 51. 38 Knysh 1993, p. 52. 39 Antov 2017, p. 277. 40 Kynsh 1993, p. 238. 41 On these antinomian Sufi movements, see Karamustafa 1994; Ocak 1992. 42 Rumi 2002, p. 16. 43 Ibid. 44 Ibid., p. 21. 45 Hurufis (Hurufiyya) is a gnostic sect founded by Fadlallah al-Astarabadi in the 14th-Century. 46 Bashir 2005, p. 46. 47 Rumi 2002, p. 21. 48 Ibid. 49 ‘Ilm: learning, knowledge. 50 Rumi 2002, p. 21. 51 Kafir (kufr): From being “ungrateful” (to God), Infidel. Rumi 2002, p. 44. 52 Namaz in Turkish. Rumi 2002, p. 44. 53 Rumi 2002, p. 44. 54 Ibid., p. 15. 55 Ibid. 56 Terzioğlu 2012–2013, pp. 303–4. 57 Kafadar 1995, p. 76. 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid. 60 Rumi 2002, p. 15. 61 Rumi 2002. 62 Ibid., p. 13. 63 Piety, fear of God. 64 Rumi 2002, p. 13. 65 Ibid., p. 8. 66 Ibid. 67 Ibid., p. 3.   ‘Alid lineage is revered and accepted as the most important characteristic in many Shi’ite ideals of political leadership. ‘Alid lineage is also revered by some Sufi orders, Shiite and Sunni alike. ‘Alid lineage through ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib’s son Husayn called Sayyid and is particularly revered. Another ‘Alid lineage is through ‘Ali’s other son Hasan called Sharif is revered as well. 68 Rumi 2002, p. 45. 69 Terzioğlu 2012, p. 91. 70 Rumi 2002, p. 29. 71 Ibid., pp. 2–3. 72 Ibid., p. 28. 73 Ibid. 74 Ibid., p. 3. 75 Trimingham 1998, p. 149. 76 Rumi 2002, p. 25. 77 Ibid., p. 2.

Orthodoxy, sectarianism and ideals of Sufism 145 78 Ibid., p. 38. 79 Ibid. 80 Ibid.

Bibliography Adang, Camilla P.  2002. “Hypocrites and Hypocrisy.” In Encyclopaedia of the Qur’an Volume Two: E-I, edited by Jane Dammen McAuliffe, 468–472. Leiden & Boston: Brill. Ahmed, Shahab. 2016. What Is Islam?: The Importance of Being Islamic. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Antov, Nikolay. 2017. The Ottoman Wild West: The Balkan Frontier in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries. New York: Cambridge University Press. Arjomand, Said Amir. 1984. The Shadow of God & the Hidden Imam: Religion, Political Order, and Societal Change in Shi’ite Iran from the Beginning to 1890. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Asad, Talal. 2009. “The Idea of an Anthropology of Islam.” Qui Parle 17(2): 1–22. Atçıl, Abdurrahman. 2017. Scholars and Sultans in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Babayan, Kathryn. 1994. “The Safavid Synthesis: From Qizilbash Islam to Imamite Shi’ism.” Iranian Studies 27(1/4): 135–161. Barkey, Karen. 2005. “Islam and Toleration: Studying the Ottoman Imperial Model.” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society 19(1/2) (December): 5–19. Bashir, Shahzad. 2005. Fazlallah Astrabadi and the Hurufis. Oxford: Oneworld Publications. Calder, Norman. 2000. “The Limits of Islamic Orthodoxy.” In Intellectual Traditions in Islam, edited by F. Daftary, 66–86. London: I.B. Tauris. Hickman, Bill. 2015. “Two 15th Century Ottoman Sufi Mysteries – An Historiographical Essay Part I: What Happened to Eşrefoğlu?” The Journal of Ottoman Studies (46): 1–42. Hodgson, Marshall. 1974. The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, vol. 1. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Kafadar, Cemal. 1995. Between Two Worlds: The Construction of Ottoman State. Berkeley: California University Press. Karamustafa, Ahmet. 1994. God’s Unruly Friends: Dervish Groups in the Islamic Middle Period 1200–1550. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. ———. 2007. Sufism: The Formative Period. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. ———. 2014. “Kaygusuz Abdal: A  Medieval Turkish Saint and the Formation of Vernacular Islam in Anatolia.” In Unity in Diversity: Mysticism, Messianism and the Construction of Religious Authority in Islam, edited by Orkhan Mir-Kasimov, 329–342. Leiden & Boston: Brill. ———. 2016. “Islamisation through the Lens of the Saltukname.” In Islam and Christianity in Medieval Anatolia, edited by A.C.S. Peacock, Bruno de Nicola, and Sara Nur Yıldız, 349–364. London and New York: Routledge. Knysh, Alexander. 1993. “ ‘Orthodoxy’ and ‘Heresy’ in Medieval Islam: An Essay in Reassessment.” The Muslim World 83(1) (January): 48–67. Krstic, Tijana. 2011. Contested Conversions to Islam: Narratives of Religious Change in the Early Modern Ottoman Empire. Stanford: Stanford University Press.

146  Barış Baştürk Langer, Robert and Udo Simon. 2008. “The Dynamics of Orthodoxy and Heterodoxy: Dealing with Divergence in Muslim Discourses and Islamic Studies.” Die Welt des Islams 48: 273–288. Ocak, Ahmet Yaşar. 1992. Osmanlı İmparatorluğunda Marjinal Sufilik: Kalenderiler XIV-XVII Yüzyyıllar. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu. Roemer, Hans. 1990. “The Qizilbash Turcomans: Founders and Victims of the Safavid Theocracy.” In Intellectual Studies on Islam: Essays Written in Honor of Martin B. Dickson, edited by Michel M. Mazzaoui and Vera B. Moreen, 27–39. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Rumi, Eşrefoğlu. 1972?. Eşrefoğlu Divanı. Istanbul: Tercüman 1001 Temel Eser. ———. 2002. Tarikatname, edited by Esra Keskinkılıç. İstanbul: Gelenek Yayıncılık. Terzioğlu, Derin. 2012–2013. “How to Conceptualize Ottoman Sunnitization: A Historiographical Discussion.” Turcica 44: 301–337. ———. 2012. “Sufis in the Age of State-Building and Confessionalization.” In The Ottoman World, edited by Christine Woodhead, 86–99. London and New York: Routledge. ———. 2013. “Where  ‘İlm-i Hāl  Meets Catechism: Islamic Manuals of Religious Instruction in the Ottoman ˙Empire in the Age of Confessionalization.” Past  & Present 220(1) (August): 79–114. Trimingham, Spencer. 1998. The Sufi Orders in Islam. New York: Oxford University Press. Vryonis, Speros. 1971. The Decline of Medieval Hellenism in Asia Minor and the Process of Islamization from the Eleventh through the Fifteenth Century. Berkeley and London: University of California Press. Watt, W. Montgomery. 1973. The Formative Period of Islamic Thought. Chicago: Aldine Atherton Inc. Wilson, Brett. 2014. “The Failure of Nomenclature: The Concept of ‘Orthodoxy’ in the Study of Islam.” In Orthodoxy and Heresy in Islam: Critical Concepts in Islamic Studies, edited by Maribel Fierro, 153–176. London  & New York: Routledge. Woods, John. 1999. The Aqquyunlu: Clan, Confederation, Empire. Salt Lake City: The University of Utah Press.

Part III

Devotional expressions in hagiography and music

7 Calligraphy as a Sufi practice Manuela Ceballos

Introduction: a brief history of Islamic calligraphy Calligraphy (husn al-khatt), or beautiful, formal writing, is widely consid˙ form of Islamic visual culture. Its development ered to be the˙ dominant ˙art can be traced to the early Muslim community’s effort to safeguard the divine revelation, the Qurʾan, in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible.1 The preservation, canonization and distribution of the revealed text had both oral and written dimensions. Muslims believe that the Qurʾan was initially revealed by God to the Prophet Muhammad (through the angel Gabriel) as an oral text in Arabic, between 610 and 632 CE. According to Muslim traditions, the Prophet, who could not read or write, publicly recited the Qurʾan as he had heard it from his divine interlocutor, and his companions memorized the revelations in turn. As the normative model for Muslims, the Prophet communicated, through his example, the proper rules and techniques to establish a formal system of recitation, which contemporary reciters claim to follow to this day. Despite this fundamental role of oral transmission in the history of Islam, the importance of the Qurʾanic codex (mushaf ) and of the written word can˙˙ not be overlooked. After all, Muslims understand “the People of the Book” (ahl al-kitāb) as a distinct category of people whose revelations exist in the form of scripture and thus share historical, theological and legal ties.2 Furthermore, the Qurʾan itself makes frequent mention of writing and the written text. For instance, in one of these allusions, the Qurʾan proclaims that God “taught by the pen, taught man that which he knew not” (96:4–5).3 In a well-known hadith report, God is said to have created the pen before all other things, which links the act of writing with the act of creation. Finally, recitation of the sacred text did not preclude its preservation in written form. According to Muslim tradition, the Prophet Muhammad was unable to read or write (he is referred to as al-nabī al-ummī – Qur’an 7:158 – which Muslim theologians have interpreted as “the unlettered Prophet”). However, canonical biographies and hadith reports narrate that people close to the Prophet, at his request, wrote down verses of the Qurʾan on materials such as bones, leaves and palm stalks so that these fragments

150  Manuela Ceballos could function as aide mémoire. About twenty years after the death of the Prophet, the first official recension of the Qurʾan was produced under the caliph ʿUthman ibn ʿAffan (d. 656), and its distribution and reproduction contributed heavily to the use of Arabic script throughout Islamdom. Recitation and writing worked in tandem in this process of expansion; aesthetically pleasing, finely adorned writing of the Qurʾanic revelation was believed to help guide reciters in their performance and memorization of the sacred text, while also being a form of devotion in its own right.4 Arabic, like other Semitic languages, is written from right to left. It has twenty-eight letters (or twenty-nine, including lām alif ), which form words when they are linked together through ligatures. The theological and historical ties between Arabic as a language and Islam as a religious tradition are difficult to overstate.5 Arabic script was in use before the seventh century and the advent of Islam, but the sociopolitical growth of the Muslim community and Arabic’s importance as the language of revelation transformed it into the language of religious and state power. Most traditional sources credit the development of a calligraphic tradition that could visually elevate Arabic as the language of God and empire to the Umayyad Caliph ʿAbd alMalik’s decree to make Arabic the official language of the chancellery – it was under his patronage that the Dome of the Rock, which contains the earliest dated inscription of the Qurʾan (ca. 692 CE), was built.6 (However, scholars of papyri, in particular, have described a more complex Arabization process, in which Arabic coexisted with other languages and merchants, artists, scholars – Muslim and non-Muslim – and not just rulers and their deputies participated in a gradual, uneven adoption of the language).7 By the ninth century, however, the center of calligraphic activity had shifted to the ‘Abbasid caliphate. The term kufic (from the Iraqi city of Kufa) was coined by Orientalists in the eighteenth century to describe the angular scripts of the eighth and ninth centuries that replaced the hijāzī script previously used ˙ to copy the Qurʾan (contemporary scholars, following François Déroche, prefer the term “early ‘Abbasid scripts”).8 These early ‘Abbasid scripts used to write the sacred text were different from the casual, cursive (chirodictic) hands meant for everyday purposes and differed from bookhands – scripts used by professional scribes to copy books other than the Qurʾan  – and chancery scripts. By the end of the ninth century, a “new style” (sometimes called eastern or broken kufic, or “new ‘Abbasid style”) emerged from hands used for daily affairs and secular documents and along with early ‘Abbasid scripts was used to write the Qurʾan.9 Meanwhile, in the westernmost part of the Muslim world, the appearance of maghribī scripts, also from round bookhands, would soon follow (these scripts emerged by the tenth century).10 Also in the tenth century, in the Islamic East, the round hands normally reserved for copying books or scribal documents were codified, which gave rise to a system of “well-proportioned writing” (al-khatt al-mansūb) that was also ˙˙ 11 eventually applied to writing the sacred scripture. This reform, which

Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 151 eventually led to the canonization of the six major scripts (al-aqlām al-sitta, literally, “the six pens”), is traditionally associated, initially, with calligrapher ‘Abbasid vizier Ibn Muqla (d. 940) and later with Ibn al-Bawwab (d. 1022) – a former slave to the last ‘Abbasid caliph – who is credited with perfecting the codification of these proportioned, cursive scripts.12 In the thirteenth century, Yaqut al-Mustaʿsimi (d. 1298) further refined the six dominant scripts of the Islamic East (thuluth, naskh, muhaqqaq, rayhān, ˙ to tawqī and riqāʿ). Turkish and Persian calligraphers – who˙ were central the development of the book arts in the Islamic world  – continued to be influenced by his contributions centuries later.13 Rich calligraphic traditions also developed elsewhere, including the Maghrib (Iberia and North Africa), Egypt, West Africa, Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, Central Asia, India, China and Sudan, many of which remain active today.

Sufism and calligraphy ​ ecause of its role in facilitating its preservation and transmission of the B Qurʾan, as well as exalting the visual status of the Arabic language, Islamic calligraphy has historically been a devotional practice as well as an artistic one. The status of Arabic as the language of revelation, the fact that the most copied book in Arabic is the Qurʾan and the fact that mentions of God are frequent, even in non-religious texts, meant that calligraphers frequently wrote scripture and religious texts (highly decorated hadith reports have been especially popular). At the very least, they reproduced the divine names in different contexts. Perhaps as a result of the continuous interaction between disciplinary communities in the medieval Islamic world and the overlap between their members, calligraphers developed rituals and practices that were similar to (or even shared with) those of religious specialists, such as Qurʾan reciters; scholars of fiqh and hadith sciences; and Sufis, among others. Because they have also beautified and reproduced a wide variety of nondevotional texts, calligraphers also significantly contributed to the transmission and development of secular literary traditions. In fact, many of these great calligraphy masters were also accomplished poets. In Ottoman Turkey, many were members of the religious elite; in medieval Persia, they were painters and ceramicists.14 Also, like other guilds and disciplinary communities in the Islamic world (including Sufis), calligraphers developed a specialized literature dedicated to the history, evaluation, appreciation and teaching of the art, which comprised different sub-genres, such as manuals, biographical dictionaries, elegies written in memory of famous calligraphers, aphorisms and didactic poetry. Calligraphers were, in more ways than one, mediators between different religious and secular worlds, although, it is worth noting that “religious” and “secular” are imperfect typologies to describe the complex and often intersecting intellectual, linguistic, socioeconomic, architectural and symbolic universes that human beings navigated

152  Manuela Ceballos daily, from which “religion” cannot be extracted as if it were a discrete, quantifiable element. Certain rituals formally mark the act of “passing down” the calligraphic tradition from master to student in ways that, as Meena Sharify-Funk notes, mirror the shaykh-disciple relationship and initiation rites in Sufi traditions.15 The most important of these rituals involves the teacher granting the student a formal certificate, or ijāza, that attests to the student’s skill-level declares the student fit to teach a particular style of calligraphy, or a specific calligraphic script. The relationship between teacher and student, however, does not end if the student does in fact an ijāza (most do not). In fact, teacher/ student relationships in both calligraphic and Sufi traditions have typically been governed by scripted norms of politeness (adab). Hence, as in most Sufi environments, moral cultivation and sentimental education – acquired in large part within the context of the teacher/student rapport – have been a fundamental part of the calligraphy student’s process of edification. As stated by Annemarie Schimmel, “The relation between master and disciple was, in a certain sense, similar to the close, loving relationship between a Sufi pir (spiritual guide) and his murid (disciple).”16 Additionally, in both Sufi and calligraphic circles, the consequences of poor etiquette and bad manners could be cosmic; thus, among student calligraphers “speaking against the master or annoying him could cause heavenly punishment; when a disciple of Shaykh Hamdullah claimed to write better than his teacher, this disciple soon happened to cut two of his fingers with a penknife, and they would did not heal for a whole year, while Mir-ʿAli’s anger about a preposterous disciple resulted in the unlucky man’s becoming blind shortly thereafter.”17 These types of stories, in which the moral lesson is directly related to the need to discipline the ego through devotion and obedience to one’s shaykh, are also standard features of Sufi narratives. Beyond these similarities in the ritual practices of Sufis and Islamic calligraphers, Sufi Turuq, such as the Mevleviyya, Naqshabandiyya and Qadiriyya, among others, directly promoted the study of calligraphy and contributed to its development in distinct ways. In addition, historically, an important number of master calligraphers have been tied to Sufi orders, directly or indirectly, among them the nineteenth-century Moroccan Sufi Muhammad ibn al-Qasim al-Qandusi (d. 1861) – the master of the founder of the Kattanīyya ˙ 18 order and an herbalist by trade – known for reviving the maghribi ˙script. Certainly, it is no surprise that the vast political and cultural spheres of Sufi turūq in the pre-modern and early modern Islamic world overlapped with ˙those of calligraphers and scribes of various schools, and that the constant exchanges between these communities resulted in shared rituals and norms.

Calligraphy as a spiritual practice Because of their role in producing textual representations of God, the calligrapher’s physical and spiritual state could be subject to scrutiny. Bodily

Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 153 contact with scripture was a general concern: In fact, Islamic legal and theological conventions usually describe reading, writing and touching a Qurʾanic codex (mushaf ) as acts of worship that require that the practi˙ ˙ ritual purity standards. Wara‘, or ethical scruputioner abide by specific lousness, has been an important virtue for calligraphers to cultivate since they would almost inevitably have to materially express the names of God. In their daily routine, most people came into physical contact with objects inscribed with the divine names  – such as coins, decorative objects and documents in a state of ritual  – while in states of ritually impurity. Calligraphers, whose job it was to write God’s names, however, were held to higher ritual ­standards – though, of course, context determined how people actually related to normative expectations and prescriptions. Therefore, statements proclaiming that calligraphers “should not be unclean for a single hour” were not out of place in medieval calligraphy manuals.19 In the context of twentieth-century calligraphic practice, Schimmel herself relays the following anecdote about the scrupulousness exhibited by calligraphers and artisans who wrote or embroidered the divine names: “I have met calligraphers or girls who embroidered the golden texts on tomb-cloths, who performed ghusl, the major ritual ablution, every morning before going to work. And if they did not go that far, they at least had to renew their wudūʾ time and again.”20 The moral of the story – that ˙ “purity of writing is purity of the soul” – fuses the pursuit of spiritual purity with that of ritual (bodily) purity and calligraphic beauty (form) with scriptural beauty (meaning).21 Therefore, because of their religious significance, as well as the ritual prescriptions and technical skill necessary to prepare them, handle them and produce them, beautiful manuscripts of the Qurʾan have typically been highly valued, symbolically charged objects. At the same time, as a literary and linguistic document, the Qurʾan is regarded as the inimitable standard for writers and grammarians and the loftiest goal for calligraphers to reproduce visually. In addition to the aforementioned metaphors related to the written word that are frequent in the Qurʾan, other Islamic traditions link the history of writing to important mythical and historical figures in Islamic history. For instance, the origins of the so-called kufic script are traced, first, to the Prophet Idris and later to ʿAli ibn Abi Talib, the Prophet Muhammad’s first cousin and son-in-law, who had strong ties to the city of Kufa.22 Because of these traditional narratives, Islamic calligraphers consider ʿAli to be the origin of their chains of transmission or spiritual genealogies (pl. salasīl; s. silsila). Sufi turūq (orders, s. tariqa) also trace their lineage back to ʿAlī, with ˙ of the Naqshabandiyya, who trace theirs to Abu Bakr. the exception For Sufis, ʿAli was the bearer of esoteric knowledge as a result from his intimacy with the Prophet. Because he shared the Prophet’s bloodline (they were paternal first cousins) and had children with the Prophet’s daughter Fatima, some Sufi shaykh also derived authority by claiming to be descendants from the Prophet Muhammad.23 Therefore, among Islamic

154  Manuela Ceballos calligraphers – for whom ʿAli was the first calligrapher – and Sufis alike, narratives about ʿAli (or Khidr, as in the case of Ottoman calligrapher Shaykh Hamdullah [d. 1519]) appearing in dreams to provide artistic and spiritual inspiration or guidance are common.24

Traditional pedagogies There are also important similarities between the pedagogical models of apprenticeship and initiation in Sufi and calligraphic traditions. Historically, calligraphy students have been closely mentored by master calligraphers, who have themselves earned the right to teach through a formal process. Echoing Sufi models, the authority of calligraphy masters is sanctioned by the weight of historical and spiritual traditions  – which are specific to a particular community or school while also being linked to broader Islamic narratives and rituals – and by the authority of their own teachers, as well as their teacher’s teachers (and so on). Furthermore, being a master calligrapher has historically entailed teaching calligraphy. As Mohamed Zakariya, one of the foremost contemporary masters and historians of Islamic calligraphy, states, “The teaching of calligraphy has passed from master to student since the beginning of Islam. Since calligraphy is considered a religious science, its teaching is always a religious duty. All good calligraphers were also teachers, which has made for a remarkably cohesive tradition.”25 The methods of transmission depend on the school of calligraphy: thus, for instance, whereas students of the maghribī script usually begin their studies by writing whole words at once, students of other scripts often practice writing individual letters over and over before being allowed to move on to complete words. More than simply a vehicle for technical knowledge of calligraphy, however, the master calligrapher also serves as the model teacher that students should emulate once they become teachers themselves. The correspondence between these two traditional Islamic pedagogical systems (which have tremendous internal variations depending on the school/tarīqa; geographical location; time period; and aesthetic, political ˙ and theological orientations) do not end there. Historically, calligraphy students have learned the art of beautiful writing through emulation of their masters, observing and recreating their strokes. Sufi disciples, in turn, also learn about spiritual discipline through imitation of their Sufi shaykh, whose model, in addition to his (or her) own teachers, is the Prophet Muhammad. This process of learning through emulation and teaching by example in both Sufi and calligraphic circles exemplifies the notion of taqlīd, or tradition. According to Zakariya, “The teaching of calligraphy embodies the concept of taklid, or ‘following the model,’ which is an important feature of traditional Islamic education. In modern times, this technique is often scorned as blind imitation, when in fact it is the opposite – a method of opening the eyes and the spirit to the essence of the art or study.”26 Multilayered

Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 155 critiques of the Sufi understandings of taqlīd have stemmed from various sources, primarily from Muslim reformists of diverse political and theological orientations. On the other hand, the concept of taqlīd in the classical Islamic arts sometimes clashes with contemporary understandings of art in Europe and the United States, which are heavily influenced by Romantic ideals of originality, individuality and spontaneity in art. These differences in how aesthetic judgment is reached have, historically, prevented a widespread appreciation for Islamic artistic production in these geographical areas and have even led some art critics to dismiss the ways in which creativity and skill are manifested in Islamic calligraphy and poetry, most notably. On the basis of this dichotomy between originality and vigor (epitomized by Anglo-European modernity) and stagnation and legalism (embodied by an “Orient” that a master historical narrative has left behind), some of these critics have proclaimed the cultural superiority of the West over Islam, as if those terms were in opposition with one another. However, as Edward Said denounced in Orientalism (1978), these comparisons between the “West” and “the Orient” are based on evolutionary models that conflate historical processes of political dominance and economic exploitation with civilizational progress. These structures result in representations of colonized peoples created precisely in order to justify their oppression.27 In other words, the binary construct that posits the artistic and intellectual creativity and originality of the West (or Christianity) vis-à-vis the inertia of a rule-obsessed Semitic “East” relies on misrepresentations of cultural and religious others and an idealized projection of Western culture that becomes the standard-bearer against which no other social group can measure up. This binary construct has impacted the reception of Islamic calligraphy among Anglo-European art critics, artists and art historians, whose aesthetic standards may presume that figural representation is (or should be) the highest expression of creative achievement in the arts, as it has typically been in Europe. Under these premises, non-European forms of cultural activity, such as Islamic calligraphy, cannot be appreciated in their own terms. These forms of expression will be considered to be, as İrvin Cemil Schick notes, mere substitutes for “the real thing” (figurative art), which is assumed to be the form of expression that all human groups would naturally aim at, were they given the ability and freedom to do so.28 In some cases, these “clash of civilizations” narratives obscure shared practices and values between communities. For instance, Zakariya contends the process of teaching Islamic calligraphy “is analogous to the training of a classical musician” in the European tradition, who must learn to adapt corporeally, intellectually and emotionally to an expressive language that is highly codified. The musician must also eventually master this language so that it is made beautiful through proper engagement with the rules that regulate it, rather than in spite of them.29 In this way, “It is only by careful and attentive taklid that the details and spirit of the art can be learned

156  Manuela Ceballos and assimilated.  .  .  . Taklid honors the model and its maker, enables the follower, and ensures that standards of quality are maintained.”30 Therefore, this type of training, which in Sufism, calligraphy and music requires a reorientation of the senses and of the kinetic abilities of the body, aims beyond mechanical repetition. According to Zakariya, in the case of calligraphy, mere technical proficiency will lead to “tired” calligraphy; whereas, great calligraphy, infused with the energy and passion of the calligrapher, is described as having “light” or “spirit.”31 David Roxburgh, in turn, uses the image of the trace (āthār), frequent in early modern calligraphy treatises of the early modern period, as a way to illustrate the ways in which the bodily and moral fiber of the calligrapher were imprinted in the very work itself, almost as if it were a relic.32 This tension between erasing the self in order to properly learn a classical tradition whose mode of transmission is believed to hark back to the Prophet Muhammad (by way of ʿAli) and reaching distinction in it as a practitioner is a familiar paradox to students of Sufism as well. For example, in reference to Sufi saints, Tony Stewart describes “a set of complementary, often strangely juxtaposed, characteristics” that oscillate between “the twin poles” of extreme, genuine humility and the attainment of spiritual excellence.”33 Similarly, Johan Christoph Bürgel defines “ornament” in Islamic art as “as a repetitive structure ruled by the two poles of ecstasy and control.”34 Burgess describes the force (in his words, “a feeling of mightiness”) that underlies classical Islamic art and that is conveyed by it in apophatic terms, that is, of achieving power through surrender, through a kind of emptying of the self in favor of strict geometrical norms that often correspond to cosmological configurations. In his view, “The ornament – and this applies to calligraphy as well – is usually not restricted to the surface but penetrates into the stuff itself, pervading and moulding it. . . . form dominates matter, matter is subjugated by form.”35 This analysis suggests that, because the rules in calligraphy are meant to mirror cosmological structures, strict observance of these rules would give the calligrapher a way to “rewrite” the very fabric of the universe. Bürgel’s theory places paradox, which Michael Sells has identified as a feature of apophatic mystical language (or, as he calls it, “a language of unsaying”), at the core of the practice and “spirit” of Islamic calligraphy, just as Stewart does with Sufism.36 However, whereas Stewart’s contrasting poles belong to the realm of spiritual virtues, Bürgel’s revolve around notions of freedom and surrender, which are also major themes in Sufi theology and literature, as well as form and meaning. As a result of this paradox, “The beholder is dazzled and spell-bound, intoxicated and disciplined, excited and becalmed at the same time.”37 This characterization of aesthetic delight in ornament (including calligraphy) as both “intoxicated and disciplined” echoes the typologies of sakr (drunkenness) and sahw (sobriety) ˙ ˙ frequently found in Sufi literature. These interpretations of calligraphy as a mystical practice, however, are not normative within the calligraphic tradition. Even though allusions to

Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 157 the sacred nature of Arabic as a language are frequent, as is the emphasis on the production of accomplished calligraphic works as acts of religious devotion and discipline (particularly a mushaf; portions of the Hadith cor˙ pus; or, particularly in Ottoman circles, an˙ elaborate hilya – a reproduction of a text that describes the spiritual, moral and physical qualities of the prophets, especially the Prophet Muhammad), Islamic calligraphy is not esoteric per se. However, even if not all Sufis, or even most, have been calligraphers (despite notable exceptions), Sufi authors have frequently drawn inspiration from the Arabic abjad and theoretical and practical approaches to Islamic calligraphy. The universe as a text of sorts, the quest to decipher the esoteric (bātinī) meanings of sacred texts and interpret the signs of the divine in the ˙ created universe (the word āyā means both Qurʾanic verse and sign), are all common Sufi themes. In that light, the Qurʾan contains several references that Sufi authors have used to justify the notion of creation – including the human body  – as “a constellation of signs,” as Scott Kugle has phrased it.38 These portents in creation include lightning and rain  – “And among His signs [āyātihi] is that He shows you lightning, arousing fear and hope, and that He sends down water from the sky, then revives thereby the earth after its death. Truly in that are signs [āyāt] for a people who understand” (Qur’an 30:20); the growth of plants and weeds in the earth (Qur’an 26:7– 8); day and night (Qur’an 17:12); lightning and rain (Qur’an 30:24); and even the human body, created from dust (Qur’an 30:20). These signs are both internal and external to human beings: “And We shall show them Our signs [āyātunā] upon the horizons and in within themselves” (Qur’an 41:53). A famous hadith report transmitted by the Prophet’s wife, ʿAʾisha, describes him as “the walking Qurʾan,” emphasizing the intrinsic relationship between the divine revelation and its embodiment in the Prophet. For some Sufis, therefore, calligraphy (and not just writing) was a way of making the signs of the divine both visible and legible. Seyyed Hossein Nasr, for example, argues that “Islamic calligraphy is the visual embodiment of the crystallization of the spiritual realities (al-haqaʾiq) contained in the Islamic revelation.”39 The notion of calligraphy as a “display script” takes on a different dimension, for what is being brought to light by the calligrapher is the nature of the world as the aforementioned “constellation of signs.” Thus, This calligraphy provides the external dress for the Word of God in the visible world but this art remains wedded to the world of the spirit. For according to the traditional Islamic saying, ‘Calligraphy is the geometry of the Spirit.’40 In Nasr’s understanding of calligraphy as a mystical practice, the metaphor of discovery as undressing or unveiling is reversed. Instead, invisible meaning is “clothed” with language, revealing its form for others to see.

158  Manuela Ceballos

Notes 1 A note on transliteration: I follow the Arabic method of transliteration used by the International Journal of Middle East Studies (IJMES) but maintain the transliteration systems of the authors cited. 2 Schimmel and Rivolta 1992, p. 3. 3 Translations from the Qur’an are from Seyyed Hossein Nasr et al., The Study Quran (New York: HarperOne, 2015). 4 Déroche 2006, p. 172. 5 Schick 2010, p. 333. 6 Blair 2008, pp. 81–100. 7 See Sijpesteijn 2013. 8 Déroche, 1992, pp. 34–131. 9 Ibid., pp. 132–83. 10 Bongianino 2017. 11 Tabbaa 2001, pp. 34–44. 12 Ibid., pp. 44–52. 13 Gacek 2012, pp. 296–7. 14 Schimmel 1990, pp. 47, 51; Ahmad 1959, p. 24. 15 Sharify-Funk, “ ‘Geometry of the Spirit’: Sufism, Calligraphy, and Letter Mysticism,” Society for the Arts in Religious and Theological Studies, Online Edition, Vol. 27, No.  2 (2016). www.societyarts.org/geometry-of-the-spirit-sufism-calli graphy-and-letter-mysticism.html (last accessed 20 May 2019). 16 See Schimmel 1990. 17 Ibid., p. 46. 18 Al-Kattani 2004, pp. 54–5; see also Vílchez 2017, pp. 308–13. 19 See Schimmel 1990. 20 Ibid., p. 37. 21 Ibid. 22 Ibid., p. 3. 23 See Cornell 1998 and Morimoto 2012. 24 Schimmel 1990, pp. 47–8. 25 Zakariya 1991, p. 7. 26 Ibid., p. 8. 27 See Said 1978. 28 Schick 2010, p. 333. 29 Zakariya 1991, p. 8. 30 Ibid. 31 Ibid. 32 Roxburgh 2008, pp. 279–80. 33 Stewart 2010, p. 227. 34 Bürgel 2005, p. 72 cited in Ahmed 2016, p. 416.   Ahmed 2016, p. 416. 35 Ibid. 36 See Sells 1994. 37 Ahmed 2016, p. 416. 38 Kugle 2007, p. 29. 39 Nasr 1987, p. 18. 40 Ibid.

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Calligraphy as a Sufi practice 159 Ahmed, Shahab. 2016. What Is Islam? The Importance of Being Islamic. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Al-Kattani, Muhammad bin Jaʿfar. 2004. Salwat al-anfas wa muhadathat al-akyas bi man uqbira min al-ʿulama’ wa-l-sulahaʾ bi-Fas, vol. 3, edited by Abdallah alKamil al-Kattani et al. Casablanca: Dar al-Thaqafa. Blair, Sheila S. 2008. Islamic Calligraphy. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Bongianino, Umberto. 2017. The Origin and Development of Maghribī Round Scripts: Arabic Palaeography in the Islamic West (4th/10th-6th/12th Centuries). Doctoral Dissertation, University of Oxford. Bürgel, Johan Cristoph. 2005. “Mightiness, Ecstasy and Control: Some General Features of Islamic Arts.” In Image and Meaning in Islamic Art, edited by Robert Hillenbrand, 61–72. London: Altajir Trust. Cornell, Vincent J. 1998. Realm of the Saint: Power and Authority in Moroccan Sufism. Austin: University of Texas Press. Déroche, François. 1992. The Abbasid Tradition: Qurʾans of the 8th to the 10th centuries AD, vol. I of The Nasser D. Khalili Collection of Islamic Art, edited by Julian Raby, 34–131. London and Oxford: The Noor Foundation, Azimuth Editions, and Oxford University Press. ———. 2006. “Written Transmision.” In The Blackwell Companion to the Qur’an, edited by Andrew Rippin, 172–186. Oxford: Blackwell. Gacek, Adam. 2012. Arabic Manuscripts: A Vademecum for Readers. Leiden: Brill. Kugle, Scott. 2007. Sufis & Saints’ Bodies: Mysticism, Corporeality, & Sacred Power in Islam, Islamic Civilization and Muslim Networks. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Morimoto, Kazuo. (ed.) 2012. Sayyids and Sharifs in Muslim Societies. The Living Links to the Prophet. London: Routledge. Nasr, Seyyed Hossein. 1987. Islamic Art and Spirituality. Ipswich: Golgonooza Press. Nasr, Seyyed Hossein et al. 2015. The Study Qur’an. New York: HarperOne. Puerta Vílchez, José Miguel. 2017. La aventura del cálamo: historia, formas y artistas de la caligrafía árabe. Granada: Edilux. Roxburgh, David. 2008. “The Eye is Favored for Seeing the Writing’s Form.”  In Frontiers of Islamic Art and Architecture: Essays in Celebration of Oleg Grabar’s Eightieth Birthday, edited by Gulru Necipoglu and Julia Bailey. Muqarnas, vol. 25, 275–298. Leiden: Brill. Said, Edward. 1978. Orientalism. New York: Pantheon. Schimmel, Annemarie. 1990. Calligraphy and Islamic Culture. London: I.B. Tauris. Schimmel, Annemarie and Barbar Rivolta. 1992. “Islamic Calligraphy.” The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin 50(1): 1–56. Schick, İrvin Cemil. 2010. “Text.” In Key Themes for the Study of Islam, edited by Jamal Elias, 321–335. Oxford: Oneworld. Sells, Michael. 1994. Mystical Languages of Unsaying. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sharify-Funk, Meena. 2016. “ ‘Geometry of the Spirit’: Sufism, Calligraphy, and Letter Mysticism.” Society for the Arts in Religious and Theological Studies, Online Edition, 27(2). Available at www.societyarts.org/geometry-of-the-spirit-sufismcalligraphy-and-letter-mysticism.html. Sijpesteijn, Petra M. 2013. Shaping a Muslim State: The World of a Mid-Eighth Century Egyptian Official. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stewart, Tony K. 2010. “The Subject and the Ostensible Subject: Mapping the Genre of Hagiography Among South Asian Chistis.” In Rethinking Islamic Studies,

160  Manuela Ceballos edited by Carl Ernst and Richard Martin, 227–243. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press. Tabba, Yasser. 2001. The Transformation of Islamic Art during the Sunni Revival. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press. Zakariya, Mohamed Zakariya. 1991. “Islamic Calligraphy: A Technical Overview.” In Brocade of the Pen: The Art of Islamic Writing, edited by Carol Garrett Fisher, 1–17. East Lansing, Kresge Art Museum: Michigan State University.

8 The abstraction of love Personal emotion and mystical spirituality in the life narrative of a Sufi devotee Pnina Werbner Interiority and transcendence: hagiography’s transformative power In the preface to the tazkira, the sacred biography of Zindapir, a Naqshbandi Sufi saint who died in 1999 in northwest Pakistan, its author, khalifa Rab Nawaz, describes the intense transformative power of a Sufi saintly biography understood as a sacred object: After the Qur’an and Sunnat, the arbab-i dil (masters of the heart) are the most mahfuz (protected). I mean the tazkira of Allah’s true people, because it is overflowing with God’s friends’ life stories, conditions and states, and every single word of its [subject’s] concise and compendious utterances bears multiple insights: the powers of comprehension, becoming aware, becoming intoxicated (mast) and transcending the soul in a world of rapture (‘alam-i wajd), while the heart dances, drowned in a sea of impressions and a state of ecstasy. From the sublime sky the eyes see a rain of lights pouring down. From the veils of the unseen, the ears sense holy melodies. This has been duly described by Janab Rasul Allah in his pure utterance, [saying]1 that upon the tazkira of pious people mercy descends, just as the gentle breeze of the heart-soothing skies renders the mind refreshed, or the perfume of meadows and gardens renders the senses intoxicated and lost;2 just as, upon hearing the story of the masters of pious practice (‘amal), the hand is agitated, and reading about the stirring deeds of the brave, the blood is aroused  – thus listening to and reading the circumstances of God’s friends stirs revolution and frenzy in man’s spiritual world. When we interrogate their world renunciation (zuhd wara’), their purity, piety and righteousness, these impact upon our hearts; we see the pleasures of the temporal world as lacking in constancy. . . . [Instead] the light of faith becomes constant and, in the heart, the pure ardor of world renunciation (tark-i dunya) is born. When we read the story of God’s chosen people’s love of tranquility, their tawakkul (reliance on God), taslim (submission) and riza (satisfaction) we feel regret for our greedy desires in our ways

162  Pnina Werbner of worship. Our soul is given a golden lesson on becoming responsible in the face of life’s problems and spending our mortal lives with glory and satisfaction.3 We see in this preface the powerful moral, aesthetic and existential impact of sacred biography as a luminous, life-transforming text of subjective interiority and transcendence. Hearing about the manners (adab) and sayings (malfuzat) of God’s friends, we are told, “removes the rust” from a reader’s inner heart, guiding him in the way of righteousness. Indeed, according to one saintly authority, “when a murid (disciple) listens to his pir’s guidance with full attention and then records them, he will receive blessings beyond calculation.” The sayings and writings of saints deliver to “hearts” the garmi (heat, intensity, zeal, passion) of ‘ishq-i ilahi (love of God) and the “taste” of ma’rifat-i haq (mystical knowledge of the truth). They lead to a hatred of base materialism and to a remembrance of the afterlife. Rab Nawaz concludes his preface on a more personal note: All praise is due to Allah! The will of God almighty ordained me, a helpless and incompetent [man], with the grace to record the circumstances of my pir (saint, spiritual guide) and murshid (preceptor, spiritual teacher) Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam Janab Zindapir Sahib.  .  .  . I, the lowliest, offer my head in prostration before the bargah of the Master of Honor because in this meritorious act and greatest purpose my feeble hands and arms were bestowed with this ability.4 The transformative, physical impact of a Sufi sacred biography clearly renders it different in the eyes of believers from other kinds of biographical narratives and life histories.5 In the present paper, I want to consider one principle theme within Zindapir’s hagiography that is central also to my own anthropological ethnography about the same saint and his Sufi order. In a sense, although the hagiography in Urdu is 400 pages long, and my own book is 350 pages, the life story of Zindapir may be summed up in one sentence: Zindapir was a man who dedicated his life to the love of God and humanity and was, in turn, loved by God and his disciples. The notion of “love” combines the extremes of subjective interiority, on the one hand, and transcendence, on the other. I called my book Pilgrims of Love6 because I was told repeatedly by the saint’s disciples of their love for their Sufi master. Love motivated the vast assembly drawn to Zindapir’s remote lodge, and the saint was regarded by his murids (lovers) as God’s beloved (murad). In my research, I accepted this expression of “love” by ordinary followers and khalifas (vicegerents) in the “anthropological” way – that is, as an emic, self-evident emotional truth; one, perhaps, that I did not share but at least understood (or thought I understood, if only intellectually) about what love meant mystically, spiritually and emotionally.

The abstraction of love 163 Love is a major trope in Sufi poetry and a key theme in most scholarly accounts of Sufism. Love is believed to be central to the Sufi seeker’s movement on the Sufi path, and it animates Sufi discourses and sacred texts. But what does it mean to “love” God? What kind of emotion is being described? And equally, what does it mean to love a man of God, not as a man but as an embodiment of the divine? My paper considers the varieties of love and passion associated with Sufism as a movement of both fellowship and spirituality – a transcendental reaching out beyond the self. In the following comparison between my own book on the saint and his order, Pilgrims of Love (Werbner 2003), and the tazkira (the hagiography of Zindapir) The Treasure Trove of Irfan,7 I aim to focus on the ambiguous differences between two kinds of love. These animate the biography of a contemporary saint who founded his own cult during his lifetime: on the one hand, deep comradeship beyond mysticism, which I  call “personal” love and, on the other hand, love as a metaphor for the movement of a Sufi traveler through different stages on the Sufi path. I call this latter love “abstract” since it does not seem to involve emotional intensity but is a trope, instead, for the Sufi theosophical aim of achieving intimacy with Allah  – in other words, a transcendental “connection.” If, as anthropologists have argued, emotions – however deeply felt – are at least partially a cultural construct, it remains to analyze “Sufi” emotions in their specific cultural settings. We cannot simply follow Charles Lindholm’s call for the need to recognize “the emotional force that is the burning heart of primary charisma,”8 as if this force were transparently self-evident. Several contributions to the volume on religious charisma Lindholm edited9 focus on the deep “love” “felt” by devotees for their divinely inspired leaders, whether Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or Jewish. The meaning or cultural significance of “love” as a central emotion animating these followers and often reducing them to tears or trance, remains, however, opaque; nor in itself does it explain the huge attraction of particular leaders who may be deemed “charismatic.” Why are these men and women “loved” by followers rather than any other? To understand the garmi of ‘ishq-i ilahi (the “heat” of God’s “love”) mentioned in the hagiography, that is, the depth of mystical love experienced by some Sufi followers for a saint and God, we need to disentangle first the manifold poetic, symbolic and allegorical expressions of spiritual and Earthly love that animate Sufi theosophy and practice.

A question of love According to Annemarie Schimmel, Mysticism can be defined as love of the Absolute – for the power that separates true mysticism from mere asceticism is love. Divine love makes the seeker capable of bearing, even of enjoying, all the pains and

164  Pnina Werbner afflictions that God showers upon him in order to test him and to purify his soul. This love can carry the mystic’s heart to the Divine Presence ‘like the falcon that carries away the prey.’10 Hinted at in this citation are some of the ambiguities and ambivalences at the heart of Sufi (and indeed all mystical) love: Love is often experienced as pain and suffering, and mystical love cannot be described directly but rather by “symbols taken from human love” so that, as Schimmel tells us, “Often a strange and fascinating combination of human and divine love permeates the verses of mystics.” This is so even if love is the ultimate goal as well as the means to it. According to one interpreter of Ibn al-‘Arabi, “The ultimate goal of love is to know the reality of love and the reality of love is identical with God’s Essence.”11 But this “knowing” requires human mediation. Hence, the central ambivalence in much Sufi love poetry or sacred biography is between the mystical and the erotic – between transcendental love on the one hand and sensual love or Earthly intoxication on the other.12 The inherent paradox is that love of a “transcendent and absolute object” finds its “object in a human being, in which the fullness of divine beauty and radiant glory seem[s] to be reflected.”13 Indeed, some Sufi masters, like Ghazali and Rumi, have “regarded this worldly love as a pedagogical experience,”14 a sentimental education in how to love God. This fundamental ambiguity or ambivalence at the heart of Sufi love, between pain and bliss, pure/chaste and erotic love, has made Sufi ghazals and qawwalis attractive even to non-believers.15 Both aesthetic appreciation of beauty, often manifested in the face of an Earthly beloved, and ethical conduct, the Sufi path of voluntary self-denial or asceticism, are entangled in ideas of Sufi love. Love is painful and transformative. It is an unfulfilled yearning for intimacy and closeness, which may also be equated with a higher “stage” on the Sufi path. Love is simultaneously platonic and sensual. It seeks protection, healing and nurture from its subject. Zindapir was remembered as tall and beautiful in his youth, with a very white face. The poet Rab Nawaz eulogizes him in a qasida (praise poem) that I recorded: There is no other to me [meri nazron me] as beautiful [hussin], None other comparable [jachta], Since my eyes have absorbed [basa] The lovely light [nur jamal] of my pir.16 Mystical “love,” then, may be analogous to romantic love, courtly love, maternal/paternal love, filial love, fraternal love, erotic love, aesthetic love/ appreciation (e.g., the love of music), as well as the love of humanity. Love is thus a promiscuous concept that can refer to individual and collective emotions, much like patriotism (love of the homeland), popular culture (the love of football) or hedonism (the love of food). Within this range of meanings,

The abstraction of love 165 “spiritual love” may refer to silent contemplation or ecstatic trance, the latter described vividly by Jürgen Frembgen, following his experience of attending a Qawwali sama‘ (gathering) at the shrine of Baba Farid in Pak Pattan: I am awestruck, feel a prickling everywhere as if I’m receiving electric shocks. The sound of the music carries my soul away, to scenes beyond rationality. I fall into a trance, a total experience of emotions. My eyes fill with tears.17 Rather than spirituality being solely an introspective achievement of transcendental meditation, then, it seems that Sufi spirituality is – quite simply – love, in all its manifold manifestations.18

Personal love: the death of a saint Zindapir died, an old man close to ninety, in March  1999, and the first ‘urs annual gathering to commemorate his death took place at his lodge in March of the following year. He had left no written documents behind him. An old khalifa living at the lodge, one of the dispensers of ta‘wiz (amulets) sitting outside the room where the pir met the people, used to admonish me regularly in broken English whenever we met: “No books, no books,” he would say. By this he was underlining the fact that the power of a saint does not derive from his ability to write books, or study complex mystical treaties. ‘Amal, doing, active worship, is a key Sufi concept, and according to one view, the only way to achieve gnosis and mystical enrapture is through ‘amal. During his lifetime, Zindapir’s creative imagination was that of the oral storyteller, not the poet or writer. He left no tangible works, so that after his death, of Zindapir the man there was only a private memory or a body in the grave. Frembgen (1998) has described evocatively how the death of a majzub (an intoxicated Sufi follower or saint) affected his immediate disciples very deeply. Even though they believed that the saint was still alive in the grave, they nevertheless missed the intimacy they had shared with him while alive, the immediate physical and emotional contact that came from washing, feeding and caring for him, or from sitting around him as they chatted and smoked. In the case of Zindapir, few were privileged with such intimacy, since for most people, he was a distant, awesome figure. Yet this did not explain why his personal distinctiveness, his charisma as a living man with his own personality, seemed to be lost after his death. Most people I met did not express any sense of loss or of missing the man. There were notable exceptions, which I will come to below, but most people simply stressed the transcendence of the pir, the fact that he was still alive and his spiritual powers had increased and multiplied after his death. During his lifetime, Zindapir forbade the distribution of his pictures. Nonetheless, arriving in Pakistan following Zindapir’s death, I fully expected

166  Pnina Werbner to see their production and distribution.19 What I  did not expect was my own personal sense that Zindapir’s death had rendered him invisible not only in the flesh but also in spirit. I had known him to be both entertaining and immensely authoritative, at times capable of fearful anger, at times mischievous, a trickster who liked to play with the emotions of his overly devout disciples or with the false pretensions of politicians and ‘ulama’ (religious clerics), often for his own personal amusement but also for the edification of his followers. All these qualities together, which had created his charismatic personality, his “magnetism” (magnatis or mignatis in Persian), as one khalifa called it, seemed lost. The way in which the pir’s memorializing was proceeding had somehow, it seemed to me, erased Zindapir the person from memory. Since he had left few pictures and no written texts and had prevented his disciples from writing down his sayings during his lifetime, what remained of Zindapir at the moment of death were above all tangible landmarks: the lodge itself, nestled in the little valley; the lovely mosque with its intricate colorful decorations; the hostels for pilgrims and guests; the orchard and gardens; the landmarks of his early arrival, such as the cave on the hill where he was said to have enclosed himself for three days and nights; and – perhaps most importantly  – the langar, the free blessed food distributed to all pilgrims. I realized that to my modernist way of thinking, however, words, creatively written or spoken words, are the ultimate expression of human existence and, indeed, great Sufis are known to Western scholars above all by their written texts. Zindapir was not a writer. He was clearly a doer; an ascetic, a world renouncer, a man who blessed the crowds and fed the multitudes. In the interregnum following his death, there seemed little point, I  supposed, in telling me the familiar miracle stories and legends about him. I  had, as most people knew, heard these before. Like them, I was not a newcomer to the lodge or the order. This was a moment above all of tangible doing, of remembering through reconstruction. The expectation from me, the anthropologist, was that I should recognize the continued spiritual power of the saint as a man alive from the grave and observe the process of his sanctification in visible objects. But for some, Zindapir was more than just a doer, and thus I perceived an emergent division at the moment of his death between different sorts of remembrancers, between those who stressed his embodied spirituality through spatial materiality and those who stressed in words his uniqueness as a person, someone who had left an emotional gap in their lives. The latter were willing to admit that they actually missed the shaykh for what he was, irrespective of what he had become at the moment of death. These “lovers” were, however, a tiny select minority by comparison to less articulate remembrancers. Clearly, without words, the sacred mythology of Zindapir was being extended through the building of a magnificent shrine, towering above the

The abstraction of love 167 lodge’s mosque, built in the courtyard outside the room where the saint lived and where he met his disciples day and night. Indeed, every place the pir occupied was treated as sacred space, historically enshrined: the cave, his room, the courtyard. The center of all this activity remained the ‘urs festival and the logistics of its gigantic langar. But the respect and love accorded to the saint were expressed not in words, or not simply in words but in the careful and detailed planning of his commemoration in mortar and stone. The stone and the grave spoke silently, as it were. Zindapir’s grandson, who now managed the organization of the lodge, the building work and preparations for the ‘urs, told me that they were trying as best they could to follow the “principles” laid down by the pir, his grandfather. There were new myths as well, and some were willing to admit their prior emotional closeness to the departed shaykh. Thus, the pir’s son, the present sajjada nishin, told me, in answer to my question, that he misses his father “until the Day of Judgement.” Even if the mountains surrounding the lodge were made of gold, he said, this would not compensate for the loss of his father. He cannot be replaced, even though they, the family, are trying their best. His father sacrificed his life for God, Badshah Sahib told me. When the shaykh went to Mecca for the first time, in 1952, he vowed to God that he would sacrifice his only son to Allah. Badshah Sahib had no mother (his mother, Zindapir’s wife, had died when he was very young). Later my companions commented on the enormity of this act: to sacrifice (the pir used the term in English) a child of three. No one could be like Zindapir!20 When I arrived at the lodge for the first ‘urs after the pir’s death, I felt a sense of great loss when visiting the saint’s graveside, a sadness at his death, since he was such a colorful, vivid presence in the lodge. But the adoration of the grave, the sense of an immanent powerful presence, which it clearly evoked for followers, remained emotionally alien to me, beyond my sentimental comprehension. Many disciples spent hours just sitting by the graveside. Their silent veneration drove home the fact that in many respects, Zindapir was more accessible now for most people than he ever was during his life. Now they could develop that sense of closeness and intimacy with him that most of them never had while he was alive. I realized in retrospect that, for most followers, he was a distant, fearful figure, unsmiling and stern, sometimes capricious. He was physically beyond reach, and meetings with him always took place in the company of others and lasted for five or ten minutes at most. Now any man could spend hours, if he liked, alone by his grave, communing with him without interruption or interference. The shaykh was thus, for the vast majority, paradoxically closer in death than in life. The moment of death is the moment in which the reality of sainthood, i.e., of transcendence, is publicly proven. No amount of fancy building work can substitute for the crowds at an ‘urs festival. For Zindapir’s family the challenge was not simply one of ensuring the continuity of the regional cult

168  Pnina Werbner that the saint had built up during his lifetime but of the lodge’s ascendancy as the cult’s sacred center, a fact which could only be proved by the crowds attending the festival. In large measure, Zindapir had attempted to institutionalize his own charisma during his lifetime. But as a strictly Naqshbandi saint, he had also proscribed any open signs of adulation and overt expressions of adoration toward him. As Sufi Karim, my companion from Manchester, a man who had spent his life seeking to reach the higher ontological mystical realms on the Sufi path, remarked somewhat despairingly, Zindapir saw his main project as feeding the people. He was not someone who dwelt explicitly on the transcendental realms of esoteric knowledge or on his love for his own murshid. Yet the family, far more inarticulate than the pir himself, needed a storyteller, a poet, a chronicler, if Zindapir’s was to be lifted above the run-ofthe-mill multitude of saints’ shrines that dot the Pakistani and South Asian landscape. The silence of the grave had to be filled; the spiritual power of the dead saint ultimately needed explication in words. After all, along with architectural grace, it is poetry that has been the hallmark of Sufism, and Ghamkol Sharif did have its poet, Rab Nawaz, a khalifa who had written over 250 rubayats and qasidas, praise songs in honor of Zindapir, but had been forbidden by the shaykh to publish them during his lifetime. Many of the poems he had written had never even been seen by the shaykh. Now the saint’s family were willing to bear the costs of publishing his collected volume of poems in Urdu and in Punjabi (in the upshot, they published a single book that contained the tazkira, the hagiography, along with the poetry). During the two years before the saint’s death, Rab Nawaz had been writing a book about the saint, his life story and miracles (karamat), his sayings and inner visions (kashf ), his divine revelations (ilham) and his power to influence others at a distance (tasarruf ). A very long chapter of the book, over one hundred pages, was devoted to Sufism, he told me. The khalifa had sat with Zindapir during his last years, meticulously noting down the details of the saint’s early life. His book, which included a treatise on adab, the proper conduct toward a pir, was already four hundred pages long, he said. He had ceased writing only at the request of the family, who were keen to get the book in print. During the two years he spent writing his book, seated in a little alcove opposite his mosque, Rab Nawaz said he felt as if he were out of this world. The book, however, was in many respects a modernist project, disseminating the saint’s name in contemporary Pakistan. Rab Nawaz did not hesitate to express his deep sorrow at the death of his saint. Every morning, he told me, he stood at the gateway to the mosque, remembered Zindapir and wept. Then, he thought about the pir’s family – his son and grandsons  – and prayed for their health; finally, he felt his love (mahabbat) and trust (tawakkul) for Zindapir. Zindapir is the transcendental inspiration for Rab Nawaz’s poetic imagination. Asked about the process of writing, he explained that before he writes a poem he gets a deep sensation of burning running from his mouth down to his abdomen.

The abstraction of love 169 This feeling may go on for four days, at the end of which time a “screen” appears in front of his eyes, a screen on which his poem is written. He then sits down with pen and paper and copies the poem from the screen without looking at the page. He makes no changes to the poem. He just copies it neatly into his book. A close friend and companion, who sings many of the qasidas written by Rab Nawaz, told me that, when he sings, Rab Nawaz weeps. That is why he is very close to him. Rab Nawaz’s poems express his longing for his saint. See heart [dekhe-e-dil], it appears [nazar aya], the country of Ghamkol [diyar-e-Ghamkoli], Every little thing [zare zare = atoms] is dancing [machalti] in the spring of Ghamkol [bahar-e Ghamkoli], Instead [sava] a heart aching [ghamzada] and tearful eyes [purnam], Nothing else besides Ghamkol’s river [bheren] of sacrifice [nisar-e Ghamkoli]. Standard themes, such as madness, intoxication and dreams, and the use of stock Sufi imagery – intoxicating wine, the seal of the heart, stars, narcissi and overflowing rivers – aconveys the poet’s love and desolation: Intoxicated forever Whosoever took wine, drinking once of the glass [jam] of Zindapir. So what if separation has removed him out of sight! He is inscribed [naksh = mapped] on my heart, Servant [khaddam] of Zindapir Elsewhere the same longing is expressed: In the garden of Ghamkol [shabe sake] the stars [sitare] remember you [yad karte hey] Pir of Ghamkol, how sorrowfully I long for you [yad karte hey]. Oh, think of me, for God’s sake, the helpless who remembers you [yad karte hey] I asked Rab Nawaz, “It is said the pir is not dead?” He responded that after the pir had died he spent the whole forty-day mourning period in the darbar, weeping all the time. When the forty days were over, he set off home. At the entrance to the darbar he stopped, weeping, and, turning in the direction of the dead pir, he spoke the same parting words that he always used to say whenever he parted from the shaykh: “Ye dil, ye jigr, ye ankh, ye sar [this heart, this liver, these eyes, this head]; ye sab tumhara hey [these are all yours]; jao, jao, is par jao [you can walk over them].” At this point Zindapir appeared before him and said, as he always did, with his two hands lifted, palms facing toward the speaker in a good humored, dismissive gesture of

170  Pnina Werbner “go.” “Go, Rab Nawaz.” If anything proves that the pir is still alive, this surely must be it.

Hagiographical ‘love’ The discussion so far has been based on my own anthropological research regarding the response to the saint’s death. Turning now to the hagiography, how does Rab Nawaz express his love and sorrow at the saint’s departure? The poet begins by reflecting on the significance of the saint’s death and funeral (janasah): When your, Huzur’s journey of tabligh (propagation of the faith), talqin (religious instruction) and irshad (guidance) was completed then the qaza (decree) of God, saving [you] from the pain [that is] life, commanded arrangement of calling you towards himself. God’s chosen slaves come to know of their intiqal-i jismi (physical passing) long before [they die]; however, they do not announce it to the common folk so that no storm breaks out in the way of the world or the mirror of the universe. Thus, Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam (Axis of the world) had come to know of the date of his wisal (meeting with God) long before [his death].21 Indeed, Rab Nawaz continues, “The awliya Allah (friends of God) and the muqribin (those close to God) never leave this world until the rayhan (plant) of paradise is brought to them with whose scent they are perfumed and command passage from one abode towards another” (ibid.). But for those remaining behind in “shock,” like his children and grandchildren, there were only tears, wailing and lamentation, he says. He nevertheless articulates the common Sufi theme of transcendence  – of death after life: Then this man departs towards the heavens, he whose gaze, In its desires is purer than that of the angels Even from the cold of the grave he cannot become depressed Even buried in earth he cannot lose his passion As a flower, he springs through the soil It is as though he is adorned by death with the garment of life Death is the name of renewing the joke that is life It is a message of awakening through the veil of the dream Those accustomed to flight, indeed, do not fear flight.22 The theme of transcendence, of life after death, continues: “On the Sunday your victorious ruh (soul) became free from this ‘unsuri jism (elemental body) and took flight towards a’ala ‘illiyyin (the highest heaven)” (ibid.). In appearance, the saint still looked alive:

The abstraction of love 171 Subhanallah! On the most illuminated face the divine lights were descended and arrived, so much so that the blessed face was shining with divine fayz and barakat like the brightened moon. It felt as though you were just about to command exposition of haqa’iq and ma’arif (hidden knowledge) through your truth-exposing tongue and the movement of your illuminated and blessed lips. The blessed face was full as in your youth. Seeing this, the conscience would not believe that you were ill for even a single day. From your blessed face such happiness and joy were emanating as they do upon the attainment of some great ni’mat (blessing) or the time of such great accomplishment.23 So far, Rab Nawaz has used stock ideas and phrases, stressing the miraculous uniqueness of the saint as expressed in nature. Thus, during the funeral, he reports, The following morn when the sun emerged from the East then it too displayed the pure parwardigar-zat’s (sustainer of being’s) dejection. The sun, in a special way, had gathered thick clouds around itself, sweeping up all its lights and rays, hiding all its beams in its core, and spreading orange across itself, was concentrating the illumination of its light only on Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam’s blessed chamber; it was doing so by revealing its unveiled face through a ring of dark, heavy clouds; it was doing so in the way that a camera focuses on one point. . . . At the time immediately following the completion of the Qul Sharif, Pir Habib Allah Sahib [the pir’s grandson] was commanding du’a (supplication) when it began to rain in a spray-like manner, with it the whole air was fragranced.24 Yet some of the poetry seems to express a deeper emotional truth: I am upset, stricken, in my own home, with no attachment, O khwaja! May I be sacrificed for your pride and accomplishment, do tell me, O man of God, How long will I be tormented by your separation? O khwaja! How am I to thank you, Master? Lustre was commanded in this heart, This plundered colony you populated, you gave karam (generosity, kindness) beyond counting, O khwaja! . . . Print it upon your daman (robe) of karam that I will say on the day of judgement, O khwaja! May the intoxication of obliteration in you take me, may I not remain lost as in youth, O khwaja!25

172  Pnina Werbner Several other poems repeat the poet’s sense of heartbroken loss, mourning, pain and longing. Thus, he concludes one of his poems, From the fire of separation, O khwaja, the heart burns away Alas not even an atom’s worth of peace does Nawaz’s heart enjoy Only when your zikr is heard does the heart find sukun.26 Another beautiful short poem in the hagiography is deeply moving: Would that I go to Ghamkol, I would never return, Let my head remain forever in his footsteps. O Nawaz, rub the soil of Ghamkol upon your eyes, Your eyes are in want of its beauty (husn-i nazar).27 Expressions of pain, longing and love abound in the hagiography, but most are used as tropes that seem to lack the touch of personal emotion. Certain passages make explicitly evident that “love” is used in a more abstract way, to refer to progression on the Sufi path toward greater transcendental closeness and intimacy with God. This is clear in the following passage regarding meetings with the Shaykh that arouse shawq (desire, longing, passion): Shawq is that thing which takes the ‘ashiq (desirer, lover) to his m’ashuq (object of passion, the beloved), because the extent to which one is overcome by zawq (taste, pleasure) and shawq, to that same extent the light of iman (faith) becomes qawi (stronger) and his rank becomes buland o bala-tar (increasingly elevated, lofty, exalted). The actual principle of taraqqi (progress, attainment) of the madarij (steps) of faith and manazil (stations) of ‘ishq (love, passion) is shawq. Shawq acts like a magnatis (magnet) between lover and the beloved. It is with shawq that husul (the attainment) of wisal (meeting [God]) [is possible]; without it, rasai (mastery) of the matlub (the desired) is not mumkin (possible). It is a saying of the pious ancestors that an atom’s worth of [pious] deeds is better than having a thousand [types of] knowledge; an atom’s worth of khulus (sincerity), is better than a thousand [pious] deeds; an atom’s worth of shawq is better than a thousand [sentiments of] sincerity; an atom’s worth of fikr (thought, reflection) is better than a thousand longings; an atom’s worth of dard (pain), is better than a thousand reflections. From ‘ilm (knowledge) to dard (pain) there is a distance of six thousand. When a man, by means of ‘ilm, passes by the station of pain then he will acquire mastery of the reality of the sahib-i dard logon (people of pain). Only the people of Allah are members of that pure group of people of the heart, sight and pain. When a man understands the reality and actuality of a man of pain, he will understand the pure essence of Janab Rasul Allah. Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam’s [Zindapir’s] closeness and his degree of longing for [self-] annihilation in the essence of

The abstraction of love 173 Janab Rasul Allah (the Prophet Muhammad) was so exalted, that he had no rival in the whole world; the whole world belonged to Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam.28 In this passage it is evident that love, pain and longing are sentiments related to advancement on the stations of the Sufi path. They are not merely “emotions” in the sense implied by Lindholm but also building blocks in a theosophy that spells out both 1) a transcendent, indeed ontological, progression on the way to the unseen “truth” (haqq) of God’s existence (zat); and 2) an ethical progression in faith through self-denial. Being “brokenhearted” in this symbolic universe is thus part of a wider complex of symbols. As Rab Nawaz says, “God the Noble keeps the shikastah-dilon (brokenhearted) as friends.”

Hagiographical “pain” In a sense, the hagiographer makes clear that pain, rather than simply love, is a crucial aspect of the dual forces driving Sufi aspirants toward greater intimacy and closeness to God, namely, transcendence. Without doubting the sincerity of Rab Nawaz’s comradely love and admiration for Zindapir, a man he had known intimately in face-to-face encounters and many long conversations over a period of over forty years, his use of love and pain in the hagiography is, nonetheless, I suggest here, a technical one, referring to a technique of progression that is labeled in emotional terms. In Pilgrims of Love, in my discussion of the Sufi path as told to me by another khalifa, Hajji Bashir, the khalifa explained, regarding the stations on the Sufi path to mystical transcendence: Travelling via mahabbat allows the salik (sufi ‘traveller’) to achieve majmu‘a [totality, from ‘crowd, assembly’], an encompassment of total knowledge. Jazba (total ‘sucking in’ by God) encompasses practice [jazba havi saluk]. Hence, while the salik majzub [the traveler-lover] can cross into the sphere of realities and achieve fanā’ fi’l-lah (annihilation in God) and possibly baqā’ bi’l-lah (absorption in God), this will take him a very long time, perhaps a lifetime, and he can never reach the final stage. This can only be achieved by the fourth method, that of the lover-traveler, the way of the Naqshbandi. This tariqa runs with the hidden powers of the pir. That is why it is called the tariqa of the Prophet. Here you don’t need to leave your home, your wife, and so on. There are only two things you have to do: (1) follow the sunna of the Prophet (P.B.U.H.); (2) love/respect your shaykh. This means that you cannot ever object to the shaykh, whatever he does or says. You have to believe that what he does is right, even if you

174  Pnina Werbner see it [it appears to you to be] wrong, but what is behind it you cannot understand. It is easier to go into the jungle. This respect [adab] means you cannot even talk loudly, shout, speak to others in his presence; you must keep your attention on him, you cannot sit in company and turn your face away from him, you cannot eat in front of him (unless it is a commensal meal), or disagree with him, or use any of his objects, and there are many other things. Even those living in his lodge must be respected – his family, dogs and cats, everyone. The shaykh is the person who guides you and you cannot do anything alone. No one else can show you the path. Only the shaykh can take your soul out of your body and put it into ‘alam-e-amr. The respect and love for the Sufi saint is the first stage of Sufism. It has four internal stages. . . . One day a man finds that he cannot tell the difference between himself and the shaykh. When that happens all the time, it opens the way to heaven.29 It is perhaps significant that in Hajji Bashir’s highly analytic, structural exposition of the Sufi way, there is no place for “pain.” He uses terms like self-denial, or “killing” the soul, instead. But in other respects, his account makes clear that “love” can be understood as an abstract term in Sufi discourse and as a technique, a series of bodily practices (‘amal) and performances of respect (adab). In this sense, it seems to lack the authenticity of a deeply felt personal emotion.

Conclusion The path to inner transcendence for Sufis is achieved through “pain” and “love,” and so, too, intimacy with the saint and contemplation of him are means to that end. As a sacred biography, The Treasure Trove of Irfan is a huge compendium of poems, miracle stories, tales of the saint’s childhood and of his family, instructions on etiquette and Sufi theosophy. On the whole, however, it lacks descriptions of Earthly intimacy, comradeship and friendship of the kind I recorded in Pilgrims of Love. Only the poetry at times catches the personal love, longing and pain of the poet, but all too often this is overlaid by a veneer of convention that renders it generic rather than personal, another example of Sufi qasida poetry, rather than an evocation of personal emotion, beyond Sufism. For modern individuals who seek transcendental or mystical “spirituality” in joining Sufi meditation groups,30 the stress by local Pakistani Sufi devotees of Zindapir on love and pain as the core of mystical achievement may seem far removed from the desire of modern followers for personal spiritual transcendence. Nevertheless, if God is love, as Sufis claim, then love must be the path to God. Such a statement, however, fails to resolve what love is, as I have tried to show in the paper. It does ultimately seem to remain a personal experience beyond words.

The abstraction of love 175

Acknowledgments This chapter is based partly on a hagiography of Hazrat Shah, known as Zindapir, written by his khalifa Rab Nawaz and published after the saint’s death in 1999. The hagiography was translated by Jon Hamidi with the support of a British Academy small grant. The paper was first presented at the Pakistan Workshop in the Lake District in May 2015 and benefitted from comments of the participants.

Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Funding Support for the research on which this chapter is based came from a British Academy research grant during 2010–11 on “Comparing ‘Hagiographies’: Indigenous and Anthropological Textual Representations of a ‘Living Saint’ ” (Ref. SG 2010–11). I am grateful to the Academy for its generous support. Earlier research relevant to this article was funded by the Economic and Social Research Council, United Kingdom, 1989–90, for a project on ‘”Moral Conduct and Personhood among British Muslims,” and by the Leverhulme Trust in 1999–2000 for a project on “Saintly Followers: the Reproduction of Sufi Traditions in Britain” (Ref. F130/W). I am grateful to both these bodies for their generous support.

Notes 1 Here the author gives a quotation in Arabic – ‘Inda thikr al-salihin tanzil al-rahmah.’ 2 Urdu, wa/raftah unclear here (translator). 3 Rab Nawaz 2005, p. 9. All page references are to the original Urdu hagiography, published ca. 2005. 4 Ibid., p. 12. 5 On this see also Werbner 2016. 6 see Werbner 2003. 7 Rab Nawaz 2005. 8 2013, p. 12. 9 Lindholm 2013. 10 Schimmel 1975, p. 4. 11 Ibid., p. 266. 12 Ibid., pp. 287, 288. 13 Ibid., p. 289. 14 Ibid., p. 291. 15 See also Sells 2002. 16 Werbner 2003, p. 276. 17 Frembgen 2012, p. 114. 18 Much has been written about new forms of Sufi spirituality which have emerged as Sufi orders have expanded to incorporate westernized Muslim elites or nonMuslims. The main contrast drawn here is between Sufi ‘love’, usually mediated

176  Pnina Werbner by the figure of the Shaykh or the Prophet, espousing the denial of the ego or nafs, and more explicitly universalist and at the same time inwardly focused individualized forms of meditation and mystical quest, sharing much in common with New Age and other Eastern religions such as Zen or yoga (on the Moroccan Budshishiyya see Haenni and Voix 2007, p. 252; Diaz 2015, p. 29; on German Sufis see Klinkhammer 2009, p. 138; Sedgwick 2009, pp. 184, 191; on the USA see Hermansen 1997; Webb 2006, pp. 88, 89; on London Iranians see Spellman 2004, p. 137). 19 On such manufacturing of charisma after a saint’s death see Ben Ari and Bilu 1992. 20 Ironically, Badshah Sahib, the pir’s only son, had told me on a previous visit that he had led a miserable, unhappy life as a child, ignored by his father, living in the wilderness of the lodge as it then was, surrounded entirely by male company, or with uncaring relatives in his natal village nearby. Later he found solace in his marriage and children and was, above all, a family man. Now his sense of neglect, of childhood loss, had been transmuted into a story of glorious sacrifice in which he was the center, the ultimate symbol. He was the son of Abraham sacrificed to God in the valley of Mina. A modest, retiring man who had avoided the crowds throughout his father’s life, Badshah Sahib had been forced into the limelight by his father’s death. The loss of his father had thus become for him a felt daily reality. 21 Rab Nawaz 2005, p. 285. 22 Ibid., p. 286. 23 Ibid., p. 287. 24 Ibid. 25 Ibid., p. 289. 26 Ibid., p. 290. 27 Ibid., p. 61. 28 Ibid., p. 100. 29 Werbner, 2003, p. 204. 30 See van Bruinessen and Howell 2007.

Bibliography Ben Ari, Eyal and Yoram Bilu. 1992. “The Making of Modern Saints: Manufactured Charisma and the Abu-Hatseiras of Israel.” American Ethnologist 19(4): 672–687. doi: 10.1525/ae.1992.19.4.02a00030. Diaz, Marta Dominguez. 2015. Women in Sufism: Female Religiosities in a Transnational Order. London: Routledge. Frembgen, Jürgen Wasim. 1998. “The Majzub Mama Ji Sarkar: ‘A Friend of God Moves from One House to Another.” ’ In Embodying Charisma: Modernity, Locality and the Performance of Emotion in Sufi Cults, edited by Pnina Werbner and Helene Basu, 140–159. London: Routledge. ———. 2012. Nocturnal Music in the Land of the Sufis: Unheard Pakistan, translated by Jane Ripken. Karachi: Oxford University Press. Haenni, Patrick and Raphael Voix. 2007. “God by all Means: Eclectic Faith and Sufi Resurgence among the Moroccan Bourgeoisie.” In Sufism and the ‘Modern’ in Islam, edited by Martin van Bruinessen and Julia Day Howell, 241–256. London: I.B. Tauris. Hermansen, Marcia. 1997. “In the Garden of American Sufi Movements: Hybrids and Perennials.” In New Trends and Developments in the World of Islam, edited by Peter Clark, 155–178. Oxford: One World.

The abstraction of love 177 Klinkhammer, Gritt. 2009. “The Emergence of Transethnic Sufism in Germany.” In Sufis in Western Society, edited by Ron Geaves, Markus Dressler and Gritt Klinkhammer, 130–147. London: Routledge. Lindholm, Charles. 2013. “Introduction: Charisma in Theory and Practice.” In The Anthropology of Religious Charisma: Ecstasies and Institutions, edited by Charles Lindholm, 1–30. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Rab Nawaz, Khalifa-Sufi. (ca.) 2005. The Treasure Trove of ‘Irfan: on the Eminence of Ghaws-i Zaman, Huzur, Qibla-i ‘Alam, Janab Zindapir Sahib. Kohat: Ghamkol Sharif. Schimmel, Annemarie. 1975. Mystical Dimensions of Islam. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press. Sedgwick, Mark. 2009. “The Reception of Sufi and Neo-Sufi Literature.” In Sufis in Western Society, edited by Ron Geaves, Markus Dressler and Gritt Klinkhammer, 180–197. London: Routledge. Sells, Michael. 2002. “The Infinity of Desire: Love, Mystical Union, and Ethics in Sufism.” In Crossing Boundaries: Essays on the Ethical Status of Mysticism, edited by G.W. Bernard and J. Kripal, 184–229. New York: Seven Bridge. Spellman, Kathryn. 2004. Religion and Nation: Iranian Local and Transnational Networks in Britain. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Webb, Gisela. 2006. “Third-wave Sufism in America and the Bawa Muhaiyaddeen Fellowship.” In Sufism in the West, edited by Jamal Malik and John Hinnels, 86–102. London: Routledge. Werbner, Pnina. 2003. Pilgrims of Love: The Anthropology of a Global Sufi Cult. London and Bloomington, IN: Hurst and Indiana University Press. ———. 2016. “Between Ethnography and Hagiography: Allegorical Truths and Representational Dilemmas in Narratives of South Asian Muslim Saints.” History and Anthropology 27(2): 135–153.

9 “O beloved my heart longs for thee” Devotionalism and gender transgression in the songs of Miazbhandariyya Tariqa in Bangladesh Sarwar Alam Introduction One of God’s name is al-Wadūd, or the Love. “And since love is part of the Divine Nature, all of existence, which issues from Him, is permeated by love.”1 God states in a hadith qudsi, sacred hadith or extra-Qur’anic revelation, that He was a hidden treasure Who yearned, desired and loved to be known: “This love rises up inside of God until it bursts forth as creation.”2 Hence, it is believed that God brings the cosmos into being through love, and “it is through love that we are sustained, it is by merging with the cosmic current of love that we are led back Home.”3 Annemarie Schimmel observes, “It was not the exclusive religion of the immutable Law but rather a religion of warm love – a love in which non-Muslims might also share, as Hindus in India participated in writing mystical poetry in honor of the Prophet and the saints.”4 All Muslims, in particular the Muslim mystics, emulate the Prophet Muhammad, who was sent down to Earth as a mercy to the worlds (Qur’an 21:107). This idea is also reinforced in a hadith qudsi, which states that the Divine love of Muhammad is the very secret of creation.5 Sufis thus extend their ‘ishq, or passionate love,6 for the Prophet as well; they are said to be the heir to – as well as mimesis of – the Prophet.7 Moreover, a Sufi disciple or novice is to direct his ‘ishq not only to God and the Prophet but also to his Sufi master, Shaykh or Murshid.8 The ‘ishq of the disciple to his Sufi Shaykh is viewed as the first indication of his love for God. In some traditions, a follower meditates his Shaykh’s image and annihilates his self in him (fanā’ fi’l-shaykh) as the first step of annihilating his self in God (fanā’ fi’llah). But how does a receiver of spiritual grace approach his master or Murshid? How does a disciple become attracted to his Murshid or make himself attracted to his Murshid? It has been argued that this is done through reciprocal methods called tasawwur and tawajjuh. By practicing tasawwur, or contemplation and visualization of the master in prayer, a disciple annihilates (fanā’) his self in the self of the Shaykh. The Sufi master practices tawajjuh, or opens his self for the disciple so that the disciple can become absorbed in him.9 Thus, there exists a reciprocity and interchangeability of roles between the

“O beloved my heart longs for thee” 179 Sufi master and his disciples.10 But this reciprocity of love between a Shaykh and his disciple substitutes the passionate love (‘ishq) for God, and the Sufi master or Murshid becomes the sole persona for the disciple’s annihilation of the self in popular Sufi practices. In medieval Sufi literature, it is said that blessing others, giving the opportunity to contemplate and being blessed are often described in gendered language. Disciples are described as receivers and the Shaykh as the giver of spiritual insight. “Like fathers, spiritual guides are powerful, somewhat distant figures who command awe, respect, and obedience, and like mothers, they are nurturing, compassionate, and loving figures with whom disciples have a warm and gentle relationship,” observes Margaret Malamud.11 In a similar vein, Schimmel points out that the novice who has entered the master’s group becomes like the son of the Shaykh; the Shaykh “helps him to give birth to a true ‘heart’ and nourishes him with spiritual milk like a mother, as it is often repeated.”12 One tradition goes as far as to contend that when an individual has no Shaykh, Satan becomes his Shaykh instead.13 It has also been said that Whoever travels without a guide needs two hundred years for a two days journey.14 Shahzad Bashir observes that in Persianate Sufi theoretical discourses “praiseworthy desire that has God or a master as its object is referenced under the term irada. The centrality of such desire to Sufi social practice is evident from the fact that the standard term for a disciple is murid, the one who desires, while the master is designated as murad, the one who is desired.”15 Bashir also notes that almost all medieval Sufi thought takes men as its standard and, by implication, excludes women as significant Sufi actors16 and enforces the notion that “women are tied to lower, material forms while men have the capacity to delve into the highly valued interior.”17 This leads one to an aspect of love that is usually connected with the Sufi experience, with a stress on the chastity of the lover, claiming that looking at them reminds one of the prophets and angels and makes one a witness of God’s eternal beauty.18 In describing the hierarchical relationship between a master and his disciples, novices are “consistently enjoined to behave in a manner that closely matched the subordinate behavior women were urged to display toward fathers and husbands.”19 After analyzing the medieval and pre-modern Sufi genres of South Asia, Scott Kugle (2009) describes how followers, and in some cases Sufi masters, expressed their love by using homoerotic language that contravened patriarchal gender roles. He argues, A male disciple could approach a male spiritual guide only in one of two ways: as seducer in a homoerotic social role that inverts sexual norms, or as a subservient effeminate in a feminine social role that inverts gender norms.20

180  Sarwar Alam He also observes that in situations of deference toward the authority of a Sufi master and to render themselves open and vulnerable to receiving mystical insight, men’s bodies are placed in positions that contradict patriarchal norms.21 He cites examples of Amir Khusro (d. 1325), who once dressed in women’s clothes and danced before his Sufi master, Nizam al-Din Awliya’, and of Musa Sada Sohag (d. 1449), who did the same, only to end up wearing women’s clothing and bangles for the rest of his life.22 Drawing insights from Kugle, I have argued that there are other possible ways in which a male disciple approaches a male spiritual guide and that a male disciple may approach a male spiritual guide as a subservient effeminate but only to the extent that expressing the attachment to the master in a feminine voice best expresses the sufferings and pains for longing for the beloved that a woman experiences in a patriarchal society. I also argue that a disciple may approach his master without being a seducer or a subservient feminine, that it is devotion, not a gendered role, that makes a difference in establishing a relationship between a master and a disciple. In contrast to medieval and pre-modern devotional Sufi genres, which emphasized mostly males and mard,23 this chapter shows how the devotees of an early modern Sufi order, the Maizbhandariyya Tariqa of Bangladesh, express supplication to their Sufi master or Murshid. In this chapter, I have analyzed some selected mystical songs of the Maizbhandariyya Tariqa composed by Mawlana Addul Hadi (1842–1905) and Kavial Ramesh Chandra Shil (1877– 1967), who portrayed themselves in some of their songs as female devotees who longed for union with their Murshid, the beloved. Their songs reflect an attempt of idealizing womanhood rather than manhood, contrary to what is evident in most medieval Persianate Sufi literature. I  also analyze the erotic language used in song lyrics and show how they conform to or contravene the bhakti traditions of South Asia.

Maizbhandari songs In Vilayat-i Mutlaqa, Shaykh Delaor Husayn Maizbhandari states that the Mutlaqa-i Ahmadi, or the Maizbhandariyya Tariqa, is the path of unrestricted divine love,24 and that love is the key to abolish religious conflicts.25 This love mysticism is expressed in almost all the Maizbhandari songs. There are numerous composers of Maizbhandari songs, and it is quite impossible to figure out the exact number of these songs. However, there are roughly four thousand songs available in printed form and another thousand in recorded form. There are others that were composed by past generations or lesser-known songwriters, but these have gone into oblivion. Hans Harder observes, “While it is certainly impossible to even come close to determining the number of songs ever written, we can quite safely estimate that it runs into five digits.”26 It is interesting to note that, as Harder points out, “numerous offsprings of Maizbhandari songs have appeared in recent years that are identical with regard to their musical properties

“O beloved my heart longs for thee” 181 but praise other, mostly local saints in Chittagong, such as Muhsin Auliya (d. 1397), Amanat Shah, Gurudas Faqir (1816–1898), etc. Even Buddhist themes have been set to music by a Buddhist singer of Maizbhandari songs in exactly the same fashion.”27 Prominent songwriters include Aliullah Rajapuri, Manmohan Datta, Mawlana Abdul Hadi, Mawlana Ryhanuddin Shah, Mawlana Abdul Ghani Kanchanpuri, Mawlana Aminul Haq Harbingiri, Maulvi Bajlul Karim Mandakini, Ramesh Chandra Shil, Mawlana Abdus Salam Bhujpuri, Munshi Safiuddin Ahmed, Mawlana Kazi Asad Ali, Amiruzzaman Shah, Askar Ali Pandit, Muhammad Musa Alam, Fazlul Karim, Abdul Karim, Abdur Rahman, Sayyid Abul Bashar Maizbhandari, Maqbul Pandit Shah Qutubi, Munshi Fazar Ali Darvish, Shah Yusuf Ali Darvish, Khairuzzaman Master, Hajji Ayub Ali Chowdhuri, Shafiul Bashar Maizbhandari, Abdul Jabbar Mimnagari, Faqir Farid Husayn, Abdul Gafur Hali, Sayiid Muhiuddin, Fazu Mian Chowdhuri, Sayyid Mejbah Uddin Kazi Shahapuri, Sanjit Acariya, Mahbubul Alam, Lutfunnesa Husayni, and Badrunnisa Saju, among others.28 The first known printed volume of Maizbhandari songs is Aliullah Rajapuri’s Premnūr, which appeared in 1913 from Tripura, followed by Abdul Ghani Kanchanpuri’s Ā’īnā-e Bārī, published in 1914–15.29 Another early compilation, Prem Pūspahār, by Mawlana Ryhanuddin Shah, was published in 1927.30 Quite a ˙number of songwriters are Hindu devotees, such as Sadhu Manmohan Datta, Ramesh Chandra Shil and Sanjit Acariya. Among the songwriters, Mawlana Abdul Hadi and Ramesh Chandra Shil are the most popular. Prominent singers of the Maizbhandari songs in recent years in the darbār circle include Muhammad Nasiruddin, Muhammad Delwar, Abdullah al-Hannan and Ahmed Nur Amiri. Most of the Maizbhandari songs are written in the Bengali language, with the rest composed in Urdu or a mixture of Urdu, Persian, Bengali languages and local dialects. Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil composed quite a number of songs in this fashion. The most popular instruments used in Maizbhadari songs are dholok (a barrel-shaped drum), harmonium, flute, mandolin, tabla (two single-headed barrel-shaped small drums), ektara (a single string drone lute), keyboard, acoustic guitar and rhythm box.31 Compared to the inclination toward classical rāga music seen in North Indian and Pakistani Qawwali songs, Maizbhandari songs are a part of Bengali folk traditions, especially of Bāūl traditions.32 While Qawwali is performed in an alternating singing between a soloist and an echoing group, Maizbhandari songs are performed by solo singers. In addition, there are some thematic similarities between the Maizbhandari songs and those of Vaisnva padābali and ˙ ˙ songs generally Faqir Lalon Shah’s songs.33 The themes of the Maizbhandari revolve around expressions of mystical love (‘ishq, muhabba), ecstatic states (rindāna), separation (firāq) and union (wisāl). The songs are performed as ˙ of the entertainment at social sama‘ at the darbār settings, as well as part occasions, such as wedding ceremonies, radio and television, and places connected with other religious denominations, such as Hindu ashrams.34

182  Sarwar Alam It is only Ramesh Shil who followed the South Asian rāgas, such as dādrā, thūmrī, kāhārbā and so on, in composing his lyrics. ˙

Mawlana Abdul Hadi and Kavial Ramesh Chandra Shil Mawlana Hadi was born in close proximity to the darbār of the Maizbhandar. After graduating from a traditional madrasa, he became a devotee of the Maizbhandariyya order and composed some of the most popular lyrics of Maizbhandari devotional songs. Kavial Ramesh Chandra Shil, a Hindu devotee of the order, also hailed from the same district where the darbār of Maizbhandariyya order is located. He earned his fame by winning poetic contests in greater Bengal as a political activist and composer of Maizbhandari songs. Both composers wrote songs that praise God, Prophet Muhammad and their Shaykh or Murshid. In their lyrics they have used the motifs of viraha bhakti (love in separation), ailings and pains of unfulfilled love and erotic symbolism, to express their attachment to the Murshid. Such experiences parallel the descriptions of suffering and pain expressed in bride mysticism and bhakti tradition. Unlike in the early days of Sufism, the beloved here is not God but rather the Sufi master. Love, devotion and yearning are equally present as main themes in Mawlana Hadi’s and Ramesh Shil’s songs.35 Other major themes in their songs include the unicity of religions, human equality, communal harmony and universal humanism. It is probably Mawlana Hadi who gave a specific singing style of the Maizbhadari musical practices, while Ramesh Shil broke the formal darbārī tradition and made the Maizbhandari song a popular one.36

Devotionalism as reflected in Mawlana Hadi’s and Ramesh Shil’s songs In the lyrical genres of Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil, Maizbhandari saints are addressed as beloved, friend, spiritual preceptor, father, helmsman and merciful gurus who can take their abode in the disciple’s heart when implored to do so. They open the hearts and the very eye of the hearts of their disciples. They dwell on both sides of the line dividing our reality from the other world. The saints are also viewed as incarnations of the divine, great cosmic players, artisans inside man and a bridge between different religions. Ramesh Shil equates his Murshid with prophets, saints and God Himself.37 In one of his lyrics, he depicts his Murshid as his Lord (Mawla), who has incarnated Himself as Muhammad in Medina, ‘Abd al-Qadir Jilani in Baghdad and Muin al-Din Chisti in Ajmer.38 In another one of his songs, Ramesh Shil mentions that the Murshid should not be conceived as separate from God and the Prophet; he perceived Baba Bhandari (Sayyid Golam arRahman) as a non-man in the form of a man.39 He describes the darbār as a meeting point of Hindus, Muslims, Christians, Buddhists and states that quarrel between the religious communities are nonsensical since all are the

“O beloved my heart longs for thee” 183 creation of that one God who is neither a Hindu nor a Muslim.40 He portrayed the darbār as the prem darbār or the court of love where the premer khelā, or play of love, can be witnessed. For him who has been caught by love, “life and death are the same” and “those who practice love with him [the true beloved] die before dying.”41 Mawlana Hadi composes, “Come on, brother, and play love in the river of love of the dearest Murshid,” and urged his Murshid to “put my boat into the sea of love.”42 Mawlana Hadi describes this feeling as madan jvala, “the vexation of Madan” (the god of love) and accuses his beloved by saying the following: “Having robbed Hadi’s life-breath, you sit there and watch the spectacle.”43 Like Ramesh Shil, Mawlana Hadi also states that God and Murshid are not separate.44 This is reflected in the following song, composed by Mawlana Hadi: He who has gone for a swim in the sea of your love Can realise his own essence from the waves of love You are the repository of all good attributes You are shapeless. But You are manifest in all the forms of the world. You are Ahad when invisible. But you are Ahmad when visible You are the leader of all human beings In the shape of a man. To whom did all the angels prostrate? It is you who are both manifest and hidden. Moses was only an excuse in Mount Sinai The Prophet swooned at the splendor of his own light. Ibrahim was a man only. The fire of Nimrod turned into A garden due to you. You are the source of beauty. You are the beloved of the world. It is you who became known as Joseph in Egypt. It is you who became the Chief of the Arabs. The whole world knows you to be the Prophet of Allah Sometimes you are the lover, sometimes you are the beloved. Sometimes you are the Peer of all Peers in Baghdad. You are the advocate of Hadi, You are the real essence of the universe, It is you who came to be known as Gaus of Maizbhandar.45 Similarly, Ramesh Shill narrates: Lord! I wonder how many shows you can put up. You bind the rope of love around the neck And then slowly and slowly you pull it toward you. O my Bhandari! You are well versed in the atr of lovemaking.

184  Sarwar Alam Lord! You make someone insane and someone sane. You have someone from his hearth and home And make him roam from place to place. Someone eats rice with milk from a golden plate and Also eat ghee and Pilau Someone does not see the face of food for Days together and spend his time by fasting. It is you who sank the world under water and Showed the signs of doomsday Again it is you who saved the boat of Noah amidst Cyclone and Storm. Lord! When someone wants to walk on the right road You make him forget it. Ramesh says: I have known it rightly You are at the root of everything.46

When the devotee is a female There is a structural power imbalance between the lover (‘ashiq) or the seeker of love and the beloved (ma’ashuq) or the sought-after in the Maizbhandariyya lyrical genres. In both Persian and Indo-Muslim poetry, the sought-after beloved tends to be withholding, cold and indifferent to the ‘ashiq.47 In order to draw the attention of the beloved, the lover submits himself to the beloved by pretending himself as a woman. Both Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil have used gender imagery in expressing their longing for and the pain of separation from their Murshid. In some of his songs, Ramesh Shil portrayed himself as a kalankini (stained woman), dasi (female slave), duksini (sad woman) and kangalini (miserable woman). Ramesh Shil also stated in one of his songs, “Such a torture of love / [My] life has passed by crying, [now I have] death while living.”48 Similarly, Mawlana Hadi wrote, “I cannot bear the vexation of separation, I have come to give up my life-breath / Why should I, a woman, bear the grief you have inflicted on my mind.”49 Hadi also composes the following: Friend, I forbid you, do not put chains to my feet. In the mind of this weak woman, the urge of love has arisen. In the evening, under the kadamba tree at the shore of the Yamuna, The amorous gallant called me by the sound of the flute. The heart [prān] is split by the melody of the flute, I could not stay at home. ˙ At noon, while I was bathing at the shore of the Yamuna, Smiling gently, he charmed me with the play of his eyes. Since then, I cannot bear the urge of that connoisseur of love,

“O beloved my heart longs for thee” 185 I implore you, O friend, let me go. I want to fall to his feet and enclose him in my heart [hrde miśāi], ˙ I will offer him my youth to drink and thus fulfill my heart’s desire [maner bāsanā] Hadi says: Whoever is desirous of love-play, Serve the feet (caran seba) of the Ġawt treasure day and night. I will fulfill the heart’s desire by giving¯ the toy of love.50 Ramesh Shil describes his yearning in the following manner: You played the flute at the wrong time, how much can a woman bear? I became a mad woman through the songs of friend Śyāma’s flute I was the bride of a householder, I set out upon hearing the flute I lost this and that shore, all by the songs of the terrible flute.51 In another song, Ramesh Shil states: My life-breath is burning (because) of your separation, O friend Either you appear before me or slaughter [qurban] me. You have made my life-breath restless with the illusion of your love Whom should I make understand the pain, who will understand that burning Tying the rope of love around (my) neck (you) pull from nowhere. You are rich I am miserable, O friend of my life-breath treasure Do not forget this helpless (woman) who consoles [her] mind with the dust of your feet I’ve given away the family honor in the hope of your love. All the love and affection of this world Taste poisonous, sweet is your speech I’ll sing your song in my inner heart. Ramesh says: I’ve submitted all my mind-soul (my) eyes forgot everything upon gazing at the golden picture This slave wishes his life-breath pass away gazing at that form.52 Ramesh Shill also composes the following: You have killed me by teaching love O friend of my heart Holding your love in heart I wander in cities and markets, Seeing me people call [me] a crazy woman. Some call (me) a fallen woman, some call (me) an adulteress! Some call (me) a bad stained woman. (Let them) say bad words as much as they can, if you just look back (to me) This life will seem a success. Ramesh says: (if I) die in the flame of love, Maizbhandari will give peace By whose affection (ādar) I am conceited (ādarīnī).53

186  Sarwar Alam In another song, Ramesh Shil narrates: My amorous friend [nāgar bandhū] Śyāma I’ve become a stained woman because of you. Neighborhood people say bad words (about me) because of you For me I take them as sandalwood fragrance [sūgandha candan]. I hear at every house that I’ve lost my lineage I’ve lost my honor I’ve become a street beggar to get that honor-destroyer. By declaring that I’ve lost my lineage I’ve lost my honor I know that my caste-destroyer Lord [jātnāshā thākūre] eats rice (with the people) of all castes. You know words of my mind pain of my heart, friend You are in my mind, let people say whatever they want. Ramesh says: What’d I do with lineage and family This intoxication will not go away even if (anyone) puts a knife on the neck.54 Both composers describe in their songs not only their longing but also the indifference their beloved showed toward them. One of the dominant characteristics of their songs is viraha bhakti, or devotion in separation. In one of his songs, Mawlana Hadi narrates: “Sitting on the shore of the Yamuna, I gazed at the full moon / Through the sound of the flute, I had to cry from the sorrow for the beloved.”55 Harder categorizes three stages of viraha bhakti56 in the songs of, among others, Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil: The first stage is of unfulfilled desire, the second stage is of suffering and the third is of torture. In the first stage the female lover waits for her beloved, weaves garlands, adorns the bedstead with flowers and spends sleepless nights in attendance. The carnal aspect of this imagery is expressed by Mawlana Hadi when he states in song: “Not seeing beloved Hari, I toss and turn alone on the bed.”57 Ramesh Shil expresses his emotion in a similar vein: “I had hoped that we two would merge in our innermost beings and have amorous talks / Lie on one bed, both on one mattress.”58 In the second stage, the female lover laments the loss of her virginity, family and honor. Mawlana Hadi describes his states as follows: “He robbed the treasure of youth, why did my life not end / My honor was destroyed and my family [honor] was destroyed, the clothes of my body were destroyed / The goldcolored youth was destroyed, my beloved came not.” Ramesh Shil states that, because of the seduction of Bhandari, she left her father and brothers and lost her status as a sati, or chaste woman.59 In the third stage, the female lover withdraws from society to spend her life wandering through the woods as a yogini. Mawlana Hadi states: “Through love for the friend and mental grief, I have become a wood-dweller.” Mawlana Hadi went as far as dressing himself in a Bengali woman’s attire (sari) and presenting a love song to his Murshid.60 It appears that both devotees feminized themselves

“O beloved my heart longs for thee” 187 while expressing their attachment and deference to their Murshid. They had thus symbolically transgressed the gender role as practiced in a patriarchal society.

When the beloved is a female In addition to the aforementioned symbolic changes of gender, the saint is also portrayed as a female in a number of Maizbhandari songs. In some cases, composers address their Murshid as prīyā or female beloved. The reversal of gender relations between lover and beloved occurs in Hadi’s lyrics a number of times. In one of his songs he addresses the Murshid as prīyā: “What fault have I committed, [female] beloved, tell [me at your] revered feet / Why do you chase away again and again this subordinated one?”61 In the following lyrics, Mawlana Hadi states, The flame of separation burns my limbs all the time, I implore you O [female] beloved come [to me] O [female] beloved of heat, beloved of compassion, lamenting deceiver, come [to me]. You robbed my youth treasure in a dream when I was alone in my chamber My mind has become restless and indifferent ever since. Once a beautiful woman of desire has now become a renouncer and left the bed of flower Who shall I allow to sit on my heart except for you O friend. The body cannot bear your urge [anymore], my simple helpless [mind] I’ll end [my] life by jumping into water saying friend O friend. Because of you, I traveled into deep forests, so many summits [I] became a renouncer, at a young age, chanting [your] name, come [to me] O [female] beloved. The slave Hadi says: There is no hope of liberation once [one] falls in love Chant [over the mantra of] love throughout [your] life, O [female] beloved come [to me].62 In another song, Mawlana Hadi narrates: Come on, beloved [lady], into the garden of love, I want to play love with you Mixing color into the sports of love in the grove I will put you on the throne, press to my breast In the dawn of love, we two shall be united in love and become one I and you shall become one, we will not remain anything but united In the sky, the underworld and so on, in all the three worlds we will remain one

188  Sarwar Alam In sport, I will be a bud, in one sport, I will be a flower In one (more) sport, I will be a saint and drink the honey of the flower of love In sport Hadi is the sad one, in sport I will acquire a body of light In sport I will become a stye on the eyelid of my dearest Ġawt.63 ¯

Discussion and analysis According to the Islamic faith, there are ninety-nine attributes of God. These attributes are sometimes divided into two broad categories: Jalal, or names of grandeur and majesty, and Jamal, or beauty, compassion and mercy. The first one is considered masculine; the second, the feminine nature of God.64 Nevertheless, God’s mercy and compassion for humanity surpass His grandeur and majesty. God says in a hadith qudsi: “My mercy precedes my wrath.”65 This is largely portrayed in Sufi poetry and lyrical genres. Seyyed Hossein Nasr (1980) observes that the union of masculine and feminine dominates Islamic spirituality, in which God appears as the beloved and the female as a precious being symbolizing inwardness and the inner paradise. This is the context that inspires Ibn al-‘Arabi to argue that the contemplation of God in a woman is the highest form of contemplation possible.66 He also points out that God’s attribute (sifa) is grammatically feminine and so are God’s power (qudra) and essence (al-dhat). He argues, “Indeed, whatever position you take, you will find that the feminine takes priority, even for those who claim that God is the cause of the cosmos, for ‘cause’ [‘illa] is also feminine.”67 Through her creativity and receptivity, women “are the locus for the most perfect witnessing of God.”68 In fact, it is Ibn al-‘Arabi who plays a major role in explaining the significance of the feminine element with definitions that plumed ever-deeper depths into Islamic spirituality.69 Similar thoughts are echoed in Rumi’s work as well, observes Schimmel.70 However, Ibn al-‘Arabi also points out that receiving is a feminine virtue. He holds that everything that exercises an effect (mu’aththir) is masculine, and everything that receives an effect (mu’aththar fih) is feminine; that which is born between the two is called a son or a child.71 The ambivalence between the ideas of witnessing God in women and witnessing beardless lads is one of the most interesting aspects of Islamic mystical discourses. Schimmel observes: “The attitude of Sufism toward fair sex was ambivalent, and it can even be said that Sufism was more favorable to the development of feminine activities than were other branches of Islam.”72 Comparing these two views on femininity and masculinity in Sufi discourses, Sa‘diyya Shaikh holds that there are polyphonous and contradictory currents of gender running through Sufi thoughts and practices.73 The lyrics of Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil also show that there exists a similar gender ambivalence in the musical traditions of the Maizbhandariyya Tariqa. One of the examples of this ambivalence is Mawlana Hadi’s following lines, in which he addresses his Murshid as a female beloved: “Do tell me, O bosom friend

“O beloved my heart longs for thee” 189 (sakhi), how shall I keep this life.”74 He also explicitly addresses Gholam ar-Rahman as his female beloved.75 In this regard, Harder observes, “These features reveal that there is not one single blueprint upon which Maijbhandari viraha songs are modeled. Rather, we find a typical ambivalence in the figure of the beloved – male or female, human or divine – that is present also in other types of religious love poetry from Vaishnava, Sufic, and other provenances.”76 Similar to Ibn al-‘Arabi’s assertion that the human soul, or nafs, is feminine, Mawlana Hadi appeared to portray his nafs as feminine, one that had transformed itself from endless sufferings (nafs al-lawwama) into a soul at peace (nafs al-mutma’ina) by annihilating itself at the presence of his Murshid. It appears that Mawlana Hadi’s wearing of women’s clothes intends to contemplate the gopībhāva to annihilate his self in his Murshid (fanā’ fi-shaykh). Harder observes77 that viraha bhakti expressed in the Maizbhandari songs resonate the general theory of sexes, in which a woman is seen as an inferior being, confined by and dependent upon men. The devotee has to become a woman in order to learn true humility and to degrade himself. It is also possible that, since women are generally viewed as the beautiful sex, the male devotee wants to appear before his beloved (Murshid) as beautiful by becoming a female, as Kugle points out. The Persianate Sufi literature that often depicts love between two men, especially one being a beardless young boy, as a symbol of ‘ishq majazi, has changed into a love of the divine as symbolized in women in South Asian traditions. It has been argued that in Persian poetry, the “constant emphasis on pain and suffering led the mystics to the assertion that love is only for the strong, for the true man of God (the rhyme mard [‘man’] with dard [‘pain’],”78 which appeared to be opposite in South Asian bhakti traditions, especially those of Gaudiya Vaisn va and Vaisn va Sahajiyā bhakti traditions. Schimmel points out ˙ that “in˙ ˙the ˙ of Muslim India, however – from Sind to Kashmir – the poets western ˙part followed the Hindu tradition, which describes the soul as a longing girl, a faithful wife, or a loving bride. The classical example of Hinduism is the legend of Krishna and the gopīs, the cowherd-girls.”79 Sufis took women as the symbol for longing, as did Radha and gopīs in their longing for their Divine beloved, Lord Krishna. Schimmel observes that “Hīr Rānjhā in Punjabi is the best known example of the complete spiritualization of a medieval folk tale in which the woman, Hir, is identified with the soul, and her beloved Ranjha with the longed-for Divine Beloved.”80 In contrast to Persianate mystical traditions, in which love for mard / jawan mard and ‘ishq mazaji is appreciated, South Asian mystical traditions that generally appreciate a feminine voice in expressing love for the beloved are most visible in the Vaisn ava literature, which expresses the notion that, to ˙˙ achieve a union with the Lord, a bhakta, or devotee, needs to reach the state of the mind of Radha. In other words, the devotee should transform his self into the self of a longing woman. In this regard, Edward C. Dimock holds that, in order to experience the state of mind of Radha, a Krishnabhakta

190  Sarwar Alam may have to become a female internally or cultivate a gopībhāva or emotional state of gopīs.81 Devotees perceive Lord Krishna – the God-incarnate charioteer of Arjuna, who took a human birth and spent his childhood and youth in Vr ndāvana, during which time he engaged himself with erotic play, or rasalīlā,˙ with cow maids  – as the beloved. However, only the longing female self (gopībhāva), who abandons everything to seek Lord Krishna’s love, is able to understand Him. In order to contemplate Lord Krishna, male devotees sometimes took the identity of the gopīs and dressed in women’s clothes and adopted women’s dialect.82 The transformation of oneself into Radha’s self is the most important characteristic of Bengali Vaisn avism. To ˙ ˙ Sahajīyā all Vaisn avas, Radha is the symbol of true love, or prema. To the ˙ ˙ Vaisnavas in particular, observes Dimock, her presence on Earth, in women and˙ ˙in all human beings gives men a way to experience the divine (1989 [1966], p.  35). The Krishnalīlā is also eloquently expressed in the musical practices known as kīrtan among the Vaisnavas. David Kinsley points ˙ ˙ expressed in kīrtan is also out that “for the bhakti that is so emotionally described elsewhere, in the madness of emotions that exist between Rādhā and K r sna. The Divine couple intoxicate and incite each other, they swoon ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙ they are overcome by powerful emotions that cause their bodies and sweat, to tremble uncontrollably.”83 It has also been argued that a Vaisnava transcends erotic attitudes; has ˙˙ no desire for self-gratification; and desires only to satisfy Krishna by serving Him with his spiritual self, which is female by nature.84 The highest form of love is the madurya-bhakti,85 in which Radha forgets that she is the subject of love (ramani), and Krishna is the object of her loving devotion (ramana), the subject and the object being resolved into one experience of love.86 Nevertheless, there are also narratives in the Vaisnava literature on ˙˙ Radha’s union with Krishna, as well as in Krishnalīlā, which have graphic descriptions of eroticism and lovemaking that are apparently amorous in character.87 The erotic love is vividly expressed in some Vaisnava traditions ˙ ˙ places only of Caitanya, where it is stated that unconditional surrender takes amid erotic love.88 It is also said that the loving relationship is more appealing when it occurs between a man and a wife of another person, known as parakīyā (as against svakīya, which is monotonous and without any thrills or risks). At least the Sahajiyās believe that, if there is no parakīyā, there can be no fear of separation from which grief and passionate longing grow. For svakīyas, there is no fear of separation. The supreme enjoyment of rasa comes from extramarital, or parakīyā, love.89 The longing expressed in some of Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil’s songs resonates the long of Radha for Lord Krishna. However, Mawlana Hadi never cited the name of Krishna, Radha or gopīs, yet the motifs he used (such as Yamuna, kadamba tree, flute or Hari) does refer to gopībhāva, which allows one to make sense of his gender bending. Some of the devotional lyrics of Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil clearly reflect gender transgressiveness that alludes to a spiritual intimacy between the Sufi master and

“O beloved my heart longs for thee” 191 his feminized devotees. Such intimacy exemplifies the popular belief in Bengali Gaudiya Vaisnavite tradition that the love for the divinity can attain its ˙ only if˙ he ˙ internally becomes a woman with a bhakti that follows perfection passion. However, Islamic Sufism also has erotic literature that expresses the relationship between lover and beloved.90 It appears that both Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil choose Indo-Persian cultural tropes while expressing the trinity of love, lover and beloved in their songs. There are debates among the scholars of South Asia, particularly of Bengal, related to cultural borrowings. Some argue that the emergence of Sufism in Bengal is a pure syncretism; that Sufism in Bengal is the product of existing Hindu cultic practices, especially Tāntrīc, Nātha, Yoga and Vaisnava ˙ Sahajiyā cults; and that Sufis of Bengal incorporated or influenced by ˙these cultic practices. The view that the Sufi traditions in Bengal have a syncretic trend is common among most of the scholars, including Sen (1960, p. 143), Bandyopādhyāy (1378[1971], pp.  261, 273), Briggs (1973), Dasgupta (1962, p. 177 n 2), Haq (1965, pp. 270–280; Haq 1975, p. 52), and Roy (1983, pp. 10–11), among others. Some of the scholars made their observations by identifying parallel concepts, terms, or practices popular among both Sufi and indigenous cultic traditions without considering common cultural properties of those concepts, terms or practices. Most of them view that Sufi concepts and practices are identical to those of Nātha cult, YogicTāntrīc or Vaisnava traditions.91 Ahmad Sharif (2011 [1969]) holds that, ˙ because of the ˙presence of various Hindu and Buddhist Vaisnava traditions ˙ ˙ (p.  26). He and practices, Sufi ideals found a favorable ground in Bengal also acknowledges the influence of Sufi ideals on bhakti and Vaisnava tradi˙ Bengal – tions.92 David Cashin argues that the Islamic syncretic tradition ˙in as a mixture of various influences  – is a faulty analysis of esoteric ­terminologies. In addition, linguistic usage or even ritual acts of the Sufis do not necessarily indicate a direct line of transfer or influence.93 Arguing against Asim Roy’s views on the influence of the Nātha cult, Cashin observes that the Vaisnava Sahajiyā viewpoint of love lies much closer to the ideals of ˙ Sufism than˙ that of the Nāths, that “God is often presented in the feminine and the Sufi is presented as the lover seeking union with the divine,”94 and that “the Sufi concept of dying before one’s death95 also finds a strong counterpart in the viewpoint of the Vaisnava Sahajiyās, and is a concept outside the pale of Nāthism.”96 However, it˙ ˙appears from the studies of Sharif, Haq, Karim, Roy and Cashin that there are indeed structural parallelisms among Sufi concepts, terms and ideas with those of Tāntrīc, Nāthist or Vaisnava ˙˙ Sahajiyā. Harder maintains that especially Sufi poetical and musical genres indeed reflect some terms or concepts that are identical to Vaisnava Sahajiyā ˙ ˙ Citing the literary genres; however, they are common cultural properties. example of Sayyid Sultan’s Nabī-Bamśa, Richard M. Eaton observes that the author attempts to carve out a ˙theological space for Islam amid the various religious traditions already nested in the Bengal delta by referring to the major deities of the Hindu pantheon followed by the major prophetic

192  Sarwar Alam figures, such as Adam, Abraham, Moses, Jesus and Muhammad. While commenting in this way on Vedic, Vaisnava and Saiva divinities, in addition ˙ ˙ the Nabī-Bamśa fostered the claim to biblical figures, Eaton observes that ˙ that Islam was the heir to not only Judaism and Christianity but also the religious traditions of pre-Muslim Bengal, and therefore “it would be wrong to characterize the work as merely ‘syncretic’; on fundamental points of theology, the poet clearly drew on Judeo-Islamic and not on Indic thought.”97 Similar to Eaton, Harder observes (2011) that some of the concepts and ideas used in the Sufi literature were cultural tools to express emotions. Apart from common cultural properties grounded in Vaisnvite and other traditions in Bengal, both Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shil˙ ˙also used similes, allegories and motifs from the Turko-Iranian love stories. It appears that, by pointing to the viraha bhakti of Vaisnva traditions, both composers ˙˙ conciliate the lore of Islamic tradition expressed in the stories of Yusuf and Zulaykha, Shirin and Farhad and Layla and Majnun.98 The Qur’anic story (Sura 12) illustrates how the woman was completely lost in her love of Yusuf, an example often used by the mystics in the contemplation of divine beauty revealed in human form. Schimmel observes, “The ecstasy of love leads everyone who experiences it into the same state as the women at Zulaykha’s table who cut their hands when gazing at the overwhelming beauty of her beloved. Thus, Zulaykha has become, in the Sufi poetry, the symbol of the soul, purified by ceaseless longing in the path of poverty and love.”99 The contemplation of the divine in the form of woman has also been symbolized in the story of Laila and Majnun, in which Majnun is completely absorbed in the beauty of Laila. Majnun becomes the mystical lover who sees God everywhere and has found him not outside himself but in the innermost corner of his own heart.100 By incorporating these traditions in their songs, both Mawlana Hadi and Ramesh Shill blended the Turko-Iranian Islamic devotional traditions with those of South Asian bhakti traditions. In some cases, by using the motif of the flute, they appear to blend Rumi’s Masnavi and Krishnabhakti traditions together. From this point of view, their songs can be viewed as a synthesis of Hindu and Islamic devotionalism. Contrary to the depiction of some medieval Sufi genre that portray women as seductive as well as distractive to the union with God,101 these devotional songs describe their yearning for the union with their Murshid in the form of female beauty, as they pose a direct challenge to the very basis of patriarchy, where the male body is the signifier of social and ontological superiority.102 In addition, it may also be said that, by portraying themselves in the form of females, they also distance themselves from the Turko-Iranian traditions of “witness game” or shahīdbāzī, which claims that looking at the unbearded beautiful youths reminds a seeker of the beauty of God’s eternal beauty.103 By identifying themselves with the suffering feminine self, they resonate themselves with the Maizbhandariyya theosophy, which describes one of the stages of the self as the suffering self, or al-nafs al-lawwama, which transforms itself to the higher inspiratory stage, called al-nafs al-mulhima,

“O beloved my heart longs for thee” 193 in order to achieve the final stage, called al-nafs al-mutma‘ina, or the self at peace.104 By perceiving themselves as kalankini and so on, they juxtaposed the notion of fanā’ fi’l-shaykh with that of the Maizbhandariyya tariqa’s one of seven fundamentals (usul-e sab‘a), called maut-e aswad, or black death, which contends that the censures of enemies help purify a person’s heart.

Conclusion Mawlana Hadi and Kavial Ramesh Shil have composed songs that reflect their devotion to God, prophets, Murshids, equality and humanism. While expressing devotion to their beloved or Murshid, they have used terms, similes and allegories in some of their lyrics that apparently transgressed established gender norms. Nevertheless, by using feminine imageries in expressing their devotion to the beloved, they challenge the social construction of maleness and destabilize established gender roles or inversion of gender norms, to rephrase Kugle. The symbolic change of gender in the songs also pose a direct challenge to the very basis of patriarchy, where the male body is the signifier of social and ontological superiority.105 It appears that they have used popular motifs, terms, phrases, similes and allegories regardless of religious boundaries in expressing their supplication to their beloved. In some cases, they have blended both popular Hindu and Muslim devotional motifs together, and in doing so they have not felt that it compromises their Muslim or Hindu identity. They borrow more freely across the line of ideas, imageries and terminologies that now appear to be more fixed.106 Some of these motifs are feminine in character. However, the use of feminized bhakti, or devotional motifs, does not always intend to allure or deceive the beloved but rather to show the hardship a woman goes through to unite with her beloved. In addition, by grounding the common cultural properties of devotion and feminine imageries, they not only recognize women’s sufferings but also reject institutional rituals and doctrines that divide the human spirit across the religious line. Similar to some popular mystical figure  of South Asia, they denounce religious orthodoxy and formalism and uphold humanism with the rupture of love.107 There are debates as to what extent Nāth, Vaisnva Sahajiyā or other mystical traditions influenced the Sufi tra˙ ditions of ˙Bengal, or vice versa,108 the Maizbhandariyya mystical composers infuse love, devotionalism, longing, religious harmony, humanism and women’s sufferings in popular imagination through their songs in contemporary Bangladesh. In doing so, they also challenge the negative views on music among the orthodox Muslims.

Acknowledgments This chapter is prepared from the paper titled “Devotionalism and Gender Transgression in the Songs of Maizbhandariyya Tradition in Bangladesh,” presented at the South-East Regional Middle East and Islamic Studies

194  Sarwar Alam Seminar (SERMEISS), Valle Crucis, North Carolina, on October 20, 2012. A revised version of the same paper was presented at the annual meeting of the American Academy of Religion with the title “ ‘O Murshid My Heart Cries for Thee’: Devotionalism and Gender Transgression in the Songs of Maizbhandariyya Tradition in Bangladesh” in Baltimore, Maryland, on November 24, 2013.

Notes 1 See Nasr 2007, p. 61; also see Helminski 2017, p. xii. 2 See Safi 2018, p. xxiv. 3 Ibid., p. xxiii. 4 Schimmel 1982, p. 168. 5 See Safi 2018, p. xl. 6 Safi translates the word ‘ishq as radical love. For details, see Safi 2018; for forms and stages of love, see Ernst 1999. 7 See Schimmel 1985, p. 32. 8 See Nurbakhsh 1999, p. xix. 9 See Schimmel 1994, pp. 130, 192. 10 See Bashir 2011, pp. 124–5. 11 Malamud 1996, p. 97. 12 Schimmel 1975, p. 103. 13 “Man laysa lahu al-shaykha fa-shaykhuhu al-shaytanu.” 14 Quoted in Schimmel 1975, p. 103. 15 Bashir 2011, p. 136. 16 Ibid., p. 137. 17 Ibid., p. 157. See also Schimmel 1975, p. 426. 18 See Schimmel 1997, pp. 274–5, and 1982, p. 68. 19 Malamud 1996, p. 90. 20 Kugle 2009 [2007], p. 208. 21 Ibid., pp. 208–9. 22 Ibid., p. 209. 23 Even the most accomplished female mystics were addressed and described in masculine terms by accomplished Sufi writers. For details, see Schimmel 1997, p. 270; Cornell 2007, pp. 265, 277–8; Shaykh 2009, pp. 297–8. 24 Maizbhandari 2001, p. 34. 25 Ibid., p. 90. 26 Harder 2011, p. 172. 27 Ibid., p. 173. 28 Ibid., p. 188 n 54, Jahangir 2012, pp. 195–6 (he mentioned a total of 85 song writers). 29 Harder 2011, pp. 173–4. 30 Harder and Jahangir did not mention this piece of publication in their findings. 31 Jahangir 2012, p. 190. 32 Harder 2011, p. 175. 33 See Jahangir 2012, p. 194. 34 See Harder 2011, p. 178. 35 Jahangir observes (2012, p. 120) that separation is the main theme of Mawlana Hadi while love is the main theme of Ramesh Chandra Shil’s songs; I  do not agree with his observation. 36 Jahangir 2012, pp. 187, 201. 37 Āshek Mālā, songs number 26 and 33.

“O beloved my heart longs for thee” 195 38 For example, Nūre Dūnīyā, song number 37. 39 See Mūktīr Darbār, song number 32; also see Harder 2011, p. 215. 40 See Āshek Mālā, songs number 38 and 41; also see Harder 2011, pp. 222–3. 41 See Āshek Mālā, song number 8; also see Harder 2011, p. 232. 42 See Ratnavāndār, Prothom Khanda, song number 27; also see Harder 2011, p. 229. ˙ p. 230. ˙ 43 Harder˙ 2011, 44 See Ratnavāndār, Prothom Khanda, song number 15. ˙ from ˙ ˙ 45 Collected the Maizbhandariyya website: www.maizbhandarmainia.org/ maizbhandari_songs.php (accessed 7 June 2018). 46 Collected from the Maizbhandariyya website: www.maizbhandarmainia.org/ maizbhandari_songs.php (accessed 7 June 2018). 47 See Petievich 2007, p. 5. 48 Quoted in Harder 2011, p. 209. 49 See Harder 2011, pp. 236–237. 50 Translated by Harder (2011, p. 282). 51 Ibid., pp. 240–41. 52 Nūre Dūnīyā, song number 24, translated by the author. 53 Nūre Dūnīyā, Song number 13, translated by the author. 54 Āhek Mālā, song number 12, translated by the author. 55 See Harder 2011, p. 241. 56 Ibid., p. 237. 57 Ibid., p. 238. 58 Ibid. 59 Ibid., p. 239. 60 Ibid., p. 174 cf 11. 61 Quoted in Harder 2011, p. 243. 62 Ratna Sāgar, song number 21, translated by the author. 63 Translated by Harder (2011, p. 334). 64 See Nasr 1980, pp. 68, 70; 2007, p. 37; also Shaykh 2012, pp. 75–81. 65 Chittick 1989, p. 23. 66 See Corbin 1987, pp. 159–60; Nasr 1980, p. 70. 67 Quoted in Shaikh 2012, p. 174. 68 See Ibid., p. 177. 69 See Schimmel 1997 [1995], p. 102. 70 Ibid., p. 103. 71 Murata 1992, p. 145. 72 Schimmel 1975, p. 426. 73 Shaikh 2009, p. 784. 74 See Harder 2011, p. 242. 75 Ibid., p. 244. 76 Ibid. 77 Ibid., pp. 283–5. 78 Schimmel 1982, pp. 71–2. 79 Schimmel 1975, p. 434. 80 Schimmel 1982, p. 152. See also Petievich 2007, p. 15. 81 Dimock 1989 [1966], pp. 158–9; also see Schimmel 1982, pp. 158, 266 f77 and Das 1997, pp. 2, 24. 82 For details, see Haberman 1994. 83 Kinsley 1969, p. 182. 84 Chakravarti 1969, pp. 256–7, 296. 85 Highest form of sweetness and delight. 86 Chakravarti 1969, p. 352. 87 See Das 1997, p. 26. 88 Ibid.

196  Sarwar Alam 89 See Dimock 1989 [1966], p.  211; for parakīyā doctrines among Bengali Sahajiyās, see pp. 194–215. 90 See Das 1997, p. 24; Schimmel 1997, pp. 276–7. 91 See Haq 1975, p. 52. 92 See Sharif 2011 [1969], p. 27. 93 Cashin 1995, p. 39. 94 Ibid., p. 54. 95 For the Sufi hadīth “Die before ye die” (mūtū qabla an tamūtū), see Schimmel 1982, p. 132. 96 Cashin 1995, p. 55. Interestingly, Cashin did not engage Eaton in his study. 97 Eaton 2000, p. 270. 98 For a comparative analysis of the legends of Layla Majnun and Radha Krishna, see Sinha 2008. 99 Schimmel 1975, p. 429. 100 See ibid., p. 432. 101 See Schimmel 1997, pp. 264–9. 102 Shaikh 2009, p. 790. 103 See Schimmel 1997, pp. 274–6; 1982, p. 68. 104 For details, see Alam 2010, pp. 35–7. 105 See Shaikh 2009, p. 790. 106 See Petievich 2007, p. 20. 107 See Singh 2017. 108 See, among others, Dimock 1989 [1966], pp. 113, 250–51, 255–65, 270; Haq 1975, p. 287; Karim 1985, pp. 182–3, 210; Cashin 1995, p. 21.

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Part IV

Political discourse

10 Injecting God into politics Modelling Asma’ ul Husna as a Sufi-based panacea to political conflict in contemporary Malaysia Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi Introduction: government and opposition responsibilities in Islam In a country that declares Islam as its state religion and proclaims for itself the position of role model for Muslim countries in the world,1 political competition amongst Malaysia’s own Muslims reaches proportions that hardly reflect injunctions contained in the Holy Qur’an – God’s Words as revealed to the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH: peace be upon him) and hadith (pl. ahadith) – the Prophet’s words and deeds as reported by his contemporaries in a series of unbroken transmissions. The Qur’an arguably states the responsibilities of both the government and the opposition. Within the context of a functioning democratic system, if both forces play their roles accordingly to provide the necessary checks and balances as per God’s instructions, peace can prevail in the whole nation, of whose population around sixty  percent are Muslims who are constitutionally accorded the status of Malaysia’s Bumiputeras (sons of the soil). Nonetheless, the praxis of Malaysian contemporary politics hardly evince qualities of exemplary leadership and ukhuwwah (brotherhood), which may potentially unite the different camps of Muslims irrespective of political beliefs and tendencies. In the Holy Qur’an, Allah mentions in chapter al-Imran (3:26) that, as the Owner of sovereignty, He confers governmental authority to whomsoever He chooses: “Say, ‘O God, Lord of Power (and Rule). Thou givest Power, To whom Thou pleasest, And Thou strippest off Power, From whom Thou pleasest, Thou endues with honour, Whom Thou pleasest, And Thou bringest low, Whom Thou pleasest, In Thy hand is all Good. Verily, over all things, Thou hast power.’ ”2 Hence, the members of any elected government should always bear in mind that they are actually appointed by Allah through the means of general elections. Their main obligations to Allah as their real appointer and boss are, as per chapter al-Hajj (22:41), to establish their main ibadah (worship) to Allah, namely, their salah (prayer), zakah (alms-giving), amr ma’ruf (i.e., enjoining the people to do good deeds to Allah and the community), and nahy an al-munkar (i.e., prohibiting them from committing bad actions to Allah and to the community).3

202  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi Being at once a huge responsibility as well as a test from Allah, holding power presents multiple challenges. Allah has laid out the guidance and principles for those wielding authority. In chapter  Yusuf (12:53), Allah reminds that a leader should not use power based on nafs (desire, usually selfish). Leaders who act according to their nafs is prone to misleading the people under his authority, as nafs is inclined toward mischief. “Nor do I absolve my own self (of blame): the (human) soul is certainly prone to evil. Unless my Lord do bestow His Mercy: but surely My Lord is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.”4 The Qur’anic verses on authority are elaborated further in numerous ahadith (sing. hadith) of the Prophet Muhammad. A hadith on leadership, for example, likens a Muslim leader to a shield that protects the body, which is akin to a body politic: “Verily, the leader is only a shield behind whom they fight and he protects them. If he commands the fear of Allah the Exalted and justice, then he will have a reward. If he commands something else, then it will be against him.”5 In order to rule efficiently, the role of the people could not be left behind. In another hadith narrated by Umm al-Hussein, the Messenger of Allah (PBUH) during the farewell pilgrimage stressed to all Muslims the necessity of obeying the leader, regardless of his race or status: “Even if a slave were to be appointed in charge over you and he leads you with the Book of Allah, then you must listen and obey.”6 Within a democratic setup, as is commonplace in many Muslim countries today, different political forces vie for power against one another during general elections. At the conclusion of the elections, one party or one coalition of parties with distinct but related manifestos gets elected to helm the government. In situations where an absolute majority is elusive, coalition politics becomes necessary, sometimes accompanied by intense bargaining and compromise of varying political positions. But if the distinct political segments steadfastly hold to Islamic teachings, as found in the Qur’an and Sunna,7 considerations of unity would overwhelm narrow political interests. In the larger interest of the nation, the governing bloc will be challenged by an equally capable opposing bloc whose utility lies in providing overall checks and balances to the whole system of governance. Competition merely signifies different views and strategies regarding governance and does not nullify the brotherly obligation of love and kindness among fellow citizens.

The scenario of party: political competition in Malaysia Malaysia originally gained independence from the British on August  31, 1957, as the Federation of Malaya. On September  16, 1963, the nation state was reconstituted as Malaysia with the incorporation of the regions of Sarawak, Sabah and Singapore. In August 1965, however, Singapore left the Malaysian federation to form a nation state of its own. In contemporary Malaysia, political competition is multifaceted, pitting many stripes, groups, individuals, blocs, parties, bodies, organizations and alliances, both

Injecting God into politics 203 inter-ethnic and intra-ethnic, spanning many years and periods. This is only to be expected in a plural society of thirty-two million people. Malaysia is populated by roughly between fifty to sixty percent Malays and other Bumiputera categories, twenty-five percent ethnic Chinese and seven percent ethnic Indians, the remainder being made up of smaller ethnic groups. While Malays are constitutionally defined as Muslims, both Chinese and Indian Malaysians are multi-confessional, with the former being mostly Buddhists and Christians and the latter mainly Hindus and Christians. This yields a religious complexion of roughly sixty percent Muslim, twenty percent Buddhist, ten  percent Christian and six  percent Hindu, with the remainder adhering to an array of folk and traditional religions. As Malaysia pronounces “Belief in God” as its first pillar of the nation,8 atheism is not particularly welcomed, although not criminalized as such. This chapter focuses on the oppositional political activities among MalayMuslims from 1987 until 2013. The period is divided into two phases: first, 1987–96, when the main oppositional political force was led by Tengku Razaleigh Hamzah (1937–), a former Minister of Finance who unsuccessfully challenged Prime Minister Dr.  Mahathir Mohamad (1925–) in the presidential contest for the ruling United Malays National Organzation (UMNO) party in 1987. Razaleigh led the UMNO splinter party Semangat 46 (S46: Spirit of 46) until its dissolution in 1996, when its members following Razaleigh rejoined UMNO en masse. UMNO had been governing Malaysia since independence in 1957 under the auspices of the Perikatan (Alliance) (1957–73) and Barisan Nasional (BN: National Front) (1974– 2018) coalitions. The second phase, 1998–2018, corresponds to a time when myriad political forces, generally led by former Deputy Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim (1947–), came together to offer sustained oppositional pressure on BN and UMNO in determined bids to unseat them from power – a feat finally accomplished in 2018. Anwar, a well-known youth activist leading the nongovernmental organization (NGO) Angkatan Belia Islam Malaysia (ABIM: Muslim Youth Movement of Malaysia), when handpicked by Dr. Mahathir to join UMNO in 1982, was sacked as Deputy UMNO President–cum– Deputy Premier in September 1998, having been accused of corruption and sodomy by Dr. Mahathir. Jailed twice in 1999 and 2014, Anwar unleashed a loose civil society movement known as Reformasi (Reformation), whose main platform was the fight against corruption, institutional reform and justice for the downtrodden masses, as symbolized in the tumultuous political journey of Anwar  Ibrahim himself. To Reformasi supporters, Anwar had been the victim of political conspiracy to deny him the Premiership. In a twist of irony, Dr.  Mahathir and Anwar reconciled in 2016, after which Dr.  Mahathir assumed leadership of a newly reconstructed opposition coalition called Pakatan Harapan (PH: Pact of Hope). PH’s predecessor, Pakatan Rakyat (PR), consisting of Anwar’s Parti Keadilan Rakyat (PKR: People’s Justice Party), the Chinese-dominated and secular-oriented

204  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi Democratic Action Party (DAP) and the Islamist Parti Islam SeMalaysia (PAS: Islamic Party of Malaysia), survived from 2008 until 2015 on a joint electoral agenda to unseat BN-UMNO from power. In the Fourteenth General Elections (GE14) of May 2018, PH, now marshalled by Dr. Mahathir as its chairman, trounced a BN plagued by corruption allegations against its leader Najib Razak. Dr. Mahathir eventually replaced the graft-tainted Najib as Prime Minister, becoming the oldest elected leader of the democratic world at 93 years of age. Malaysia’s politically reincarnated Prime Minister Dr. Mahathir Mohamad has been fairly consistent in his position that cracks within the ummah (Muslim global community) leading to chronic disunity have been caused by political differences rather than religious faith.9 In outlining his Islamic vision under the new PH government, Dr. Mahathir resuscitated his intention, not unknown but rather implicitly stated during his first tenure as Prime Minister, 1981–2003, of turning Malaysia into the world’s best model of a contemporary Islamic polity. Such a vision is built upon convictions that Islam is a bountiful faith for all humankind, that the maqasid (higher objectives) as opposed to the literal approach to shari‘a (Islamic law) is most suitable for the solution to contemporary problems of life and that problems besetting other parts of the ummah, especially the Middle East, are practically insurmountable under current conditions. As such, steadfast adherence to the Qur’an and authentic ahadith is a prerequisite to success in both the world and the hereafter.10 Allah Himself declares in the Qur’an: “O ye who believe! Obey God, and obey the Apostle, and those charged with authority among you. If ye differ in anything among yourselves, refer it to God and His Apostle.”11 One of the commands of Allah in the Qur’an is for believers to constantly engage in dhikr (remembrance of Allah): “For men and women who engage much in God’s praise, for them has God prepared forgiveness and great reward,”12 and “those who believe, and whose hearts find satisfaction in the remembrance of God. For without doubt in the remembrance of God do hearts find satisfaction.”13 A lot of strife happening in the ummah stems from overwhelming emphases placed upon the laws of Allah without due regard to the wisdom and spirit underpinning such laws. The epitome of such mischief during the caliphate of the Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) son-in-law ‘Ali ibn Abu Talib (601–61) was the Kharijite rebels, who misused the seemingly shari‘a-centric verse meaning “the Command is for none but God”14 to excommunicate fellow believers from the fold of Islam. This trend extends to modern times with the multiplication of takfiri groups intent on deposing existing Muslim governments on the basis their alleged apostasy. What were supposed to be differences of opinion in matters where disagreements are permitted, such as politics, have degenerated into a fierce intra-Muslim conflict that thrives on a theology of an “angry God” who allegedly sanctions violence for religious purposes.15 Modern Kharijites are represented by such groups as al-Qaeda and the Islamic State of Iraq and

Injecting God into politics 205 Syria (ISIS), a terrorist group which briefly ruled over parts of Iraq and Syria in 2014–17, also known as the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL), the Islamic State (IS), or DAESH – after its Arabic acronym. The implication of such takfiri ideology is that opposition to an ostensibly Islamic government can lead one to the path of unbelief, the punishment for which is necessarily death. The Kharijite-like extremist tendencies that have mushroomed in contemporary Muslim societies do not mean that Muslims propagating them are devoid of Qur’anic knowledge. On the contrary, they do read the Qur’an, but they rely almost solely on literal interpretations of the scripture to formulate their understanding of God’s words. As the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) had anticipated: There will come a people from the east who recite the Qur’an but it will not go beyond their throats. They will pass through the religion just as an arrow pierces its target and they will not return to it just as the arrow does not return to the bow.16 Sufis, as practitioners of mystical dimensions of Islam seeking the inner truth of God and His creations, supplement their recitation of the Qur’an with daily dhikr, the most popular of which among turuq (sufi brotherhoods, sing. tariqa) invariably contain repetitive invocation of the name “Allah” and His other Asma ul-Husna (Beautiful Names), ninety-nine of which are explicitly mentioned in the Qur’an. Techniques of dhikr differ according to the different Sufi masters, or shaykhs, heading the various turuq, as inherited from a chain of authority that extends back to the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH).17 The ultimate aim of dhikr is to inculcate love of Allah, out of which are derived other virtues such as compassion, acceptance of God’s will, thankfulness, forbearance, magnanimity, patience, a forgiving attitude and humility. These are called mahmudah, i.e., virtuous attributes, as opposed to mazmumah, i.e., vicious attributes, which include traits like uncontrollable anger, greed, arrogance, vengeance, impatience, recklessness and unwarranted inferiority. Sufis contend that practising the shari‘a without due regard to questions of Divine Love and Mercy will only result in Muslims who are outwardly obedient but internally barren, not being trained in the art of discovering the wisdom and secrets behind God’s injunctions. Without the inculcation of Sufi practices in the daily lives of Muslims, engagement with God remains restricted to His express commandments and prohibitions, without utilizing the creativity of the human soul in harnessing Divine Love, which can thereafter be transferred into the human realm as an extension of His Bounties for all humankind, as is understood from the oft-quoted verse of the Qur’an “we sent thee not, but as a Mercy for all creatures.”18 The creative spirituality of Sufis has been widely maligned by extremists as bid’ah (abhorred innovations) that violate Islam’s fundamental principle of

206  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi tawheed (unitarian theology), resulting in occurrences of violence against Sufis, such as that witnessed in Sinai, Egypt, in November 2017.19 Such tolerance exhibited in the past have greatly influenced mainstream Sunni politics, which prioritized peace over bedlam and order over chaos. Rebellion against those in power has traditionally been frowned upon, as it can easily lead to prolonged unrest, which disrupts even the basic ibadah (worship) from being publicly carried out in society.20 For this reason also, Sufis have been misunderstood for allegedly compromising the purity of Islam, letting matters of religion rest in the hands of unjust rulers. In truth, Sufis prefer and believe in change via peaceful means and strive their best to avoid pandemonium. Such a disposition has endeared them to some Muslim leaders who find in God-centric Sufism the panacea to problems of extremism, bigotry and intolerance. In Muslim countries bedevilled by the malaise of terrorism, such as Pakistan, calls have therefore increasingly risen for the introduction of Sufism in the Islamic education curricula.21

Oppositional political forces in Malaysia: prime driving factors 1. The justice agenda Both opposition leaders of the periods we are concerned with, viz. Tengku Razaleigh and Anwar  Ibrahim, thrived on populist agendas. In 1988, the Razaleigh-led Semangat 46 initiated the first oppositional political wave with an anti-Mahathir agenda, focusing on Mahathir’s autocratic style in governing the country. The Razaleigh-led oppositional coalition advanced several arguments to canvass public support for its anti-Mahathir campaign. First, Mahathir was blamed for letting the original UMNO be declared illegal by the Registrar of Societies (ROS) in 1988 on account of procedural irregularities during party elections, which saw Mahathir defeating Razaleigh’s presidential challenge by a very slim majority.22 Second, Mahathir’s determination to terminate the Lord President,23 Saleh Abas, on grounds of judicial misconduct, reeked of executive interference in judicial matters, thus undermining independence of the judiciary, which undergirded the principle of separation of powers. The removal was presumed to be related to Mahathir’s resolve in pushing through UMNO Baru’s (New UMNO) registration, whose legitimacy was being challenged by Razaleigh’s S46; “46” here refers to the year 1946, when the original UMNO was founded.24 Third, Mahathir was reprimanded for launching a massive crackdown on civil society known as Operasi Lalang (Weeding Operation) beginning October 27, 1987, which involved the substantial use of the Internal Security Act (ISA), which authorized detention without trial. Overall, 106 activists, politicians, academics and social figures were apprehended in a security clampdown ostensibly intended to stymie demands and counterdemands from disparate ethnoreligious groups, including dissenting elements within

Injecting God into politics 207 UMNO. Even the venerable Tunku Abdul Rahman, Malaysia’s father of independence and first prime minister, denounced the operation as undemocratic for transforming the country into a police state.25 In preparation for the Eighth General Elections (GE8) of 1990, under Razaleigh’s leadership, the oppositional political force constructed their manifesto around issues that highlighted the ruling elites’ skewed interests once they reached the heights of the political ladder. The manifesto contained promises to defeat money politics and other democratic promises, such as freedom of the press and an end to repressive laws. Promising socioeconomic prosperity, the manifesto projected the elimination of poverty by the year 2000. In 1995, as GE9 approached, Razaleigh’s coalition improved its manifesto’s democratic credentials, built on the slogan “Justice for All.” S46 declared support for clean and fair elections, upgrading of the status of parliament and guaranteeing that the rule of law and judicial independence prevail.26 Razaleigh’s opposition wave petered out by virtue of his and his remaining team of ex-UMNO warlords deciding to bury the hatchet with Mahathir in 1996. In reality, within the context of Malaysia’s patronage politics, surviving outside the UMNO state network would have always been a gargantuan task, regardless of Razaleigh’s personal wealth. Amid Malaysia’s vibrant economic growth in the 1990s, the most that he could do was to help PAS turn Kelantan, from where Razaleigh hailed, into an anti-UMNO fortress – a feat that survived his rejoining UMNO. Razaleigh never really reconciled with Mahathir despite his being accepted back into UMNO. In contrast with his S46 lieutenants, such as Rais Yatim, Ahmad Shabery Cheek and Radzi Sheikh Ahmad, Razaleigh was never reappointed to a cabinet position by Mahathir or his successors as Prime Minister, viz. Abdullah Ahmad Badawi (2003–09) and Najib Razak (2009–18). This was despite Abdullah Ahmad Badawi’s having been his former ally in UMNO’s Team B, which opposed Mahathir’s presidency during the 1987 party elections. In 2018, Razaleigh failed in what was probably his last attempt to secure the UMNO presidency following Najib Razak’s resignation in the wake of UMNO’s disastrous GE14 outing. Decrying UMNO members’ verdict of electing Najib’s erstwhile deputy Dr. Ahmad Zahid Hamidi as the new UMNO President, Razaleigh questioned whether UMNO’s age-old problem of money politics had had a bearing on the election outcome.27 Anti-Mahathir sentiments also underscored the second oppositional political wave, starting in 1998, when Anwar  Ibrahim’s unceremonious dismissals from party and government posts and humiliating treatment in jail, which included being physically assaulted by the inspector-general of police, Rahim Noor, triggered a wave of mass protests that revolved around the themes of Reformasi and “Justice for Anwar.” Anti-Mahathir feelings, Reformasi and the clarion call of “Justice for Anwar” momentarily mustered disparate civil society elements into a broad-based movement that fought for democratic reforms against corruption and abuse of power by

208  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi high-ranking members of the ruling elite. Among issues of importance that Reformasi dwelled on were crony capitalism; nepotism; the government’s bailout of connected companies concentration of power in the hands of the executive branch; electoral reforms; women’s and minority rights, including neglected Bumiputera communities; emasculation of the judiciary; the undermining of checks and balances in governmental procedures; and lack of transparency and accountability in decision-making. An overhaul of the whole system of governance was deemed necessary to restore Malaysia’s dignity in the comity of nations.28 It is clear from the previous account that justice was the paramount concern of the two oppositional waves. To be sure, justice constitutes a primary Qur’anic agenda of “restoring balance” whenever excesses are committed. Yet, to God-conscious individuals, which Sufis perennially aspire to become, it makes no sense if one wanted to do justice to repressed human beings without first acting justly in one’s relations with God. Hence, in the Qur’an, the well-known verse enjoining justice is actually preceded by the commandment to do dhikr: And call in remembrance the favour of God unto you, and His Covenant, which He ratifies with you, when ye said, we hear and we obey. And fear God, for God knoweth well the secrets of your hearts. O you who believe, stand out firmly for God, as witnesses to fair dealing, and let not the hatred of others to you make you swerve to wrong and depart from justice. Be just, that is next to piety. And fear God, for God is well-acquainted with all that ye do.29 The embodiment of Islamic dispensation of justice regardless of ethnoreligious affiliations must surely be the Prophet Muhammad’s (PBUH) governance of Medina (622–632).30 His Medina Charter conferred political, cultural and religious rights on non-Muslims, proclaiming Muslims and non-Muslims to be of one nation (Arabic: ummah wahidah) despite differences in religious beliefs.31 Without constant remembrances of God, how many political aspirants have we seen drowning in pleasures of the world and intricacies of political intrigue once installed in power, in spite of countless assurances given to the electorate during campaigning that they would restore justice to all in the event that they get elected to leadership positions. Notwithstanding the many failures of Muslim politicians to live up to what is expected of being “just,” the word “justice” continues to be bandied about by political parties claiming the mantle of Islam: the ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP: Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi) in Turkey, the outlawed Freedom and Justice Party (FJP: Hizb al-Hurriya wa al-’Adala) ˙ in Egypt, the Prosperous Justice Party (PKS: Partai Keadilan Sejahtera) in Indonesia, and Anwar Ibrahim’s People’s Justice Party (PKR: Parti Keadilan Rakyat) in Malaysia. Upon being released from jail in May 2018, Anwar clearly emphasized justice in spelling out priorities of his reform agenda in

Injecting God into politics 209 the new PH-led Malaysia: “Independence of the judiciary, rule of law, free media and proper separation of powers.”32 2. Leadership A leadership that fears and obeys God in the basic tenets of governance, the most important of which is justice, is crucial for the success of a group, party, country and state. It is apt here to quote the medieval scholar  Ibn Taymiyyah (1263–1328), notwithstanding his rather controversial fatwas (legal rulings) on certain aspects of theology and fiqh (jurisprudence): It is said that Allah allows the just state to remain even if it is led by unbelievers, but Allah will not allow the oppressive state to remain even if it is led by Muslims. And it is said that the world will endure with justice and unbelief, but it will not endure with oppression and Islam.33 In a similar vein, in his study of four East Asian countries’ struggle for democracy, Freedman asserts the importance of leadership from a charismatic political elite in the consolidation of democracy.34 A just leadership is one that is able to evoke in its people fear and love of God. Dispensing justice to God is enjoining citizens of a polity to give God what is due to Him – people’s hearts. A God-centric polity will be showered with blessings from the heavens, as God promises: “If the people of the towns had but believed and feared God, We should indeed have opened out to them (all kinds of blessings) from heaven and earth. . . .”35 Such bounties are to be received by a country’s denizens irrespective of ethnicity and religion and may come in modern times in the form of continuously sustainable economic development, the ability to control inflation and the discovery of minerals and oil. Tangible bounties are meant to be distributed justly among peoples of various faiths, confessions and denominations, one’s position in the Hereafter not being a factor in the sharing of God’s immeasurable wealth in this world. Such wealth, when given out justly by Muslim leaders, itself becomes a form of da’wa (propagation) of Islamic ideals to the non-Muslim population. Fear of God will prevent Muslim leaders from victimizing non-Muslim minorities who have sworn loyalty to the Muslim state and leadership. This is enshrined in the principle of respect for human dignity (karamah insaniyah) as one of the higher objectives of the shari‘a to be protected.36 A leader who humiliates his subjects could not be said to have upheld justice. In their awe of humanity, philosophical Sufis at times evince tendencies of throwing doubt on institutional religion, thus incurring the wrath of orthodox Muslim leaders and scholars. Consider for example the legendary Persian mystic Husayn ibn Mansur al-Hallaj’s (857–922) utterances: I left to their people their world and their religion For you, O ‘my world’ and ‘my religion’!

210  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi I have lit two fires within me; One between the ribs, and The other within the intestines.37 Overwhelmed by zauq (spiritual intoxication), he continued: Go, tell my friends: I have set sail On the sea, and my raft is broken It is on the religion of the cross that I will die I will go neither to Batha’ (Makkah) nor to Madinah.38 It is not difficult to see why Sufis of the ecstatic type, such as al-Hallaj, are liable to be misunderstood for allegedly advocating pantheism and religious pluralism of the kind that compromises the Islamic faith. Indeed, al-Hallaj was tragically executed on the caliph’s order, accused of leading the masses astray through his infamous incantations of ana ’l-haqq (I am the Truth, i.e., Lord). Al-Hallaj’s order of execution was also signed by his equally renowned peer, the sufi master-cum-theologian Junayd al-Baghdadi (830– 910).39 Pouncing on the example of al-Hallaj and other ecstatic Sufis, orthodox legalists have been quick to pronounce on Sufis’ alleged deviancy for purportedly inventing methods of worship that find no basis in the Sunna.40 While this may be debatable, it is the Sufis’ universalism that is particularly relevant to be considered by politicians. Applying the universalist philosophy to the political realm, one can infer the color-blind principle of muwatanah (citizenship) as a guide for treating citizens of diverse ethno-religious persuasions in an Islamic state, in the manner elaborated by the Mauritanian neo-traditionalist scholar Abdullah ibn Bayyah.41 3. Failures of political leaders and alliances In May 2018, the world witnessed a historic return to power of Dr. Mahathir Mohamad, ousting Najib Razak as Prime Minister of Malaysia. Leading an improbable coalition consisting of his former political enemies, now gathered under PH, Dr. Mahathir’s major rallying cry during the GE14 hustings was corruption associated with the state investment fund 1Malaysia Development Berhad (1MDB), a portion of whose funds is said to have found its way into Najib’s personal bank account,42 apart from being laundered by an inner circle of state officials, including Najib’s stepson Riza Aziz and business associate Jho Low via a complex web of transactions through several countries’ banking systems.43 Upon assuming the reins of government, Dr.  Mahathir lamented that corruption had become a scourge besetting Malaysia’s state administration, some of whose officials colluded with the Najib-led coterie of graft-ridden politicians.44 Astonishingly, even individuals from the Islamist PAS have been implicated as alleged beneficiaries of laundered proceeds from the 1MDB scandal.45 Ironically, it was Anwar Ibrahim’s “all-out-war against corruption” when he was acting Prime Minister in 1997 that drove a wedge between him and

Injecting God into politics 211 Dr.  Mahathir, culminating in his twin dismissals from the country’s and UMNO’s number two posts in September 1998. Anwar’s proposal for an anti-corruption bill to strengthen the existing Anti-Corruption Agency ruffled feathers in the UMNO-connected political establishment.46 After his downfall, Anwar’s enemies struck back in the mainstream media by divulging names of Anwar’s own cronies who had benefited from distribution of projects under his auspices as Finance Minister from 1994 to 1998, as shown in Table 10.1 below. The previous evidence does not necessarily mean that other factions in past UMNO-dominated Malay-Muslim politics have been squeaky clean. Table 10.1 List of Anwar Ibrahim’s cronies. Crony

Links

Projects/companies

Value of project

Kamarudin Jaffar

Ex-Secretary General of ABIM and PAS Former PAS MP for Tumpat, Kelantan (1999–2013). Now MP for Bandar Tun Razak, Kuala Lumpur, and Deputy Transport Minister (2018–).

KL Linear City

RM10 billion

KL PRT Sdn Bhd.

RM 1.298 million

Sabah Shipyard Sdn. Bhd

RM 21 million

Total Pengkalen Holdings Berhad and Nissan Industrial Oxygen Incorporated Tekala Corporation

RM 11.319 billion 250,000 and 3,790,500 units of shares respectively 6,751,493 units of shares

Ibrahim Abdul Rahman (d. 2015) Dr. Ahmad Zahid Hamidi

Father of Anwar Ibrahim UMNO Youth head who defended Anwar Ibrahim during the UMNO General Assembly, 1998. MP for Bagan Datoh since 1995. Deputy Prime Minister and Deputy UMNO President under Najib Razak. Now UMNO President and Head of Opposition in Parliament.

Re-development of Kampung Haji Abdullah Hukum, Kuala Lumpur through Pantai Dalam Sdn Bhd

Source: Ministry of Finance Report, UMNO General Assembly, Putra World Trade Center (PWTC), Kuala Lumpur, 1999.1 1 Utusan Malaysia, ‘Senarai kroni Anwar  – Rustam Sani yang hebat mengecam kerajaan juga mendapat projek’ [List of Anwar’s cronies – the government critic Rustam Sani also received projects], Utusan Online, June 20, 1999, http://ww1.utusan.com.my/utusan/info. asp?y=1999&dt=0620&pub=utusan_malaysia&sec=Muka_Hadapan&pg=fp_01.htm (accessed 20 August 2018).

212  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi Dr.  Mahathir has himself previously been implicated in graft allegations in connection with his offspring’s massive wealth.47 The “Malaysia Incorporated” model he invented was criticized by international agencies as nothing more than “institutionalized corruption” that enriched politically connected businessmen, including his son Mirzan, whose shipping company was bailed out during the East Asian economic crisis of 1997–98.48 During the first oppositional political wave, from 1987 to 1996, Dr. Mahathir and his opponent, Tengku Razaleigh, were backed by separate capitalist factions intent on leveraging the state for the purpose of surplus accumulation, out of which patronage networks were created, nurtured and sustained.49 Razaleigh had persistently been contesting for top posts in UMNO, failing twice in his bids to become deputy president in 1981 and 1984 before deciding to challenge Dr.  Mahathir for the presidency in 1987. This was one year after Dr.  Mahathir fell out with Musa Hitam, who was Deputy UMNO President and Deputy Prime Minister from 1981 to 1986. It was after his third defeat in 1987 that Razaleigh split from a reincarnated UMNO, his Team B supporters finding themselves personae non gratae in Dr. Mahathir’s new UMNO. Whether carried out from inside or outside the party, Razaleigh justified his oppositional activities against Dr. Mahathir on political and economic terms. According to Razaleigh, Mahathir’s increasingly autocratic leadership had broken up UMNO into fiercely competing factions that shamelessly engaged in unethical behavior, slander, suspicion and envy among party comrades.50 Another contributing factor that led to the failure of the Razaleigh-led oppositional political force was its incohesive communication line with grassroots supporters. Using a one-way, top-down tactical move in mobilizing support, Razaleigh’s strategy was to capture loyalties of the topbrass UMNO leaders, who would then command the fealties of the masses, unlike Sufi movements that have historically appealed to those at the lower ranks of society.51 Hailing from the Kelantan royal family and himself son of a former Kelantan chief minister, Razaleigh’s mode of operation created a wide gap in the upper, middle and lower echelons of the opposition coalition he led. Razaleigh flanked his broad-based opposition front with two alliances that never got on well together, the Islamic-oriented Angkatan Perpaduan Ummah (APU: Ummah Unity Movement) and the secular-inclined Gagasan Rakyat (GR: People’s Might). On the one hand, APU consisted of S46, PAS, Hizb al-Muslimin (HAMIM: Party of Muslims), the Islamic Congregation Front of Malaysia (BERJASA: Barisan Jemaah Islamiah SeMalaysia), and Kongres India Muslim Malaysia (KIMMA: Malaysian Indian Muslim Congress). On the other hand, GR comprised S46, DAP, Parti Rakyat Malaysia (PRM: Malaysian People’s Party), Parti Bersatu Sabah (PBS: Sabah United Party), and the Indian Progressive Front (IPF). Managing two marriages of convenience at the same time took its toll on Razaleigh as conflicting pressures to appease divergent tendencies imploded. The sight of Razaleigh wearing a seemingly Christian

Injecting God into politics 213 headgear while campaigning in Sabah in 1990 managed to rally MalayMuslim voters’ communal sentiments against S46, leading to its defeat in spite of UMNO’s being on defensive mode in the wake of the party deregistration and judicial crises of 1987–88.52 The communication gap between Razaleigh and his potential rank-and-file supporters, as portrayed in Figure  10.1 below, obstructed last-ditch efforts at damage control. In an era when the Internet was not yet available throughout the country, ethnocentrism and religious communalism spewed by the BN-controlled mainstream media ruled the day. Material interests were exploited as bait to prospective voters without their hearts bound together. In the light of GE9 of 1995, both APU and GR collapsed as BN and UMNO registered huge electoral gains on the back of an impressive economic growth propelled by what was then a visionary national leadership led by the first Mahathir-Anwar partnership. On the whole, obsession with material rewards and pecuniary benefits became the Achilles’ heel of the failed attempts at leadership generation and coalition building in the periods under investigation. Vested interests were the ephemeral binding factor, but once hopes for tangible gains evaporated, severing of relationships and destruction of alliances became inevitable. Worldly interests can only ensure momentary attachment to a particular cause or objective, insofar as dunya (world) is only temporary and should

PAS

HAMIM Angkatan Perpaduan Ummah

BERJASA

KIMMA Razaleigh

Semangat 46 DAP Gagasan Rakyat

PBS PRM IPF

Figure 10.1 Razaleigh’s one-way communication method.

Voters

214  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi never be targeted by pure hearts as an aim of life. As controllers of levers of power and resources, politicians must be extricated from hub al-dunya (love of the world). According to Malaysia’s perseverant Sufi scholar-­activist Ashaari Muhammad (1937–2010), whose movements Darul Arqam and Rufaqa’ Corporation were proscribed by the government in 1994 and 2008 respectively,53 love of the world lies at the root of all evil. From love of the world, other vices, such as avarice, envy, selfishness, enmity, vengeance and impatience, cancerously spread in society.54 Divesting human hearts from love of this world and its pleasures constitutes the essence of the trait Sufis call zuhud – conventionally understood as renouncing the world.55 On the contrary, the world should be exploited to the full in the manner that we toil on our plantations, in order to be able to reap a bountiful harvest in the hereafter.56 The Turkish Sufi master Muzaffer Ozak al-Jerrahi explains further: “Renunciation of This World” does not mean total rejection of all the bounties it has to offer. It means detaching one’s feelings and appetites from those bounties. Our love and desire should be directed exclusively toward Allah, Exalted is He. He is the True Beloved. We must be aware of this fact and savor the delight of this awareness.57 This Sufi wisdom tallies with God’s own words, as expressed in chapter al-Hadid 57, verse 20, of the Qur’an: Know ye (all), that the life of this world is but play and amusement, pomp and mutual boasting, and multiplying (in rivalry) among yourselves, riches and children. Here is a similitude, how rain and the growth which it brings forth, delight (the hearts of) the tillers, soon it withers; thou wilt see it grow yellow, then it becomes dry, and crumbles away. But in the Hereafter, is a penalty severe (for the devotees of wrong), and forgiveness from God. And (His) Good Pleasure (for the devotees of God). And what is the life of this world, but goods and chattels of deception?58 4. Proposal for a God-centric model of appreciation of Asma ul-Husna in politics The authors of this chapter  hold that heart-cleansing is the panacea to political and administrative problems that transpire in horizontal humanto-human relationships in a modern society that practises competitive politics. Without such a cleansing process, politicians as individuals seeking and later entrusted with power upon winning elections will have a high probability of succumbing to worldly temptations related to coercive authority, influence, wealth and territorial control. This argument’s premise is the belief that the central organ of human creation is the heart, not the brain.

Injecting God into politics 215 It is the heart that directs the brain and not the other way round, translating the commands into actions and attitudes. According to a well-known hadith oft-repeated in Sufi literature, “Verily, in the body there is a piece of flesh which if upright then the entire body is upright, and if corrupt then the entire body is corrupt. No doubt it is the heart.”59 The heart can be in two contrasting states, clean or dirty, white or black. When the heart acts according to reason, it assumes the role of the ‘aql (mind). When it acts in accordance with base desires, the heart is also known as the nafs. When overwhelmed by the good spirit, the heart plays the function of the ruh (soul).60 A human being’s perennial struggle involves his or her spiritual endeavor to cleanse his or her heart from a blackened or soiled state to a purified or serene state via a process called tazkiyah al-nafs (purification of the soul) or mujahadah al-nafs (fight against selfish desires). Tawbah (repentance) forms the beginning of the tazkiyah al-nafs process. The Companion Abu Huraira reported: The Messenger of Allah (PBUH) said, “Verily, when the servant commits a sin a black spot appears upon his heart. If he abandons the sin, seeks forgiveness, and repents, then his heart will be polished. If he returns to the sin, the blackness will be increased until it overcomes his heart. It is the covering that Allah has mentioned: No, but on their hearts is a covering because of what they have earned.”61 Apart from the discipline ingrained in obligatory rituals prescribed to all Muslims, such as salah, zakah, siyam (fasting) and the hajj pilgrimage to Makkah once in a lifetime, Sufi mentors known respectfully as Shaykhs are known to prescribe their followers systematic formulae of dhikr as inherited from past Sufi masters with pedigrees reaching the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). As God is the Sufis’ preoccupation, most if not all turuq place emphasis on the invocation of Asma ul-Husna as part of their spiritual practices. In fact, utterances containing any or some of the Asma ul-Husna are considered a great form of dhikr, next in hierarchy only to those with the word “Allah.” In the manual for the Chistiyyah tariqa widely practised in South Asia, for instance, it is mentioned that the Asma ul-Husna, which it calls “The Divine Attributes,” “provide a concept of His all-encompassing, all-pervading, all-powerful nature. . . . [and] enter into Sufi practices called wazifahs.”62 5. The scheme outlined: Asma ul-Husna as a panacea to political belligerence Figure 10.2 shows that the root of the intemperate inclination to oppose, irrespective of whether it impacts positively or negatively unity among Muslims and in the nation at large, is illness of the soul. One of the greatest spiritual sins is to lose contact with God, under which condition one is

216  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi

Figure 10.2 Root causes of the destructive opposition mentality.

bound to neglect one’s social responsibilities as well. When opposition is made for the sake of opposing and to simply appease one’s nafs prodded by hubris, one’s emotions are corrupted to the point of seeing only the wrong in others while thinking that one is eternally flawless in decision-making. The brain becomes imbalanced in its judgement as ill will reverberates around one’s internal ecosystem, triggering physical harm against the antagonist. But the physical harm only ensues from spiritual sins, at the level of which the problem should be arrested. Thus, a spiritual shield at the level of the soul is required before the wrong message is sent to the brain, which processes information that directs the part of the body to harm another human being, by which time it will be too late to avoid dissension in society and breakup of ukhuwwah. The bulwark is provided by, it is contended here, Asma ul-Husna. Figure  10.3 shows the relationship between soul, emotion, brain and physical activity. By purifying their souls, opposition leaders and supporters become closer to God, Creator of all creations and Owner of unity, success and peace. Their criticisms of the government must take into account

Injecting God into politics 217

Figure 10.3 Soul-emotion-brain-physical excellence model for opposition politicians.

the fact that both are not blameless blocs; in the event of a change of government during future elections, the adversarial blocs might switch positions in the political spectrum. It is best, therefore, that criticisms are made constructively with the intention to improve matters, not to rock the boat such that an apparently fragile coalition government can be brought down mid-term, as current UMNO Secretary-General Annuar Musa seems intent on doing.63 Such a plot will be disrespectful to not only the electorate who have chosen UMNO’s adversaries as their choice of government but also God, who allowed the legitimate changeover of government to happen. The opposition and government parties are bonded together by the conviction that their positions as determined by God are for their own spiritual benefits; one to serve the people and the other to repent over past mistakes and re-organize so as to become a better alternative for the country. Invoking the names of Allah – for example, Ya Rahman (O the Gracious), Ya Rahim (O the Merciful), Ya Lateef (O the Gentle), Ya ‘Aleem (O the Knowledgeable), Ya Hakeem (O the Wise), Ya Rasheed (O the Guide), Ya Khaliq (O the Creator), and the like – gradually dismantles both the vertical barrier between humans and God and horizontal obstacles preventing close-knit relations among fellow makhluq (creatures of God) without distinction. Hence, mutual kindness and respect are promoted in society in spite of groups being on opposing sides of the political divide. As enjoined by God

218  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi Himself in the Qur’an, “The most beautiful names belong to God, so call on Him by them. But shun such men as use profanity in His names. For what they do, they will soon be requited.”64 Figure  10.4 outlines a simple guideline for daily practice that can be adopted by all politically active individuals, whether in the opposition or in the ruling bloc. The whole-soul treatment package involves the phases of soul purification, soul enlightening, opening the hijab (barrier), soul protection, total soul submission and wisdom process. The resultant strong soul enables a person having it to think wisely, act humbly and relate to others modestly, allowing the management of political competition in the most efficient and least destructive manner. The dhikr technique previously outlined does not neglect the role of physical activities. On the contrary, the soul and the physical body are synchronized through the invocation of God’s names, as much as Salah, for example, is also both a spiritual and a physical exercise, with priority given invariably to the former. Figure 10.5 shows the model of holistic technique, involving continuous and parallel soul activities through the Asma ul-Husna therapy designed to help the politicians, supporters, NGOs and individuals in the daily management of their political activities. In the treatment process, all politically significant segments of society go through the diagnosis process, realignment activities, transformative thinking

Figure 10.4 The soul treatment process.

Injecting God into politics 219

Figure 10.5 Model of treatment techniques for execution of strategies for problem solving.

about the nature of political competition, loving and caring of human diversity as God’s destiny, appreciation of the challenges of life, performance of moral and societal duties and expression of gratefulness to God. The process can begin with Muslim politicians before being extended to politicians from other faiths in line with their own religious sensibilities under the guidance of their theologians. But the theologians selected have to be openminded enough to accommodate the roles of specialists of other fields, such as politics, psychology, sociology, communication, history and economics. Combining physical and spiritual activities shall hopefully render extraordinary effects on the emotion and change the way one thinks and acts. For instance, the “abuse of power” mindset or culture can be gradually eradicated as all parties put faith and reliance on God as the Ultimate Creator of all eventualities. Figure 10.6 gives a bird’s-eye view of the whole project. Guidance found in the Qur’an and Sunna has to be supplemented by the introspective processes of self-reflection and tafakkur (meditation), which activates the brain and calms emotions so that they are not enveloped by the nafs and unsettled by the ego. As for rational activity, the trainer can consider such workouts as strategizing, planning, diagnosing of afflictions, problem solving, participant observation, communicating, curing, loving and engaging, especially with a potential adversary. Interfaith visitations and dialogues are cases in point that are worth examining for their potential benefits.

Ya Sami’

Extraordinary loyalty Asmaulhusna Therapy

Generate spiritual energy

Ya Kholiq Ya Baarik Ya Musowwir

Ya Quddus Ya jalil

Ya Faah

Ya Mukmin

Ya Sobur

Ya ‘Aziz Ya Qowiy Ya Man

Figure 10.6 Holistic model of excellent opposition based on the Asma ul-Husna.

Connecon with Allah Source of Energy / Power

Ya Baarik Ya Quddus

Ya Baa’ith

Extraordinary movated

Ya ‘Alim Ya Hakim Ya Rosyid

Extraordinary loving & caring

Extraordinary diness & cleanliness

HAPPY AND HEALTHY LIFE Generate extraordinary 99 energy based on 99 Names of Allah

Ya Rahman Ya Rahim Ya jaami’

Extraordinary knowledgeable & wisdom

INTELLECTUAL INTELLIGENCE

EMOTIONAL INTELLIGENCE

PHYSICAL INTELLIGENCE

Extraordinary innovave & creave

Purified heart

Extraordinary openness

Extraordinary sincere

Extraordinary paent

Unusual & extraordinary strength (in the soul)

Brain thinking posively

Feeling calm & strong

Phisycally strong and energized

Injecting God into politics 221

Concluding remarks In this chapter, it is proposed that politicians and political activists practise dhikr and supplication using Asma ul-Husna in the manner of the righteous Sufis, with a view toward exploring their inner confusions; discovering internal love, care, strength and passion among fellow human beings; and performing a positive working culture among fellow nationals of diverse ethno-religious persuasions. While the terminologies and examples have been taken from the Islamic tradition, we contend that such a scheme may yet prove to be applicable among peoples of other faiths should their religious experts join the project with the necessary adjustments befitting a different belief system. Peace and harmony should be the ultimate motive, driven by the innate desire to relate among one another as distinct yet equal creatures in the sight of God. Even for different Muslim countries, adjustments can perhaps be made to accommodate the varied cultures of living Islam within different segments of the ummah. As long as the scheme glorifies God as the ultimate owner of everything, regardless of whichever version is used with respect to incoming cultural and religious adjustments, there is a chance of success in restoring peace and sanity to our present muddled world. And God knows best.

Notes 1 Utusan Malaysia, “Malaysia Role Model for Other Muslim Countries,” Utusan Online, June 16, 2000, available at http://ww1.utusan.com.my/utusan/info. asp?y=2000&dt=0616&pub=Utusan_Express&sec=Front_Page&pg=fp_06. htm (accessed 18 August 2018). 2 A. Yusuf Ali, The Holy Quran, Translation and Commentary (n.p.: Islamic Propagation Centre International, 1946), p. 129. 3 Yusuf Ali, The Holy Quran, p. 862. 4 Ibid., p. 571. 5 Sahih Muslim, hadith no.  1841, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/daily hadithonline/2012/04/04/hadith-on-leadership-the-leader-of-the-muslims-is-ashield-who-defends-them-when-he-fears-allah/ (accessed 18 August 2018). 6 Sahih Muslim, hadith no.  1838, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/daily hadithonline/2011/03/06/you-must-obey-the-ruler-in-ma%E2%80%99rufwell-known-good-no-matter-who-he-is/ (accessed 18 August 2018). 7 Sunna is the trodden path of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH), as derived from his words, deeds and inaction, as reported by his family and companions. 8 The others, in order of priority, are, loyalty to King and country, supremacy of the Constitution, rule of law, and courtesy and morality. These Rukunegara (Pillars of the State), as they are called, were declared in response to bloody racial riots that occurred in and around Kuala Lumpur in May 1969. 9 Bernama, “Perbezaan fahaman politik punca umat Islam berpecah [Political differences source of Muslim disunity],” Utusan Malaysia, December 17, 2011, available at http://ww1.utusan.com.my/utusan/info.asp?y=2011&dt=1217&pub= Utusan_Malaysia&sec=Terkini&pg=bt_12.htm (accessed 18 August 2018). 10 Berita Harian, “Tun M jamin Islam di Malaysia ikut al-quran dan hadis sahih [Tun M guarantees that Islam in Malaysia follows al-Qur’an and authentic Prophetic

222  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi traditions],” PressReader, August 1, 2018, available at www.pressreader.com/ malaysia/berita-harian5831/20180801/281522226895505 (accessed 18 August 2018). Dr  Mahathir’s speech was delivered to a ‘by invitation only’ meeting, attended by the first author, between Dr Mahathir and selected Islamic scholars and intellectuals at the Prime Minister’s office from 3 to 5.30 pm, July 31, 2018. 11 Chapter an-Nisa’ 4: 59, The Holy Quran, p. 198. 12 Chapter al-Ahzab 33: 35. The Holy Quran, pp. 1116–7. 13 Chapter al-Ra’d 13: 28, The Holy Quran, p. 612. 14 Chapter Yusuf 12: 40, 564. 15 El Fadl 2005, pp. 139–140, 199. On the association between takfir ideology and violence, see the video Youtube, “Takfiri Ideology Warning Very graphic content,” January  23, 2015, available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=D47KXg12no4 (accessed 18 August 2018). 16 Sahih Bukhari, hadith no.  71231, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/dangers-of-the-khawarij-ideology-of-violence/ (accessed 18 August 2018). 17 Shustery 1999, pp. 26–7. 18 Chapter al-Anbiya 21: 107, The Holy Quran, p. 846. 19 Megan Specia, “Who are Sufi Muslims and why do some extremists hate them?” New York Times, November  24, 2017, available at www.nytimes.com/2017/ 11/24/world/middleeast/sufi-muslim-explainer.html (accessed 18 August 2018). 20 Consider for instance, such reservation as expressed by the influential hadith scholar al-Nawawi (1233–1277): “As for rebelling against the ruler and fighting him, it is forbidden by consensus of the Muslims even if he is sinful and oppressive. I  have mentioned many traditions with this meaning. The people of the Sunnah have agreed that the ruler should not be removed due to his sinfulness. As for the view mentioned in the books of jurisprudence from some of our companions that he should be removed, which is also the opinion of the Mu’tazilates, then it is a serious mistake from them and is in opposition to the consensus. The scholars have said the reason his removal and rebellion against him is forbidden is because of what that entails of tribulations, bloodshed, and corruption, for the harm in removing the ruler is greater than letting him remain.” The quote is from Sahih Muslim, no. 1840, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/islam-forbidsviolent-rebellion-against-an-unjust-muslim-ruler/ (accessed 20 August 2018). 21 See for example, Owais Jafri, “Promoting Peace: Sufism will End Terrorism in the Country, Says Imran,” The Express Tribune, April 28, 2013, available at https:// tribune.com.pk/story/541536/promoting-peace-sufism-will-end-terrorism-inthe-country-says-imran/; Our Correspondent, “Sufism Best Weapon against Extremism, Terrorism,” The News, February  28, 2018, available at www.the news.com.pk/print/286539-sufism-best-weapon-against-extremism-terrorism (both accessed 18 August 2018). 22 Shamsul 1988, pp. 170–88. 23 Head of Malaysia’s judiciary. Since 1994, the post has been re-named ‘Chief Justice.’ 24 Milne and Mauzy 1999, pp. 47–8. 25 Means 1991, pp. 212–3. 26 Parti Melayu Semangat 46, Manifesto Parti Melayu Semangat 46, 2007/0056327W (Kuala Lumpur: Arkib Gabungan Politik, Arkib Negara, 1995). 27 Malaysiakini, “Ku Li dakwa ada khabar angin politik wang dalam pemili han Umno [Ku Li claims rumours going around of money politics in UMNO polls],” July 1, 2018, available at www.malaysiakini.com/news/432089 (accessed 19 August 2018). 28 Noor 1999, pp. 5–18. 29 Chapter al-Ma’idah 5: 8–9, The Holy Quran, p. 243. 30 Ahmad Fauzi and Mydin 2009–2010, pp. 159–71. 31 Morrison 2001, pp. 2–3.

Injecting God into politics 223 32 The Star, “Anwar: Working with Dr M was crucial to topple BN,” The Star Online, 16 May 2018, available at www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2018/05/16/anwarworking-with-dr-m-was-crucial-to-topple-bn/ (accessed 19 August 2018). 33 al-Amr bil Ma’rūf 1/29, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/dailyhadithon line/2012/07/07/ibn-taymiyyah-allah-establishes-a-government-of-justice-evenif-it-is-led-by-unbelievers/ (accessed 19 August 2018). 34 Freedman 2006. 35 Chapter al-A’raf 7: 96, The Holy Quran, pp. 369–70. 36 Hasan 2015, pp. 61–62, 64. 37 Quoted in Ansari 2001, p. 15. 38 Ibid., p. 18. 39 Attar 1990, pp. 113–20. 40 See for example, Zainul Abidin 2005. 41 See Hasan 2015, pp. 70–72. 42 Louis F. Burke and Thomas R. Ajamie, “1MDB: Dissecting One of World’s Biggest Financial Scandals,” May 5, 2017, available at www.youtube.com/watch? v=JZABOpi68HY&list=PL20cgYM0AuYipzohSZpC8q6fPG5EsiefS&index=9 (accessed 20 August 2018). 43 Jeff Sessions, “Attorney General Sessions Delivers Remarks at the Global Forum on Asset Recovery Hosted by the United States and the United Kingdom,” Department of Justice, December 17, 2017, available at www.justice.gov/opa/ speech/attorney-general-sessions-delivers-remarks-global-forum-asset-recoveryhosted-united. The USA Department of Justice’s complete report of the 1MDB saga may be downloaded at www.justice.gov/opa/press-release/file/973671/ download (both accessed 20 August 2018). 44 Anna Coren et al., “Malaysian PM Mahathir: ‘Most of the top echelons in the government are corrupt,” CNN, July 26, 2018, available at https://edition.cnn. com/2018/07/25/asia/malaysia-mahathir-mohamad-interview-intl/index.html (accessed 12 August 2018). 45 Finance Twitter, “Hard to Get Kangaroo Court in UK  – ‘Holy Man’ Nik Abduh Admits PAS Taking Bribes From UMNO,” June 28, 2018, available at www.financetwitter.com/2018/06/hard-to-get-kangaroo-court-in-united-king dom-holy-man-nik-abduh-admits-pas-taking-bribes-from-umno.html (accessed 2 July 2018). 46 In Hwang 2003, pp. 289–90. 47 Rahman Mohd Irwan, “Dr  M Should First Answer Allegations of His Own Corruption,” Mynewshub, March  14, 2015, available at http://eng.mynews hub.cc/dr-m-should-first-answer-allegations-of-his-own-corruption/ (accessed 20 August 2018). For an account of Dr Mahathir’s profligacy during his prime ministerial tenure, see Wain 2009, especially chapters 6–7. 48 Sheri Prasso and Mark Clifford, “Malaysia: The Feud,” Business Week, November 6, 1998, reproduced at https://dinmerican.wordpress.com/2009/11/17/a-bitof-history-mahathir-anwar-ibrahim-feud/ (accessed 21 August 2018). 49 Zain 1988, pp. 22–41. 50 Tengku Razaleigh Hamzah, speech delivered upon accepting candidacy for the UMNO Presidency, Regent Hotel, Kuala Lumpur, April  19, 1987. The second author also interviewed Tengku Razaleigh on October 26, 2010, in Kuala Lumpur. 51 Al-Hallaj, for instance, was envied for amassing a large following and accused of instigating a Shi’a rebellion against the caliphate, see Ansari 2001, pp. 6–11. 52 Lim Kit Siang, “Pursuit of a Malaysian Dream,” Biblotheca, October 30, 1990, available at https://bibliotheca.limkitsiang.com/1990/10/30/1990-general-elec tions-results-could-have-been-very-different-if-not-for-the-most-irresponsible-com munal-and-religious-distortion-and-incitement-by-the-umno-of-pbs-joining-thegagasan-rakyat-in-the-l/ (accessed 21 August 2018).

224  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi 3 Ahmad Fauzi 2013, pp. 45–65. 5 54 Ustaz Hj Ashaari Muhammad, Buah Fikiran Ustaz Hj Ashaari Muhammad Siri 2 [Ustaz Hj Ashaari Muhammad’s Thoughts Series 2] (Rawang: Penerbitan Minda Ikhwan, 2006), pp. 200–205. 55 Ashaari Muhammad, Pendidikan Rapat Dengan Rohaniah Manusia (Rawang: Penerbitan Minda Ikhwan, 2006), pp. 266–77. 56 Almarhum Ustaz Ashaari Muhammad, “Dunia Tanaman Untuk Akhirat,” Memori Arqam, May 26, 2010, available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwSAib QKTHo (accessed 21 August 2018). 57 Al-Jerrahi 1991, p. 16. 58 Chapter al-Hadid 57: 20, The Holy Quran, pp. 1503–4. 59 Sahih Bukhari, hadith no. 52; Sahih Muslim, hadith no. 1599, available at http:// dailyhadith.abuaminaelias.com/2011/02/14/protect-your-heart-by-avoiding-doubtfulmatters/ (accessed 23 August 2018). 60 Al-Jiasi 1976, p. 28. 61 Sunan al-Tirmidhi, hadith no.  3334, available at https://abuaminaelias.com/ dailyhadithonline/2012/09/13/hadith-on-sin-when-a-muslim-commits-a-sin-ablack-spot-appears-on-his-heart-until-he-repents/ (accessed 23 August 2018). 62 Chisti 1989, p. 171. 63 Ranjit Singh, “UMNO will take over government after mid-term, Annuar claims,” Malay Mail Online, August  10, 2018, available at www.malaymail.com/s/ 1661016/umno-will-take-over-government-after-mid-term-annuar-claims (accessed 23 August 2018). 64 Chapter Al-A’raf 7: 180, The Holy Quran, p. 396.

Bibliography Ahmad Fauzi, Abdul Hamid. 2013. “From Darul Arqam to the Rufaqa’ Corporation: Change and Continuity in a Sufi Movement in Malaysia.” In Islamic Thought in Southeast Asia: New Interpretations and Movements, edited by Kamaruzzaman Bustamam-Ahmad and Patrick Jory, 45–65. Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press. Ahmad Fauzi, Abdul Hamid and Shaik Abdullah Hassan Mydin. 2009–2010. “The Prophet (peace be on him) as a Model for Universal Peace and Justice.” Insights: Quarterly Focused on Faith Studies 2(2–3): 153–178. Al-Jerrahi, Sheikh Muzaffer Ozak. 1991. The Garden of Dervishes. Westport: Pir Press. Al-Jiasi, Mustapha Mohamed. 1976. Mengenal Diri dan Wali Allah [Recognising the Self and the Saints of Allah]. Kota Bharu: Pustaka Aman Press. Ansari, M. Abdul Haq. 2001. Husayn ibn Mansur al-Hallaj: Ideas of an Ecstatic. Islamic Studies Occasional Paper No. 42. Islamabad: Islamic Research Institute. Ashaari Muhammad, Ustaz Hj. 2006a. Buah Fikiran Ustaz Hj Ashaari Muhammad Siri 2 [Ustaz Hj Ashaari Muhammad’s Thoughts Series 2]. Rawang: Penerbitan Minda Ikhwan. ———. 2006b. Pendidikan Rapat Dengan Rohaniah Manusia [Education is Close to the Human Soul]. Rawang: Penerbitan Minda Ikhwan. Ashaari Muhammad, Almarhum Ustaz. Dunia Tanaman Untuk Akhirat. Memori Arqam. May 26, 2010. Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=pwSAibQKTHo (accessed 21 August 2018). Attar, Syekh Fariduddin. 1990. Tazkiratul-Auliya’: 62 Orang Wali Allah [TazkiratulAuliya’: 62 Saints of Allah], translated by Abdul Majid Haji Khatib. Kota Bharu: Pustaka Aman.

Injecting God into politics 225 Berita Harian. Tun M jamin Islam di Malaysia ikut al-Qur’an dan hadis sahih [Tun M Guarantees that Islam in Malaysia Follows al-Qur’an and Authentic Prophetic Traditions], Press Reader. August 1, 2018. Available at www.pressreader.com/ malaysia/berita-harian5831/20180801/281522226895505 (accessed 18 August 2018). Bernama. Perbezaan fahaman politik punca umat Islam berpecah [Political Differences Source of Muslim Disunity], Utusan Malaysia. December 17, 2011. Available at http://ww1.utusan.com.my/utusan/info.asp?y=2011&dt=1217&pub=Utusan_ Malaysia&sec=Terkini&pg=bt_12.htm (accessed 18 August 2018). Burke, Louis F. and Thomas R. Ajamie. 1MDB: Dissecting One of World’s Biggest Financial Scandals. May 5, 2017. Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZAB Opi68HY&list=PL20cgYM0AuYipzohSZpC8q6fPG5EsiefS&index=9 (accessed 20 August 2018). Chisti, Shaykh Hakim Moinuddin. 1989. The Book of Sufi Healing. Singapore: Thinkers Library. Coren, Anna, Ellana Lee, Jane Sit and James Griffiths. Malaysian PM Mahathir: Most of the top echelons in the government are corrupt. CNN. July 26, 2018. Available at https://edition.cnn.com/2018/07/25/asia/malaysia-mahathir-mohamad-inter view-intl/index.html (accessed 12 August 2018). El Fadl, Khaled Abou. 2005. The Great Theft: Wrestling Islam from the Extremists. New York: HarperOne. Finance Twitter. Hard to Get Kangaroo Court in UK  – “Holy Man” Nik Abduh Admits PAS Taking Bribes From UMNO. June 28, 2018. Available at www.finance twitter.com/2018/06/hard-to-get-kangaroo-court-in-united-kingdom-holy-mannik-abduh-admits-pas-taking-bribes-from-umno.html (accessed 2 July 2018). Freedman, Amy L. 2006. Political Change and Consolidation: Democracy’s Rocky Road in Thailand, Indonesia, South Korea, and Malaysia. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hasan, Sheikh Dr  Usama. 2015. From Dhimmitude to Democracy: Islamic Law, Non-Muslims and Equal Citizenship. London: Quilliam. Hwang, In-Won. 2003. Personalized Politics: The Malaysian State under Mahathir. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Jafri, Owais. 2013. Promoting Peace: Sufism will End Terrorism in the Country, Says Imran. The Express Tribune. April  28, 2013. Available at https://tribune.com. pk/story/541536/promoting-peace-sufism-will-end-terrorism-in-the-country-saysimran/ (accessed 18 August 2018). Lim Kit Siang. 1990. Pursuit of a Malaysian Dream. Biblotheca, October 30, 1990. Available at https://bibliotheca.limkitsiang.com/1990/10/30/1990-general-elec tions-results-could-have-been-very-different-if-not-for-the-most-irresponsiblecommunal-and-religious-distortion-and-incitement-by-the-umno-of-pbs-joiningthe-gagasan-rakyat-in-the-l/ (accessed 21 August 2018). Malaysiakini. 2018. Ku Li dakwa ada khabar angin politik wang dalam pemilihan Umno [Ku Li Claims Rumours Going Around of Money Politics in UMNO Polls]. July 1, 2018. Available at www.malaysiakini.com/news/432089 (accessed 19 August 2018). Means, Gordon P.  1991. Malaysian Politics: The Second Generation. New York: Oxford University Press. Milne, R.S. and Diane K. Mauzy. 1999. Malaysian Politics under Mahathir. London and New York: Routledge.

226  Ahmad Fauzi Abdul Hamid and Noorulhafidzah Zawawi Morrison, Scott. 2001. “The Genealogy and Contemporary Significance of the Islamic Ummah.” Islamic Culture LXXV(3): 1–30. Noor, Farish A. 1999. “Looking for Reformasi: The Discursive Dynamics of the Reformasi Movement and Its Prospects as a Political Project.” Indonesia and the Malay World 27(77): 5–18. Our Correspondent. 2018. Sufism best weapon against extremism, terrorism. The News. February 28, 2018. Available at www.thenews.com.pk/print/286539-sufismbest-weapon-against-extremism-terrorism (accessed 18 August 2018). Parti Melayu Semangat 46. 1995. Manifesto Parti Melayu Semangat 46. 2007/ 0056327W. Kuala Lumpur: Arkib Gabungan Politik, Arkib Negara. Prasso, Sheri and Mark Clifford. 1998. Malaysia: The Feud. Business Week. November 6, 1998. Reproduced at https://dinmerican.wordpress.com/2009/11/17/a-bitof-history-mahathir-anwar-ibrahim-feud/ (accessed 21 August 2018). Rahman Mohd Irwan. 2015. Dr  M Should First Answer Allegations of His Own Corruption. Mynewshub. March 14, 2015. Available at http://eng.mynewshub.cc/ dr-m-should-first-answer-allegations-of-his-own-corruption/ (accessed 20 August 2018). Razaleigh Hamzah, Tengku. 1989. Transcript of speech delivered at Regent Hotel, Kuala Lumpur, April 19, 1987. Sessions, Jeff. 2017. Attorney General Sessions Delivers Remarks at the Global Forum on Asset Recovery Hosted by the United States and the United Kingdom. Department of Justice. December  17, 2017. Available at www.justice.gov/opa/ speech/attorney-general-sessions-delivers-remarks-global-forum-asset-recoveryhosted-united (accessed 20 August 2018). Shamsul, A.B. 1988. The “Battle Royal”: The UMNO Elections of 1987. Southeast Asian Affairs 1988. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 170–188. Shustery, A.M.A. 1999. Early Sufis and Their Sufism. Delhi: Adam Publishers. Singh, Ranjit. 2018. UMNO will take over government after mid-term, Annuar claims. Malay Mail Online. August  10, 2018. Available at www.malaymail. com/s/1661016/umno-will-take-over-government-after-mid-term-annuar-claims (accessed 23 August 2018). The Star. 2018. Anwar: Working with Dr M was Crucial to Topple BN. The Star Online, May 16, 2018. Available at www.thestar.com.my/news/nation/2018/05/16/ anwar-working-with-dr-m-was-crucial-to-topple-bn/ (accessed 19 August 2018). Utusan Malaysia. 1999. Senarai kroni Anwar – Rustam Sani yang hebat mengecam kerajaan juga mendapat projek [List of Anwar’s Cronies – The Government Critic Rustam Sani Has Also Received Projects]. Utusan Online. June 20, 1999. Available at http://ww1.utusan.com.my/utusan/info.asp?y=1999&dt=0620&pub=utusan_ malaysia&sec=Muka_Hadapan&pg=fp_01.htm (accessed 20 August 2018). ———. 2000. Malaysia Role Model for Other Muslim Countries. Utusan Online. June 16, 2000. Available at http://ww1.utusan.com.my/utusan/info.asp?y=2000& dt=0616&pub=Utusan_Express&sec=Front_Page&pg=fp_06.htm (accessed 18 August 2018). Wain, Barry. 2009. Malaysian Maverick: Mahathir Mohamad in Turbulent Times. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Website for the retrieval of ahadith. Available at www.dailyhadith.abueminaelias.com Youtube. 2015. Takfiri Ideology Warning Very graphic content. January 23, 2015. Available at www.youtube.com/watch?v=D47KXg12no4 (accessed 18 August 2018).

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11 Sufism and communism The poetry of Fuʾad Haddad Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed

Introduction Fuʾad Haddad (1928–1985), a prominent Egyptian poet, had two interests: poetry and politics. His first collection of poems, The Free Behind Bars, was published in 1952. Soon, Haddad, for his poetry and activism, was put behind bars from 1953 to 1956. Three years later, in 1959, he was imprisoned again for five years, until his release in 1964, on charges of communism. During his years in prison, Haddad wrote many poems, though not all of them survived or were published. Haddad is especially famous for his most popular collection, al-Misahharātī, which he started working on after coming out of ˙ ˙ whose poems were sung by the famous Egyptian musiprison in 1964, and cian Sayyid Mikkawi (1928–97). Al-Misahharātī is a name given to Egyptian ˙ ˙ the dawn in Ramadan to wake drummers who walk on the streets before Muslims up so they can eat their last meal, suhūr, and get ready for the dawn prayer. Though Sufism influenced Haddad in˙ all his works, they are the last two collections, which reflect strong and explicit Sufism. It seems that the apparent contradiction of communism and Sufism in the poetry of Haddad can be explained by his rich and plural background. Born in Cairo to an immigrant Lebanese family, Haddad was raised Christian before converting to Islam later on in his youth, during the years of his imprisonment. He embraced the ideology of Marxism and engaged in communist activism, but in spite of his persecution by President Nasir’s regime, he wrote a beautiful and moving poem to praise Nasir after his death. In his important article on Haddad, Mahmud Amin al-ʿAlim (1922–2009), a prominent Egyptian Marxian intellectual, argued that three forces dominated the poetry of Haddad: Allah, the rhyme and Communism, “or, in other words, the depth of his religious faith, the hegemonic power of the rhyme, and the warmth and sincerity of his nationalist, socialist, humanist and progressive vision.”1 Al-ʿAlim added, Allah, rhyme and Communism in Haddad reflect one meaning: the uniformity of the universe that moves along a regular, deep rhythm, led by an absolute truth, which is justice, love and goodness. God in Haddad

Sufism and communism 229 is reflected in the rhythm that regulates all existence and all human life, and in the rhyme that regulates poetry, which is the essence of the human being. God is reflected in the absolute good, in human aspiration, in human struggle, and in human endeavor toward dignity, freedom, goodness, beauty and happiness.2 In the following lines, we will explore Sufism in Haddad’s poetry first and communism second.

Sufism in Haddad’s poetry 1. The prominence of Sufi figures and poets The influence of prominent Sufi poets on Haddad is clear and strong. Haddad invokes names of prominent Sufi poets, invites their text in his poem and uses their known style in his work – for instance, along the lines of several Sufi poets, such as ʿAbd al-Rahim al-Buraʿi (d. 2005). Haddad invites the names of places in the Arabian Peninsula to invoke the connotations with the Prophet’s history and the longing to visit these places. As an example, in his poem “Hope and Promise,” Haddad writes, Ramadān says: get three dates and a gallop of milk ˙ my iftār on the way of the beloved prophet So I start ˙ of Hijāz; I hear Tuhāmah and Najd I smell the breeze ˙ I carry the passion of compassion I see the peaks of honor; I stand with the light of guidance, a preacher in every Friday’s sermon.3 In a different poem, Haddad, using the genre of madīh, where the poet enumerates the praises of the Prophet, invites al-Busayri˙(808–96 h / 1213–95 ce), the Sufi author of the most popular madīh poem, “al-Burdah.” Haddad ˙ writes, The Prophet’s light that shines on you with goodness And protects you like trees and birds That gifted you al-burdah4, O, Ibn Zuhayr5 Colors are blooming and in the right time they emerge From them, Sīdī al-Busayri wrote his peom!6 Here, Haddad invokes and joins two prominent poets: Kaʿb ibn Zuhayr (d. 24 h / 662 ce) who, praising the Prophet, received the Prophet’s burdah; and al-Busayri (608–96 h / 1213–95 ce), who wrote one of the most popular poems praising the Prophet and claimed that after writing it, he had a vision in which the Prophet gave him his burdah. By invoking these two poets, Haddad roots himself in a long Sufi tradition of gathering to recite praises of the Prophet by singing al-burdah.

230  Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed Haddad invites the famous poet Hassan ibn Thabit (d. 55 h / 674 ce), a Companion of the Prophet, whose role could be similar to a modern propagandist, as he composed many poems to defend Muslims and attack their enemies. Haddad writes, First, from Medina, Hassan started out Raised a sword of tongue and came down on the unbelievers. Second, from night to dawn all creatures Believed in Labid’s prostration, when he read al-Baqarah. Third, in early morning Busayri said I came From green Egypt with a tribes of poets’ speech For I love the Prophet!7 Here, Haddad invokes Labid ibn Rabiʿah (d. 41 h / 661 ce), who announced that, after his conversion to Islam, he would recite Surah al-Baqarah instead of his poems. It is interesting here that Haddad translates his nationalism into a repeated invocation of Busayri, who is a central figure in Egyptian Sufism. Another figure  that is centralized in Haddad’s poetry is the famous Egyptian Sufi, philosopher and poet ʿUmar ibn al-Farid (576–632 h / 1181–1235 ce). Haddad writes, Sīdī Ibn al-Farid, Āh! Every spirit says: Allah Oh, most Kind of creature, most Compassionate Your Mercy has no limits! In the extended shadow, we are. Every look of love is up! It is a paradise of love miracles. I recited before ʿUmar ibn al-Farid tawāšīh.8 ˙ .9 Our heart is still in the paradise of tarāwīh ˙ The melody that keeps us awake is beautiful, glamorous. We longed for the breeze of Hijaz, and kind the breeze was Returned with a voice reciting “sāʾiq al-azʿān” ˙ And a voice singing “ghayrī ʿala al-sulwān” And one from Mecca carrying Ramadan’s drum Eloquently singing “hittah min kabadī!”10 ˙ Here, once again, Haddad roots his nationalism in a continuity of his poem “hittah min kabadī” with two poems of Ibn al-Farid, “sāʾiq al-azʿān” and ˙ ˙ of the “ghayrī ʿala al-sulwān.” In fact, “hittah min kabadī” is a verse in one ˙ most popular religious songs in Egypt today: al-Misahharātī, where Haddad ˙˙ cleverly mixes nationalist and Sufi passions: My craft is misahharātī, a wanderer in our country ˙ ˙ as a lover long nights Loved and walked

Sufism and communism 231 Every inch, every piece of my country Is a piece of my heart A piece of a passionate song! Brilliantly, Haddad calls himself misahharātī, a word that refers to the traditional ˙ ˙ up to pray the Dawn Prayer in RamaEgyptian drummer who wakes people dan. Haddad’s call, therefore, is a call for religious and national awakening! In another interesting poem, Haddad disclosed that he had been influenced by Sufism since his childhood, a time when he was raised Christian. He writes, I thank God for his grace! I am of the patience of this life. I am this life’s striving longing. A child, I heard “turned to Kuthbān Tayy”! ˙ Where is Kuthbān Tayy? ˙ I had no idea, but I have a feeling that From afar, the deserts sand Is flowing around because of its multitude!11 Hearing Ibn al-Farid’s Sufi poem “Turned to Kuthbān Tayy” as a child, ˙ Haddad informs us, was the seed of his conversion and passion for Sufism! 2. The prominence of Sufi symbols and traditions in Haddad’s poetry There are numerous Sufi symbols in Haddad’s poetry, but here we will mention just a few examples of them. Following the tradition of madīh genre – ˙ poems poetry that is devoted to the praise of the Prophet, Haddad starts his with blessings for the Prophet. We especially see this practice repeated in two of his collections, al-Hadrah al-Zakiyyah and Ya Ahl al-Amanah. For instance, he starts his poem “From the Hearts of the Believers” by saying Oh people of honesty, soft heart, and longing You who come together in the pure presence First to say is to bless the Prophet Oh the master of ʿAdnan’s children, the light of faith You are eternally the light of all times!12 Haddad keeps this introduction in all his poems of al-Hadrah al-Zakiyyah. Blessing the Prophet in Haddad, as it is at the Sufis, is a method to invite blessings, goodness and even miracles in the believer’s life. Haddad writes, For the good blessings of the Prophet, I get his satisfaction. And I see the Prophet’s hands blessing the mosques.

232  Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed By blessing the Prophet, the mosques grow up And the mosques’ builders grow stronger. And the energy of the poet spreads among those who stay awake in night.13 Tawassul, or resorting to intermediary, is a controversial issue among mainstream Islam but is considered a cornerstone of Sufism. Haddad stands clearly in support of tawassul as he writes, When thirst squeezed me When my heart trembled I said, “Oh Prophet” and received fresh power!14 Haddad uses the Sufi symbols of green flags and crescents, which are commonly used in Sufi celebrations, by saying I am coming to you in the shadow Of the green flags and crescents Having only a question How to find you?15 He uses expressions that are common in Egyptian popular Sufism, for instance, tāqit al-qadr, which refers to a window in Heaven that, once opened in˙ al-Qadr Night  – a night in the month of Ramadan when the Qurʾan was revealed to Muhammad for the first time – lets the prayers in so they are answered. He also uses tuyūr khadrah, or green birds, and nadr, or vow, which are common in Sufi ˙literature ˙and practices. Haddad writes, For my love of the Prophet, I saw tāqit qadr ˙ Badr16 As if I grew up the angels’ horses in Even the green birds tweeted in my chest Leading candles of hope, so I could fulfill my vow Because I love the Prophet!17 In another poem, Haddad shifts the focus to the famous Sufi tombs in Egypt, those of Zaynab and al-Husayn, the grandchildren of the Prophet, and to the famous Egyptian Sufi dhikr Allah Hayy. He writes, ˙ You, the Mother of Orphans18 Your scarf is like a cloud Full of goodness, full of peace Oh prayers of parents! Where is my heart? Am I dreaming? Am I asleep? The moon is wandering in the space Oh Tahirah, Oh Umm Hashim19

Sufism and communism 233 Oh Sayidna al-Husayn Where is my heart? For the lovers, for the lovers Those who are here, those who are absent Everyone has a share Carrying my heart in my hands Where is my heart? Ramadan says, “Where is my heart?” My heart is here in the neighborhood From al-Sayida to al-Husayn, my heart goes forth and back Oh crescent on the two minarets Watering the nights I made the eye tears happy, smelled the breeze of light Blessed the Prophet and my dhikr is Allah Hayy!20 ˙ Another Sufi tradition that Haddad invites in his poetry is nadhr, plural nudhūr, or vow offering. In his poem “The Good Word” he writes, I go around and around To fulfill the nudhūr. In night, the dawn is walking Accompanied by the light of the full moon. Higher than the maize More stable than the full moon Is the good word!21 Reflecting on the traditional Egyptian dhikr, which is typically accompanied by singing and dancing, Haddad writes, We rose up to perform dhikr; we rose up to sing the hymns. Four thousand villages we found With us swinging!22 In his poem “I  Swear with Nūn,” we see numerous Sufi expressions that invite some reflection. In this poem, he writes, My eyes looked around; how far they looked around! Seeing dhikr groups and circles. In my heart, I found all the signs of verses. Allah; reciting his name the hearts are in peace. My god can forgive all sins. One day, I was dreaming of all times Walking, asking god for forgiveness with one thousand adhān23 Entered a house with large yard, and large hall Oh people of brevity, generosity and kindness

234  Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed Oh people of honesty, soft heart, and longing This world has been immersed in light. In good ʿanbar, and the smoke of gāwī24 The night is a green cloud, walking softly. The honey river pleaded to the gardens. The palm trees sang, and so did the grapes and the figs. Oh my eye, where did you go? Oh my awaken eye! Oh paradise of Allah that is everywhere I swear with nūn25 and the believers. The heart of tonight is green, compassionate. Oh kind natured, softhearted! When I came to serve tarīqah, ˙ the secret of truth, Our Shaykh who knows Stretched his right hand and said oh my Murid! Your eye in my eye; your hand in my hand, All creatures are siblings. I swear with nūn and the believers, The heart of tonight is green, compassionate. Oh good nature, and close siblings! He said, my murīd if you are sincere In your sea of love, you won’t find a coast Neither by poems nor by songs With any meaning of meanings. Only the martyr is called a lover!26 The numerous Sufi symbols and concepts here are unmistakable. What is especially interesting in Haddad, however, is his gentle weaving of Sufism and Marxism, so gentle that it wouldn’t offend the religious audience. Two instances of this weaving are prominent in this short piece. First, his statement that “all creatures are siblings” is a statement that is rooted at once in mystic Sufism and humanist Marxism. Second, he declares that only the martyr can be a true lover. Because this poem was written shortly after the 1973 war, shahid, or the martyr, will resonate in both the Sufi and the Nationalist fields of meaning. Death is the only true sign of both national love and loving god. The entire Sufi experience is yet anchored in a noticeable Egyptian symbol, the thousand minarets, for Cairo has been known as the city of one thousand minarets! Haddad includes a dimension of Sufi unity, where all creatures are in fact united in the love of god. This Sufi unity does not, in fact, fall far away from humanist Marxism, which includes a strong concern for nature. He writes, The trees cried in the wind. The nāys27 are always wounded. Just let the full moon emerge!

Sufism and communism 235 The nights are gardens of full.28 My heart is one heart, the heart of all. Every look of love is up. It is a paradise of love miracles!29 Haddad carefully selects one Sufi symbol that suits him in representing both Marxian and Sufi ideals and repeats it in his poems to the point that it becomes his signature. This symbol is the deer, which the Prophet protected from being slaughtered and then freed. In a long hadith piece, which is not accepted by scholars but is celebrated by Sufis, al-Asbahani narrates that the Messenger of Allah, peace and prayers be upon him, passed by people, who had hunted a deer, and tied her to a tent column. The deer said, “Oh Messenger of Allah, I was taken and I have two baby deer. Would you take the permission for me to go breastfeed them and come back to these people?” The Prophet said, “Who is the owner of this?” The people said, “We are, Messenger of Allah.” He said, “Let her go to breastfeed her babies, and come back to you!” They said, “Who would guarantee that?” He said, “I do!” They let her go, so she went away, breastfed her babies, and came back to them, so they tied her up. The Messenger of Allah passed by them and said,” Where are the owners of this?” They said, “Here we are, Messenger of Allah!” He said, “Would you sell her to me?” They said, “She is yours, Messenger of Allah!” He said, “Let her go!” They untied her, and she went away!30 Haddad uses the symbolism of the deer to represent simultaneously mystic and national liberation. The love of the Prophet frees the heart of the believer from the prison and ties of sinful desires. The story, as told by Haddad, sheds light on the liberation from tyranny, violence and oppression to a world of love, compassion and mercy. Haddad writes, The dawn rises up; darkness submits in. The truth is clear. Swords and spears between heaven and earth do not cut! The eye of the deer turns around and sees The distressed baby suckling back again!31 It is the pain of injustice, oppression and imprisonment, which Haddad himself suffered, that is represented here in the story of the deer. This image is contrasted with a beautiful image of peace, where Haddad, using the same symbolism of the deer, writes, Look at the deer, whose guarantor is the Prophet! Embracing her baby, oh boy! Her eyes checking him up and down

236  Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed Secure in the kingdom of God The river of honey and the extending light It is the light of the Prophet!32

Marxism in Haddad’s poetry As deeply rooted in Sufism Haddad was, he was also deeply rooted in Marxism, not only in terms of ideology but in terms of engagement and activism. Below, we will reflect on some aspects of this engagement, as represented in his poetry. 1. Advocating for liberty At the center of the Nationalist Movement in Egypt before the 1952 Revolution, there was Haddad. As Egypt was subject to the ruling monarchy and aristocracy, with a heavy presence of the British military, Haddad, as a part of the nationalists’ intelligentsia and vanguard, called for complete political independence, freedom and social justice. His first collection was published in 1952, though it had been authored before that and carried the title The Free Behind Bars! The poems in this collection were mostly supportive of the oppressed intellectuals who were imprisoned for their ideas and intellectual activism against the royal regime. In one of these poems, “Gifting my Poems,” written in 1950, Haddad uses revolutionary ideas that match the ideals of the Egyptian Communist Movement at that time. He wrote, Oh you tyrant, who tortures the masses! Torture them even more! Take away even the little they still have! They renew your youth, and you kill them. Oh tyrant, torturer of people, pile them up! In prison, droves of workers, peasants and students! The tired strugglers on burš33 sleep them down! Dominate all creatures with your power, your lust! Counting on foreign armies, which tomorrow we will defeat. The barefoot, who has no shoes, tomorrow, will step on your neck. That who built your towers tomorrow will be their destroyer!34 This 1950 poem was indeed a prophecy of the coming Revolution, which started as a military coup but was immediately supported by the masses to get rid of the non-Egyptian royal family, as well as their entire regime. In another poem from the same collection, “The Prison Begins in the Canal,” he writes on freedom and the necessary sacrifices for it. Haddad writes, You, who is sending me blessing and greeting, You, who receive blessing from the martyr, You both fought for justice and freedom

Sufism and communism 237 With steel he died, in steel you are tied Miserable ghosts and memories around me And the deprived, the oppressed, the slaves A world, its free are the prisoner and the victim Subject to conspiracies, and bad times they are.35 Protesting the British intervention in Egyptian politics and their control of Egypt through their proxy, the King, Haddad wrote, After they had a dinner of chicken and roosts After they ate their dessert – And ask Ibn Nafisah36, if he was the baker of their bread, The War Envoy leaned over the Paša and told him You must open Tūr again!37 Do you hear me?˙ Do you understand? This is my advice! This is a clear instruction from London. Communism in an Islamic country? What a scandal! And their number everyday goes up!38 In this short piece, Haddad briefs up the national problem in Egypt and answers the main critique to communism. The problem, according to him, is one of social justice  – where the Pasha eats chicken and roost, but the worker has nothing to eat. Communism sounds like the perfect solution here. Addressing the main critique to communism in Egypt at that time – its contradiction to Islam, the main culture of the country, a critique that Haddad has to encounter at the personal level. He answers it with equal irony: Is it Great Britain that is concerned about Islam in Egypt? The problem is economic and political, not cultural. Communism is the solution. Those who turn it into an ideological battle, for instance, the Muslim Brothers, would indeed be siding with Great Britain, the enemy of communism. Haddad goes one step further by rooting his communist activism in the ideals of Islam, arguing that this is indeed the strongest manifestation of this religion. He writes, Why did not I accept worshipping the idols? Why did not I find the weakest of faith enough? They imprisoned me. Why my heart is Egyptian, my eyes are Egyptian? And my life is a word in the service of the country? They imprisoned me. Demanding justice, light and freedom, Cloth for the unclothed men and women, Comfort for the tired men and women, Mercy for the thirst men and women, One hour for the poor men and women Of humanity they live as humans, They imprisoned me!39

238  Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed Haddad states clearly that obeying the tyrants is like worshipping idols. The weakest of faith that he mentions is a direct reference to the report of hadith, where the Prophet urges Muslims to change the wrongdoing by their hands, or by their words, if they could not change it by their hands, or by their hearts – that is, by not approving it in themselves, which is, according to the Prophet, the weakest of faith. Haddad obviously identifies his communist activism with changing the wrongdoing by the hands! Injustice is contradictory to religion, which Haddad announces in the following verses: Oh Christians and Muslims! Which religion, which creed Accepts a starving child And the rich complaining of overweight? Accepts a poor worker And the rich complaining of comfort? And this is what we are supposed to consent to But if you want to complain, make it an inside whisper!40 In another poem, Haddad invokes Islamic motivations to stimulate nationalist brevity. He writes, Carry your sword, oh young Arab! Between you and your princess is the stupid guard And the Pasha, the Mamluk, and the foreigner. Allah Akbar! Pray upon the Prophet! Carry your sword, oh young Arab! The night is long; the light is dime. But if you have your sword, and your running horse, Your shield is your faith and your brave heart. The spikes are good omen of the roses on the road!41 2. Celebrating the leaders of enlightenment and revolution in Egypt In addition to celebrating prominent Sufi figures, Haddad wrote many poems to celebrate prominent nationalist figures in Egypt, whether intellectuals, political activists, politicians, scholars or artists. In one poem, Haddad writes on Tahtawi (1216–90 h / 1801–73 ce), the Egyptian pioneer of enlightenment, saying: Oh those, who hear me, who are of the same country, From High Egypt to Cairo! Time comes; time goes. Science emphasizes its amazing power.

Sufism and communism 239 Crossed the wide seas a man with wider steps. He came to be Rifāʿah Rāfiʿ al-Tahtawi.42 In another poem, he praised Ahmad ʿUrabi (1841–1911 ce), the military leader who rebelled against the Khedive and fought the British Army. Haddad wrote, Everyone who sang for the love of the country, Everyone whose way was Egypt, Who raised his children a vow for the country, Everyone whose heart is in peace, whose dhikr is for God, Knowing the maqām, status, of justice, the status of freedom, Everyone who prays during the last third of the nights, switching place with the martyrs,43 Everyone riding his horse, raising his sword, Protecting the land from the step of the enemies, Feeling the spirit of this land in his blood, Four thousand villages are his cousins, His Imam is Ahmad ʿUrabi! Everyone who is as faithful as his father and mother, Drinking the water of the Nile, fed by the peasants, His Imam is Ahmad ʿUrabi!44 Clearly, Haddad unites in harmony nationalist and religious emotions. He uses the famous Sufi concept of tarīqah not to refer to a specific Sufi group ˙ tariqa of the nationalists. He also uses but to refer to Egypt itself as the nadhr, a vow, which Sufis practice frequently, as they vow a variety of gifts to saints, but he uses it in a nationalist context, where one’s children are vowed to the homeland. We see dhikr and qiyām, commonly practiced by Sufis, as qualifications for the good nationalist, who protects the country. Ahmad ʿUrabi himself is portrayed as Imām. As of justice and freedom, ˙ Haddad describes them as maqām, using another prominent Sufi concept. All these Sufi concepts stand in harmony next to a call to fight for the protection of the homeland and its justice and freedom, with an unmistakable emphasis on the working class and their struggle for economic justice. Numerous are those nationalist icons that Haddad dedicated poems for them, for instance, ʿAbd Allah al-Nadim (1261–1314 h / 1842–96 ce), Gamal ʿAbd al-Nasir(1918–70 ce), ʿAbd al-Munʿim Riyad (1919–69 ce), and Mustafa Kamil (1291–1326 h / 1874–1908 ce). Of Mustafa Kamil, Haddad wrote, Our first greeting is to our Mother, Whose wings embrace us. Oh, you, the green word, the faithful! Our greeting to the land that gave birth

240  Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed To Mustafa Kamil. A beautiful hope in shape and form As sweet as Friday of all days. With the secret of your devotion, You find the speech That has always existed and was missing And the song: Bilādī, Bilādī!45/46 Haddad expands his scope to include singers, musicians, actors, poets, sculptors, et  al., whom he selects carefully to represent as national icons. One of those is Sayid Darwish (1892–1923 ce), considered the founder of modern Egyptian music. Darwish is especially appreciated for creating music that is both beautiful and representative of the people’s hopes and pains, as he was close to the nationalist movement of his time. In his songs, one can hear the voice of the workers, peasants and students, among other sectors and groups of the society. He moved from Alexandria to Cairo and has been known as fannān al-šaʿb, or the people’s artist. Of Darwish, Haddad wrote, Once upon a time, since I ever remember, The sun was rising, but my voice it could not hear. I stopped singing to it, as I hide in the maze fields. I opened my window, and so did to my heart, And brought the sea breeze to Cairo, And set free the voice of the girl and the boy, And raised my art to the level of the people, Strongly, my art came back to its origin, Egypt came back to me with the power of revolution. In my heart, the revolution is extending roots, A hopeful song, a written destiny. With me, the John Smith are blowing in the furnace, The bakers are setting fire in the oven. I bake to all people dinner and breakfast. With me, the peasants are filling in the mill, Tattooing on my heart the lion and the sparrow, Filling the dough with light, Writing to me the days of the year, of time. The breeze with their breath comes a melody. And a question in my ears, like a pulse of light, Oh Egyptian, oh Sayid, your father is Darwish, Does the Nile run or it does not run? The Nile runs and so does the gears. The dawn is rising with the artisans. Egypt has to be Egyptian. Every word she says is a song. And every wish and hope a constitution!47

Sufism and communism 241 Of Umm Kalthum (1898–1975 ce), the most famous Egyptian singer of the twentieth century, Haddad wrote, You are ignorant of Egypt and her secret unless, You listen to the best voice in the world. Here is the duha (morning,) the layl saja (night covering with ˙ the truth, darkness)˙ and Your heart is tender and the entire people are anxious. Look at the wonder, the gathering and the comfort! And the night is braids of a peasant girl. The promise brought them together. The breeze of Sabā wind, a waterfall of jasmine ˙ Is your voice, Madonna of all; sing for us!48 Interestingly, in the middle of a poem dedicated to Umm Kalthum, Haddad is using the first two verses of Sura 93 of the Qurʾan: “By the morning brightness and by the night when it grows still.”49 It was not completely unexpected, when Umm Kalthum would sing a song, for her to use the same two verses from the Qurʾan. Haddad finds in this harmonious coexistence of nationalism and religion in Umm Kalthum a reflection of his own. Haddad writes about an Egyptian comedian, ʿAli al-Kassar (1887–1957 ce) who was quite popular during the first half of the twentieth century, as he typically played the role of the working-class Egyptian in a number of movies and plays: They called him a joker. They mixed the nonsense with the good speech. And used the word taškhīs.50 ˙ a cheap one. They called it a foolish art, What is wrong in joking? . . . Oh Egypt, the most beautiful country! Art is called: ʿAli al-Kassar!51 Haddad wrote a poem on Mahmud Mukhtar (1891–1934 ce), the prominent founder of modern Egyptian sculpture. He wrote, In a free land that gives birth to free people, Makes your hands everyday rough, And everyday, it makes your heart tender, And tells you: know Egypt, Mukhtar! The beginning of her existence was worshipping and art!52 Among those intellectuals and artists, Haddad writes a poem to the popular Qurʾan reciter Muhammad Rifʿat (1882–1950 ce) Rifʿat, whose

242  Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed recitation is still quite popular, has been known for his exceptionally beautiful voice. Rifʿat, like most prominent Qurʾan reciters in Egypt, had studied Arabic music, which he applied to his recitation. By including Rifʿat in his poems, Haddad points to the harmony of religion and art, a consistent character he sees in Egypt, as he mentioned in his poem on Mukhtar. Of Rifʿat, Haddad writes, Oh people of alleys in the years of occupation! Longing is singing, and paradise is for the oppressed. Egypt swore to bring victory to the orphans, Under the light of Shaykh Muhammad Rifʿat’s voice Reading the Qurʾan!53

Sufism and Marxism (dif)fused In October 1974, President Anwar al-Sadat announced his new Economic Openness Policy, which turned Egypt away from older socialist policies and toward liberal economy and private market dynamics. In 1975, Haddad suffered from constant and severe dizziness, which made it impossible for him to leave the house without assistance. Haddad’s mysterious disease was diagnosed as psychological depression that was due to the new turn in Egypt’s regime, and he was advised to be on antidepressant medications. For four years, Haddad used these medications, without writing a single word. These four years ended with Haddad suffering a heart attack. Realizing that his days wee numbered, Haddad started working again quite energetically, as he was, according to his own words, in a race with death. To the end of his days, Haddad used to emphasize that he is both a Muslim and a communist. He would not accept being called a leftist, and he would immediately correct it by saying, “No, I  am a communist.” He wrote his Sufi collection, al-Hadrah al-Zakiyyah, during his last years. However, his siding with the working class seems to have taken a new direction. This turn in Haddad’s poetry was observed by several critics.54 They all refer this turn to the period in Haddad’s life after his release from prison in 1969. His son, poet Amin Haddad, relates to his father that in the second period he was in prison, 1959 to 1964, he met with all sectors of society, from all regions of Egypt, and listened to their stories and songs. This turning point manifests itself in the type of poetry Haddad wrote about the working class. No longer do we see them only through the Marxian lens, where they are reduced into an exploited class struggling for its bread. Nor do we see Haddad losing interest in this class. What we really see after his release, especially during the last six years of his life, 1979 to 1985, is a diversity of artisans whose work is portrayed as beautiful, magnificent and poetic, in complete harmony with both their environment and life itself. This Sufi framing of the working class, I argue, is the heart of Haddad’s final work, where Sufism and communism not only coexist but also blend. Without denial of injustice or hardship, he

Sufism and communism 243 delves into a deeper level of existence, where there is harmony and beauty. As an example of this type of poetry, Haddad writes about al-ʿattāl, or the man whose job is to carry heavy stuff, saying Before the leaning of my shoulder under the carriage, My heart leant down! No matter how wage was little, No matter how struggle and hardship I am having, When your lap carry my head, I know that hardship is better!55 What Haddad sees here is the love that is carried in the heart of this man. When he puts his head in his woman’s lap, he experiences a love that is bigger than any heavy thing he has carried, and this makes him happy. Haddad adds, My heart went tender. I said give me a heavy bag, On it, put another bag, Above it, put mountains Of dust and stones, And I will race the horse! For the mother of the children, Made my breath sweet. When her lap carries my head I know that hardship is better!56 What Haddad captures here is a world of love and moments of happiness that defy hardship and daily struggling; he gives a deep meaning to this struggle and makes it the heart of life and the birth of new lives! Haddad draws pictures of harmony, almost pantheistic, that reflect the unity of workers, their labor and the environment around them. Of the blacksmith, Haddad writes, My arm says, oh the Mighty! My heart says, oh the Generous! My shop is black, as black as the coal. But the breadth of my voice and my hands Gives birth to the sword That once passes through, Fills the squares with light. Listen my boy to the song of blacksmith! We have darkness in darkness! We have fire flaming in fire! We have power in our arms Reaches the sun of the day!

244  Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed Yes, mind is a virtue, But determination is more valuable! We were, you who like drama, Blacksmith from Arabian Nights! Time turned against us. Threw burdens, heavy ones. But we certainly rose up, And raised the wall straight. We have darkness in darkness. We have fire flaming in fire!57 The rhythm in the Arabic poet echoes the strong regular rhythm of the blacksmith’s hammer. Those who like drama see blackness and fire, but the blacksmiths, with their virtues of power and determination, proudly rise up, straighten out long walls and create swords. Those swords reflect their makers’ power and determination to cut through the night to spread the light of the blacksmith’s fire and the sun, which their power can reach! We see the same harmony in Haddad’s poem on the gardener. If the essence of the blacksmith is fire, power and determination, the essence of the gardener is beauty, love and the behavior of birds. He writes, Tell you the truth my boy, We are all of birds! Except in gardens and trees, we cannot live. The straws of the nest are still on our cloth. Oh morning of grace! I wake up wandering, Singing to the roses, Giving away my fingers for them, With a voice that is quiet, soft, heavenly and loud! Oh rose, you smell like the rose scent The scent of my lover, oh my heart!58 Obviously, Haddad transcends work as physical labor to shed light on it as an activity that brings the worker in harmony with his environment and earns him happiness and joy. Work transforms the worker and brings him closer to the nature he is working on, whether it is steel and fire or trees and roses. In his poem about the upholsterer, he writes that every worker resembles his work and describes the upholsterer as having a beard that looks like cotton. A sense of humor and spirit of love spreads through all his poems on workers, seeing beauty and harmony, as in his poems on the sailor, who transports people in small boats; the seller of the fruits; or the camel man. We always see workers singing for love, joyous as they work, in harmony with their work and surroundings.

Sufism and communism 245 In 1985, Haddad died, a Sufi and a communist. Hisham al-Salamuni, an Egyptian playwright, said that Haddad told him during his last years that poetry came to him smoothly; he would find verses emerging at his desk as a gift from God; and he would immediately prostrate to God, thanking Him for the gift and hoping it would not cease.59

Notes 1 See Mahmud Amin al-ʿAlim 1990, pp. 82–5. 2 Ibid. 3 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 24. 4 Al-Burdah is a striped garment worn in Arabia. 5 Kaʿb ibn Zuhayr (D. 26 H/646 ce) is a poet who attacked the Prophet and Muslims with his poems, but later on converted to Islam and praised the Prophet, so the Prophet gifted him with his burdah. 6 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 55. 7 Ibid., pp. 73, 74. 8 Hymns. 9 A long prayer during the nights of Ramadan. 10 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 87, 88. 11 Ibid., pp. 5, 57. 12 Ibid., pp. 4, 9. 13 Ibid., p. 127. 14 Ibid., p. 9. 15 Ibid., p. 11. 16 Badr is the name of the first battle between Muslims and the pagans of Quraysh, where Muslims defeated their enemies. Muslims believe that angels on horses fought along their side on this day. 17 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 11. 18 One of the popular Egyptian titles of Zaynab. 19 Two of the popular Egyptian titles of Zaynab. 20 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 16. 21 Ibid., p. 19. 22 Ibid., p. 20. 23 The public call to prayer. 24 ʿAnbar is an oriental perfume; gāwī is a kind of incense. They both are used by Egyptian Sufis in dhikr meetings. 25 Nūn is an Arabic alphabet letter. There is a chapter in the Qurʾan that is called Nūn, as God starts the chapter by swearing with the letter nūn. 26 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 57–58. 27 The nāy is a popular Middle Eastern musical instrument made of bamboo. 28 Arabian jasmine. 29 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 86. 30 al-Asbahani 1986, pp. 2, 375. 31 Haddad 2006, pp. 4, 130. 32 Ibid., p. 130. 33 A thin cover of the prison floor, on which prisoners sleep. 34 Haddad 2006, pp. 2, 9. 35 Ibid., pp. 1, 11. 36 Ibn Nafisah is a name that implies a humble background of its carrier. 37 Tūr is a prison in Sinai that was used to keep the political prisoners in. ˙

246  Abdullah Ramadan Khalaf Moursi and Mohamed A. Mohamed 8 Haddad 1952, p. 17. 3 39 Ibid., p. 21. 40 Ibid., p. 14. 41 Ibid., p. 19. 42 Haddad 2002, p. 11. 43 Haddad is referring to two reports of Hadīth in this verse. In the first report, ˙ the Superior, comes every night down the Prophet says, “Our Lord, the Blessed, on the nearest Heaven to us when the last third of the night remains, saying: “Is there anyone to invoke Me, so that I may respond to invocation? Is there anyone to ask Me, so that I may grant him his request? Is there anyone seeking My forgiveness, so that I may forgive him?”” In the second report, the Prophet says, “The souls of the martyrs are in green birds, suspended from the fruit of Paradise, or the trees of Paradise.” 44 Haddad 2002, pp. 19–20. 45 It is the national anthem of Egypt. It was written by Muhammad Yunus al-Qadi 1888–1969 ce,) and turned into a song by the most famous Egyptian musician Sayid Darwish (1892–1923 ce.) The words of the song were taken from a speech given by Mustafa Kamil in 1907. 46 Haddad 2002, p. 39. 47 Ibid., pp. 98–9. 48 Ibid., pp. 121–2. 49 M.A.S. Abdel Haleem, The Qur’an (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), p. 425. 50 A derogatory word that was in common use in early 20th century to describe the profession of acting in Egypt. 51 Haddad 2002, p. 143. 52 Ibid., p. 94. 53 Ibid., pp. 110–111. 54 “Fuʾad Haddad,” Al-Jazeera, available at www.aljazeera.net/programs/thebanned/ ‫حداد‬ 2007/5/14/‫فؤاد‬‫حداد‬-‫فؤاد‬ 55 Haddad 2002, pp. 223–4. 56 Ibid., pp. 224–5. 57 Ibid., pp. 227–30. 58 Ibid., pp. 192–3. ‫حداد‬ 59 www.aljazeera.net/programs/thebanned/2007/5/14/‫فؤاد‬‫داؤف‬-‫دادح‬

Bibliography Al-ʿAlim, Mahmud Amin. 1990. “Allah, Rhyme and Communism: An Introductory Reading of the Poetry of Fuʾad Haddad.” Al-Yasār Journal (7) (September): 82–85. Abdel Haleem, M.A.S. 2005. The Qur’an. New York: Oxford University Press. AL-Asbahani, Abu Naʿim. 1986. Dalaʾil al-Nubwuah. Beirut: Dār al-Nafaʾis. “Fuʾad Haddad.” AL-Jazeera. Available at www.aljazeera.net/programs/thebanned/ ‫فؤاد‬-‫حداد‬ 2007/5/14/‫حداد‬-‫فؤاد‬ Haddad, Fuʾad. 1952. The Free Behind Bars. Cairo: Unknown Publisher. ———. 2002. Egyptian Egypt is Singing. Cairo: al-Hayʾah al-Masriyyah al-ʿAmmah ˙ li-al-Kitab. ———. 2006. The Complete Works. Cairo: al-Hayʾah al-ʿAmmah li-Qusur al-Thaqafah.

Index

a’ala ‘illiyyin 170 ‘Abbasids 12 ʿAbd al-Malik 150 Abdul Rahman, Shah 41, 42, 49 Abi’l-Khayr 16 Abrahamic 14, 15, 18 Abu Bakr 142 Adab 3, 152, 162, 168, 174 Adham, Ibrahin b. 9, 12, 14, 19, 20 Abdul Hadi, Mawlana 180 – 93, 194n35, 198 Abdul Karim 181 Abdul Karim (author) 191, 196n108, 197 Abdul Rahman, Tunku 207 advaita 16 ahl-i dil 5 ahl al-kitāb 149 Ahmed, Munshi Safiuddin 181 Ahmed, Shahab 3, 22n10, 22n14, 22n20, 26, 143n5, 145, 158n34, 158n37, 159 ʿAʾisha 157 al-‘Adawiyya, Rabi‘a 7, 8, 9, 14, 26, 70, 197 al-ʿAlim, Maḥmud Amin 228, 245n1 ‘alam-e-amr 174 ‘alam-i wajd 161 Alam, Mahbubul 181 Alam, Muhammad Musa 181 al-aqlām al-sitta 151 al-Aṣbahani 235, 245n30, 246 al-Astarabadi, Fadlallah 137, 144n45 al-Basri, Hasan 10, 13, 14, 28 al-Buraʿi, ʿAbd al-Raḥim 229 al-Burdah 229, 245n4 al-Busayri 229 al-Darda, Abu 7 al-Darda, Umm 7

al-dhat 188 al-Farabi 62 al-Farisi, Salman 7 al-Faruqi, Umar 100 al-Gilani, ‘Abd al-Qadir 133, 143n14 al-Ghazali, Imam Abu Hamid 11, 57, 141, 164 al-Hallaj, Husayn b. Mansur 9, 10, 11, 16, 27, 49, 209, 210, 223n51, 224 al-Hannan, Abdullah 181 al-Ḥusayn 232, 233 Ali, Kazi Asad 181 ‘Alid 140, 141, 144n67 ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib 133, 139, 140, 141, 143n20, 144n67, 204 ‘alim see ‘ulama’ al-Jerrahi, Muzaffer Ozak 214, 224n57 al-Junayd 6, 10, 13, 14 al-Kassar, ‘Ali 241 al-khaṭṭ al-mansūb 150 al-Khuza‘i, Imran b. al-Husayn 7 Allah 11, 14, 49, 55n41, 75, 76, 116, 118, 120, 122, 123, 125, 161, 162, 163, 167, 170, 172, 173, 183, 201, 202, 204, 205, 209, 214, 215, 217, 220, 222n5, 223n33, 224, 227, 228, 230, 232, 234, 235, 238, 246; see also Khuda al-Ma’mun 12 al-Muhasibi, Abu ‘Abdullah Harith ibn Asad 8, 9, 10, 13, 14, 17, 29 al-Mustaʿṣimi, Yaqut 151 al-nabī al-ummī 149 al-Nadim, ʿAbd Allah 239 al-Qadr 232 al-Qaeda 204 al-Qandusi, Muḥammad ibn al-Qasim 152 al-Sadat, Anwar 242

248 Index al-Salamuni, Hisham 245 al-Wadūd 5, 178 al-Yaman, Hudhayfa b. 7 ‘amal 161, 165, 176 Amanat Shah 181 Amiri, Ahmed Nur 182 Amir Khusrau/Khusro 49, 97 – 9, 111n3, 111n5, 112n16, 180 Amiruzzaman Shah 181 amrit 46 ana’l-Haqq 10, 49, 210 Andrae, Tor 18, 20, 25n115, 25n155, 25n156, 26 annihilation 1, 6, 10, 11, 18, 20, 58, 172, 173, 179; see also fanā’ Anushirvan, Khusrau I. 12 Antov, Nikolay x, 136, 144n37, 144n39 Aphraates 13 Apostle Paul 20 Aqida 59 ‘Aql 8 Arab 11, 20, 26, 36, 238; Arabia 26, 28, 81, 115, 245; Arabian 116, 229, 244, 245n28; Arabic xii, 5, 7, 10, 13, 36, 43, 47, 54n13, 55n29, 55n41, 59, 60, 75, 95, 106, 110, 149, 150, 151, 157, 158n1, 159, 175n1, 205, 208, 242, 244, 245n25; Arabs 12, 28, 123, 183 Arahat 20 Arbab-i dil 161 Arberry, Arthur J. 23n33, 24n68, 24n73, 24n74, 80, 80n84, 25n116, 25n120, 25n131, 25n139, 26 Aristotle 35, 44, 62 Arjuna 190 Asad, Talal 2, 3, 4, 22n8, 22n9, 134, 135, 143n27, 143n28, 143n29 Asceticism 4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 22n5, 24n81, 28, 37, 70n8, 132, 163, 164 Asian: Central Asian 4; East Asian 209, 212; South Asian 12, 35, 72, 83, 90, 95, 96, 97, 99, 102, 103, 110, 111n10, 113, 159, 168, 177, 182, 189, 192; Southeast Asian 225, 226 Asma’ ul-Husna 8, 9, 201, 205, 214, 215, 216, 218, 220, 221 Atçıl, Abdurrahman 145, 143n16 Athens 12 Ᾱtman 16, 18 Attar, Farid ud-Din 37, 42, 49, 223n39, 224

awliya 133; awliyā’/awliya Allah 11, 170; Awliya, Nizam al-Din 96, 97, 98, 180; Awliya, Siyar al-99; Awliya, Tarikh-e 111n11, 112n17, 112n18, 112n19, 114 ayāt 6, 157; see also signs Ayaz, Fariduddin 98, 111n3, 113 Azad, Maulana Abul Kalam 33 Baba Bhandari 182 Babur, Zahiruddin Muhammad 36 Badarayana 19 Badawi, Abdullah Ahmad 207 Bahmani Empire 100 Bairāgī 73, 76, 85 Bajan, Baha al-Din Shah 99, 100, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 110, 111n7, 111n10, 112n13, 112n14, 112n17, 112n18, 112n19, 113 Bakk, Masʿud 101, 112n12 Baldic, Julian 12, 15, 23n30, 25n121, 26 Bandyopādhyāy, Asit Kumār 196 bānī 46 baqā’18, 48, 76, 101; baqā’ billah 20, 173 baraka/barakat 22n5, 36, 37, 171 Bashir, Hajji 173, 174 Shahzad Basir 144n46, 145, 179, 194n10, 194n15, 196 batin/bāṭinī 47, 157 bāul vii, 72 – 88, 88n18, 89n43, 89n47, 89n49, 89n54, 89, 90, 91, 181 Bāul, Parvarthy 84 Bāul, Sanatan Das 84 Bawa, Oudesh Rani Bawa 102, 177 Bayram, Hacı 133 Bayt al-hikma 12 Behl, Aditya 110, 113n28 Bektashi 59 Bengal 21, 26, 27, 35, 72 – 6, 78 – 84, 86, 88, 88n18, 89 – 91, 182, 191 – 3, 196 – 7; Bengali 72 – 5, 80, 83 – 7, 90, 95, 181, 186, 190, 191, 196n89, 196, 198; Bengalis 77, 84, 86 Berkey, Jonathan P. 12, 24n100, 24n101, 24n102, 24n103, 26 bhadralok 80 Bhagavad-Gītā 15 – 18 Bhai Bala 53 Bhai Mardana 38, 40, 50 – 2 bhakti 16, 19, 34, 72, 74, 76, 90, 180, 182, 186, 189 – 93 Bhatacariya, Upendra 80 Bhujpuri, Abdus Salam 181

Index  249 Bindu sadhana 75 Bistami, Abu Yazid 9 – 11, 13 – 18 Brahman 15, 16, 18, 19, 74 – 6 Brahmanism 74 Brahmasūtra 19 Brahmo Samaj 80, 81 Buddha 21; Buddhism 12, 19 – 21, 82; Buddhist 10 – 12, 15, 17, 20, 34 – 5, 37 – 8, 72, 74 – 6, 81 – 2, 91, 123, 163, 181 – 2, 191, 203; Buddhist Jatakas 37; see also Siddhartha Gautama buland o bala-tar 172 Bullhe Shah 50 Bumiputera 201, 201, 208 Bürgel, Johan Christoph 156, 158n34 burqa 42, 55n22 Calder, Norman 34, 143n26 Calligraphy viii, 22, 43, 147, 151 – 157, 158n15, 159 – 60 Capwell, Charles 73, 82, 88n4, 89 Carey, William 90 Cashin, David 191, 196n93, 196n96, 196n108, 196 caste 17, 18, 39, 40, 74 – 6, 81, 186 Catholic church 64 Chaitanya/Caitanya 77, 190 Cheek, Ahmad Shabery 207 Chisti, Muin al-Din 182 Chittick, William C. 23n45, 23n50, 23n58, 26, 28, 116 – 7, 127n3, 128n7, 129, 195n65 Chowdhuri, Fazu Mian 181 Chowdhuri, Hajji Ayub Ali 81 Christian 4, 7, 9, 11 – 15, 18, 20, 21, 24n97, 35, 71, 73, 85 – 7, 115, 121, 123, 135, 145, 155, 163, 182, 192, 203, 212, 228, 231, 238 Colonial Raj 33 Communism viii, 228 – 9, 237, 242, 246; Marxian 228, 235, 242; Marxism 228, 234, 236, 242 Constitution/constitutionally 201, 203, 221n8, 240 Cooperson, Michael 4, 23n24, 24n104, 26 culture 1 – 4, 11 – 12, 21 – 2, 26 – 7, 33, 36 – 8, 53, 83, 86, 88, 113, 115 – 7, 129, 132 – 4, 145, 149, 155, 159, 164, 219, 221, 226, 237 darbar 169, 181 – 2, 195 dard 172, 189

Dard, Mir 107, 112n23 dargah 36, 97, 100, 108, 111n10; see also shrine darśana 45 Darvish, Fazar Ali 181 Darvish, Shah Yusuf Ali 181 Darwish, Sayid 240, 246n45 darwish/dervish 5, 64, 67 – 8, 73, 116, 120, 123 – 5, 129, 132, 139, 145, 224; see also faqir Dasgupta, Shashibhusan 88n35, 90, 191, 196 Datta, Manmohan 181 David 8, 9, 14, 19 Deccan /Deccani 9 – 7, 99, 100, 102, 106 – 7, 110, 111n4, 111n5, 113 Delwar, Muhammad 181 democracy 26, 198, 209, 225 Déroche, François 150, 158n4, 158n8, 159 dhikr/zikr 14, 76, 106, 133, 172, 204 – 5, 208, 215, 218, 221, 232 – 3, 239, 245n24 Dimock, Edward C. 189 – 90, 195n81, 196n89, 196n108, 197 Dionysius of Syria 13, 18 du’a 171 Dutt, Michael Madhusudan 86 Dylan, Bob 72, 79, 81, 83, 89n47, 89n48, 89, 90 Eade, John 85, 89n56, 90 Eaton, Richard M. 21, 26n162, 26, 54n11, 55, 88n7, 112n21, 113, 191 – 2, 196n96, 196n97, 197 Eickelman, Dale F. 2, 22n4, 22n5, 26 Election 86, 201 – 2, 204, 206 – 7, 214, 217, 224n52, 226 El-Zein, Abdul Hamid 2, 22n6, 26, 134 Ernst, Carl 21, 23n53, 25n160, 26 – 7, 96, 99, 112n12, 112n20, 124, 128n37, 129, 160, 194n6 fanā’1, 10, 11, 18 – 20, 48, 101, 178; fanā’ fi’l-lah 173, 178; fanā’ fi’lshaykh 178, 189, 193 faqir 5, 26, 73, 76; see also darwish/dervish Farhad 20, 192 Farid, Shaykh 33, 36 – 7, 40, 42, 44 – 5 fayz 171 Fazlul Karim 181 fiqh 151, 209

250 Index flame 10, 49, 52, 124, 185, 187 flute 41, 86, 182, 184 – 6, 189, 192 Frembgen, Jurgen 165, 175n17 Geertz, Clifford 1, 2, 4, 22n2, 22n3, 27 Gharib, Burhan al-Din 96 – 102, 108, 110, 111n5, 111n6, 113 ghazal 42, 97 – 8, 103, 107 – 110, 111n2, 112n23, 113n27, 113 Ghifari, Abu Dharr 7 Ginsberg, Allen 72, 79, 81 – 3, 91 Gitanjali 80, 90 Golam ar-Rahman, Sayyid 182 Golden Temple 33 gopī 19, 189, 190; gopībhāva 189, 190 Gorakhnath 41, 196 Gospel 15, 20 governance 86, 110, 202, 208 – 9 Greek 4, 5, 12, 13, 23n32, 43 – 4, 115, 122 Grossman, Sally 82 – 3 Gujari 96, 101 – 3, 106 – 7, 110 Gurmukhi 33 Guru Arjan 33, 46 Gurudas Faqir 181 Guru Granth Sahib 33 – 4, 36, 39, 40, 45 – 6, 49, 50, 53 – 4, 54n14, 56 Guru Nanak vii, 33 – 43, 45 – 53, 54n2, 54n3, 54n4, 54n12, 54n14, 54n16, 54n20, 54n22, 55n32, 55n45, 56

Harder, Hans 25n145, 26n164, 27, 180, 186, 189, 191 – 2, 194n26, 194n29, 194n30, 194n32, 194n34, 195n39 – 43, 195n48 – 50, 195n55, 195n61, 195n63, 195n74, 197 Harrison, George 72, 79, 82, 88n41, 88n42, 89n45, 90 Hatim, Musa 212 Haq, Muhammad Enamul 19, 20, 25n150, 27 haqiqat 105 – 6 Helminski, Camille 27 Helminski, Kabir 7, 23n43, 23n57, 27, 194n1, 197 Hickman, Bill 132 – 3, 143n13, 143n15, 143n17, 143n18, 145 Hindavi 97, 99, 102 – 4, 110 Hindu 11, 15 – 19, 21, 29, 33 – 5, 38 – 41, 44, 46, 48, 52 – 3, 55, 74 – 9, 81 – 2, 86 – 7, 89, 97, 100, 121, 178, 181 – 3, 189, 191 – 3, 203; Hinduism 10, 12, 15 – 20, 34, 74, 82, 85 – 6, 189 Hir 19, 189 Hodgson, Marshall 2 – 4, 15, 23n13, 23n35, 25n125, 27, 144n37, 145 Hubert (saint) 12, 13, 20 Husayn, Farid 181 Husayni, Lutfunnesa 181 Husayni, Sayyid Siraj al-Din 107 ḥusn al-khaṭṭ 149 Hussaini, Syed Shah Khusro 99, 111n5

Ḥaddad, Fu’ad 228 – 45, 245n3, 245n6, 245n10, 245n17, 245n20, 245n26, 245n29, 245n31, 245n34, 246n38, 246n42, 246n44, 246n46, 246n51, 246n54, 246n55, 246 hadith 2, 15, 11, 137 – 8, 140, 149, 151, 157, 178, 196n95, 201 – 2, 215, 221n5, 221n6, 222n16, 222n20, 223n33, 224n59, 224n61, 226, 235, 238; ahadith 5, 201 – 2, 204, 226; hadith qudsi 5, 178, 188 hagiography viii, 22, 112n12, 113, 147, 159, 161 – 3, 168, 170, 172 – 3, 175, 175n3, 177 Hali, Abdul Gafur 181 hama ūst 19 Hamdullah, Shaykh 152, 154 Hamzah, Tengku Razaleigh 203, 206, 212, 223n50, 226 Hanssen, Kristin 73, 74, 88n3, 90 Harbingiri, Mawlana Aminul Haq 181

Ibn al-‘Arabi 6, 16, 19, 47 – 8, 164, 188, 189, 196 Ibn al-Bawwab 151 Ibn al-Farid, ‘Umar 230 – 31 Ibn Muqla 151 Ibn Nafisah 137, 245n36 Ibn Rabiʿah, Labid 230 Ibn Taymiyyah 209, 223n33 Ibn Thabit, Hassan 230 Ibn Zuhayr, Ka‘b 229, 245n5 Ibrahim, Anwar 203, 206, 207, 208, 210, 211, 228n48, 226 identity 33 – 6, 60, 74, 85 – 6, 115, 118, 124, 190, 193; politics viii, 22, 33 – 5, 89, 90, 113, 124, 145, 201 – 2, 204, 206 – 7, 211, 214, 219, 222n27, 225, 228, 237 Idries Shah 59 ihsan 6, 7 ijāza 152 Ikbal, Afzal 116, 128n4, 129

Index  251 ‘ilm 8, 138, 144n49, 146, 172 India 10, 16 – 20, 33 – 6, 38, 43, 79 – 85, 89n46, 89, 90, 96 – 7, 106, 113, 151, 178, 189, 212; Indian 4, 12, 17, 19, 20, 24n102, 33, 36 – 8, 46, 80, 82 – 3, 88n23, 89, 90, 99, 102, 113 – 5, 181, 197, 203, 212 Indian National Congress 33 Indonesia 2, 208, 225 – 6; Indonesian 95 Iran 12, 37, 96, 100, 115 – 6, 145; Iranian 9, 107, 115, 138, 145, 176n18, 177, 192 IS 205; ISIS 205; ISIL 205; DAESH 205 Islamicate 3, 27, 38 – 9, 43; Islamic civilization 3, 4, 110, 159; Islamic Protestantism 5; islams 2; Sufi Islam 1, 4, 11, 21, 87, 137 ‘ishq 7, 172, 178 – 9, 181, 194n6; ‘ashiq 172, 184; ‘ishq-i ilahi 162 – 3; ‘ishq-e haqiqi 35; ‘ishq-e majazi 35, 189; ma’ashuq 184; madhhab al-‘ishq 7; mazhab-e eshq 7 Shah Ismail 131 Īśvara 16, 18 Ithbat-i-nafi 20 jahiliyya 140 Jain 34, 35, 74; Jaina sutras 37 jalal 188 jamal 188 Jamuna River 97 Janamsakhi 37 – 9, 41, 45, 54n16, 54n22, 55n23, 55n31, 56 Jesus 8, 14, 51 – 2, 69n1, 71, 192 Jew 4, 14, 18, 28, 65, 82, 121; Buddhist Jew 82; Jewish 11, 14, 35, 66, 123, 163; Judeo-Christian 12; Judeo-Islamic 192 justice 27, 98, 202 – 3, 206 – 9, 222n33, 222n43, 224, 226, 228, 236 – 7, 239; injustice 7, 235, 238, 242; social justice 236 – 7 Kabir, Bhagat 41 Kadamba 184, 190 Kafadar, Cemal 139, 143n4, 144n57, 145 kafir 138, 144n51; kufr 138, 144n51; takfiri 204 – 5, 222n15, 226 Kanchanpuri, Abdul Ghani 181 kāma 78 Kamil, Mustafa 239 – 40, 246n45 karamat 37, 168

Karamustafa, Ahmet T. 3, 4, 23n21, 23n30, 24n75, 24n86, 24n88, 24n92, 24n96, 27, 143n7, 143n9, 143n11, 144n37, 144n41, 145 kashf 168 kashfu-’l-qubur 20 Khairuzzaman Master 181 khalifa 96, 161 – 2, 165 – 6, 168, 173, 175, 177 Khan, Bashir Muhammad 111n11, 113 Khan, Inayat 85 Khanqa/Khanqah 36, 102 Kharijite 139, 204 – 5 Khwurd, Mir 99 Kinsley, David 190, 195n83, 197 Knight, Lisa 73 – 4, 76 – 7, 79, 88n2, 88n11, 88n17, 88n26, 88n29, 90 Knysh, Alexander 4, 23n27, 23n31, 24n61, 24n66, 24n75, 24n77, 27 Koprulu, Fuad 115 – 6, 119, 127n1, 128n14, 129 Krishna 18, 19, 75 – 6, 82, 89n45, 90, 189 – 90, 197; Hare Krishna 89n45, 90; Krishnabhakta 189; Krishnabhakti 192; Krishna consciousness 82; Krishna mantra 82; Kṛṣṇalīlā 190 Kufic 150, 153 Lalon 73, 76, 80, 181 langar 33, 36, 166 – 7 Launay, Robert I2, 22n7, 27 Lawrence, Bruce B. 3, 21, 23n18, 25n160, 27, 112n12, 112n20, 113 Layla 19, 192, 196n98, 198 Lewisohn, Leonard 29, 46, 55n35, 56, 69n5, 197 Lindholm, Charles 163, 173, 175n9, 177 lingam 75 Lings, Martin 19, 23n30, 25n144, 27 Lozowick, Lee 84 Mahabharata 37 Mahathir, Muhamad 203 – 4, 206 – 7, 210 – 13, 221n10, 223n44, 223n47, 223n48, 225 – 7 Maizbhandari, Shafiul Bashar 181 Maizbhandari, Sayyid Abul Bashar 181 Majnun 19, 192, 196 Malāmatī 7, 29 Malamud, Margaret 179, 194n11, 194n19, 197

252 Index Malaysia 201 – 4, 206 – 12, 221n1, 221n9, 221n10, 222n23, 222n27, 223n44, 223n48, 223n52, 224 – 7 malfuzat 97, 99, 102, 111n4, 162 Mandakini, Bajlul Karim 181 Manichaenism 12 Manjheli, Shaykh 101 mard 180, 189 ma‘rifa 8, 11 ma’rifat-i haq 162 masjid 5; see also mosque Masnavi/Mathnawi 56, 63, 66, 70n9, 70, 192; masnavi 103 Massignon, Louis 18, 20, 23n30, 24n67, 24n69, 24n76, 24n78, 24n82, 24n83, 24n87, 24n91, 24n95, 24n99, 24n102, 25n135, 25n138, 25n140, 25n142, 25n158, 27, 28 māyā 16, 18 McLeod, William H. 34, 45, 54n2, 54n3, 54n4, 54n12, 54n17, 54n19, 54n20, 54n22, 55n32, 56 Medina Charter 208 Melkert, Christopher 58, 69n4, 71 metadoxy 131, 139 Metcalf, Barbara D. 36, 54n7, 56 Mimnagari, Abdul Jabbar 181 mi‘raj 10, 18 Mir-ʿAli 152 Mir Dard, Khwaja 107, 112n23 Misri, Dhu’l-Nun 8, 9 mokṣa 12, 16, 18 Mongol 36 – 7, 131 Monsieur Ibrahim vii, 57 – 8, 60, 61, 63, 67, 69 Moroccan 26, 152, 159, 176n18, 176 Morocco 2 Moses 8, 14, 183, 192 Mosque 5, 36, 38, 42, 64, 68, 81, 85, 102, 166 – 8, 231 – 2; see also masjid mu’aththar fih 188 mu’aththir 188 Mughal empire 36, 99, 107 muhabba/mahabbat 8, 10, 48, 104, 181 Muhammad (Prophet) 4, 6, 8, 14, 37, 59, 137 – 8, 140 – 1, 143n20, 149, 153 – 4, 156 – 7, 173, 178, 182, 192, 198, 201, 204 – 5, 208, 215, 221n7, 232, 241 Muhammad Rifʿat 241 – 2 Muhiuddin, Sayyid 181 Muhsin Auliya 181 Mukhtar, Mahmud 241 – 2

murid 152, 162, 179, 234 murshid 76, 162, 168, 178 – 80, 182 – 4, 186 – 9, 192 – 4 Musa, Annuar 217 Music viii, 1, 4, 9, 22, 39, 56, 72 – 4, 76 – 89, 95, 97 – 101, 106, 112n20, 123, 147, 156, 164 – 5, 176, 181, 193, 240, 242; Musical 21 – 2, 35, 49, 72, 74, 76 – 7, 79 – 81, 83 – 4, 86, 96, 98 – 102, 106, 110, 182, 188, 190 – 1, 245n27 Muslim 1 – 4, 6, 7, 12 – 15, 17 – 20, 26 – 7, 29, 33 – 9, 41 – 4, 46 – 8, 52, 55n22, 58, 60, 62 – 3, 65, 69n3, 74 – 8, 80 – 1, 85 – 7, 89 – 90, 95, 99, 106, 110, 113, 115 – 6, 126, 132 – 5, 138 – 41, 145, 149 – 50, 155, 159, 163, 175, 175n18, 177 – 8, 182 – 4, 189, 192, 197, 201 – 6, 208 – 9, 211 – 3, 215, 219, 221, 221n1, 221n5, 221n6, 221n9, 222n19, 222n20, 224n59, 224n61, 225 – 6, 228, 230, 237 – 8, 242, 245n5, 245n16 Mutlaqa-e Ahmadi 180 Nabani Das Baul 81 – 2 nafs 8, 16, 23n39, 50, 119 – 20, 122, 124, 133, 175n18, 189, 196, 202, 215, 216, 219; mujahadah al-nafs 215; nafs al-lawwama 189, 192; nafs al-mulhima 192; nafs al-mutma’ina 189, 193; tazkiyah al-nafs 215 Najib Razak 204, 207, 210 – 11 namaz 138, 144n52; namaz-e ‘ushshaq 99; see also salah/salat Nasir, Gamal ʿAbd al- 230, 239 Muhammad Nasiruddin 181 Nasr, Seyyid Hossein 23n38, 23nn40 – 2, 23n44, 26n165, 28, 46, 55n34, 56, 157, 158n3, 158n39, 158n40, 159, 188, 194n1, 195n64, 195n66, 197 Nātha 34, 41, 191, 193; Nātha cult 191; Nātha yogi 34; Nāthism 191; Nāthist 191 Rab Nawaz 161 – 2, 164, 168 – 71, 173, 175, 175n2, 175n7, 176nn21 – 28, 177 Nazrul Islam, Kazi 78, 81, 85 – 6, 88n37, 89 – 90 Nicholson, Reynold A. 15, 19 – 20, 23n29, 24n105, 25n119, 25n123, 25n141, 25n143, 25n151, 25n152,

Index  253 25n153, 25n157, 28, 56, 70n8, 70n9, 70 nirvāna 10, 12, 20 Nityananda, Srii 76, 82 Openshaw, Jeanne 73 – 4, 88n9, 89n51, 90 Orientalism 155, 159, 129 Orlovsky, Peter 81 orthodoxy Intro 4; Alam 25; Baris 1, 2, 4, 7 – 16, 23 Ottoman viii, 26, 115, 130 – 9, 143n8, 145 – 6, 151, 154, 157 Ottoman-Safavid 131, 136, 141 Paban Das Baul 79 Palacios, Miguel Asin 12, 15 Pandit, Askar Ali 181 Pandit Shah Qutubi, Maqbul 181 parakīyā 190, 196n89 Akhtar Parvez 102, 111n7, 112n13, 112n19, 113 Pir 5, 54n13, 75, 152, 162, 164 – 71, 176n20; see also Shaykh Platonic 2, 164; Neoplatonic/ Neoplatonist 11, 15 politics viii, 22, 33 – 5, 89 – 90, 113, 124, 145, 201 – 2, 206 – 7, 211, 214, 219, 222n27, 225, 228, 237 prīyā 187 Prophet Idris 153 Punjab 33, 35 – 9, 41, 50, 52, 54, 56, 112n13, 198; Punjabi 37 – 9, 52 – 3, 54n14, 56, 168, 189 Purana 37, 48 Purna Das Baul 82 – 4 Qalandarī 7 “Qaqshal,” Afzal Beg Khan 108 Qasida 164, 168 – 9, 174 qawwali 97 – 9, 101, 109, 111n3, 112n16, 113n27, 113 – 4, 164 – 5, 181 Qur’an 2, 6, 10, 11, 14 – 6, 18, 21, 28, 43, 48 – 9, 59, 60, 64 – 5, 69, 69n5, 75, 90, 97, 105, 122, 125, 137 – 8, 141 – 2, 145, 149, 157, 158n3, 159, 161, 178, 201 – 2, 204 – 5, 208, 214, 218 – 9, 221nn2 – 4, 221n10, 222nn11 – 13, 222n18, 222n29, 223n35, 224n58, 224n64, 225, 227, 246n49, 246; Qur’anic 5, 10, 11, 14, 21, 37, 48, 178, 192, 202, 205, 208 Qutb 141

Radha 19, 75 – 6, 89n45, 90, 189 – 90, 196n98 Rahman, Fazlur 6, 7, 16, 23n26, 23n27, 23n31, 23n7, 23n54, 24n105, 25nn129 – 34, 28 Rahmatullah 100, 101 Rais Yatim 207 Raj, Alam Chand 38 Rajapuri, Aliullah 181 Ramanuja 17 Ramayana 37 Yogi Ramsuratkumar 84 Ranjha 19, 189 rasa 46, 55n33, 75, 190 Rasul Allah 161, 172 – 3 Ravi Shankar 82, 88n42 Raj, Alam Chand 38 reformasi 203, 207 – 8, 226 Riyad, ʿAbd al-Munʿim 239 Riza Aziz 210 Roxburgh, David 156, 158n32, 159 Roy, Asim 191, 197 rubayat 168 ruh 170, 215 Eşrefoğlu Rumi viii, 130 – 4, 136 – 42, 143n1, 144n47, 144n48, 144nn50 – 5, 144n60 – 2, 144nn64 – 8, 144nn70 – 4, 144n76, 144n77, 145nn78 – 80, 146 Rumi, Jalaluddin 8, 29, 46, 51 – 2, 55n36, 55, 63, 66 – 7, 70n8, 70n9, 70, 115 – 8, 120 – 27, 129, 164, 18, 192, 197 Ryhanuddin Shah, Mawlana 181 Safak, Elif 115, 117 – 20, 122 – 3, 127, 128nn15 – 18, 128nn20 – 31, 128n49, 128n50, 129 Safavid 131, 136, 138, 145 – 6 Sahajiyā 75, 190 – 1, 196n89; Buddhist Sahajiyā 76; Vaiṣṇva Sahajiyā 189, 191, 193, 197 Said, Edward 155, 158n27, 159 Saju, Badrunnisa 182 Salafi 3 salah/salat 138, 201, 215, 218; see also namaz sama‘ 9, 56, 97, 99, 100, 112n20, 113, 124 – 5, 165, 181 Sāṁkhya school 18 saṁsāra 18, 19 Sangu Mal 38 Sanjit Acariya 181

254 Index Śaṅkara 15 – 19 Sant 34, 41, 45, 51 Sarker, Roji vii, 72 – 3, 85 – 7 Sarwari, ‘Abd al-Qadir 108, 113n26, 114 Sava-sadhana 20 Sayyid Sultan 191 Schick, İrvin C. 155, 158n5, 158n28, 159 Schimmel, Annemarie 6, 20, 23n32, 23n36, 23n51, 23n52, 24n70, 24n79, 24n89, 24n90, 24n93, 24n94, 25nn146 – 8, 25n154, 28, 49, 54n21, 55n39, 55n40, 56, 112n21, 114, 117 – 18, 128n5, 128n6, 128n10, 128n11, 129, 152 – 3, 158n2, 158n14, 158n16, 158nn19 – 22, 158n24, 159, 163 – 4, 175nn10 – 14, 177 – 9, 188 – 9, 192, 194n4, 194n7, 194n9, 194n12, 194n14, 194n17, 194n18, 194n23, 195n69, 195n70, 195n72, 195nn78 – 81, 196n90, 196n95, 196nn99 – 101, 103, 198 Schmitt, Éric-Emmanuel 57 Schuon, Frithjof 19, 23n49, 25n149, 28 seli 38 Sen, Bhai Girishchandra 75, 90 Sen, Kshiti Mohan 80, 81, 88n33, 90 Sen, Mimlu 79 Sena dynasty 74 Shadhu 20, 77 Shahapuri, Sayyid Mejbah Uddin Kazi 181 shahīdbāzī 192 Shaikh, Sa‘diyya 189, 198 Shaivite Śākta 75 Shantineketan 73, 79, 82 Sharaf, Firoz Din 52 shari‘a 11, 105, 118, 122, 125 – 6, 131, 136 – 7, 141, 204 – 5, 209, 227 Sharify-Funk, Meena 152, 158n15, 159 Sheehan, Thomas 69, 69n1, 69n3, 70n11, 71 Sheikh Sharaf 41 – 2 Shiite/Shi‘i/Shi‘ism 116, 131, 139, 134, 140, 142, 144n67; Ghulat Shi’ism 131; Scriptural Shi’ism 131; Twelver Shi’ite 131 Shil, Ramesh Chandra 180 – 86, 188, 190 – 93, 194n35, 196 Shirin 19, 192 shrine 1, 33, 36 – 7, 74, 100, 111n10, 165 – 6, 168; see also dargah

signs 1, 5, 6, 28, 44, 99, 109, 157, 168, 184, 198, 233; see also ayat Sijzi, Amir Hasan 96, 97, 110, 113 Sikh 22, 33 – 7, 39 – 44, 47, 49, 50, 52, 54, 54n16, 54n22, 54n26, 54n31, 56; LGBT Sikh 42; Sikh canon 33, 37 – 8, 45; Sikh Guru 36, 38 – 40, 42, 46 – 7, 53 – 4, 56; Sikhism 33 – 4; SikhMuslim/Muslim-Sikh 35, 44; Sikh religion 33, 45, 54n2, 54n3, 56; Sikh scripture 34, 37, 44 – 5, 48; Sikh-Sufi 42, 47, 49, 50, 53 Sindi, Abu ‘Ali 9, 15, 17, 18 Smith, Margaret 12 – 15, 18, 20, 23n47, 24n97, 24nn106 – 8, 25n118, 28, 29 Sohag, Musa Sada 180 Song viii, 36, 42, 67, 72, 75, 77 – 87, 88n18, 89 – 91, 96 – 7, 99, 101 – 2, 106 – 7, 110 – 11, 111n3, 113, 168, 178, 180 – 7, 189 – 94, 194n28, 194n35, 194n37, 195nn38 – 42, 195n44 – 6, 195n53, 195n54, 195n62, 230 – 1, 234, 240 – 3, 246n45 sufi vii, viii, 1, 3, 5, 6, 8 – 11, 13 – 16, 19 – 22, 23n29, 23n32, 26 – 7, 33 – 9, 41 – 2, 44, 46 – 53, 54n5, 54n13, 54n14, 55n50, 50, 56 – 64, 67 – 8, 69n3, 72, 74 – 6, 80, 81, 84, 87, 95 – 7, 99 – 102, 105 – 111, 111n4, 111n10, 111n11, 112n20, 112n23, 113, 115 – 7, 119 – 25, 129 – 30, 132 – 4, 137 – 43, 143n14, 144n67, 145 – 6, 149, 152 – 7, 159, 162 – 6, 168 – 70, 172 – 5, 175n18, 176 – 80, 182, 188 – 93, 194n23, 196n95, 196 – 8, 201, 205 – 6, 208 – 10, 212, 214 – 5, 221, 222n19, 224 – 6, 229 – 35, 238 – 9, 242, 245, 245n24; ahl al-suffa 5; safa 5; suf 5; suffa 5; sufi Islam 1, 3, 11, 87, 137; sufism vii, viii, 1, 3, 5 – 7, 9 – 11, 13, 15, 17, 19 – 22, 26 – 9, 34, 50, 56 – 64, 68, 69n1, 69n3, 70, 85, 90, 107, 111n5, 112n23, 113, 115 – 8, 121 – 4, 129 – 33, 136 – 7, 139 – 40, 145, 151, 156, 158n15, 159, 163, 168, 174, 176 – 7, 182, 188, 191, 196 – 8, 206, 222n21, 225 – 32, 234, 236, 242; sophos 5 Sufi Karim 168 Sufi orders 11, 38, 87, 106, 136, 139 – 41, 144n67, 146, 152 – 3, 162 – 3, 166, 175n18, 176; Chisti/

Index  255 yya 37, 97 – 100, 110, 112n20, 113, 159, 215; Kaṭṭanīyya 152; Maizbhandariyya 180, 182, 188, 193; Mevlevi/yya 152; Naqshbandi/ yya 37, 112n23, 115, 152 – 3, 162, 168, 173; Qadiri/yya 37, 133, 143n14, 152; Suhrawardi/yya 37; Yassawiye 115 Sultanate 36; Brahmani 99; Delhi Sultanate 99, 102, 112n12, 113 Sunni 100, 131, 134 – 5, 137 – 42, 144n67, 160, 206; sunnitization 132, 146 svakīya 190 Swami Prabhupada 82, 85 Śyāma 185 – 6 Tabligh 170 Tabriz, Shams-i 116, 124, 129 Tagore 73, 77, 79 – 83, 85 – 6, 88n31, 88n32, 88n34, 90 takwa 139 tāntrīc 20, 72, 74 – 5, 77, 79, 83, 91, 191; tantra 77, 77, 84, 88n23 taqlid 154 – 5 tariqa viii, 96, 115, 141, 153, 173, 178, 180, 188, 193, 205, 215, 227; tariqat 105 – 6; turuq 152, 205; turuqa 205, 215 taṣawwuf 5, 20; see also sufi: Sufism Taşköprüzade, Ahmed 133 tawajjuh 178 tawakkul 13, 14, 161, 168 tazkira 111n8, 112n24, 162 – 3, 168 Thielemann, Selina 83, 89n49, 89 tilak 38, 76, 79 Tolstoy 35, 44, 55n28, 56 Trimingham, Spencer 141, 143n24, 144n75, 146 Tughlaq, Muhammad bin 97 Ṭūr 237, 245n37 ṭuyūr khaḍrah 232 ‘ulama’ 6, 7, 9, 11, 36, 159, 166; see also ‘alim ‘Umar (Caliph) 100, 141 Umayyad 5, 13, 150 Ümit, Ahmet 115, 117, 123 – 4, 128nn38 – 48, 129 ummah 204, 208, 212 – 3, 221, 226 Umm al-Hussein 202

Umm Kalthum 241 ‘unsuri jism 170 Upaniṣad 15 – 20; Bṛhadāraṇyaka 15, 16; Chāndogya 15, 16; Kaṭha 16; Mundaka 16; Śvetāśvatara 16 upāya 76 Ahmad ʿUrabi 239 Urdu vii, 52, 95 – 7, 100, 102 – 3, 106 – 11, 111n1, 111n7, 112n23, 112n26, 113 – 4, 162, 168, 175n2, 175n3, 181 ‘urs 165, 167 usul-e-sab‘a 193 Abu Hashim ‘Uthman b. Sharik 5 ʿUthman ibn ʿAffan 150 Vaiṣṇva/ Vaiṣṇavite 34, 38, 72, 74 – 6, 85, 181, 189 – 92; Gauḍiya Vaiṣṇva 189, 191; Vaiṣṇva padābali 181; Vaiṣṇva Sahajiyā 75, 189, 191, 193, 197; Vaiṣṇvism 190, 196 – 7 Vali Deccani 107, 112n23 Veda 15, 17 – 18, 44, 48, 78; Atharva 44; Bhaktivedānta 82; Rig 44; Sama 44; Vedānta 16, 18; Vedāntic 12, 15, 17 – 19; Vedāntin 15, 17; Yajur 44 vernacular 37, 95 – 7, 102, 110 – 11 Vṛndāvana 190 waḥdat al-wujud 47 – 8 Weber, Max 2 wilaya 142 Wilson, Brett 134 – 5, 143n25, 144n30, 146 Yamuna 184, 186, 190 Yasawi, Ahmad 115 – 6 yoga 20 – 1, 34, 75, 176n18, 191; yogic 19, 76, 79, 191; yogi 34, 196; yogini 186 Yusuf (Prophet) 19, 192, 202, 222n14 Zaehner, Robert C. 12, 15 – 18, 20, 24n79, 25nn126 – 8, 25n136, 25n157, 29 Zakariya, Mohamed 154 – 6, 158n25, 158n29, 160 Zindapir 162 – 70, 172 – 3, 174 – 5, 177 Zoroastrian 115, 121; Zoroastrianism 12 Zulaykha 19, 192